#anyway this was really fun to read; thank you! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hamilton-here · 3 days ago

Note

Hi! How are you?

I know your requests are closed, but you’re just the best, so I thought I‘d leave that here.

Have you ever thought about Lewis dating a romance or maybe even dark romance/erotica author? How they would meet and him reading a book of hers or something like that? It would be so fun.

𝐼𝓃𝓀-𝒮𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! P4 for Lewis in quali! I’m so happy, wishing all the best for LH. I’m doing well thanks. Anyway here’s another request. Enjoy. Lots of love xx

Summary: A secretive romance author falls for Lewis Hamilton, blurring the lines between fiction and reality as he becomes her most unexpected love story.

Warnings: sexual content

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

There’s a quiet hum in the grand hall, the soft clink of glasses and polite chatter weaving through marble pillars and velvet drapes.

Gold-accented chandeliers cast a warm, honeyed glow over the sea of polished shoes and champagne flutes, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and carefully curated charm. It’s the kind of event where everyone seems to belong with shoulders squared, smiles poised, conversations rehearsed.

The kind of event you used to dread.

Before you became her. Before your books began to sell under the name you guard more fiercely than your own heartbeat.

Aria Vale. (your made-up name as an author to protect yourself)

The pseudonym isn’t just a name it’s armour. A veil that lets you explore the parts of yourself you’re too careful to show. You’ve built a world with Aria’s pen, one full of desperate love, dangerous men, and sins laid bare on silk sheets.

Her stories are soaked in longing, obsession, and the kind of reckless passion you’ve only ever touched in your imagination.

Because the truth is you’ve never been in love.

Not really. Not the way you write it.

Your characters crash into each other like storms, pulled by threads you’ve never truly felt in your own life. You’ve written what you think love might feel like, what you want it to feel like. Intoxicating. Consuming. Real.

But it’s always been fiction. A world you control. A world you can leave when the ache gets too sharp.

Tonight, you’re here as yourself. The "safe" author.

The sweet, heartfelt kind that mothers recommend to daughters. The kind that book clubs label as ‘comforting’, as if your words are soft blankets meant to be folded neatly and stored away.

No one here knows about Aria. No one suspects the edges beneath your softness.

You sip your champagne, smoothing a hand over your dress, your carefully chosen armour of silk and lace. A practiced smile curls at your lips as you chat with the event organiser about the literacy programs you’re supporting tonight.

You’re here to talk about the stories that save people.

Stories like yours.

Or maybe stories like hers.

You’re steady. Until the air shifts.

It’s subtle at first a ripple you feel rather than see. The room tilts on its axis for just a moment, your breath hitching with a sensation you can’t immediately name. And when you glance over your shoulder, you understand why.

Lewis Hamilton.

You’ve seen him before, of course. In glossy magazine spreads, in interviews where he seems effortlessly gracious and polished. He’s a name that travels well; a man wrapped in legacy and relentless headlines.

But seeing him in person? It’s different.

He moves like he belongs everywhere. Confident, but not loud. Powerful, but not overreaching. There’s something about him that hums something beneath the surface that you’re almost afraid to get close enough to touch.

His eyes sweep across the room, and something tightens in your chest.

Not attraction. Not yet. It’s curiosity. Recognition. Like seeing a character you’ve written walk off the page and step into your real life.

But he’s too far away to notice you. You remind yourself of this, wrapping the thought around you like a shield. Just another guest in a sea of charity supporters.

You turn back to your conversation, forcing yourself to focus. You’re here to raise money, to speak about the power of literacy, the lives changed by words.

Words you’ve always used to imagine love. Never to live it.

Because how could you write about something so convincingly when you’ve never really held it in your hands? You’ve written what you think love would feel like - the wild kind, the dangerous kind, the safe kind but you’ve always been just outside its reach, peering in through ink-stained windows.

Your characters ache for each other. They fall hard, they bleed, they fight to be seen.

But you? You’ve always written love like it was a place you’d never been, like you were mapping the constellations without ever setting foot under the stars.

You wonder, not for the first time, if you would recognise real love if it finally found you. Or if you’ve spent so long building it from fantasy that the real thing would feel foreign. Like stepping into someone else’s story.

You slip out to the balcony later, needing air. The cool night brushes against your skin, grounding you. The soft music and clinking glasses fade into a distant murmur as you breathe in the quiet.

And then -

“Escaping already?”

The voice is low, smooth, edged with quiet humour. You turn, and there he is Lewis Hamilton, impossibly close leaning casually against the stone railing. His dark eyes glint with something between curiosity and mischief, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Your breath stumbles in your throat.

You offer him a polite smile, a practiced one. “Just needed a break from small talk. It’s exhausting pretending to be interesting.” He chuckles, soft but genuine. “I doubt you’re pretending. I heard you’re the guest speaker tonight. The author, right?”

You nod, your pulse drumming quietly beneath your skin. “That’s me.” His head tilts slightly, thoughtful. “I’ve been meaning to get into reading more. Maybe you can recommend something?”

You pause, letting the weight of the question settle between you. You could give him one of the "safe" books the sweet, carefully folded kind. But there’s a sliver of something reckless in you tonight. A whisper of Aria Vale creeping to the surface.

“Depends,” you say, your voice silk over steel. “Do you want something safe or something that might ruin you?” His eyebrows lift, but his smile widens, amused. “You’re not what I expected.”

You offer your hand, your pulse tripping. “I’m Y/N.”

He takes it, his grip warm, his touch lingering just long enough to send sparks dancing beneath your skin.

“Lewis.”

“Yes,” you murmur, meeting his gaze. “I know.”

His laugh is soft, but there’s something in it that tugs at you. “So, will you tell me which one of your books might ruin me?” You hesitate, the answer pressing against your teeth.

The Aria Vale books are not for the faint of heart. They’re dark. Messy. Raw. They are, in many ways, your unanswered questions stitched together in ink.

What does it feel like to be desired without condition? What would it taste like to be loved until it hurt?

They are the stories you write not because you’ve lived them. But because you wish you had.

“I’ll let you figure that out,” you say instead, pulling your hand back as the event coordinator calls you to the stage. His gaze lingers on you, a silent thread wrapping tight around your ribs as you walk away.

You should return to your carefully folded life.

But maybe, just maybe -

You want him to follow the thread you left behind.

And soon enough after that encounter it starts with a message.

A simple, almost careless ping from your Instagram DMs late one night.

Lewis Hamilton:

Hey. Started your book. You’re right. It’s safe…sweet. Thought you might be more dangerous than this though 😉.

You stare at the notification, your pulse fluttering as if it’s mocking you. You’re alone in your apartment, the city humming faintly beyond your window, your fingers tightening around your phone.

You laugh softly, a small, breathy sound that barely reaches the walls around you. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, words skimming the surface of your mind.

You: You chose the safe one. That’s on you.

His reply is immediate. Like he’s been waiting for your answer. Like he’s pacing his own apartment, adrenaline still crackling under his skin.

Lewis Hamilton:

Guess I’ll have to keep looking, huh?

Your heart trips. He’s playing, but there’s something underneath it, something in the way he’s reaching.

You: Careful, you might find something that keeps you up at night.

Your chest tightens the second you hit send. It’s not a warning. It’s an invitation. A thread dangled, waiting for him to pull.

Lewis Hamilton: That’s exactly what I’m looking for.

You bite your lip, warmth blooming low in your belly. It’s ridiculous, how easily he coils around you with just a few words on a screen. But maybe you’ve always been like this susceptible to a good story, to curiosity that spirals into something you can’t quite hold in your hands.

Over the next few weeks, the messages continue light at first, playful. You send him more book recommendations, carefully curated. Only the ones under your real name. The safe ones. The ones the book clubs adore. The ones that won’t reveal too much.

He devours them, sends you photos of his dog, Roscoe, sprawled out next to your paperbacks, the pages soft from his hands. He texts you thoughtful reactions, sometimes deep, sometimes sarcastic.

Lewis Hamilton: Your main guy in this one? Bit too perfect, don’t you think? Where’s his edge? Where’s the pull?

You:

Not every story needs a man with sharp teeth, Lewis.

Lewis Hamilton:

Sure, but maybe those are the ones that keep people coming back. Danger’s interesting.

You try to brush it off. Try to stay in the safety of soft love stories and flirty banter. But then one evening, just as you’re settling into bed, your phone buzzes again.

Lewis Hamilton:

So…Aria Vale. Is she your favourite author? I heard many readers love her.

Your breath catches, a chill prickling along your skin. Your fingers hesitate over the screen, muscles tightening.

You:

Why?

Lewis Hamilton: Found one of her books on a friend’s shelf. Started reading. Couldn’t put it down. Reminds me a little of you, actually. Bold. Unapologetic. Intense.

Your stomach flips violently, heat and terror swirling inside you like a storm.

You:

Which one?

Lewis Hamilton:

The one with the guy who’s probably a walking red flag. But I can’t stop reading him. I think I might be into it.

Your heart slams against your ribs. No. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You:

Be careful with that one.

You watch the blinking dots, tension strung tight in your chest.

Lewis Hamilton: Why’s that?

You: He doesn’t always play fair.

There’s a beat. A pause so sharp you can feel it crackling between you, even through a screen.

Lewis Hamilton:

Neither do I.

It sends a jolt straight through you, lighting up something you’ve tried to keep buried. Something you’ve only ever written. You let the truth dangle on your tongue, but you don’t tell him. Not yet. Not until you’re sure or until you’ve led him deeper into the story.

You’ve dodged it for weeks now the truth pressing harder and harder against the walls you’ve so carefully built. You tell yourself it’s harmless to let Lewis read your Aria Vale books without knowing. That it’s just curiosity, just conversation. That it won’t matter if he never connects the dots. But part of you wants him to.

You want him to figure it out. To see you not the author everyone knows, not the soft, safe one but the woman who writes with sharp teeth and tangled hearts. You keep waiting for him to let it go. For the spark to fizzle. But instead, he keeps asking questions. Keeps digging.

Until the night you’re scrolling through your messages, and his text lands like a stone in your chest.

Lewis Hamilton:

I finished the book. The one with the man who doesn’t play fair.

It was the dedication that got me.

Panic crawls up your spine. You scramble to pull your old copy from the shelf, flipping frantically to the page you’ve memorised but somehow forgot.

“To the ones who ask all the right questions, even when they’re not ready for the answers.”

Your fingers tremble as you type.

You:

What about it?

His reply comes slowly, each word deliberate, like he wants you to feel them settle in your bones.

Lewis Hamilton:

It felt familiar. Felt like…you.

Is it you, Y/N?

You stare at the message, heart hammering wildly, like it’s begging you to lie. You could.

You could bury yourself deeper. You could keep the safe version of you alive.

But something inside you the part that writes recklessly, the part that’s starved for someone to see her won’t let you.

You:

Yes. It’s me.

Seconds drag. Long enough that you start preparing excuses, apologies, reasons you kept it from him.

Soon he replies.

Lewis Hamilton:

I knew it.

You blink at the screen.

Lewis Hamilton:

Why didn’t you tell me?

You:

I wasn’t sure you’d understand.

Lewis Hamilton:

Understand what?

You:

That I can be both things. Sweet and soft and sharp enough to draw blood.

You let the confession bleed from your thumbs like it’s been waiting for a place to land.

His next message is slow. Purposeful, almost like a quiet unraveling.

Lewis Hamilton:

You’re a lot like your characters.

Complex. Messy. Addictive.

Your pulse spikes. You chew your lip, the edges of your walls crumbling.

You:

You think you can handle all of me?

His answer makes you dizzy.

Lewis Hamilton:

I think I already am.

When you see him again this time at a tucked-away café, hidden in the quiet edges of the city you spot him instantly.

He’s impossible to miss.

His legs are stretched out under the small wooden table, sunglasses perched carelessly atop his head, curls catching the late afternoon sunlight like they were made to hold the warmth. He’s dressed simply black hoodie, jeans, a pair of scuffed sneakers but he looks unreasonably good like this. Unreasonably dangerous.

You pause at the threshold, anchoring yourself with a breath you don’t realise you’ve been holding. He’s here. He’s still here.

And sitting in front of him, perfectly in view, is your Aria Vale book. The cover soft from wear, the spine cracked. His copy is bloated with sticky notes and creased corners, a chaotic trail of breadcrumbs that tells you he hasn’t just read it more like he’s lived inside it.

Your throat tightens. When you finally cross the room, he looks up, and that smile slow and devastating blooms across his face as if he’s been waiting just for you.

“You know,” he murmurs, tapping the battered cover with his thumb, “I started this for you. Thought I’d try to understand what you write. What you…hide.”

His gaze sharpens, pulling you into the undertow.

“But then…” he continues, his voice dipping lower, velvet over steel. “Now I’m not sure if I want to finish it because I’m curious about the ending or because I’ve become obsessed with the writer.”

The words hang heavy between you, wrapped in something electric. You try to swallow past the lump rising in your throat. Nerves tangle with something warmer, something you don’t yet have the courage to name.

“Does it scare you?” you ask, your voice barely holding steady. “That you wrote this?” He leans in, resting his forearms on the table like he’s settling in, like he’s making room for the truth. “No.”

His eyes flick briefly to your lips so quick you might have imagined it before settling on yours, steady, unflinching. “That you’re this?” His grin tilts, dark and sure. “Not even close.”

You exhale shakily, trying to find your footing under the weight of his attention. You’ve spent years hiding parts of yourself between ink-stained pages.

You’ve lived in the careful middle ground, convincing yourself that no one would ever really want to hold both versions of you the sweet and the sharp. The girl who writes safe love stories and the woman who dreams of the ones that ruin you.

But here he is. Reading you. Choosing you.

“You’ve seen what they say about me,” Lewis says, his voice softening but never losing its edge. “I know how to live in that space. Between the headline version and the real one.” His thumb drags absently over the corner of the book, eyes still on you. “I know what it feels like to be misread.”

Your chest aches at the weight of his words. For the first time, you feel seen. Not just as an author, not as the pseudonym you’ve carefully guarded but as someone who’s spent years writing about love from the outside looking in.

“So, what happens now?” you ask, fingertips brushing the edge of the book between you, your pulse thrumming like you’ve stepped onto the page of one of your own stories. His thumb taps rhythmically against the paper as if considering his next move. “Now? I want to know what part of this is fantasy and what’s real.”

The question sinks into you, sharp and heavy. You’re not ready to answer it.

Your throat tightens as you force the words out. “Why?”

His response lands like a promise. Like a dare wrapped in silk.

“Because if you wrote those things from experience, I want to know what it’s like to be the man who gets to keep you.”

Your stomach drops. A flash of panic, then something else -something…hollow.

Because he doesn’t know. You didn’t write those stories from experience. You wrote them from longing. From aching curiosity. From the dusty corners of your imagination where you pieced together what you hoped love would feel like, what you wished someone would one day want from you.

You’ve never lived the things you wrote about.

Never been the woman in those scenes.

Your fingers hover over the flagged page in the book, the one you marked for him, the one you told yourself you would show him if he asked. You flip it open slowly, the familiar lines swimming beneath your gaze.

You push the book toward him, meeting his eyes. “This one’s real.”

The words scrape out of your throat like confession.

His lips twitch, a dangerous glint flickering in his gaze. “Noted.”

But your heart is thudding too loudly for you to hear the rest of the world.

Because you just lied.

Not to manipulate him. Not to protect yourself. But because you wanted it to be real. You wanted him to believe you’re the woman you’ve spent years pretending to be on the page. The kind of woman who knows how to fall apart in someone’s hands and still be wanted after.

The kind of woman he’s been reading.

But you’re not her.

You’ve never been her.

You’ve only ever written what you thought love might feel like. You’ve only imagined what it would be like to be claimed, to be chosen, to be wanted recklessly.

And now Lewis is here. Reaching. Believing. And you don’t know if you can give him what he thinks he’s found.

But you don’t stop him.

You don’t correct him.

Because something inside you - something small and desperate is clinging to the impossible hope that maybe you can become her. Maybe you can live the story you’ve always written for everyone else but yourself. And maybe, just maybe, Lewis is willing to help you figure out which parts of you were fiction and which parts are waiting to be written.

When you attend one of Lewis’s races, you think you’ll blend into the background another anonymous face in a sea of lanyards and team colours.

But from the moment he sneaks you into the paddock, weaving you past tight security with that signature grin and a palm pressed firmly to the small of your back, you realise he has no intention of letting you disappear.

He keeps you close. Tucks you into his side like you belong there. But not publicly. Not yet. You’re still his secret, still tucked between the pages like the stories you once kept hidden.

In public, he’s careful. A brush of his hand at your lower back when no one’s watching, soft glances when he thinks you’re not paying attention, lingering touches that tell you exactly where his mind is. To the world, you’re just a guest. A quiet supporter. A shadow in his orbit.

But in private?

He’s relentless.

Curious. Consuming. Always asking.

What’s real?

What’s fantasy?

What line hasn’t he crossed yet?

You tease him, whispering half-finished scenes into his ear late at night, your voice low, watching the way his jaw tightens and his hands flex as you blur the boundary between what you’ve written and what you’ve only ever imagined.

It happens slowly, quietly, in the way his hand starts to find yours without thinking, in the way he calls you just to hear your voice when he’s between flights.

You don’t remember the exact moment it changes you only know that one day, when he’s walking you back to your hotel after dinner, he doesn’t let you go.

Instead, he pulls you to him on the curb, presses his lips to yours like he’s answering a question neither of you asked aloud, and when he pulls back, he just murmurs, "You’re mine, yeah?"

And you don’t hesitate. You just nod. "Yeah. Yours." From that moment, it’s real. Not the teasing. Not the game. You’re his. He’s yours. It’s the start of something neither of you planned to write.

One night, after a race, you’re wrapped in the haze of adrenaline and champagne-slick celebration when you lean into him, your fingers brushing lightly along his chest.

“You’re dangerous,” you murmur against his skin, your palm pressed to the solid thud of his heartbeat.

His response is immediate, his hand wrapping around your wrist in a grip that’s firm but never harsh, tethering you to him as his thumb strokes your pulse.

“You wrote me this way.”

And maybe you did. Or maybe you just found him exactly as he is.

You don’t correct him. You don’t have the words for the storm he’s become in your life.

The hotel room that night feels too quiet. The low hum of the city floats up through the cracked balcony door, but all you can hear is the thud of your heartbeat, a frantic rhythm that doesn’t slow as you watch Lewis peel off his race jacket and toss his cap onto the armchair.

He’s still buzzing from the win, from the roar of the track, from the pressurised high of being in control for hours at speeds most people wouldn’t dare touch. But here, with you, he’s not in control at all. And you think he likes it that way.

You hadn’t planned to follow him back here. You’d told yourself you were just going to congratulate him, to say goodbye at the hotel lobby. But here you are. And you both know why.

He collapses onto the sofa, one arm thrown lazily over the backrest, his gaze dragging over you like he’s still trying to figure out where you end and his obsession begins.

“So,” he drawls, dark and slow, “is this where you finally tell me which parts of your stories are based on real experience?” You slip off your heels, feigning indifference even as your pulse pounds in your throat. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

His jaw tightens, his tongue pressing into his cheek as his eyes flicker, darkening with a heat that steals the air from your lungs. “Because when you tell me things,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, “you still sound like you’re holding back.”

You cross the room with careful steps, each one deliberate, your dress whispering around your legs. “Maybe I like making you guess,” you murmur, a spark lighting in your chest.

“You’re playing games.” There’s no frustration in his voice, just an insatiable interest. He’s not used to being unsure, but you think he likes it likes the chase, the unanswered questions.

“So are you,” you counter, stopping in front of him. “You’ve been sending me my own words like they’re weapons.” He grins, all teeth, his hand reaching out to trace a slow line along the hem of your dress. “Maybe I’m trying to see if you’ll break your own rules.”

“You know,” you whisper, dipping your chin as you thread your fingers into his curls, “most men would run if they found out the woman they’re seeing writes stories like mine.”

“Good thing I’m not most men.” The words drop between you like a challenge. The low, smoky heat in his voice stokes something dangerous in you, something that’s been waiting for him to pull.

When you step between his knees, the silk of your dress brushing against the rough denim of his jeans, it’s not a casual decision it’s a deliberate offering, a silent surrender to something you’ve spent your life writing but never really living.

His hands, large and sure, slip around your waist, sliding down to the curve of your hips, anchoring you to him as if you’ve always belonged there. His thumbs press slow, hypnotic circles into your sides, like he’s savouring the weight of you in his grip.

“Tell me what you want, Lewis,” you whisper, your voice a low, taunting lilt, even as your heart slams against your ribs. His gaze drags over your face, his breathing shallow but controlled, dark eyes locking onto yours like he’s already decided. “I want to know what it’s like to be one of your characters.”

You smirk, brushing your thumb along his lower lip, watching the way his breath hitches. “Even the dark ones?” His answer is a gravelly promise. “Especially the dark ones.”

Your stomach flips, heat blooming low in your belly. “Careful,” you murmur, your lips brushing his as you speak, “they don’t always get a happy ending.”

His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, until there’s no space left to pretend, you’re in control. His voice, a velvet growl, ghosts over your skin. “Then we’ll write a new one. Just for us.”

And then he kisses you. Not softly. Not sweetly. Devours you.

His mouth is urgent, desperate, like he’s been starved for you, like every restrained glance and whispered scene has been slowly unravelling him until this moment. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, tasting you like you’re something decadent, like he’s been imagining this for weeks.

You gasp into him, your hands threading through his curls, tugging just enough to draw a low groan from his chest. His grip is greedy now, sliding down to cup the backs of your thighs, lifting you without warning as though you weigh nothing to him.

“Lewis,” you gasp, the sound breaking somewhere between surprise and want as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. “Say it again,” he demands, his lips trailing down your neck, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the delicate skin, his teeth grazing just enough to make you tremble. “Say my name like that again.”

Your fingers clutch at his shoulders as he walks you toward the bed, his control so absolute it makes your pulse thunder. “Lewis,” you whisper again, softer this time, like his name is the first word you’ve ever written that’s truly yours.

When he drops you onto the mattress, his body follows immediately, his hands already sliding up your calves, pushing your dress higher and higher until you’re exposed beneath him. His palms glide over the bare skin of your thighs, his thumbs pressing softly into the tender flesh.

“You’ve written a lot of scenes,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the inside of your knee, sending a shiver up your spine. “But I’m starting to think you left out the best ones.” You arch a brow, breathless but teasing. “Maybe I was waiting to write them with someone who could handle them.”

His grin is pure sin as he hooks his fingers into the lace at your hips, slowly dragging your underwear down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. “Lucky me.”

His mouth finds your skin again, trailing a path from your knee to your thigh, each kiss deliberate, each brush of his stubble pulling a soft gasp from your lips. When his mouth finally settles between your legs, the first slow, firm stroke of his tongue makes your back arch, your fingers tangling desperately in his curls.

He hums against you, satisfied, relentless, like he’s intent on memorising exactly what it takes to pull you apart. His hands pin your hips down when you try to wriggle away from the intensity of his pace.

“Don’t run,” he murmurs, his breath hot against you. “You don’t write runners.” You let out a strangled laugh, barely coherent. “You’ve…been paying attention.” His tongue flicks expertly, his pace unrelenting. “I’ve been taking notes.”

When you finally fall apart on his tongue, when his name tumbles from your lips like a plea, he doesn't let up not until you’re shaking beneath him, breathless, completely unraveled in a way you’ve only ever imagined in ink.

He kisses his way back up your body, his mouth finding yours, letting you taste yourself on his lips as his hands push the straps of your dress from your shoulders, sliding the fabric down until you’re bare beneath him. The way he looks at you then raw, reverent, like you’re both his temptation and his undoing makes your throat tighten.

He leans in, his forehead pressing to yours. “Tell me,” he breathes, his voice thick with want. “Tell me what’s real.” You drag your fingers through his curls, pulling him impossibly closer. “You’re real.”

His smile is soft, but his eyes are still burning. “What else?” You press your lips to his jaw, to the hollow of his throat, whispering the truth you’ve been holding back. “This is the only chapter I didn’t write first.” His breath catches, and for a moment, the world stills. “Then let’s make sure we get the ending right.”

When he sinks into you, slowly, deeply, like he’s trying to brand himself into your bones, the gasp that tears from your throat feels like the most honest thing you’ve ever given him.

His pace is measured at first, his hands tangled with yours, fingers laced above your head, holding you open for him as he moves, his hips meeting yours with a rhythm that feels like poetry and ruin all at once.

“You feel -” you try to speak, but your breath shatters. “Perfect,” he finishes for you, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “You feel perfect.” You nod, unable to hold anything back as he drives into you, his control slipping, his kisses growing messier, more desperate, like he’s trying to chase the parts of you no one else has ever touched.

When you come again, it’s with his name gasped like a prayer against his mouth, your body trembling beneath the weight of him. He follows soon after, groaning your name into your skin like he’s been waiting his whole life to say it this way.

After, when you’re tangled in the sheets, your breathing still uneven, he traces lazy patterns along your back.

“So,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, “which part of tonight was from your books?” You grin, your cheek resting against his chest. “None of it.” He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “None?”

You shake your head, your smile soft but wicked. “I never wrote that far. I was waiting for the right man to finish the story with me.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his voice low and reverent. “Then I hope you’ve got a lot of blank pages left.” You laugh, full and unguarded, as you curl into his chest, already writing the next chapter in your mind.

Days later…

The first clue hits social media like a spark to dry paper. A blurry photo of Lewis leaving a bookstore, one of your Aria Vale paperbacks in his hand. It’s a small detail one you would have laughed off if it had been anyone else. But it’s him, and the fans are sharp-eyed and relentless.

The headlines start trickling in:

• Lewis Hamilton spotted with a dark romance novel, unexpected new reading habit?

• Lewis Hamilton reading Aria Vale? Is the F1 champion secretly into dark romance?

At first, it’s amusing. Funny, even. People think it’s a curiosity, a footnote in his otherwise pristine public image.

But then someone finds more. A now-deleted comment you left under a post from a tiny indie author years ago using your Aria Vale pseudonym. An old interview, buried deep in YouTube’s archives, where you quoted a line that perfectly matches a dedication in one of your Aria books.

It doesn’t take long before the fans piece it together.

The internet catches fire.

• LEWIS HAMILTON SECRETLY DATING DARK ROMANCE AUTHOR ARIA VALE

• THE SWEETHEART AUTHOR WITH A SINISTER PEN NAME! WHO IS SHE REALLY?

• LEWIS HAMILTON’S GIRLFRIEND WRITES EROTIC NOVELS AND HE’S LOVING IT

Your phone won’t stop buzzing. Your publisher calls. Your publicist panics.

Your carefully split life neatly divided between soft romances and sharp-edged fantasies is crumbling. There’s no time to decide how you feel about it before your phone lights up again.

Lewis.

“Hey,” he says, steady, calm, even as chaos swirls around you. “I saw it. It’s everywhere now.” Your throat tightens. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t what you signed up for.”

“Stop,” he says, firm but warm. “I’m not going anywhere. Let them talk.” You shake your head, pressing your fingers to your temples as the headlines burn across your screen. “You don’t get it -”

“No, you don’t get it,” he cuts in, his voice soft but resolute. “I don’t care about the noise. I care about you. I care about the girl who made me fall for her before I even realised it.”

Your chest aches, years of hiding, of dividing yourself into acceptable pieces, suddenly pressing in from all sides. “Lewis…” you whisper, tears pricking at the edges of your vision.

“Let them see all of you,” he says, his voice a tether you didn’t know you’d needed. “The sweet author. The dangerous one. The woman who writes messy, complicated love.”

You swallow hard, the weight of it all settling in your bones. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Okay with it?” He laughs, low and warm. “Babe, I’ve been waiting to brag that my girl writes books that make grown men blush.” A shaky, breathless laugh tumbles from your lips the first genuine sound you’ve made all day.

“Oh, and by the way,” he adds, mischief seeping back into his tone, “your next book? It better have a dedication for me.” You smile, your heart beating lighter for the first time in days.

To the man who didn’t knock before entering, he broke the door down and rewrote the ending.

And maybe this time, it’s not just a story.

Maybe this time, it’s yours.

As the press winded down, your opening book event began.

The signing event is packed, the air buzzing with an energy that makes your skin prickle. The bookstore hums with life excited chatter, the soft shuffle of feet across carpeted floors, the faint scratch of pens as assistants organise stacks of your books. But this time, it’s not like all the other times.

For the first time, you’re here as both of you.

No longer just the soft, sweet author with safe, tender love stories. No longer the carefully curated mask. No longer hiding behind the veil of a pseudonym. You’re standing here fully exposed as Y/N and as Aria Vale.

The placard on the table reads both names in bold, the truth finally stitched together for the world to see. You were terrified when it first leaked.

Terrified when the articles came. When the fans started piecing it together. When the sweet romance readers realised they’d been falling in love with the same characters that dark romance readers were obsessing over the same author, two faces of the same coin.

But instead of turning away, they came. In droves.

Some hold paperbacks from your earlier years the soft ones, the ones with delicate brushes of hands and slow-burn kisses. Others hold the book. The new one. The one you wrote after Lewis walked into your life and blurred the lines you’d drawn so carefully in your stories.

This one is different. Messier. More honest. Raw in ways you used to be too afraid to write.

It’s not the story you thought you’d tell. It’s better.

You move through the crowd, signing book after book, meeting readers who now know all of you. Some giggle nervously, telling you they loved the sweet romances, but it’s clear from the glint in their eyes that they devoured your darker ones too. Others thank you for writing characters who don’t fit neatly into boxes or characters who are soft and sharp, sweet and sinful, all at once.

You hear your name from every direction both of them now like a melody that no longer splits you in half. But still, even in the rush, even in the noise, you feel him.

You glance toward the back of the crowd, and there he is. Lewis. Leaning against a pillar, dressed low-key in jeans and a crisp black tee, sunglasses perched casually on his head, his smile easy, warm. He’s not here to draw attention. He’s here to see you. He’s here to witness you.

He doesn’t push forward. He doesn’t claim space he knows you’ve earned for yourself.

Instead, he stays just far enough away to let you shine. But close enough that when you look for him you find him. When the line slows, when the flurry of photos and sharpie clicks fades into a soft lull, you catch his eye.

He mouths two words:

Read it.

Your pulse skips, quickens. You know exactly what he means.

The dedication. The part you couldn’t bring yourself to read aloud. Not even to him.

You shake your head, chewing your lip as your assistant slides a fresh copy across the table. The weight of it feels different now. He watches you with that soft, knowing patience that has undone you more times than you can count.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you flip open the cover. The page is clean, untouched, but you know what’s there.

For L.

- You didn’t ask to be written into my story. But you walked in anyway.

Somewhere between the pages, I stopped creating you and simply started loving you.

Your throat tightens. It’s so simple, but it carries the weight of every guarded step, every chapter you lived before you let him in. You weren’t brave enough to write that kind of love before Lewis.

You trace the edge of the words, the ones you almost left unwritten, and when you look up he’s already moving.

He doesn’t wait for an invitation, doesn’t care who’s watching now. He strides toward you, the distance between you dissolving like ink in water. His sunglasses dangle from his fingers now, his gaze fully, entirely on you.

When he reaches you, he leans over the table just enough that his knuckles graze yours, his touch deliberate, grounding.

“I told you I’d rewrite the ending,” he murmurs, his voice low, meant only for you despite the dozens of ears nearby.

His thumb brushes along the side of your hand in a quiet, intimate sweep that makes your heart stumble.

You look up at him, your smile trembling but radiant, and you lean into his touch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, you did.”

Your fingers curl lightly around his, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel split in two. You don’t feel like you have to choose which version of yourself is worthy of being loved.

You don’t have to hide anymore. Not behind pen names, not behind stories, not behind carefully constructed lines.

Lewis saw both sides.

And he didn’t walk away. He walked in.

You squeeze his hand once, lingering, and then pull back just enough to press a kiss to his knuckles. The gesture is small, but the weight of it feels seismic. You glance at the queue still waiting, the stack of books still unsigned. You smile at the next reader, your heart lighter than it’s ever been.

And maybe, just maybe, this is your favourite story yet.

Because this time, you didn’t write the ending alone

Soon after the event diminished down the two of you returned where you were staying. The hotel suite is quiet now, the echo of the signing event left behind in a blur of flashing cameras, endless introductions, and the rhythmic scrawl of your signature on hundreds of waiting pages.

You’d made it through exposed, vulnerable, fully seen. No pseudonyms to hide behind. No pen names to shelter you from the weight of your own story.

And Lewis had been there the whole time.

Not at the front. Not chasing the spotlight.

Just there. Solid. Steady. Unwavering. Yours.

You step out of your shoes with a quiet sigh, sinking your toes into the plush carpet, your body aching from hours of standing. The dull ache in your wrist from signing copies feels almost like a badge of honour. A scar you’d wear proudly if it meant you didn’t have to split yourself in half anymore.

Your chest feels oddly light. Not just relieved. Weightless.

You feel him before you see him his presence like gravity pulling you closer. Lewis moves behind you, his arms sliding around your waist, his chest pressing to your back as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His touch is firm, steady, his warmth wrapping around you like a sanctuary.

“You did it,” he breathes against your skin, the softness of his voice grounding you. He kisses the curve of your neck, lingering. “The whole world knows now. And you didn’t flinch once.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, the sound threading between a laugh and a sigh. “I was shaking inside the whole time.” His arms tighten slightly around you, his thumbs stroking gentle circles along your waist. “Didn’t show.”

You close your eyes, leaning back into him, feeling his heartbeat slow and strong against your spine. “Thank you for being there.” His reply is low but certain, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Always.”

The silence that settles between you is thick but comfortable. There’s nothing pressing you now, no crowd, no cameras just the hum of the city outside the window and the pulse of unspoken words between you. His lips graze your ear, his voice dipping into that familiar teasing lilt.

“So…For L, huh?”

You huff, your body warming instantly, a grin pulling at your mouth. “Don’t start.”

“You didn’t ask to be written into my story,” he recites, drawing out each word, kissing a slow trail along your jaw, “but you walked in anyway…That’s sweet. Real sweet.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, your blush betraying you. But he doesn’t stop. He never does when he’s teasing you like this. When he knows he’s got you on the edge, right where he likes you.

“You stopped creating me,” he continues, pressing another kiss to the hollow of your throat, “and started loving me. Babe, I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

You turn in his arms, smacking his chest half-heartedly, but he catches your wrist effortlessly, pulling you right back into him, a playful spark in his eyes softening into something tender, something dangerous in its sincerity.

His thumb brushes gently over the pulse at your wrist, his voice dropping into something quieter, something that feels like it sinks straight into your bones. “I love that you wrote it,” he says, his gaze flickering to your lips and back to your eyes. “But you know, right? I would’ve walked into your story either way. Even if you tried to lock the door.”

Your throat tightens around the ache blooming in your chest. It’s terrifying, being loved like this being chosen with this kind of certainty.

“I didn’t know if I could ever write this kind of story for myself,” you whisper, your voice barely holding. “I thought I’d just guess what it would feel like. That I’d only ever get to imagine it.” His forehead presses to yours, his breath warm against your mouth. “You don’t have to guess anymore.”

His lips meet yours in a kiss that’s deliberate, unhurried, like he’s reading every word you’ve ever written into the shape of your mouth. His hands slip down to your hips, walking you back slowly, step by step, until the edge of the bed presses into the back of your legs.

He eases you down onto the mattress like you’re precious, like you’re breakable but the way his hands grip your thighs says he knows you’re anything but. His mouth leaves yours, trailing kisses along your jaw, down your throat, each one pulling a shiver from you.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmurs against your skin, his hands deftly working the buttons of your blouse, slow and teasing, each one undone like he’s unwrapping something meant just for him. “About your next book.” Your breath catches as you card your fingers through his curls, your pulse thudding beneath his kisses. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he hums, undoing the next button with a patience that borders on torture. “It should be about a man who falls for a woman who writes dangerous stories.”

Another button slips free.

His lips find the new skin he’s revealed, warm and soft.

“She tries to keep him at arm’s length,” he continues, “but he’s stubborn. He pushes past every defence. Refuses to let her tell herself she’s too much.” Your breath stutters, your fingers tightening in his hair as his mouth moves lower, dragging heat across your ribs.

“And maybe,” he breathes, his voice rough and honey-sweet, “there are very specific scenes she’s imagined but never written. Things she’s only let herself dream about.” Your laugh shivers from you, shaky and breathless, as you tip your head back, giving him more.

“Scenes, huh?” He lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes glinting with mischief and something much deeper. “Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip. “And I think we should write them. Together.”

His hand slides up your thigh, his fingers coaxing your legs apart with slow, deliberate pressure as he dips closer, his mouth grazing yours. “Tell me something you’ve only ever written, baby. Something you’ve only dreamed about.” His lips graze yours. “Let’s make your next fantasy real.”

Your confession slips out in a rush, your voice raw and trembling with the weight of wanting. You tell him the scene you buried in locked drafts the one you never finished, the one you never thought you’d get to live.

His grin is slow, wicked, burning into you. “Perfect,” he breathes, kissing you with a hunger that leaves you gasping. “Now let me show you how the real thing feels.”

The rest unravels like a story written by trembling hands his, yours, tangled and desperate. His mouth traces every line of your body like he’s committing you to memory, his hands leaving bruising fingerprints that feel like promises. He takes his time languid and thorough stripping away every thread of hesitation until all that’s left is you, bare and trembling beneath him.

He reads you like one of your own chapters.

Listens to every breath, every gasp, every soft whimper that escapes your lips.

“More,” you plead, not sure if you’re asking for him or the words you’ve never written. “You have me,” he answers, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. “You’ve always had me.”

When he finally pushes into you, slow and deep, the stretch burns in the most delicious way, and you swear you’ve never felt anything so devastatingly real. His hands frame your face, his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing ragged as he rocks into you, his rhythm steady, purposeful, like he’s rewriting every page you ever doubted.

“You feel it?” he groans, his voice thick, broken. “This is your story now. Ours.” You can’t form words, can only moan, clutching at his back as your bodies move in sync, your skin slick, the air between you thick with the scent of sweat and longing.

He pushes you right to the edge, and when you fall, you do it wrapped in his arms, your body shaking beneath the weight of something you can’t write - you can only live it.

He follows soon after, burying his face in your neck, his breath a hot, desperate rush against your skin as he spills into you, his grip on you unrelenting. When the tremors subside and your heartbeats start to slow, he shifts just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing sweat-damp hair from your temple.

“We’re definitely writing the next one together,” he murmurs, his voice still rough, still edged in breathlessness. You smile, pressing a lazy kiss to his shoulder. He grins, slow and soft, his hand cradling your jaw. “And it’s going to include all the ways I’m gonna ruin you.”

You huff a laugh, your body too deliciously sore to pretend you don’t love it. “Promise?” His gaze darkens, possessive and tender all at once. “Baby, I already have.”

And as the night folds in around you, as his arms lock around your waist and your breathing syncs again, you realise this is the first story you’ve ever written where you don’t know the ending. And that’s exactly what makes it your favourite.

It surprises you, how easily your life begins to stitch itself into something whole after that night.The lines that once divided you between who you were in public, who you became in your books, who you thought you had to be begin to blur, and instead of crumbling under the weight of it, you start to feel free.

Lewis never asks you to separate the parts of yourself. He never flinches at the mess. He simply holds all the versions of you in his hands, like he’s always known you were meant to be a little complicated. A little dangerous. A little undone.

The world catches up eventually. The headlines come and go, buzzing with curiosity about you, about him, about this unexpected pairing of a Formula 1 driver and a dark romance author who writes stories that make people blush and ache and crave.

But Lewis never lets the noise touch you. He holds your hand through the chaos, kisses your temple before every public appearance, anchors you with his quiet steadiness when the spotlight burns too bright.

You write your next book with him stretched out on the couch beside you, his head resting on your lap as you type, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your thigh.

Sometimes he reads over your shoulder. Sometimes he quotes your own words back to you at the worst possible moments, grinning like the troublemaker he is. Sometimes he suggests scenes you pretend to scoff at - too indulgent, too daring but you always write them anyway. Because he’s right.

You dedicate the next one to him, of course. The two of you wrote it together.

This time, there’s no hesitation.

To L — For all the stories we haven’t told yet. And the ones we’ll live before we write them.

When he reads it, he kisses you like it’s the first time all over again, his thumb tipping your chin up like you’re something precious, something his.

"You know I’m going to hold you to that, right?" he murmurs against your lips. "All the stories we haven’t told yet."

"Yeah?" you breathe, heart tumbling in your chest. "And which ones are those?"

His grin is slow, wicked, a promise.

"Guess we’ll just have to find out."

And maybe that’s what you love most now - that the ending isn’t written.

That with him, the best parts of the story are still unwritten, still unfolding, still yours. And for the first time in your life, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #lh44 #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 x reader #f1 imagine #x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton one shot #team lh44 #f1 smut #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1

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bewitched-hours · 2 days ago

Text

Forsaken Uni AU | Part 1

"Who did it?!"

Synopsis: Someone made [Reader] cry and her (QPR)Friends are not letting that slide...

It had only been a few months since you arrived at this university and you were surprisingly well liked.

Of course, you were friends with your roommate- Brighteyes- from day one.

Although you were an introvert, she was an accommodative extrovert so she quickly became one of your favourites.

Through her, you were quickly added to a group chat that apparently included all the people on your floor... All guys...

You had expected the worst but it couldn't have went better!

Within a short time, you were treated like you had been part of the friendgroup for years! They were all a bit protective though...

And this showed even more when Brighteyes found you crying one morning...

Cringe_CatGirl: WHO MADE Cat_Dealer CRY??? THE DOOR'S LOCKED AND SHE'S SOBBING MY POOR ROOMIE- The_Chicken_Man: WAIT WHAT- HOLD ON I'M COMING OVER TO HELP- Noobster: I THINK I KNOW WHO IT WAS BUT IT WAS AN ACCIDENT Cringe_CatGirl: HOW???? Satanic_Panic: I DIDN'T KNOW THE CAKE WAS FOR THEM, I'M SORRYYYYYYY Local_Dad: I'll get a new one, she likes cheesecake right? Cat_Dealer: Cheesecake sounds good... Local_Dad: Gotcha. Cringe_CatGirl: Noobster, take care of Satanic_Panic or I will... Noobster: Got it :D Satanic_Panic: NO PLEASE- I SAID I'M SORRY- I'LL PAY THE BILL-

A slight chuckle escaped your lungs as you read through the chat with tears still running down your cheeks.

You had been looking forward to eating that piece of cake that you made all on your own only for it to disappear from the communal fridge and honestly? It did hit pretty hard because it was something you made for once. And you don't do that as often as you should.

Within minutes could you heard the voices of 007n7, Brighteyes and Shedletsky at your door followed by knocking.

"[Reader], can you please unlock the door?" Sheds voice sounded more like a plea as you got up and hesitantly unlocked your door to let them into your messy room. "Sorry... For crying over cake..." You muttered in slight embarrassment, only to be hugged by the university's power couple in a sandwich motion while 7n7 chuckled.

"Nothing you need to apologize for! Classes are stressful and having something to look forward to only for that to be taken away unknowingly." Shedletsky huffed, his wings puffing along to seem more menacing but it just made him look more like a chicken than he already was.

Honestly... You thought coming to a university where hybrids and cryptids of all kinds were present would be chaos but it's actually kinda fun. None of that hostile behaviour your parents had warned you about starting off.

It did help that Brighteyes was a cat-hybrid, almost mirroring you being a cat-cryptid. You were pretty similar but you never thought about it much.

Hell, sometimes you two helped groom each other so you could gossip and talk about different tips and tricks to keeping your fur all neat and shiny.

But for now, you sat on your bed eating a slice of cheesecake with your roommate, her rooster/chicken-hybrid boyfriend and a raccoon-cryptid. It helped you calm down better than you thought.

"Thanks again, 7..." You sigh, putting away your plate to bring to the kitchen later as you dried your face from the tears that had been streaming down your face.

007 just shook his head with a soft smile. "It's the least I can do and 6 is gonna pay me back for it anyways because he feels bad." His tail patted the beanbag he was sitting on as he enjoyed a slice of cake for himself as well.

Life really could be bliss with friends like these...

Masterpost

My Usual Rules

Introduction

#forsaken roblox #forsaken #roblox forsaken #forsaken x reader #forsaken x y/n #university au #hybrids #cryptids #cryptid & hybrid university

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madebycloud · 7 hours ago

Text

ALL MINE

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you and jinx have been satisfying each other's needs with no labels, no strings attached. just two adults who have fun with each other every now and then. simple, right? or at least, simple in theory, right up until you start feeling jealous when you see her with someone else. (requested by anon) warnings/themes: MDNI 18+, fluff, slight angst, smut, G!P reader (don't like, don't read), friends with benefits/fuck buddies, unprotected p in v, college au, porn with some plot, cunnilingus, throat fucking, fingering, spanking, semi-public, creampies, one sided feelings but not really one sided, insecure!reader, kinda nerd!reader, R is so petty, R is so annoying, R is a dick, R is a pussy words: 13.5k

College sucks.

With the shitty attendance of professors, the endless workload, all those projects and essays and presentations, the tests and quizzes, shitty group work with shitty partners.

So much stress just for the possibility of a shitty grade.

...

Being an adult and balancing a life with school SUCKS.

But thankfully, there are a few things that make it bearable.

Like a certain blue-haired currently sitting at the edge of your desk, legs on either side of you, face flushed and biting her bottom lip as she muffles her moans.

“F-fuck... you... you, d-damn—” The grip on your hair tightens and her back arches while your tongue slides up her needy slit. “Oh, that— that feels so good—”

Jinx tastes so sweet, so perfect, your hands rest on the pale skin of her thighs, keeping her legs from moving or closing in. Her eyes slam shut, head hangs back, her breathing hitch every time your tongue slips past her folds.

“I'm gonna, ah f-fuck, I'm coming—” and before she has the chance to get out the rest of those words, her hips writhe and quiver, shaking with a climax that has you holding on to her thighs to keep her from slipping off the edge of your desk.

She comes all over your tongue, and you keep licking her slowly, helping her through her high until she starts to push you off.

You pull back and look up at the bluenette in front of you. There is a thin stream of her juices running down her quivering thighs that makes you want to keep going, but instead, you force yourself to lean back on your chair, watching her attempt to straighten up her skirt and collect herself.

“F-fucking... jesus christ. I hate you.”

It's such a conflicting statement because her words are one thing, but the wrecked and completely satisfied look on her face says something else entirely.

“Yeah, I'm sure you do,” you say with a smirk and wipes your chin. “Can I go wash my face now? I've got a class in a bit.”

“Fine, go.” Jinx climbs off from your desk. There's a slight tremble in her legs (thanks to you) that she quickly tries to hide but fails anyway. She runs a hand through her hair, fixing it as she stands there.

You get up from your chair and stretch first—college is doing a number on your back, you swear—and walk over to the sink in the corner of your dormitory room to wash your face, leaving her to recover.

Jinx had been in your room more than hers. One, because it's better than bunking with her annoying roomie. Two, because there is more privacy. Three, your room's walls are not as thin as hers, so you can let loose sometimes. The noises she made, the noises you both made...it was a good thing your room had decent soundproofing.

There are times that you do it in her room, if her roommate is not there, but more often than not, it's here in your dorm. You've had her bent over every possible surface, every possible place that you're certain she can't walk out the next day.

Your thoughts bring a little smirk to your face as you finish toweling your face dry, and that smirk stays there as you head back to where Jinx is sitting on the edge of your bed.

You could go for another round, you're still in the mood, really. But unfortunately, your next class starts in a few minutes.

You walk to your closet and pull out a fresh shirt, one that doesn't smell like Jinx yet. You throw the old one in the laundry, it's already marked by her anyway, and put on a new shirt.

“Gotta go, my class is starting soon.” You turn around as you pull the hem down. “Are you just gonna stay here?”

Jinx sighs before she shrugs. “I'll just stay here for a while. Maybe I'll take a nap or something.”

“No classes for you today?”

“Nope, lucky enough not to have any classes.” She shrugs again and swings her legs back and forth. “I'm free.”

You nod then grab your backpack from the floor, slinging it on one shoulder.

Just as you reach for the door handle, Jinx calls out, “Hey.”

You stop and turn to look over at her. “Yeah?”

“Kat's throwing a party tomorrow.” Jinx leans back, both arms braced behind her, raising an eyebrow at you. “You coming?”

“I might.”

If you didn't have a ton of homework and papers to grind out, yeah, probably. Jinx knows that. She also knows that you have...other things that are more important than some party with a bunch of drunken and horny adults.

Yet Jinx smirks at your response, like you've given the answer she's been hoping for.

Jinx stands up and closes the distance between you, stopping a few inches away. “You should come... you could use a little break.” She lifts up a hand to dust off your shoulder as if there's any lint on it. “Let loose. Relax. Have a little fun for a change?”

A party...you haven't been to any parties since freshman year. No time. You haven't had the time to, not with your classes and work and the million other things that fill your schedule.

“College is eating at me alive and you want me to party, huh? I don't have time for that, you know that.”

Jinx laughs, and the hand on your shoulder slowly slides down over your chest, stopping right at your stomach. “One evening, is all I'm asking.”

How long has it been since the last time you've had a few hours... hell a few minutes... to just hang back and unwind? A 'break' these days means you grab some sleep, shower, and then go back to studying until your eyes water.

“C'mon, just one evening. Have some fun. Besides...” She leans closer, lowering her head to the side of your neck. “I'd really, really, really love it if you come.”

Your skin practically crawls with the way her words and her breath caress your skin, and the way she whispers things like that...how can you say no to that?

Your shoulders sag, and you exhale in an audible sigh. “Fine,” you finally say. “I'll be there.”

Jinx pulls back her head, grinning widely, satisfied with her victory. “Okay, off you go then. Go to class now, shoo.”

You roll your eyes as she shoos you out the door, giving you a light tap on the shoulder to hurry.

It's not like you have much of a choice. You already know you're going to give in, and she knows it too.

“Don't make me regret this.”

“You won't!” Her voice calls out behind you once you step into the hallway of your dorm. “Promise!”

—

You step into the house where the party is, and jesus christ it's so damn loud. Your ears immediately start hurting because the music is blasting everywhere and you're not even sure how this place hasn't gotten noise complaints yet.

Looking around the living room, the first thing you notice is all the people are everywhere, all crammed into this one little place that it's almost suffocating to wade through.

Some people, you recognize. Katarina, for sure. She's sitting on a couch next to a guy with brown hair and they're both downing some sort of drinks in shot glasses.

A few others that you've had brief interactions with, but not enough to remember their names. Then there are the people that you don't know at all. Those guys are probably seniors. Or... maybe freshmen?

And there's one thing that is and has always been the same in college parties: the alcohol. Most of these people are here to drink, and there's plenty of it.

On the counter? A huge array of liquor bottles, some you've heard of and some you haven't. Probably the latter ones will mess you up real fast if you're not careful. On the fridge? It is packed full of beer, champagne (who the hell brings expensive champagne to a college party of all things?), and what is probably some type of jungle juice.

You're just about to turn around and go back to your lonely dorm when a different voice rings through the noise. “You came!”

You look directly in front of you, and lo and behold, Jinx was right there.

You wonder how the hell you didn't notice her earlier (maybe it was the noise, or maybe it was you being distracted by all the other people). She looks surprisingly sober too, considering she's at a college party.

“I knew you would come,” Jinx says, grinning. “Just couldn't resist...could you?”

Jinx is wearing a short red plaid pleated skirt with a black leather belt, and black cropped top that stops just under her breasts, showing off her taut stomach and a small bit of midriff.

Her attire is almost like a goddamn crime because it looks like it shouldn't look good, but it actually does look good. It looks too good. She looks so fucking good that it should be illegal.

Jinx notices the way you're looking at her, and then a smirk crosses her face. “You like what you see?” She does a little twirl, as if to show it off for you.

Hell yeah. You like it a lot more than you should. Jinx's gorgeous and sexy as hell, and you know damn well that if she had been wearing this earlier in the day, you'd have skipped class to have your way with her.

“Mhm. I would love to just pick you up and fuck you against the wall here and now.”

The smirk on her lips somehow just seems to get even wider, then she cocks an eyebrow and tips her head to the side. “What's holding you back then?”

“Well, maybe the fact that there's a million people here and I have a lot of self-control.” Okay, maybe that self-control is being tested at this moment.

“Aww, that's not a fair excuse.” Jinx pouts and takes a step closer, making your eyes snap downward to what bit of her thighs she's showing off under the skirt. “I can tell that you want some privacy.” she trails her finger across your chest “And trust me, I want it too.”

Your patience snaps, and really, seriously, what's the worst that could happen?

You grab her arm, maybe a little too tight, and she actually giggles when you turn and start briskly walking towards the stairs, pulling her behind you.

You don't know this house at all, but there's no time to care because you want to get her alone now, and privacy won't be found downstairs. Luckily, the house is big, so not all the rooms have occupants, and with some searching, you find a spare room and open the door, pushing her inside.

“Impressive. You actually managed to—” Jinx is interrupted as soon as you shut the door behind you and lock it, then push Jinx up against it, pressing your body into hers, making her gasp and arch her back from the impact.

Even though she looks a little surprised, not a single protest leaves her mouth because all she can focus on is how your lips are instantly on her neck, trailing up and down and nipping across her throat. Jinx lifts her hands, fingers gripping the shoulders of your shirt.

With one hand on her hip, you use the other to push her crop top and bra up, bunching it past her collarbone. You kiss her down, reaching the top of her breast. Wrapping your lips around her nipple, then you suck it gently while your free hand moves to the other, pinching and rolling her pink bud.

You pay attention to both—her pale skin covered in a light glaze of sweat. Each nipple is teased, alternating between a gentle, barely-there feel of your tongue and a more firm pressure as you pull them between your teeth, her moans your only guide.

When Jinx seems to be losing patience, you finally release her with a small pop noise, lifting your head up to look at her again. The smirk is gone from her face, lips parted, panting slightly as that hand on your shoulder tightens.

As you move closer, her lips part instinctively, and you take advantage of that as you claim her mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue snaking past her lips.

Your hand wanders, going down to her hips, underneath that damnably short skirt, slipping past the fabric of her panties. Jinx gasps as your fingers slide across her folds. You curse at how wet she already is.

“You're dripping so much, Jinx,” you say against her mouth. You pull away, lips trailing down her neck until they reach her ear, biting it gently, earning you a breathy moan from her. “Have you been like this the whole night, or was it just when you saw me?”

Jinx's thighs twitch involuntarily when you circle your thumb, pressing on her clit. “You know the answer, idiot.”

You chuckle softly, then slowly push two fingers past her folds, making her hips jolt. Your knuckles flex and your fingers curl, as if getting acquainted with your new favorite place.

Jinx giggles, just a little, before the sound dissolves into a soft moan. “Hurry up...” she pants.

You start up a rhythm, starting slow at first, wanting to take your time and make her wait, but her hips desperately trying to grind herself against your fingers just spur you on to go a little faster.

“Be patient.” Yet, you speed up your pace, and she almost chokes when you crook your fingers. “You look like you're enjoying my fingers just fine.”

“Fuck— yeah— I am,” she admits. Jinx's head falls against your shoulder, trembling hands moving to grip your biceps, clinging to you to keep herself from being slumped in a heap on the ground.

“Yeah?” A part of you is surprised she even admits that. After all, Jinx has quite the ego. “I can tell.”

Her walls flutter around you, gasping loudly and burying her face in your neck. Jinx presses her forehead onto your collarbone as she shudders each time your fingers thrust inside her.

You bite your lip to hide your grin—you love the sound of her whiny, needy noises, and she's so damn beautiful that you can really understand how she's the most hated person at school... and at the same time, the most desired.

“Shh, someone might hear you,” you whisper, even though the music is pounding downstairs.

Jinx shakes her head, lifting her head up to kiss your neck and jaw. “Don't care.”

Anyone who's downstairs definitely won't be able to hear her over the music, but still. “If you're too loud, other people can hear you.”

Jinx's response is to laugh, a low chuckle that borders on a whine as she tries to push herself against your hand. “I don't care, okay? I just don't— mmmh, don't care, just shut up and keep going.”

You keep up with your rhythm, fingers moving rougher as you hear soft gasps and moans coming out from her. There's no time for gentleness, and there's definitely no room for any teasing. You're not about to waste much time when there's so little of it to begin with.

“I'm gonna— gonna come—” A bite on her neck challenges her, dares her to let go. And that's exactly what she needs. She clenches around your fingers with a soft cry, making her weak-kneed and leaving that filthy mess of her juices coating your digits.

You keep your fingers moving until you're certain that she's done, and when she finally does settle down, you pull your hand away, licking her slick off of them.

Jinx leans heavily against the door, catching her breath, trying to recover her bearings.

Watching her like this, all flushed and sweaty, makes you want to drag Jinx back to your place and just fuck her right there. You want to put her on your lap, grinding against you, watching her like a piece of art while you stretch her open.

Maybe you'd even tell her how good it feels to have your fingers curled up inside of her, how you can't get enough of how good she feels wrapped up in your arms,and how the taste of her on your tongue never fails to make you crave more.

Maybe you'd even tell her how much you find yourself missing her when you're apart, how you spend more time searching for her across the campus. Maybe you'd even go as far as to admit out loud that you want to kiss her just as much as you want to eat her out.

...and yet you hold all of that stuff back because, in the end, you're not a fool. Jinx doesn't do nice things, sweet words or soft whispers. She's rough, blunt, harsh, a rough diamond, more trouble than she's worth.

Still, you can't stop yourself from wanting to pull her closer to you, just to hold on. So you do. Hands finding the bare skin of her waist, where her cropped top ends, and you let your fingers trail up and down that patch of bare skin.

“You okay?”

The question just slips off your tongue, and the second it does, you cringe at how soft it sounds.. it's because of the stupid, weird feeling that's currently squeezing your heart.

“Shut up, that was-” Jinx starts to say, but she cuts herself off when she hears your question, eyes narrowing slightly and she just looks at you for a second, gaze calculating. Her expression then softens a bit, and she sighs. Maybe she likes how soft you sound, maybe she doesn’t. “Yeah. I'm okay.”

You feel better that Jinx actually says it, and you smile. “Good.”

Jinx scoffs, but she returns the smile. It's just a small smile that most people would pass by, miss, forget, but it's there. Maybe you would have missed it too, except you know her, so you see it. That gives you some kind of stupid, foolish hope. And that stupid, foolish hope starts to make its way over.

Slowly, the smile fades from both of your faces, and she's just looking at you.You don't know what she's looking for, but you hope she doesn't see too much.

You don't want her to see more than what she should, and you don't want her to know how much this (whatever the fuck this is), is starting to mean to you. You don't want her to realize that you've fallen for her, that you're more than just physically attracted to her. Because if she knew that, she might…do something. You're not even sure anymore what she'd do. And you don't know if you could handle whatever rejection she might come up with.

Maybe it's a good thing you don't know. You don't want to know. it's better if you just don't think of it.

Jinx notices you just staring at her, then she rolls her eyes and snorts. “You're so disgusting, dude.” Her gaze then drifts down to the bulge straining your pants, and the smirk that crawls on her face makes your cock twitch. “Need some help with that?”

You huff out a laugh, though the smirk fades away when Jinx's hand touches your belt, and you hear the clinking as she's unbuckling it.

You catch her wrist, stopping her.

She scoffs. “I'm literally trying to be charitable here, and you won't let me?”

“...I don't want to make a mess.”

Jinx grins mischievously “You think a little mess will stop me?” and then she's dropping to her knees in front of you, hands undoing your belt. “You know I'm more than happy to clean up.”

She tugs your pants and underwear, dropping them down to your ankles. At this point, the only thing getting you through this is the knowledge that the door is locked.

Though, Jinx doesn't seem to mind. On the contrary, she's almost smug about it, licking her lips when she sees how hard you are.

She chuckles. “Damn.” Jinx brings her hand up to your cock, running a finger over the tip, watching the small beads of pre cum drip out of the slit. “I know you won't last long.” She then moves her hand around the base and gives it a couple of pumps. “But I'll be nice and make it good for you.”

That earns her a low groan of approval, and you place your hands against the door behind her. “Be quick about it, then.”

Jinx clicks her tongue and laughs, pumping your cock faster. “Don't worry, gorgeous. I'll make this quick.” Without waiting for your response, she guides your already soaked tip across her lips, giving her a lip gloss before she wraps her mouth around it and slowly starts bobbing her head.

Your eyes flutter shut, but the visual is too good for you to keep your eyes closed for long. You look down at her, watching your length disappear between her lips. The bluenette never breaks the eye contact, swirling her tongue around the tip of your dick before she takes it up and down her throat.

That pulls another moan-groan out of your mouth, but with the loud music, it's not like anyone downstairs is going to hear you. Still, you're trying to keep relatively quiet.

Jinx, however, doesn't have that problem, and her loud slurping noise nearly sends you over. Even with your girth stretching her lips, she manages to give you a smirk. She slides her hands down, fingers massaging your balls as she takes your cock deeper into her tight throat. She just keeps moving her head, making sure her tongue is wrapped along your shaft while her eyes stay locked on yours.

“You've gotten good at this, baby...”

Jinx pulls back, lips shiny with pre-cum, licking at the corner of her mouth as saliva drools from her chin. “It's not like I've had any other practice. You're the only one I do this with.” She moves her hand, stroking you and spreading her saliva all over your cock. “Besides, it helps when you have a pretty big one.” She gives you a cheeky smile before her mouth is back on your tip, caressing the slit with a flat tongue.

Despite trying to tease you, Jinx is starting to look desperate. She looks up at you as she starts bobbing her head at an almost reckless pace, sucking your dick deeper with more enthusiasm.

You're not going to last like this, you know it, and so does she. Your hands slip away from the door to cup her head, fingers curling around her braids as the muscles of your stomach tighten. You grip her hair hard as you start fucking her mouth, shoving your cock into her.

Jinx gags herself on your cock with every thrust of your hips, yet her throat willingly takes every inch of you. She looks like a mess, mascara running, drool dripping out of her mouth, and a bit of water in her eyes. Even so, she tries to get you closer, deeper, all the way to the base until her nose touches the skin of your pelvis.

“F-fuck, Jinx— I'm— I'm gonna—”

Jinx nods the best she can while your hands hold firmly to her braids. And that's all it takes. The sound of her name coming from your lips ends up buried by the sound of the party outside the door. You press your hips against her face, releasing your load down her throat, filling her mouth with your cum.

She swallows every last drop until her stomach is full of you, then pulls her head back, your softening, spent cock out of her mouth. Her lips are swollen and glistening, a bit of your cum smeared on her chin. She wipes a finger across her lips, catching the few drops she missed, and licks it off.

After a few minutes of trying to catch your breath, you pull your pants back up and fasten your belt, then reach down to bring her up.

She laughs—not her usual raucous, crazed laugh—and takes your hand, standing up on shaky legs. You then step back, giving her the space she needs to straighten up her clothing. Jinx smooths out her skirt and pulls her top and bra back into place before wrapping her arms around your waist.

She rubs the side of her face against your chest, staining your shirt and smearing her makeup even more. “You ruined my hair.”

The hair is indeed a lost case, her braids now loose and messy. Jinx shakes her head in mild frustration, a few stray locks landing over her face. She huffs and blows them away.

You grin, amused. “Maybe you shouldn't have worn it like this, then.”

“Don't be an ass. It took me forever to do my braids that way, and it was all ruined with your stupid hands pulling on them.” Jinx pushes away from you, groaning. “UGH, I gotta go to the bathroom.”

You snort, and she walks towards the door. She opens it and peeks outside. Once she's sure that no one's around, Jinx then slips out the door and out into the hall, and you follow behind as she heads off to the bathroom.

You lean against the wall outside, waiting, folding your arms over your chest.

An hour or so later, Jinx returns, stopping in front of you with hands on her hips. “How do I look?”

You check her out. She looks much tidier than she did before. the makeup on her face is completely gone, her hair is neater, and her top and skirt are less rumpled.

You drop your arms as you push off the wall. “You look fine.”

That, predictably, gets a scoff out of her. “Just fine? Not gorgeous, not stunning, not ravishing, not perfect, not a goddess? Just fine? I'm offended.”

You roll your eyes, but a grin slips through anyway. “I'm sorry. You look beautiful and ravishing and stunning. I think you're the most gorgeous, alluring, perfect woman in the world.”

Jinx smiles and flicks her braid, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Perfect,” she says. “Let's go.”

You follow her downstairs, which are a lot louder than they were before. You wince at the sound, already preparing yourself for more noise for the rest of the night.

Jinx notices and laughs. “Too loud for you?”

“Ugh, yes. I'm not sure my eardrums will survive the night.”

Jinx laughs again, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. She glances around the house before turning to look at you. “Gotta go get a drink. You go and enjoy the party,” she says, before adding, “And if you happen to wanna leave, just stop and let me know before you do, okay?”

She pats your shoulder, turns and heads off to find a drink. You watch Jinx disappear into the crowd and find that your hand is on your shoulder, fingers rubbing at the spot where she just touched you.

Okay... that one's a bit weird and a little pathetic.

You give yourself a mental slap and turn away, trying to find something to divert your attention.

It's not hard to find something to look at. There's a group of people that are already getting drunk and starting to do stupid things like standing on tables and yelling. Some people are starting to play a card game near the counter, and there's a crowd of people that are cheering them on, and somewhere between all of this and Jinx disappearing behind the crowd, you decide that you really want a drink.

You walk over to the kitchen (where it's slightly better than the rest of the house, honestly). There's more room to breathe, and the noise is more bearable.

You grab a cup near the punch bowl and fill it with some of whatever has been spiked in this thing, then take a drink.

“You need some help with that?” A new voice comes up behind you. You look over. Long blonde hair, pretty eyes with glasses. You've seen her around before but never really talked to her. “Uhm, Lux, by the way.”

“Hmm? Oh, no, I'm good, thanks.” You smile politely. “Just taking a break from the party. It's getting too loud in there.”

“Right?” Lux laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, and then sighs. She comes up to the counter and hops up, then takes a gulp of her own drink. “Honestly? I don't know why I even came here, parties aren't really my thing.”

“Mhmm same.” You nod, relieved that someone feels the same as you. “My friend dragged me here. I'm usually not big on parties either, too many drunk people and loud people and—”

“—too much happening at once.” She finishes your sentence. “I totally get that.”

There's a moment of silence as you and Lux just drink your drinks. Then, she speaks up. “You don't really look familiar…” her eyebrows scrunching up a bit in confusion. “Do you, by any chance, know Jinx?”

“Yeah, I know her,” you say, a bit surprised that she asked. “I'm guessing you do too?”

“I do.” She gives you a small smile. “She and I used to be pretty close back in high school.”

Huh. you didn't know this. You tilt your head at the new information. “You guys don't talk anymore?” you ask out of curiosity.

Lux shrugs at your question. “We still talk sometimes... but not as much as we used to.” A pause. “Are you— are you two close at all?”

“We're close,” you answer without any hesitation. You're a bit curious about why Lux is asking so many questions about you and Jinx.

She nods at your answer. “I figured as much.” Lux looks like she wants to say more, but she suddenly looks in the living room, then a soft snort leaves her nose.

You follow her gaze. And there, in the corner of the room, is Jinx, leaning over the billiard table, lining up a shot.

Except, she's not alone. Behind her is a man, his chin hovering just a few inches from her ear. One of his hands has come up and is cupping one of her elbows. He's telling her to aim at the eight-ball, even though Jinx's clearly not listening and is just laughing at whatever stupid joke he said.

You don't know why, but it pisses you off. Not just a little. A lot.

A scoff leaves your mouth and you turn your attention back to Lux, who is watching you closely. “They seem pretty close.”

Lux hums. “I guess.” She takes a drink from her glass as she looks a little closer at them. “I mean, they've always been like this.” What? Before you can ask, what the fuck does she mean by that, Lux already hops off the counter and smiles at you. “I better go. I think my brother might be looking for me.”

You nod, giving her back a polite smile. “Sure, um, have a good night.”

Lux waves at you before she walks out of the kitchen. You're left standing alone in front of the counter, sipping your drink and watching Jinx and that guy again.

They look comfortable. Too comfortable. Jinx laughs again at something the man says to her. You can see how the guy is leaning close to Jinx, talking directly into her ear, and when he puts his hand on her back, your fingers tighten against your cup a bit.

...

You shouldn't really care. It's not like you're exclusive.

But you do care, and it pisses you off that you do.

...

This is so stupid.

You know how stupid this is, how stupid you are for coming here.

You shouldn't have left that comfortable dorm full of silence and peaceful solitude and gone to this stupid party. You had work to do, after all, and you had come here for what? Only to find your not-so-girlfriend getting comfy and cozy with someone?

Before it really gets to you, you turn, push past people, then leave through the front door.

There's no reason to bother saying goodbye to Jinx. She's already got a guy to hang around, and she's doing just fine without you. You don't need to bother sticking around. You just need to get out of here and try to forget you even came.

It's cold outside. The harsh wind is a painful sting against your bare skin. You shiver, and yet you keep walking, trying to get away from this shithole as quickly as possible.

You're just about to mount your bike to pedal your sorry ass back to your dorm and maybe try to sleep off whatever shitty feelings you're feeling when you hear your name called out. You curse because you'd know that voice anywhere.

Jinx stops in front of you and looks at you with something that you wish you didn't notice.

Concern.

She looks genuinely concerned.

“I thought you'd say goodbye, at least,” Jinx says, a little breathless from hurrying. “Are a you—” she stops to catch her breath. “Are you alright?”

You shrug, pretending to be calm, or at least attempting to. “I'm fine,” you mutter, looking off to the side. “I just…remembered I have this stupid paper due on monday.”

That's bullshit. Jinx knows it, you know it, even your bike knows it. “You're a worse liar than I am.” Jinx steps closer and jabs her index finger against your chest. “What's really going on, huh?”

“Nothing.”

She scoffs. “Stop bullshitting me. Just spill.”

“I said it's nothing, okay?!”

That came out harsher than you intended, and at the tone, Jinx immediately pulls her hand from your chest. She steps back, arms crossing in front of her, and looks at you.

Jinx has this stupid, damn expression, concern and maybe a sense of understanding all over her face, and you want to take her face in your hands and kiss her because you're being such an idiot, but you're also angry for reasons you don't really like to admit out loud.

You can't tell her you're mad as hell about a guy talking to her because you don't have any right to feel that way over someone who isn't even yours to begin with.

“Don't get snappy with me,” Jinx says. “I'm just trying to check up on you, dickhead.”

“I didn't ask you to.”

It comes out bitter and sharp, and Jinx flinches almost unnoticeably.

Her reaction makes your guilty conscience flare up. You're actually being rude to Jinx, and for what? For being concerned about you? For caring? For just wanting to check on you? You really have no idea what the hell is wrong with yourself, and before you can even try to force an apology out of your mouth, Jinx speaks up.

“Fine.” And in a way you hate yourself for noticing, but you swear you hear hurt in her voice. “I'll just go then.”

Jinx turns, and before you can get a word out, she's already walking away. She doesn't look back at you as she vanishes back inside.

...

You shouldn't have come to that stupid party in the first place.

—

A week. Seven days. 168 hours.

One miserable week of pretending to not care. One week of ignoring her. One week that seems to drag on for an entire year.

A week of sitting in lectures while trying not to think about her, only to fail at it. A week of walking past her in the corridors only to have your eyes linger on her for a second too long while you pretend to not look. A week of having to swallow back the urge to go to her dorm because goddamnit, you miss her.

You're actually getting a little bit sick of pretending. A little bit sick of trying to ignore the guilt gnawing away at your heart. And most importantly, you're really sick of not having someone warm to fall asleep next to.

And yet, you didn't chase after her.

You don't even bother to try. How can you? When you're the one who acted like an absolute shithead to her. You don't exactly deserve to even talk to her.

Jinx probably hates you.

You groan to yourself and close the book.

You came here to the library to study, not to sit around and wallow in your feelings like some heartbroken love-struck idiot. Which you are, BUT you could at least be a productive idiot.

You get up and gather your books and notes, stuffing them in your bag. You're done studying, for now, at least. You can try again tomorrow, hopefully when you don't have Jinx dancing around in your brain anymore.

You stretch, feeling your stiff muscles complain, then make your way out of the library. The campus is pretty empty this late at night. Most people are either drinking or asleep by now, which is fine by you. Less people to see you sneaking back to your lonely dorm.

Just as you round the corner, you feel a hand catch the crook of your elbow, firm hold, pulling you to a stop.

“Knew you'd be here.”

You whirl around, about to curse, only to be met with the one person you have been avoiding for the past week.

Jinx's hand keeps a tight grip on you, holding you in place without having to even try.

She's wearing an oversized black shirt along with a pair of pajama pants covered in a pattern of little cartoon bombs with angry eyebrows.

Her eyes meet yours, and your heart does that stupid, fucking annoying thing, beating just a little too fast.

Holy shit. Get yourself together.

You look away, ignoring the rush of feelings that comes with just seeing her again. “I'm going home. What do you want?” You know how they sound—cold, distant. Nothing like you want to sound, but you can't even look at her without wanting to just reach out and touch her.

Jinx lets go of your arm and folds her arms over her chest and cocks her hip, giving you a pointed look. “I'll cut to the chase. Were you jealous of Stephen?”

“Who the fuck is Stephen?”

“You know, the guy I was playing with at the billboard the night of the party? Lux told me you saw us together. Is that why you threw a fucking tantrum because you were jealous?” You scoff, because it's true. Jinx rolls her eyes when you don't answer. “I'm not interested in Stephen, if that's what you're worried about, and he'd sooner die than even look at me like that.”

Then why the hell was he hanging on to her, touching her like that if he didn't—Oh. “Oh...”

“Oh,” Jinx mocks, copying your tone. “Is that what you got out of this? Really? Really?”

You huff, trying to maintain some dignity. “I'm not— doesn't matter. I have to go.” You walk past her, heading towards your dorm.

Jinx groans and follows after you. “You're really that jealous? over a guy who's into dick?” she says as she walks a few steps behind you. “Stephen is just a friend. I've known him since high school.”

You don't grace her with an answer as you walk forward. Yes, you're jealous, which doesn't make sense, because you and Jinx agreed to keep things between you casual. You stop in front of your door and search for your keys while cursing at yourself.

“Seriously? You ignored me for a week just because you were jealous? Just because I was speaking to a friend? A friend I have no attraction towards. A friend I see as like a brother?”

“I'm not.” You unlock the door and head inside. “I just don't like it when someone touches what isn't theirs.”

Jinx just snorts before following you into the room and immediately sits on one of your chairs. She props her feet up on your desk like she owns the place. “Not jealous? Then why do you care who touches what?”

You slam the door shut and drop your bag on the ground. “It bothered me, alr— stop putting your feet on my desk.” You swat her feet off the wood. “Seeing that guy touching you like that, it bothered me more than it should have, and I didn't like how I felt. Sue me.”

Jinx smirks at your words and stands up from the chair, sauntering towards you. “Why's that? afraid that someone's gonna steal me away?”

“I'm not afraid,” you lie and step back until you feel the edge of the bed hitting the back of your knees.

Jinx follows you until you're forced to sit, grinning widely as she stands over you. She chuckles and leans forward, putting her knee on the bed between your thighs. “No? You could've fooled me.”

You lean back, propped on your elbows as you look up at Jinx. A hand comes up to cup the side of your face. Her thumb brushes over your lip before trailing down your throat, chest, and hip, where she tugs on your belt loops and pops it open.

“It's cute how possessive you're being, but also kinda stupid.”

Jinx runs her fingers down the buttons of your pants, taking her time and teasing you. Once they're undone, she pushes them down.

You bite back the low groans that try to crawl up your throat when you feel her knees brush against your clothed cock. She notices, then presses down on you even more, biting her lip like she just found something delicious to eat.

“Definitely stupid if you think I'm gonna let anyone come between us.” Jinx toys with the edge of your underwear, pulls it down, your cock springing up towards her. “Like I'd let someone else touch me when I've already got you to do it better, hm?”

She wraps her fingers around your shaft, just barely, just enough to tease. Her thumb rubs across the sensitive head.

“Look at this,” Jinx murmurs, and you're pretty sure your brain will short-circuit when you hear her say, “I missed you.”

You hiss softly. You're not entirely sure if she means you or your cock, and honestly, does it even matter?

Jinx takes her hands off your dick and tuts, annoyed with your silence. “What's wrong? Don't wanna speak? Fine. I know for sure you won't be quiet when your dick's down my throat.”

She slides off the bed and kneels down between your spread thighs, eyeing your dick shamelessly. Jinx wraps her fingers around you again, and when you buck your hips, she just laughs at you, the sound of it vibrates around your cock.

“Mmmh, so desperate for my attention. You should've just told me that you were being stupid and jealous. Could've saved yourself a week and gotten this sooner.”

Jinx pauses long enough to lean down, and—oh, fuck, you almost choke on a moan when you feel her tongue drag around the head of your cock, licking the precum.

“Don't say I haven't missed you, too, because I have. Just couldn't stand how childish you were being.”

Jinx sucks your tip, swirls her tongue around the slit, and swallows you until you can feel the tip of your cock brush against the back of her throat. Her hand slides down your shaft to fondle your balls. She moans around it, gagging on you as she tries to take more.

You thread your hand into her hair, gently at first, then tighten and pull on it so hard she moans again. Jinx takes your cue, moving with the rhythm you set, head bobbing to the pace you dictate as you shove your cock into her mouth.

Glancing down, you see her lips are stretched wide around your cock, hollowed to the point where you can see the outline of your length through her skin. Your grip on her braids has worked loose her hair, the strands hanging around her face, framing her eyes.

You don't realize how loud you are until you hear yourself: “Fuck, Jinx... Jinx... Jinx, I'm—”

Hearing you call her name, Jinx grins as much as she can with her mouth stuffed full of your cock. Then she pulls back, giving your tip one teasing circle around the edge of her tongue before she lets you escape from her mouth.

“Don't you dare ignore me ever again.” Jinx squeezes your balls just a bit, enough to serve as a silent warning. “Got it?”

“Got it,” you gasp, because right now, you'd promise basically any goddamn thing if she'd stop squeezing your balls.

Jinx hums, and the pressure eases off of your poor, abused family jewels. She pats your balls gently like a dog that's been good and leans her face down, her cheek brushing the sensitive head of your cock.

“Good. You're smarter than I give you credit for.” Jinx drags her tongue up the underside of your shaft, all the way to the tip. “And here I thought your brain had been replaced with your other head.” She presses a kiss on the tip, the softest kiss, like a sweet reward. “Now, do you want it in my mouth again…or do you have something else in mind, hm?”

“You know what I want...” you groan, and your hips buck back towards her mouth reflexively.

Jinx smirks, giving your split-slicked cock another light kiss, this one a little firmer...but just a tease. “Oh yeah? Then why don't you tell me?”

You swallow, breathing hard. “I want… I want to fuck you, Jinx—”

A low, husky chuckle falls off her lips. Then, her fingers slip inside her pants. You can hear them rub against her and hear how wet she already is.

“Is that what you really want?” Jinx asks, a sly smile on her lips as she slides her soaked fingers out of her pants, holding them up in front of her face. “Think you deserve it?”

Seeing her like this has your hands clenching the bedsheets tightly, and your cock throbs so painfully that it makes you curse, “F-fuck— please, just… I want… I want to be inside you.”

Jinx's eyes go heavy-lidded at the sound of your curses, and then her focus drops to your aching, hard length. She smirks before she brings her fingers to her mouth, sucks them clean, swirling her tongue around her middle and forefinger, then slides between them up to the knuckle.

She moans softly, eyes closing for a while, letting the taste soak into her senses, and then they open again, locking onto you once more.

“Oh, someone's eager.” Jinx pulls them out with a pop when she's done. “But, you know... I don't know if you really deserve it, you did ignore me for a week, after all. It really hurt my feelings.”

“I'm sorry,” you croak, watching her get off her knees. “I promise it won't happen. Not again. I won't shut you out. I won't avoid you. Just come here, please.”

Her hand pats your head in a condescending sort of way. “I know, but can you keep your word this time? Or are you just going to ditch me for a week again, you dumbfuck?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I wont. It was stupid. I was angry, but not at you and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. Just, please. I want you. Need you.”

Jinx's expression softens, and so does her tone. She climbs on top of your lap, hands resting on your shoulders. “You're forgiven, but if you ignore me again, I'm cutting off your balls.”

You have no doubt that she will. “Understood.”

“Hmm, good,” Jinx murmurs before she threads her hand in your hair and leans down to kiss you. You gasp against her lips, making it easier for her tongue to slip into your mouth, and you open for her eagerly, without protest.

There are too many clothes, too much fabric, and it's starting to be a problem. Jinx seems to be thinking the same thing because she breaks the kiss to pull her shirt off, then tosses it aside to the pile of clothes that scattered at the bottom of the bed.

Your hand slips behind her, finding the clasp of her bra, then undo it, slipping the strap over her shoulders, her arms, before it drops to the floor. Running your lips over her collarbones, Jinx tips her head back, exposing more of her pale skin. You bite and kiss your way across her chest, stopping to pay attention to her pink nipples.

Jinx shudders as you lick her, flicking the bud with your tongue, fingers pulling your hair a little too hard, and you lift your head from her chest, grumbling softly.

You bite her nipple in response, which causes her to gasp. “Oh fuck—” her voice softens and she giggles “—that feels good.”

Jinx grabs your face, pulling you away from her chest for another kiss. You taste your own blood as she captures your bottom lip with her teeth. You pull away, licking the tiny amount of blood from your lip, then wrap your arm around her hips and flip the both of you, pinning her to the mattress.

She just chuckles and spreads her legs wider, letting you kneel between them. You kiss her neck, pausing to suck on the soft skin of the junction between her neck and shoulder, hands moving down to her pants, pushing them off her hips. Jinx lifts them up to make it easier for you to strip her bare. Once it's off, you toss it to the floor.

“So fucking perfect,” you say when you get a good look at her. “So wet, just for me, Jinx—”

Jinx shivers and her breath stutter, teeth sinking into her lip as you brush your fingers over her panties, feeling the dampness soak through her underwear.

“Hurry— ah— get the condom and get it now,” she says impatiently, hooking her thumbs over the waistband of her panties and pulling them down her thighs, kicking them off.

You climb off the bed, dig through the drawer, then pull out a condom. Tearing the package open, you turn around and find Jinx has flipped over, stomach pressed against the sheets, looking back at you over her shoulder with her ass sticking up in the air.

Damn.

You have to grab the base of your dick to keep yourself from losing it just from the sight of her. The condom hangs in your hand, and you're so distracted you almost don't hear the way she says, “If you don't be in me in ten seconds, I'll take matters into my own hands.”

That is what snaps you back. No way you're letting her use her fingers, especially when you already have your cock throbbing and leaking because of her.

“Yeah, I'm— I'm working on it, hold on, you impatient—” You stumble and climb back onto the bed, kneeling behind her. Hands a little clumsy as you roll on the condom. It's hard to think when your eyesight gets a little blurry from how horny you are.

“Just— fuck, come on—” Jinx pushes her hips back, and you run your hand over her ass, using your other hand to line yourself up, rubbing the head of your cock against her slit. “Just put it— ah fucking finally—” she gasps out as you push yourself in, bracing your hand on the mattress by her hip.

She's so wet that it's easy to slide your cock in. Her words are all you can hear as you push down a little onto the bed, kneeling down to kiss her shoulder blades. “You're perfect, so good, so perfect, your body, your voice, the way you look—”

“The way I feel?”

A grin curves your mouth into a sharp smile. “Especially the way you feel.” The words are pressed against the arch of her spine, tracing kisses down her back.

Jinx giggles, which melts to a faint whimper when you snap your hips into her. She reaches back, grabbing your hip and digging into your skin. “Come on, you've done this before, shouldn't you be a bit more— ahh— a little better at it, you shithead.”

You huff out a small laugh. She's already impatient, always is, and you just got inside her. “It's just— it hasn't been that long.” Just a week, to be exact. But still.

“Then you gotta make up for lost time,” Jinx replies breathily, wiggling her ass to urge you on. “Make it count.”

“Yeah,” you drawl, pulling out your aching, dripping cock until just the tip rests around the edge of her cunt before slamming your whole length back into her glistening hole, making her body jerk forward “I'll make it count.”

You do it again and again, pulling out and driving yourself back into her, each motion more rigorous. Both hands move to hold her down by her shoulders, pushing her torso against the sheets as you fuck her deeper, burying yourself balls deep inside her.

“That's— that's what I thought— oh, fuck!” Jinx chokes out, eyes fluttering with every thrust.

Her face is squished into the pillow, the fabric already messed up and damp from her drooling mouth, while her hands grip the sheets, fingers twisting in the cloth.

She manages to reach out and grip the headboard. “Fuck— I missed your cock, missed you—”

Her voice sounds like she's high. High off your body. High off your cock. You wish like hell you got a record of her pretty mouth saying stuff like that. “Say it again. Tell me how much you missed this. How much you missed me.”

Jinx has the nerve to laugh, or tries to, but it quickly turns into a guttural groan, throat getting rough halfway through. “So, so much,” she says, hips rolling. “I missed you so fucking much. So many nights, alone, wishing you were here, touching me, filling me up— ah, like this.”

You take your hand off her shoulders, grip replaced by your arm wrapped around her chest to keep her balance, pulling her up onto her knees and pushing her against the headboard as you pound into her at such a rough and brutal pace.

“I missed you too.” you breathe next to her ear, lips tracing the shell. “I'm so fucking stupid for ignoring you.”

You kiss her shoulder, as if in apology, then slam your hips against hers with enough force to nearly send her head forward and colliding into the wall.

Jinx moans with her mouth hanging open, like she can barely breathe, as she braces herself against the headboard. Fingers digging into the wood so hard, it leaves scratches. She pushes back into you, meeting every single one of your thrusts with her own, forcing herself to take your cock as deep as she can. “Oh, fuck— you're so big— gonna make— fuck, I can't, I can't hold it—”

The heat builds up in your body, something hot and tight in your groin, and you can feel your body start trembling, starting from your toes. “Yeah, me too, baby— come with me, Jinx—”

Jinx leans her head backwards, back against your shoulder, head tilted just enough that your face is nuzzled into her cheek while your cock stretches her open. “T-touch me, please— I need you to touch me.”

You keep your pace, relentless and rough. Your hand leaves her waist, palm cupping her breasts, thumb rubbing over her nipple. The other hand goes down, fingers slipping in between her thighs, finding her clit and rubbing it in tight, small circles, in sync with the rocking of your hips, coaxing her to the edge.

Jinx turns her head, lips barely touching. “Ah, gonna— I'm gonna— oh—” her voice trembles, and she clenches around you before she comes, body arching back and trembling in your grip. Her juices spray all over the sheets, dripping down her thighs.

You aren't far behind, groaning into her ear as your hips lose rhythm and spilling your load into the condom.

Sighing, Jinx falls forward on the sheets, and you drop your head, resting on her shoulder for a second as both of you try to get air back into your lungs and to bring your heart rate back down. Then Jinx smacks your hip lightly, so gently you pull out, collapsing onto the side with a groan, one arm wrapped around her waist.

You brush some of her hair out of her face, tucking some behind her ear before you lean closer, gently kissing her shoulder. “You okay?”

Jinx doesn't answer.

You push yourself up on one elbow, leaning the side of your head on your palm. “Water?” you try again, and this time there is a grunt to let you know that she heard you at least.

Jinx lifts her head and twists a bit to peer at you with one eye. “Yeah. Water sounds good, yeah. Bring me a towel as well, please, I don't want to move, my legs feel like jelly.”

You smile before kissing her shoulder once more, then slip out of bed, tossing the used condom into the garbage on your way to grab what she wants.Once you come back with a glass of water and a washcloth, Jinx has managed to pull herself a bit higher on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

You pass her the water first, watching as Jinx greedily gulps it down before she sets it on the nightstand. “Thanks.”

Then you sit down on the edge of the bed and use the washcloth to clean off the rest of her mess. As you do, your mind drifts to the part you hate. Your feelings for her.

There are a lot of things Jinx could be, but to her core, she is a person obsessed with excitement and thrill. A thrill-seeker. A hedonist. She got bored easily. With her short attention span, it was a matter of time before she found something more interesting than you.

“Hey.” Her voice interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to see her staring at you with a slight frown on her lips “Why are you looking so serious all of a sudden?”

Fuck.

You force a smile on your face and finish cleaning her up. “Mmmm, no real reason. Just thinking.” When you're done, you crumple up the cloth and toss it on the floor.

Jinx reads through your bullshit instantly, head tilting to the side, eyebrow arching in an oddly innocent, yet knowing gesture, and says “You're bullshitting me.” Then pats the open space on the bed next to her, beckoning you. “Come here.”

You almost roll your eyes affectionately and shift to sit back against the headboard next to her. Jinx scoots closer, resting her head on your shoulder, then drapes her leg over yours.

Jinx presses a kiss on your throat, then smiles when she brushes her nose against the underside of your jaw. “Stop thinking so much,” she says, voice soft in a way that she doesn't usually use. “You know I'm yours, right?”

“I know, but...” Just not the way you want her to be.

She pulls back to look at you, squinting her eyes. “But...?”

“I mean, not in a 'official way',” you say, then press a kiss on her forehead, trying to put up a nonchalant front. “Just a fun, you and me thing, no strings attached, right?” You try to play it off like a joke, as if the mere suggestion of being more than this makes you gag.

Jinx rolls her eyes and pulls out of your grip. “Wow, wow, 'just fun, no strings attached'? You're a dick, you know that?”

Inwardly, you berate yourself for that response, because she's right, that was kind of a dick thing of you to say, but you're so desperate not to have this slip away from you.

You grab her wrist, pulling her back to your side. “I'm just—” you flounder for a moment, “I'm just— I'm worried that you're gonna get tired of this eventually. You get bored of things way too easily—”

Jinx sighs and her face falls, and she looks more exhausted than anything. “And… you think I'm gonna get bored of you somehow?” The last part is spoken with a note of disbelief, then she shakes her head, as if she's trying to brush off some thoughts. “Damn it, dude— you're a complete idiot, you know that? I like you. Like…” she makes a vague, helpless gesture “I actually like your stupid ass and I don't know how to convince you of that.”

Something clenches in your chest, and you're not sure if it's your heart or your stomach, or maybe both, when you look at her. You've spent so long believing that this whole thing is temporary, only something casual, that the thought that you could be more to her never even crossed your mind.

“You—” You swallow, throat suddenly dry. “You like me as a friend... or...?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes again, and it helps the sudden rise of hope in your chest because it's a familiar gesture that you've always known. “Or?” Jinx deadpans. “How are you so smart and so stupid at the same time? Do I have to spell it out for you? Do I really have to say I like you, you thick-head, I'm not just messing around with you to pass the time—”

“No, I get it—”

Jinx grabs your face in her hands, forcing you to look into her eyes. “I like you, dickhead. I want to be with you. Got it? Do I need to get that through that thick skull of yours? That is not that big of a concept to comprehend, is it? I care. About. You. I don't care if it's casual or official or whatever, I just want you, dumbass.”

You blink and then blink again because holyshitholyshitHOLYSHIT. It's just so insane how quickly everything you thought you'd figured out gets turned on its head, and all you're left with is trying to figure out how you were so dumb, so blind, so stupid-

Jinx is looking at you like that, all fierce and determined and beautiful, and that's when you remember that you should probably say something.

You're not the best with words, but you're so desperate to get everything straight to not lose her, so you grab her hips and pull her into your lap, wrapping your arms around her bare waist, and press your face into the crook of her shoulder.

Jinx huffs out a soft laugh, then wraps her legs around your waist, arms around your neck. “I like you, idiot. Not just as a friend. And if you ever say 'casual' and 'no strings attached' to me again, I'm strangling you with my bare hands—” she pauses when she feels something underneath “—why'd you get a boner all of a sudden, you dipshit?”

“That, uh—” You're a smart person, smart enough to know that your body's basic biological needs have… a very short and simple function, but it's still kind of embarrassing to have your body out of you like this. “Sorry, I couldn't help it, so just ignore it, please—”

“Are you serious? we're having a heartfelt conversation here and you get a boner like a fucking teenager? Like I said, idiot.” her fingers run over your collarbone, nails dragging lightly over bare skin. “And you're telling me to ignore it, as if it's not poking at me right now.”

“I can't help it if my dick has the shittiest timing, alright? It's not like I can just shut it down like a switch— mhmm fuck—”

Jinx grinds her hips down in your lap. The wetness between her legs rubs against your length.

You swear to whatever god there may be, there is, because it takes everything you have not to make some kind of pathetic whimpering sound at the friction against your still-hard cock.

“Jinx, baby, you have to stop. I-I can't focus if you do that. I can't think straight if you're—”

“So don't think then, idiot. You're just thinking too much with that brain of yours again.” Jinx wraps her hand around your cock, then you almost choke when she moves, shifting until it's pressed firmly against her slit. “Just shut up for once, and just think with your dick.”

“You're— you're not even tired?”

“Not yet.” Jinx grins and gives your cock a little squeeze. “I can be good for more than one round, thought you already knew that.”

Holy shit…how long was she expecting you to last if you already know she's planning to wring you out like a goddamn towel? One of these days, your dick's going to have an actual heart attack from all the abuse it's been getting from her over the years, and you're never going to get it back up again.

You swallow at the thought, and she laughs under her breath at whatever face you must be making. “I did know that, but you were complaining about your legs feeling like jelly, so I just assumed you'd—”

“Shut up, I can do this,” Jinx says, and suddenly lifts herself up on her knees, using your shoulders for balance. “Shut up, okay? I need to make my point, get it through to you, that I like you. How I want to be with you. Not just a casual thing—”

“Wait, let me get the—”

“No. Let's just do it.”

…

“…without it?”

“Without it… if that's okay."

You don't think you've ever nodded that fast in your life. All you want is to prove to her over and over that you like her back, no strings attached or not.

“Good.” Jinx presses a kiss right on your cheek. “Now that we know that you're not just a dumbfuck with a pretty face,” she purrs, “how about you live up to the hype and pound me into the mattress until I can't walk, hmm?”

Her words go straight to your aching, throbbing cock, and that's when you realize that she is going to drive you to an early grave. “I think— I think I can manage that. But… um—” You lick your lips, eyes darting down to stare at her chest. “Turn around, please.”

Jinx smiles and pecks your lips in a quick kiss, then spins around, facing away from you. So fucking hot. She knows it too, throwing you a smug smile over her shoulder. Hands resting on your legs to support herself.

Jinx raises herself up, takes your cock in her hand again, and runs the head of it through her slick folds before she lowers herself, sinking all the way down until you fill her up.

You throw your back against the headboard, head resting against the hard wood with a thunk. “Oh, fuck, Jinx—”

The condom's been a barrier for so long, you can't believe you're getting to feel her like this. Your bare cock buried deep inside her pussy is the best thing you've ever felt. Now it makes sense why she wanted to do it this way.

“Thought you said you wanted to make me live up to that dick, and now you're trying to make me lose it immediately?”

She has the audacity to giggle, followed by a soft sigh of pleasure, as she begins rocking her hips back and forth, squeezing tight around your cock. Your hands move up to grip the sharp edge of her hip bones while your eyes roam over her body. She keeps taking your length, adjusting to your size until she finally gets the hang of her rhythm.

Jinx leans forward, back bent, ass pushed out, like she's making sure you can get a damn good view of how well she's taking you, your dick stretching her pussy out, all red and swollen, wet and shiny with her juice.

She looks back at you, eyes heavy-lidded, lips pressed to a wicked smile. “So... is this a good argument so far?”

You can only let out a groan. You have to admit, she's got a really, really strong argument, and you're going to let her rub it in.

“I'm taking that as a 'yes.'” Jinx chuckles, breathless from the cock spearing her open. “You seem to understand things better when you have concrete evidence right in front of you, hm? Maybe if I do it every day, things will finally stick in that thick skull of yours.”

You nod dumbly, too focused on the way her ass jiggles whenever it hits your pelvis. “Uh-huh. Y-you make a really good point. I need a lot of, uh, visual aids to get it into my thick skull. And practice. Lots of, um, practice. Maybe, uh, once a day or twice or— or god, maybe even three times if we really tried.”

The laugh you get out of her is worth your shitty attempt at dirty talk, and her mouth spreads into a cocky grin. “Maybe? 'Maybe'? Baby, I think we could do three times a day minimum and that's not even factoring all the other fun things I can do.”

You shiver at the images her words put in your head. “Y-yeah. We're... really gonna need to work on my stamina, too. And, like... my willpower. And... patience, yeah. God, your pussy is really gonna test all of those, isn't it—”

Jinx laughs again, which turns into a sharp gasp. She likes that. You get the impression that maybe you're learning how to say the right things.

She starts to move faster, thighs burning as she keeps grinding and bouncing on your cock, riding you for all she's worth, nails sinking into your legs.

You bring both of your hands down to her ass, giving it a pat, which turns into a squeeze, then you pull her cheeks apart, spreading her wide. The pad of your thumb circles around her rim, watching how it twitch.

“You like that?” and when you press your thumb closer to her rim, like you're thinking of trying to push into that tight little hole, Jinx clenches, clamping down so hard, you can't help but groan.

“Like it? I'd be offended if you haven't noticed that I love it by now.” She clenches again to make her point. “Are you— are going to play with me like that all night, or are you going to do something more with that— ah!” She gasps when your hand spanks down on her ass hard enough to leave a red handprint across her pale skin.

“Sorry— does it h—”

“Harder,” Jinx demands, arching her back, and you're not even really surprised when she says, “Spank me, you coward,” over her shoulder.

Not missing a beat, you bring your hand down and smack her ass again and again and again, leaving an even redder mark. With each smack, her walls constrict, inner muscles clenching around your dick. The sound of your hand against her ass is the only thing you can hear, bouncing off the walls.

Jinx's arms falter, dropping to her forearms as she fucks herself on your cock, one hand gripping the edge of the bed, bouncing faster and faster that you can hardly follow, as if she's going to crush you against the mattress underneath her. Your eyes dart down, seeing the other hand between her legs, and she rubs at her clit furiously, chasing that high.

“Ah, fuck— I think I'm gonna—” then, suddenly, she goes tense, her breathing hitches, and for a horrifying second you think you're in trouble, but then—Jinx cries out, and you realize she's coming, body shuddering and legs shaking.

Grabbing both of her hips, you lift her up and meet her with the snap of your own, fucking the orgasm out of her. After her high, you pull out, and Jinx is left overstimulated and trembling.

You sit up, then wrap an arm around her middle, pulling her flushed back against your chest, hands caressing over her ribcage.

Jinx huffs but goes still, and you kiss the side of her neck, lips traveling up to her jaw, finally landing on her ear.

“Are you okay?”

She nods vaguely, catching her breath, then, a breathy laugh escapes her. “You didn't finish.”

“Yeah, can you help me?” you ask. “Please?”

“Mmmm.” Jinx's response sounds more like a purr, and she leans back in your grip, head tilting to the side, exposing more of her throat to your mouth, which presses more kisses to her skin. At your words, she says, “So polite,” the words are half-teasing and half-grateful.

Her hand drifts down between her legs, grabbing the base of your shaft, her palm already a bit slick. “How—” she pauses to rub over your sensitive head with her fingers, sliding up and down the length, smearing the mess of her juices on your skin. “How do you want it, baby?”

You bite her earlobe at the pet name, fingers drifting from her hip, tracing over her skin, all the way down to her inner thigh. “...I wanna see you. Want to look at you.”

Jinx smiles before pressing one final kiss on your cheek. “Okay” She wriggles out of your grip, then rolls to the side, flopping onto the bed, bracing one hand on the headboard, the other on the mattress. She spreads her legs, giving you a view of her glistening slit, beckoning you to crawl over her.

You settle yourself between her legs, taking one of the pillows and shoving it under her ass. One of your hands grabs the back of her knee, pushing them forward until it's up, while the other strokes your cock, running the tip through her folds to gather some of her juices.

Jinx bites down on her own lip as she shifts her hips, trying to get you to finally push into her. “Would you stop playing with yourself and put it in already? I'm literally right here. I have a perfectly good pussy that's wasted.”

Her words are as filthy as your thoughts, which, if possible, gets you even harder. Leaning forward, you take your hand off your dick and rest it on the pillow next to her head, using it as leverage while slowly pushing your hips forward, sinking back into her pussy. Her velvety walls clench around your girth as you drive deep into her from tip to hilt.

“You all right? Does this— Is it good?” you ask when you're all the way in.

“I think— I think you know the answer by now, baby.” Jinx lifts her hands to grab at your shoulders and locks her ankles behind your back, trying to pull you down. You let her, settling onto your elbows before you press a kiss on her shoulder.

Every sound that escapes her mouth—the ragged breathing, the gasps and sighs, the way Jinx moans your name—makes you go faster, deeper, and with every hard thrust, her breath turns hotter, heavier. You lean back just to watch the rhythmic bouncing of Jinx's breasts as you repeatedly drill yourself deeper inside her.

Goosebumps erupt on her skin as Jinx adjusts to your pace. A slender hand slides from your shoulders to your waist; she grips the edge of your shirt and drags it up to your mouth, keeping it out of the way.

Your eyes meet hers, then bite the fabric, holding it with your teeth. The muscles in her stomach jump and move with each snap of your hips as you keep hammering into her relentlessly.

Jinx presses her hand against your stomach, your abdomen tightens at the touch. “Fuck, you look so—” she breathes, tongue licking her lips. “You're so hot—” Her gaze moves, drifting away from your face to watch herself take you in, cock disappearing inside of her again and again. “You're— hah— too damn big. I can't— aah— I could see you under my stomach when you're this deep. You fill me up so well.”

Your teeth let go of the shirt, letting it fall onto her breasts. Her comment makes you shiver, the praise of her words causing you to bury your face into her neck.

With her legs still wrapped around you, you thrust forward, knees and elbows digging into the mattress to spread her thighs wide open while you fuck her deeper, making sure Jinx takes your entire length, your balls slapping against her skin.

You pound into her with such force that the bed begins to rock, banging against the wall. The sound of the headboard scraping into the wall should probably make you worry, but the way she clenches around you is worth whatever you'll have to pay in repair costs.

The hand on your stomach slides lower, then a finger dips into her slick. Jinx rubs her own swollen clit, and you hear her wince. Too sensitive. You push your body back up, bracing on one elbow, then swat her hand, replacing it with your own, circling her clit with your fingers.

A long whine escapes her, and she tosses her head to the side when you apply more pressure to her sensitive, needy little bud. “Mmphh— baby, j-just like that!” Jinx gasps out back arching, pushing her chest up to meet yours.

You clench your jaw, cock twitching and pulsing inside her as you feel the heat pooling deep and spreading from your groin, through your stomach, up to your chest, and to the tips of your ears. “Jinx, I don't think I can last much longer—”

Jinx pulls your head down by the back of your neck and bites the crook of your shoulder. “Inside me— I want it, want it all, want to feel you— come on, fill me up. Make me yours.”

Hearing how she needs you, how much she wants you in her, is like a snap. The fingers around her swollen clit start to move faster, circling, rubbing, trying to match the pace of your thrusts.

Jinx comes in a matter of seconds, body shaking and legs trembling, hissing from the overstimulation. You follow soon after, gripping the sheets as you come inside her, yet you keep going, shoving back every drop of your cum that tries to spill out of her.

It's not until Jinx lightly pushes you off your shoulder that you finally stop. You slump forward, face first into the pillow next to her, breathing heavily.

Jinx shifts under you, laughing softly, then presses a kiss against your temple and says, “…Did I make my point clear, dumbass?” The only response you can give is a tired grunt, which makes her laugh again.

After gathering enough energy to lift your body from hers, you slide your cock out, then look down at the cum dripping from her and down the sheets.

Jinx looks at you and waggles her eyebrows like it's a game. She then reaches down to scoop the cum that's leaking from her, bringing those same fingers up to her lips. She sticks her fingers into her mouth and sucks them clean, moaning around them while keeping eye contact with you, as if the taste of your cum mixed with hers is her new favorite thing.

“Gross,” you manage to say, but it's more reflex than anything. There's no disgust, because the sight of her enjoying the way you taste on her tongue does something to you, which is how Jinx ends up laughing again and pinching your cheek. You huff and collapse onto the space next to her.

Jinx gets up and crawls over you, straddling your hips. You let out a sigh at her weight. “Come on...” she coos. “I still have a lot more visual aids to show you.” She leans back, hands bracing on your thighs, and the smile on her face makes you roll your eyes to the heavens.

“You're—” You swallow, blinking a few times. “You're... a really, really persuasive person. I don't think I have any more cum left in me...”

“Mmm, really now?” Jinx asks, and the sly glance she gives your dick tells you it wasn't a genuine question more than a challenge. “I think you've got plenty for me to play with.”

“Uh...” You glance down at your cock, eyes widening to see that it's hardening again despite just having come. “You're a bad influence on this body part, did you know that?”

“No, I didn't,” she drawls, eyes darkening as she watches your shaft harden in front of her. “But I'm definitely going to make a note of that.” The tip of her finger brushes up the length of your growing cock. “Looks like I'm doing a good job convincing that last bit of your brain that it can't live without me. I should work harder on the rest.”

“You're just— God. If I die from exhaustion tomorrow, you're paying for my burial.”

jinx:

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anghraine · 1 day ago

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#i kept this in drafts for a long time thinking i would write some clever comment here#but obviously not now#anyway it's just really! good! to read#because this whole reading of kirk as a strongly masculine character keeps me stuck#like did you guys even watch this show?#and while i now understand better where all this kirk drift came from it's honestly such a lousy story#this is probably one of the most notable misinterpretations of the character /for the worse/ over time (via @betty-fran)

Thank you very much!

Easily one of the biggest surprises for me, when I marathoned the whole show, was what I affectionately think of as the "Captain Gender" scenes scattered throughout it. The fluidity of Kirk's navigation of gender performance in TOS, him being either unconcerned or aggressively deliberate about leaning into feminine conventions when it's either useful or he simply feels like it, is so fun and refreshing after so much modern media that feels like... at best, toothless corporate queernorm that is fundamentally reactionary about gender in a way that TOS couldn't have really imagined even while navigating the iron grip of what could be nationally syndicated in 1966 and their own assumptions.

I especially enjoy that it's one thing if Kirk chooses to adopt a more conventionally masculine role for this or that situation—but if he's pressured into taking on a restrictively gendered role, he's going to be a lot more uncomfortable being cornered into being Charlie's father figure than Nomad's mother figure. Even at his most masculine, that's never all or most of what he is, or how he seems to really even understand gender as a person.

It's not even that his way of understanding/engaging with gender is perfect or anything; it's very true to how he feels, but not by any means for everyone. But I do find the contrast between his theatrical performativity vs the alternative but inflexible supreme masculinity of Spock and the comfortable familiarity of McCoy's just really fascinating—and extremely surprising from their reputations, especially Kirk's.

But even fan spaces that dislike Kirk Drift tend to have a strong preference for binding him tightly to masculinity even beyond what Spock and McCoy get. Some is no doubt influenced by the movies, which work to masculinize him (as the original "Kirk Drift" article pointed out, iirc!), but it was definitely a shock to have so much of a sense of not just the awful pop culture take on him but also even the friendlier, not at all dudebro fannish takes that define him so overwhelmingly with masculinity, and then to watch even sketchy episodes like "Who Mourns for Adonais?" and realize this is the character they're talking about:

So I just discovered a cool conversation that spun off from one of my tag monologues on a gifset—I'd seen the initial tag peer review, but hadn't realized they'd gone further than that until @ladytharen tagged me. Yet again I didn't want to pester the original gifmaker too much, so I decided to respond separately to the part I found especially interesting.

For context, these were my original tags on the "This little thing? Just something I slipped on :)" Kirk captivity scene from "Tomorrow is Yesterday":

#captain gender strikes again! #i appreciate the read on this scene as 'captain kirk is a queer guy flirting with random 20th cent dudes holding him captive. bicon' #but personally my read is 'captain kirk is a queer guy deliberately leaning into effeminacy to fuck with hypermasc douchebros #from the very era in which the show was made irl. bicon' #it's definitely flirty but it is an aggressively feminine-coded flirtiness that's going to triply bother these kinds of guys #ngl i feel like kirk enjoys fucking with gender norms in all directions just because of who he is as a person (his true gender: diva) #but it's extra fun when it lets him troll ultra-military assholes neurotic about their own masculinity who are trying to intimidate HIM #(these guys aren't his type at all - christopher is much more that - but as usual that's not the point of the flirtation #k/s is nerd4nerd but also troll4troll)

I was really intrigued by this response from @mycroftrh, and thinking about it again on this inauguration of Pride month.

#yeah#in a certain context queerness and effeminacy are power#these are also unfortunately often the same contexts where queerness can get you hate crimed#but if you’re gonna be beat up/killed anyway…#you might as well make the homophobes maximally uncomfortable first

Yep, exactly. You can absolutely see the moment when he decides on exactly which side of his personality he's going to use for maximum effect on these gender policing, homophobic, ultra-military, paranoid bigots from the 60s:

I do think it's interesting that the full scene includes not only Kirk's bisexual chaos gremlin diva genderfuckery (enrichment for him!) but moments of fear and defiance:

He doesn't drop the flamboyance until he wants to, though. And the framing, lighting, angles etc only serve to emphasize their attempts to loom even more over him, aggressively get into his space, gesture right at his face to unsettle him, and his refusal to be intimidated by these fundamentally pathetic responses that are by no means free from real danger, just silly and contemptible nevertheless. It's not that he's too disdainful or amused at his own hijinks to understand how easily this could go very wrong. He simply has no respect for these men and enjoys leveraging their own hang-ups against them.

His eye make-up is also more than usually noticeable in the close-ups in this scene—even compared to other scenes in the same episode—which seems maybe not unrelated!

I think it's also worth pointing out that, TOS make-up aside, Kirk's navigation of gender performance in the original series is ... let's say, idiosyncratic. Most of the 23rd-century male characters are far more inflexible and singular about what gendered roles they're willing or able to inhabit. Kirk specifically is very deliberately fluid and versatile and theatrical about a lot of things, very much including gender performance and sexuality.

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minijenn · 1 day ago

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The Ultimate Universe Falls Starter Guide!

Hey, you! You, reading this post! Have you heard about a fun little Gravity Falls/Steven Universe crossover fanfiction known as Universe Falls? Well now you have! Welcome to the club! This post is meant to introduce you to all things there is to know Universe Falls in one conscise place. Keep in mind that this post assues that you already are fully familiar with the plot and characters of each show individually, and will only really cover fic-specific things.

Now those of you who are already familiar with UF may be wondering, Jen, what is this post? Well, its mostly meant to be an introductory guide to help folks who stumble across my blog and may be interested in checking UF out, but are initially indimidated by it for whatever reason. It'll broadly introduce terms and concepts and characters unique to the fic, as well as connect you with valuable rescources to get the most out of all of the UF content there is to consume. So with that intro out of the way, let's get started!

What the Heck Is a Universe Falls Anyway?

Universe Falls is a silly idea I had back in 2015 (that's right, 10 years ago!) that aimed to combine the plots of Gravity Falls and Steven Universe into one narrative. The basic gist is that instead of settling in Beach City back in the day, the Crystal Gems make their base in Gravity Falls, intruiged by all of the strange creatures that live there. Hence we have Steven and Connie, who already live there, meeting and befriending Dipper and Mabel (who are spending the summer with their Grunkle Stan) to form a group fondly referred to as the Mystery Kids. Throughout the summer, they experience plenty of adventures, perils, life-lessons, and maybe even save the world a few times. You know, normal kid stuff. Mix in all of your favorite GF and SU characters, and you have a unique blend of the stories of both shows, melded together to create something that's both a little familiar and a little new, with plenty of unexpected twists along the way.

Vibe Check Time! What Can I expect?

When it comes to UF, you can expect... pretty much anything tbh. From tooth rotting fluff to the most devestating angst you've ever read, UF kinda covers it all. It has plenty of lighthearted, fun moments towards the beginning, but as we go along, things start to gradually get darker (much like they do in the canon of both shows). I will say, this fic is rated T for a reason, and its tags on Ao3 are fairly accurate. The main ones I should point out are harm to children, blood/violence, and emotional trauma. Generally though, I do try to keep to the vibes of both of the shows UF is based on, so that's mostly what you can expect.

Wait, Didn't You Already Write This Fic?

I did, again ten years ago. I stopped working on it around 4 years ago, largely due to burnout and a variety of other factors. But with the revival of the GF fandom thanks to the Book of Bill, I was struck with the inspiration to pick the fic up again last year! Hence we have what I refer to as "New UF". New UF is a revised version of the OG fic, rewritten from the ground up with a lot of the fat trimmed from it. I'm trying to get to major plot and character points as quickly as possible, so some might feel it has something of a quick pace, but I think it's just right, really, to keep the fic from feeling like its dragging its feet the same way it used to. New UF has frequent updates, each with their own accompanying artwork, so you can not only expect new content to read, but new content to feast your eyes upon too! A win win for everyone! (BTW before you ask, the original UF is still up; you can read it if you want, but I wouldn't encourage it. It's kind of a mess writing-style wise).

UF? UF2? UFF? Why so many UFs?

If you stick around my blog for any extent of time, you may hear the terms UF2 and UFF thrown around. UF2 stands for Universe Falls 2, UF's eventual sequel covering the second summer after UF. As UF1 ends after the events of Weirdmageddon on the GF side and roughly around the beginning of season 4 on the SU side, we still actually have a lot of ground to cover, and that's where UF2 comes in. Granted, since I'll be out of GF content to adapt by then, there's going to be a lot of really interesting original content that comes into play to look forward too, along with the rest of SU. UFF stands for Universe Falls Future, a sequel series set two years after the events of UF2 which covers the events of Steven Universe Future, but again, has plenty of original content of its own to balance things out. At the time of this writing, neither UF2 or UFF have been written yet, but rest assured I have both pretty much planned out completely from beginning to end because I'm just unhinged like that.

"Seasons"? Bitch, this is a fanfic, not a TV show.

I know lol. So let me explain. I categorize chunks of UF into what I like to call "seasons", mostly to keep myself on track. They don't really mean anything outside of various bundles of chapters that are close together. For instance, Season 1 or S1 of UF is everything from the start of the fic up to Mirror Gem and Waterfall Gem. S2 is everything from Irrational Treasure to Gideon Rises. And so on and so fourth. You can check out the full season list, and a full (semi correct bc its kinda always changing) UF chapter list here on the official UF wiki (btw, we have a Wiki).

Who are all these Blorbos?

So while UF mainly focuses on actual canon characters from both shows, it does have a small handful of original characters in more minor roles to flesh things out. You'll likely hear some of their names thrown out from time to time, so here are the major ones you need to remember:

Stepper and Maven: My babies! These two are probably pretty obvious, but Stepper is the fusion of Steven and Dipper and Maven is the fusion of Steven and Mabel. They both show up a handful of times throughout UF and I love them both dearly.

Dipevebel, Convenper, and Mabonnven: The "trifusions" as I like to call them. They're vairious combo fusions of our four Mystery kids (or MK): Dipevebel is Steven, Dipper, and Mabel; Convenber is Steven, Dipper, and Connie, and Mabonnven is Steven, Connie, and Mabel. We also have Stonipbel, who is the fusion between all four of them.

Aaron and Allison Pines: Dipper and Mabel's parents. We know nothing about these characters in canon, but fuck it, this is my house and I do what I want with them, so we have Aaron, who is kind of a bit of an anxious loser and a bit emotionally absent (while still caring about his kids) and Allison, who is super strict and kind of not the nicest person in the world. They're mentioned a handful of times in UF, but they don't actually show up until towards the end of UF2.

Stonemason: OK so this one requires a bit of an explaination and a bit of UF2 spoilers, so feel free to skip if you need to. The best way I can sum him up is to quote the UF wiki: Stonemason is a cybernetically enhanced human assassin created by Yellow Diamond with assistance from Bill Cipher. The first and only successful product of the Human Bioweapon Operation, Stonemason is a separate entity that is implanted in Dipper's mind, taking control of his body to undertake his orders to shatter "Rose Quartz" (aka). Stonemason makes his debut in Universe Falls 2, where he is a major antagonist for a majority of the fic." So yeah that's a lot, and if you have any questions about that, feel free to ask. Also, all that ^^^ is why Dipper has a yellow metal arm following the halfway point of UF2 in all art I draw post that point, basically his arm was amputated and replaced with a shapeshifting metal one. Ya know, like ya do.

Amber: Amber is a Gem who is related to the whole Stonemason arc mentioned above. She's created to basically be a nurse to humans in Yellow Diamond's human bioweapon program, and eventually ends up developing a close bond with Dipper, despite her assignment.

You mean these MK Poly? I sure do

Ok, so shipping is dumb. I think we can all agree on that right? Buuuuut it does lead to some pretty interesting character dynamics, hence why we see a little of it in UF. Namely between our starring kiddos. Before I continue let me make it extremely clear that there is no incestuous content of any kind in Universe Falls, that shit is fucking gross and I won't tolerate anyone claiming that I engage in that, cause I don't. As for the actual poly MK ship, essentially, its that all these kids (save for the twins, obviously) are in love with each other. So we get Steven x Connie, but also Steven x Dipper (Stedip), Steven x Mabel (Stebel), Connie x Mabel (Conbel), Connie x Dipper (Conper) and eventually even Pacifica joins the polycule too so there's really a lot of fun dynamics to be explored in there. Idk ya'll don't get too hung up on the shipping element here. Love is love.

AUs of AUs? That's a Bit Redundant don't ya think?

Maybe so. But Universe Falls does have a whole host of Alternate Universes to its made, some made by me, some made by fans and my friends. The main UF AUS are Reverse/Diamond, Swap AU, and Relativity/Gem Kids, but there's plenty more you can read up on here on the AU page over on the wiki.

Nice Art, you ask a fuckass AI to make it?

Absolutely not. All my art is drawn by yours truly. You can look through my past works here on my blog using the tag "Jen Draws" or check out my DeviantArt page.

How do I solve those Goddamn Codes?

Each chapter of UF has a cryptogram to accompany it, mostly just meant to carry the spirit of Gravity Falls and do some fun references and foreshadowing. Every code in new UF can be decoded using a keyword that's found somewhere in the author's notes at the start of each chapter, usually the word relates back to the chapter itself. As a bonus hint, this is the website I use to create all my codes, and you can decode them there as well: https://themysteryofgravityfalls.com/

Cool stuff. Where can I read this thing/learn more?

This is the part where I mostly just list off a bunch of helpful links and such for folks who want to read/explore UF. Starting with, where you can read it! I post all new chapters here on tumblr, but UF's main home is on Ao3 (though I do still crosspost to FanFiction.net for some goddamn reason). The links to the fic itself are listed below:

Universe Falls on Ao3

Universe Falls on FanFiction.net

You can also read up on all of the hot UF lore on the official wiki! Please note that this wiki is still very much a work in progress, and if you want to help us build it, please feel free to!

You can also check out my Discord server for more exclusive UF content and conversations! This is honestly the best place to check out all things UF, especially to get a pulse on what fans are creating surrounding the fic. I won't post the link here bc Discord links expire, but if you're interested in joining up, please PM for an invite!

Aw, we're already done? But I got even more questions!

Then feel free to hit up my inbox! It's always open and I'm always down to discuss UF with ya'll. With all that said, if you do decide to check UF out, I sincerely, wholeheartedly hope you enjoy it (and I hope it overtakes your every waking thought the same way it has mine lmao)

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l8niteth0ts · 23 hours ago

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Hi @l8niteth0ts ! I have a request if that’s alright with you

It's a levi x reader... y/n is petite (she's 5 feet slightly shorter than our shorty!!!mao) anyway she's insecure because she's flat chested. She's unaware that she's a bit popular thanks to her beauty and her sweet personality(her and levi are already in a relationship) she doesn't realize that she's lusted after some of the men. She internally gets territorial because petra tries to make a move on levi, he's indifferent towards her advances but y/n doesn't know... she walks away before she sees it. Meanwhile with levi he gets very territorial because he notices (either eren or jean i'm not picky) are flirting and making advances toward his woman!. Both are immensely sexually frustrated because it’s been 3 months full of cockblocks and misunderstandings .Once they both talk it out about their jealousy's including reader feeling insecure about the size of her small breasts. Later on that night they have rough/gentle/possessive sex, both mark one another to show the other scouts "this person's mine". On a comic note levi takes it out on his cadets and kicks eren and jeans asses because as usual they're fighting and being dumbasses Imfao. Any who back to the sex scene lol!... since the couple are sexually frustrated levi goes all out meaning he creampies our reader multiple times at the minimum of 4 rounds. (The man has stamina !! R.i.p readers legs lol) please please include anal sex (if you’re comfortable writing it ) it'd be super hot if reader turns "humanities strongest" into a moaning mess by giving him head, nipple play (he’d be sensitive there) fingers him anally (fair is fair *swoons*) . actually both are moaning messes since they both denied themselves of sex.. also because of that reader has high stamina . And afterwards the couple have a fluffy moment of aftercare... the following morning both levi and reader are heavily marked. Both petra and (eren or jean you pick) see the huge hickeys and implying to take the hint and to fuck off. Of course we can't forget hange!! Once they see the couple's mark's they tease both levi and reader relentlessly. Resulting in the couple turning tomato red basically a blushing mess... hange tells them in a teasing way whole HQ could hear their lovemaking. Levi calls bullshit on that and tells hange "fuck off shitty glasses!!!!. fyi the whole hallway from where levi's bedroom is heard the couple's moaning and screaming. I really hope cinnamon roll armin didn't hear the lovemaking he'd be traumatized Imfao!! 😂

𝐍𝐎 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓: 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐀𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: After months of jealousy and misunderstandings, Levi and his petite lover finally hash out their feelings, and leave no room for misunderstandings anymore.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 (𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈): Four rounds, vaginal sex, anal sex, anal fingering (male receiving), blowjob, etc. Petite reader (flat chested and short), some funny banter at the end with Hange, all in all a fun trip! Little bit of ooc Levi maybe.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3,881

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Thank you so much, my dear friend, for the request! I apologize it took so long to get out, and I apologize if it's kinda all over the place. I wrote lots of things in this I've never written before! I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to leave a like, comment, and feel free to reblog! I am grateful for all of you—thank you for reading my work!

𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘! 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!

“𝐀 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

You don’t mean to see it. Petra reaching out, her hand brushing Levi’s arm as she leans in too close. The way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, flashing that little smile like she’s sharing some secret with him. He doesn’t smile back, but he also doesn’t move away.

Your throat tightens.

You glance down at your chest, suddenly hyper-aware of how your uniform clings to your small frame. Your shirt doesn’t quite fill out the way Petra’s does. You’ve always been petite, barely scraping five feet, and next to her, you feel like a kid playing soldier. Flat, forgettable, plain.

It shouldn’t matter. Levi’s your boyfriend. He curls around you at night, wraps you in blankets like you’re fragile, like he can’t sleep unless he knows you're safe. He calls you soft things in private, kisses your forehead and wrist and cheek like they’re sacred ground.

But he didn’t pull away. And you walked away before you could see more.

You don't see the way Levi’s face twists in irritation as Petra keeps talking, brushing her hair behind her ear again, clearly fishing for something. You don’t see how his eyes follow you as you exit the room, how he doesn’t even register Petra’s last comment. All he sees is you leaving.

Later, at dinner, you're too quiet. You pick at your food, stare at your water glass. Everyone’s chattering like usual—Hange going on about their latest Titan theory, Sasha and Connie laughing too loud, Jean and Eren bickering. You tune it out.

Then it happens.

A hand on your chair. Jean leans in close behind you, too close.

"Hey," he murmurs near your ear, voice low and casual. "You good? You look a little... tense. I could help with that, y’know." He flashes a grin that’s supposed to be charming.

You blink, startled. "What?"

"You just always look so serious," he says. "It's cute. Kinda intimidating. I like it."

You’re about to tell him to fuck off, politely, when a glass shatters across the room.

Everyone freezes. Your eyes shoot to Levi, who's standing now, hand twitching at his side, the remains of his tea on the floor. His stare could cut steel, and it’s locked on Jean.

Jean blinks. "Uh… Captain?"

Levi doesn’t say a word. Just turns on his heel and walks out of the mess hall.

Your heart stutters.

You find him in his office ten minutes later, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tight, jaw clenched so hard you’re surprised his teeth haven’t cracked. The door clicks shut behind you.

“You broke a glass,” you say quietly.

“You let him touch you,” he bites out without looking at you.

You freeze. “You let Petra flirt with you.”

He finally turns to look at you, and it’s the first time you’ve seen Levi look genuinely pissed at you. “I didn’t let her do shit.”

You fold your arms. “You didn’t stop her.”

“And you didn’t stop that little shit from leaning over you like you were his.”

“That’s not fair—”

“No, it’s not,” he snaps. “It’s not fucking fair that I haven’t touched you in three months. That every time I want a second alone with you, we’re interrupted. That I’ve had to watch you smile at other men while I’m stuck pretending I don’t want to throw you over the nearest table and remind everyone exactly who you belong to.”

Your breath catches. Your legs go weak.

He steps closer. “You think I want Petra?” he growls. “I have you. And you think some little bitch with tits is gonna change that?”

You flinch at the vulgarity, but your heart stutters, because he’s never talked like this. He’s never looked this possessive.

“You didn’t even look at me,” you whisper.

“I always look at you,” he snarls, and grabs your chin. “You’re the only fucking thing I ever look at.”

You try not to cry. “I just—I’m not… like other girls. I know I’m small, and flat, and—”

Levi cuts you off with a kiss so harsh it almost hurts. His hands fist in your collar, yanking you closer, teeth dragging your bottom lip. When he pulls away, his voice is ragged.

“Say one more thing about your body like it’s a fucking flaw and I’ll make you cry for real,” he rasps. “You’re mine. You’re perfect. And if you think for one second that I don’t notice how many assholes look at you like they’d sell their souls to touch you—then you’re fucking blind.”

Your knees wobble.

And Levi finally snaps.

“You’re coming with me. Now.”

Your body is already trembling as Levi kisses you again, deeper this time, possessive. You can taste the frustration on his tongue, the months of teasing tension, of interrupted touches and longing looks, all simmering to a boil. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure his fingers will leave marks. You hope they do.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to speak, his voice low, rough. “Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

You nod, throat tight, and crawl up the mattress with shaking limbs. The anticipation alone is nearly unbearable. Levi’s weight shifts behind you, and you feel his eyes dragging down the curve of your back, your waist, your ass. He groans under his breath, and you hear the soft rustle of his cravat being pulled loose, his jacket tossed aside. When he climbs onto the bed behind you, you feel his heat—close, radiating.

You whimper softly when his hands grab your hips again, dragging you back toward the edge of the bed until your knees are barely on the mattress and your back arches naturally. He runs a palm slowly over your ass, squeezing once, hard.

“You have any idea,” he growls, “what it’s been like? Not being able to touch you like this?”

You don’t get a chance to answer before he leans in and sinks his teeth into the swell of your ass, hard enough to sting. You cry out softly, hips bucking, but he pins you easily.

“I’ll make sure they all know who you belong to,” he mutters against your skin, pressing open mouthed kisses along your back between bites. He leans up, unbuttoning his pants with an incredible speed. His pants fall loosely around his knees as he kneels behind you. He fists his hard, already dripping cock, and groans.

You feel the blunt head of his cock slide along your slit, thick and hot and already leaking with precum. He groans again, this time more ragged.

“You’re soaked,” he rasps. “Fuck—this what happens when you get jealous, too?”

You whine, nodding, and push back against him. “Please…”

He chuckles darkly. “You’ll get it. Don’t worry.”

Levi doesn't ease in gently, he's past the point of gentle. The stretch of him is intense, bordering on painful, but it’s exactly what you need. He holds your hips tightly, slowly pulling back and thrusting in again with a sharp snap. Your moans spill out helplessly, muffled by the bedding, and he groans low in his throat, head dropping forward.

“Three months,” he pants. “Three months of watching you walk around in those tight little shirts with no fucking bra. Three months of watching other guys stare at what’s mine. I should’ve bent you over the table the second I saw them look.”

He keeps fucking you, hard, deep, relentless. Your hands tremble from the force of it, your back arching further with every thrust.

Then he leans down, mouth pressing to the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he growls. “Not once. Not twice. Four times. You want that? Want my cum dripping out of you, pretty little thing?”

You nod frantically, barely able to breathe. “Yes-yes, Levi, please—”

His pace gets rougher. Punishing. Possessive. But when you cry out again, he shifts, one hand slipping beneath your body to pinch and roll your nipple. You wail, legs shaking beneath you, and that finally breaks him.

“God—fuck—mine,” Levi growls, and you feel him twitch, then spill inside you with a ragged, broken moan.

He doesn’t pull out.

He doesn’t even stop.

You’re still gasping, trembling from the aftershocks, when Levi shifts behind you. He stays buried inside your cunt, cock twitching and already hardening again. You whimper at the fullness, your knees giving out beneath you, but he doesn’t let you fall.

His hands slide up your back, gentle now, soothing. “Doing okay?” he mutters, breathless. “Too much?”

You shake your head. “Not even close.”

A small, dangerous smirk curls at his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

He finally pulls out, and the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs is both filthy and perfect. But before you can gather your breath, he grabs you by the hips and flips you onto your back, crawling up your body like a man starved. His mouth finds your chest—your small, sensitive chest—and kisses it like it’s the most sacred thing in the world.

“Fucking idiots,” he mutters between kisses. “All of them. They don’t get it. They don’t see how perfect you are.”

You shiver beneath him as his mouth closes around your nipple, and you gasp. He flicks his tongue once, twice, then rolls the other between two calloused fingers. The attention makes you arch off the bed, keening.

“You’re sensitive here,” he breathes, clearly taking note. “Bet I could make you cum just from this.”

You let out a strangled moan, and Levi grins against your skin. “Maybe later.”

He kisses his way down your stomach, slow and reverent, until he’s between your thighs again. You’re raw, dripping, pulsing—and you expect him to just fuck you again. But instead, he hooks your thighs over his shoulders and leans in, tongue flicking out to taste the mess he made.

You cry out, thighs squeezing around his head. “L-Levi—oh my God—”

He groans against you. “You taste like me. Fuck, that’s hot.”

His tongue works fast—pointed, skilled, merciless. And when you’re right on the edge, again, he pulls back with a dark chuckle.

You whimper in frustration, but he hushes you gently, crawling up your body. “C’mere,” he says, voice low. “Return the favor.”

You sit up shakily, fingers fumbling with his belt as he watches with a flushed face, still panting from everything you’ve done so far. You free his cock, which is still hard, glistening, and flushed, and stroke him slowly, teasing the slit with your tongue.

He groans, head tipping back. “Fuck. Just like that…”

You take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, and bobbing your head slowly at first. His thighs tremble under your hands, and you hum at the taste of yourself still lingering on him. His hand tangles in your hair, but he doesn’t thrust. Not yet. He wants to feel it.

“God, you’re good at that,” he rasps. “So fucking good with that mouth…”

His breathing turns ragged as you suck harder, your hands working what your mouth can’t. And when you graze his balls lightly, he shudders, a breathy little noise leaving his lips.

You pull off for just a moment, licking your lips. “You wanna feel even better?��

Levi blinks down at you, dazed. “What—?”

You trail your fingers lower. Gently. Slowly. Between his legs. To the tight, sensitive spot beneath.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” you whisper.

Levi stiffens—just for a second. But then, he nods. Just once.

You go slow—slicking your fingers first, teasing around the rim until he relaxes for you. Then, gently, you push in.

Levi moans—a raw, broken sound he clearly wasn’t expecting from himself. His eyes flutter shut, head falling back, one hand fisting the sheets while the other stays tangled in your hair.

You pump your fingers in and out gently, curling them just so, and take his cock back into your mouth at the same time.

He’s shaking. Whimpering. “Holy fuck—g-gonna cum—shit—!”

He doesn’t last long like that.

Levi falls apart, twitching in your mouth as his cock pulses, spilling hot and thick down your throat while his entire body trembles around your touch. His back arches beautifully. His thighs quake. And that voice, low, wrecked, vulnerable, spills from his lips like a prayer.

You ease him through it, pulling off gently, wiping your lips. You withdraw your fingers carefully, and his whole body shudders again. His cheeks are flushed, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“You…” he pants. “You’re fucking evil.”

You grin at him, breathless. “You love it.”

He doesn’t deny it.

He kisses you, messy and slow, and then pulls you back down onto the bed. “Turn over,” he murmurs.

“More?” you whisper, wide eyed.

“Four times, remember?” he smirks. “And I’m not done marking you.”

You roll over, and this time, you feel him nudge lower—not at your cunt, but your ass. You gasp.

“L-Levi—”

“I’ll go slow,” he promises, already rubbing slick between your cheeks. “Just relax for me.”

When he finally presses into your ass, you cry out at the stretch, burying your face in the blankets. His hand presses to the small of your back to steady you.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” he groans. “You take me so well…”

He starts moving, slow at first, then deeper, then harder, as your moans fill the room again. His name leaves your lips in choked sobs. He holds your hips firmly, pulling you back onto him with every thrust.

You’re wrecked.

And when he cums inside your ass, too—throbbing, growling, trembling—it’s with a shudder so intense it knocks the breath out of you both.

He pulls you close after that, curling around you, arms wrapped tight.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “Don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re mine.”

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake, you’re half on your side, Levi’s body wrapped tight around you. His arm is banded over your stomach, his nose tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin.

You're sore. Wrecked. Deliciously ruined.

And yet—

You press your thighs together with a soft whimper.

You’re still wet.

Levi shifts behind you. “Mm… you okay?” he murmurs, voice rasping with sleep.

You nod, breath hitching. “Just sore.”

His hand strokes your stomach slowly, sliding lower, brushing between your thighs. You gasp as his fingers find your soaked folds.

“Oh?” He hums. “Still needy?”

You squirm in his hold, flushing. “You didn’t… finish marking me yet.”

That snaps him awake.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting up behind you. “You’re right. I still owe you.”

You don’t even get the chance to roll over, he pushes your back down gently and spreads your thighs apart, settling between them with his cock already half hard and leaking against your folds. You bite your lip at the feeling, your breath catching in your throat.

“Let me,” he whispers, more reverent this time. “Let me take my time with you.”

You nod, moaning softly as he presses in—slow, deep, filling you to the hilt. The stretch is a familiar ache now, and you melt beneath him as his hands brace beside your head.

He rocks into you with steady, powerful thrusts. The air is thick with heat and tension, sweat beading on his skin, your moans growing louder each time he bottoms out.

Levi’s lips find yours, and he kisses you like he’s starving for you, like he’s still afraid to lose you, still needing to prove how much you’re his.

“You feel so good,” he groans. “Always so tight for me. So fucking perfect.”

Your thighs shake as he fucks you harder, chasing his own high again. “L-Levi—!”

“I know,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know, baby—fuck—you’re doing so good for me.”

He grabs your hand suddenly, intertwining your fingers and slamming into you faster, panting hard against your mouth. “Gonna cum again,” he rasps. “Gonna fill you up again. Mark you inside, outside, fucking everywhere.”

His thrusts grow ragged. Desperate.

You’re both right on the edge again, and this time, he breaks first.

Levi lets out a rough, guttural groan, his eyes rolling back as he spills into you for the third time tonight, hips twitching, cock pulsing deep in your cunt. You moan his name, clinging to his shoulders, your cunt fluttering around him.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays there, panting, buried in you, watching you with dazed, half lidded eyes.

His voice comes soft. “I love you, y’know that?”

You nod, teary eyed. “I know.”

He kisses your forehead and rolls the two of you onto your sides, still deep inside you. His arms wrap around your body tightly, and this time, when sleep comes, it’s slow and safe and warm.

You wake to the sound of soft cursing.

Levi’s perched on the edge of the bed, bare back glistening with sweat, cock rock hard again between his thighs. He’s got his face buried in his palm, his other hand clenched at his side.

You shift beneath the covers with a soft moan, sore but tingling with heat. “Levi…?”

He stiffens. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You sit up slowly, the sheets sliding down your chest. “You’re hard again.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t look at you. “It won’t go down. I don’t—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Your thighs squeeze together at the sound of his voice, tight, hoarse, almost pained. He’s struggling.

You crawl across the bed to him, arms snaking around his waist from behind. “It’s okay,” you murmur, lips brushing against the sweat on his shoulder. “Let me help.”

He finally turns to look at you—eyes burning, lips parted. “Are you sure?” His voice trembles, like he’s not sure how much longer he can hold back.

You answer by climbing into his lap.

You gasp as the blunt head of his cock presses against your still slick, overstimulated entrance. But you need this. You both do.

You sink down slowly.

The groan he lets out is obscene—sharp, desperate, feral. He grabs your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, his claws digging into your skin, and buries his face in your neck.

“Fuck-fuck, you’re still so tight,” he gasps, voice shaking as he sinks all the way in. “How the hell are you still so wet?”

“I missed you,” you breathe, grinding your hips against his, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

His hands clamp down harder. “You’re gonna fucking break me.”

Levi snaps his hips up, and you yelp.

The final round is nothing like the others. There's no buildup. No slow slide into rhythm. It’s raw, desperate, filthy, like he’s trying to crawl into you and stay there. Like he’s been waiting for this his entire life.

He fucks up into you like he needs to, like he has to, like he’s afraid this might be the last time he ever gets to feel you. You cling to him, both of you shaking, panting, moaning each other’s names like a prayer.

His mouth is everywhere, on your neck, your breasts, your shoulder, sucking deep purple bruises into your skin.

“Gonna mark you,” he growls, lips at your collarbone. “So no one ever—ever—looks at you again.”

You sob his name, nails raking down his back, and it only drives him harder.

When you clench down around him, his whole body seizes. “Fuck—!” he cries out, voice cracking. “You’re gonna make me cum again. Shit—shit—fuck—”

You whimper, brain fogged, cunt clenching again and again as he slams into you faster, sloppier. Sweat drips from his temples, his eyes barely open now.

“I’m gonna—inside—again—gonna fill you up, baby—fuck, take it, take it all—mine, you’re mine, no one else—”

He lets out a broken moan, loud and hoarse, and buries himself to the hilt one last time as his cock throbs and spills hot cum deep inside you for the fourth and final time. Your body trembles violently in his arms, your thighs twitching, eyes rolled back as you fall apart with him.

He clutches you tightly, arms shaking, chest heaving, cock twitching as he fills you to the brim. You’re both gasping. Soaked. Spent. Covered in sweat, bite marks, hickeys, and slick.

He holds you there for a long, long time.

And then, voice barely above a whisper: “I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

You press your lips to his temple. “I love you too, Levi.”

The final round ends not with a bang, but with silence. Breathing. Kisses. Shaky fingers stroking bruised skin. He cleans you gently, makes sure you’re comfortable, pulls you under the covers, and wraps around you like a shield.

Tomorrow, you’ll both face the world.

But tonight?

You’re safe. Marked. His.

You wake up sore in every place imaginable—neck, back, thighs, ass, inside—hell, even your toes hurt. Your legs are tangled with Levi’s under the sheets, and you groan softly as you stretch. He’s still asleep, mouth slightly parted, hair an absolute wreck, a dark purple hickey stamped right on his throat.

Your entire body is covered in bite marks, hickeys, and bruises.

You look like you got hit by a sex demon.

…Which, to be fair, you did. Multiple times.

You try to stand, but your legs buckle a little.

From the bed, Levi groans. “Told you you’d regret asking for a fourth round.”

You glare over your shoulder, cheeks burning. “Told you to go easy.”

He smirks, sleepy and smug. “Don’t recall that.”

As you’re getting dressed painfully slow, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Neck covered in bruises, thighs absolutely destroyed. There’s a bite on your hip. And holy shit, the size of that mark on your collarbone? Levi might as well have written “PROPERTY OF LEVI” with a branding iron.

You look back at him. “They’re gonna know.”

He shrugs, slipping on his shirt. “Good.”

You both hobble into the hallway, thinking you might be able to sneak to the mess hall before anyone sees you.

Big mistake.

Hange’s voice carries from halfway down the hall: “Well, well, well… if it isn’t the lovebirds who shook the entire barracks last night.”

You nearly trip. Levi grits his teeth. “Shut the fuck up, four-eyes.”

Hange practically skips toward you, grinning ear to ear. “I’m honestly impressed. You had endurance. The moaning, the creaking bed, the screaming—it echoed through the walls.”

You cover your face with your hands. “No one really heard—”

“Oh no, sweetie. The whole hallway heard. Armin’s still traumatized.”

Cue Armin peeking out from around the corner with a red face, scarred for life. Jean and Eren are standing behind him, jaws dropped, eyes wide.

Jean whistles. “Damn, shortstack’s got a mouth when he’s getting it in.”

Levi lunges.

Eren and Jean sprint down the hall in opposite directions as Levi gives chase, yelling: “Come back here, you little shits—wanna flirt with my girl? Let me give you something to scream about!”

You sigh, watching your lover chase down two fully grown soldiers in just socks and a half-buttoned shirt, his neck still covered in bite marks.

Hange leans over, nudging you. “So… are you walking straight today?”

You glare. “Barely.”

They cackle. “Worth it?”

You glance at Levi, who is still yelling threats as he disappears around the corner.

You grin. “Absolutely.”

(I don't usually do author's notes at the end, but WOW this was pretty fun to write! I really hope you enjoyed! I know it kind of seems all over the place, but I've never written some of this type of stuff before, so I apologize that it wasn't as detailed as it could've been! Plus, I know you've been waiting a long time for this one, and I am so sorry! But, I genuinely hope you loved it! I've been writing this one for a while now, and I'm so glad to be able to put it out! Thank you so much for your request!)

AOT MASTERLIST

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LEVI ACKERMAN MASTERLIST

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