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alba1221141 · 28 days ago

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Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

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(T.W sexual content)

Jinx

She tasted like berries.

Sweet, but not in a fake, sugary way—real, ripe, and just a little tart. Like she’d bitten into something moments before and I was just catching the aftertaste.

It’s been hours, but I swear I can still feel the ghost of her lips on mine, still hear that little hitch in her breath when I pressed closer.

Fuck.

I flop back onto my bed, arm draped over my eyes, trying to will away the ridiculous grin stretching across my face.

It’s stupid.

I’m being stupid.

But my brain keeps looping it—her fingers in my hair, the way she shivered when I kissed down her neck, the way she didn’t pull away.

I run my tongue over my lips absentmindedly, half-expecting to taste her again.

I don’t, obviously.

But damn, do I want to.

I roll over onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling. That kiss—it keeps coming back, like a song stuck on repeat.

It’s like the air’s different now, charged in a way it wasn’t before. It’s heavier, thick with something I can’t name yet.

My mind spins with thoughts of her—Y/N, all quiet and measured and impossibly soft—yet when we kissed, she wasn’t like that at all.

She was there, fully present, her breath hot against my skin, her hands steady as they tugged at my hair.

I let out a frustrated sigh and punch the pillow beneath me. This isn’t helping. It’s just making me more wound up.

But the thought won’t leave me, won’t stop scratching at the back of my mind: What if she wants more? What if I want more?

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed, pacing back and forth. Fuck. What am I even supposed to do with this?

I know I’m a mess. I’m always a mess. But with her? I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to have her close, to kiss her. It wasn’t just about the kiss itself, but everything around it—how she reacted, how her body moved, how I felt with her.

The problem is, I’m not sure if she feels the same.

I need to know.

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Y/N

It's pouring down. The sky is an endless wash of gray, with rain slashing against the windows like a thousand tiny blades.

The world outside feels muffled, like the storm’s swallowing everything whole, and inside, it’s just me, wrapped in the quiet of my room.

I’ve been staring at the books on my shelf, picking up one, setting it down, picking up another, but none of them seem to hold my attention. Not when my mind keeps drifting back to her.

To Jinx.

The way her lips felt, soft yet sure against mine. How everything inside me seemed to catch fire for just a second. I’ve been trying to tell myself it was nothing, just a moment, but it wasn’t just a moment. Not to me.

The sound of something scraping against my window shatters the silence, and my heart skips a beat. I stand up, instinctively moving toward the sound. When I reach the window and pull it open, I nearly stumble back in shock.

Jinx’s face peeks through the rain-soaked window, her eyes gleaming with that same wild energy I can never quite place.

Her lips curl into a mischievous grin, and without missing a beat, she launches into a dramatic, over-the-top quote. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. And none but fools do wear it, cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love!”

I blink, momentarily thrown off by her theatrical entrance. My pulse quickens, not just from the surprise but the way she’s looking at me, the intensity of her gaze almost too much to bear. “What… what are you doing?” I ask, trying to regain some semblance of composure, even as my heart hammers in my chest.

She just grins, that wide, almost-dangerous grin of hers, and without any hesitation, she climbs in through the window, her drenched clothes sticking to her like a second skin.

Water drips off her, splashing onto my floor, but she doesn’t seem to care.

"Jinx," I start, my voice tinged with concern, "You're going to freeze."

"Well, warm me up," she says, her voice playful, daring, and that's all it takes. Her lips are on mine again, sudden, hot, and desperate in a way that makes my breath catch.

It’s different this time—more urgent, more consuming. I don’t have time to think before her hands are pulling me closer, pushing me to match the intensity she’s giving. Her body presses against mine, the cold of the rain outside clashing with the heat building between us. The wetness of her hair still clings to her skin, but it’s all forgotten, lost in the wave of sensation that crashes through me.

I’m lost in the kiss, her taste, the way her lips mold to mine like we’ve done this a hundred times before, even though we haven’t. My pulse quickens, the tension in my chest tightening as her hand trails up to cup my face, her thumb grazing my cheekbone.

My hands slip beneath the drenched fabric clinging to her skin, slow, deliberate.

"You need to take these off," I murmur, feigning practicality. "You'll catch hypothermia."

I try to sound convincing. I really do. But she knows. I know.

I just want her bare.

A grin splits across her face, teasing and sharp. "You trying to get me naked, toots?"

Heat flares across my cheeks. "And what if I was?"

"Then I’d say—tit for tat."

I blink. "Pardon?"

"I’ll get naked if you do," she says, her dimples carving soft shadows into her cheeks.

Oh.

I should hesitate. I normally would. I’ve never been bare before someone before. But it’s her. And like she said—tit for tat.

My hands abandon the hem of her soaked t-shirt and instead ghost over my own nightie. She watches, eyes heavy-lidded, something molten burning in their depths. My breath catches when the fabric pools at my feet.

"Tit for tat," I echo, waiting.

And she follows suit, peeling damp cloth from her skin, piece by piece, discarding them carelessly onto my carpet. There will be stains later. I don’t care.

I watch, entranced, as she strips away every obstruction—every piece of fabric separating us—until only her underwear remains.

Pink with blue stripes, painted onto her hips like a second skin.

I exhale sharply.

She tilts her head, lips curling into something feral. "You good, toots?"

I nod, unable to form words, and she laughs—soft, breathless—before stepping closer.

"Y/N—"

I look anywhere but at her. The floor. My hands. The storm outside. Anywhere but at her—

Her hips. Her thighs. Her waist. Her breasts—

"Y/N."

My name, insistent now, pulls my gaze up just in time for her hands to find my waist, for her lips to crash against mine.

I know what to do this time.

I part my lips, just slightly, and she takes the invitation without hesitation. Her tongue slips inside, and the sound that escapes between us—low, needy—is neither hers nor mine, but something we create together.

This is different.

Reading about this could never compare to living it.

I’ve read about moments like this, devoured words printed in delicate ink, tracing the whispered confessions of lovers between dog-eared pages. I know the rhythm of desire, the way books describe it—skin like fire, breath like smoke curling in the spaces between bodies, pleasure painted in prose so lush it drips like honey from the page.

But I had never truly understood it.

Not like this.

Not the way my pulse thrums in my throat, too loud, too fast. Not the way her lips press against mine with a hunger that words alone could never capture.

Stories told me what passion looked like—how it felt in theory. But they never prepared me for the way my body trembles beneath her touch, for the shiver that racks my spine when her fingers ghost over my skin.

They never spoke of how need coils in the gut like a living, breathing thing.

Or how lips taste different when they’re messy and desperate, when kisses are more than poetic metaphors—when they are real.

My knowledge of love, of lust, was shaped by carefully crafted scenes, lines of dialogue rehearsed in my head a thousand times over. But the script is gone now, torn from my hands, and all that remains is instinct.

Her.

Me.

My hands trace the curve of her spine, following the dip, the flare, until my fingers spread over the swell of her ass.

All her earlier bravado vanishes the second she whimpers against my mouth.

I drink in the sound, greedily, pulling her closer, deeper, until the need for air is secondary, insignificant compared to the press of her lips.

Then she shifts. Mimics my touch. Shoves me back—

My knees hit the edge of the bed, sending us toppling onto the sheets. She lands on top of me in a tangle of limbs, her body pressing into mine, and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up—light, unrestrained, joy in its purest form.

The sound is stolen by her kiss.

She keeps kissing me, as if my lips hold answers to all her unspoken questions.

Perhaps they do.

When I pull back to catch my breath, I notice the smudge of deep mauve staining her lips—her lipstick smeared, ruined, evidence of the control we’ve long since lost.

Then her lips leave mine, trailing lower—

"Oh, oh—Jinx—"

I hardly recognize my own voice, wrecked and shameless as she marks my skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my neck. Searching. Seeking. Until—

She finds it.

A sound—practically sinful—rips from my throat, unbidden.

She stills, lifting her head from the crook of my neck to look at me.

Smug.

So insufferably smug that I don’t know whether to roll my eyes or kiss her senseless.

I choose the latter.

She snickers against my lips, the sound reverberating through me, sinking into my bones like warmth on a cold night.

"Y/N," she murmurs, so soft, so uncharacteristically tender that I melt beneath the weight of it.

"Jinx," I try to mimic the tone, sultry and smooth, but it betrays me—awkward, inexperienced.

She doesn’t mind.

She only smiles before resuming her path downward, lips pressing, teeth grazing, leaving behind welts I’ll wear like a brand.

Lower, lower still.

Her mouth ghosts down my stomach, past my navel, until she reaches the last barrier between us.

She pauses.

Faltering.

I had assumed—assumed she had done this before. But her hesitation speaks volumes.

"Jinx—" Her name leaves my lips breathy, pleading. She knows what I’m asking.

And so, slowly, she hooks her fingers beneath the waistband of my underwear, painted nails dragging against my skin as she tugs.

I giggle, lifting my hips to help.

This is vulnerability like I’ve never known, like I’ve never allowed myself before.

But it’s Jinx.

It’s Powder.

My Powder.

The damp fabric is discarded, forgotten. She wraps her arms around my thighs, pulling me closer, breath shaky as it fans over my heat.

She’s nervous too.

Then—

A warm exhale. A flick of her tongue, tentative at first, an exploration, a slow unraveling.

Then—she finds it.

Finds me.

Her lips close around my clit, sucking, hard—

A yelp tears from my throat, unfiltered, obscene, and it only spurs her on.

Her nails dig crescents into my thighs as she devours me, hungrily, desperately.

She wants to consume me whole.

And god—

She’s succeeding.

She tugs me closer, impossibly closer, her mouth sealing over me, sending white-hot pleasure searing through my spine.

My back arches, fingers tightening in the damp strands of her hair as my body succumbs, as I surrender.

As she ruins me.

"Oh—fuck, Jinx!"

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Jinx

She tastes fantastic—sweet and sharp, a flavor I could drown in, a craving I’ll never shake.

I pull her closer, teasing her with the slow drag of my tongue over her clit, just to see. Just to feel.

She responds beautifully.

Y/N’s back arches, hips pressing into my mouth, her voice slipping into something uncharacteristically filthy. If she could hear herself now, she’d blush to hell and back.

I slide lower, tongue dipping to where she’s already soaked, drinking in the proof of her pleasure.

“Fuck,” I breathe against her, the vibration making her thighs twitch, her body offering itself to me in trembling anticipation.

My eyes flick up—locking onto hers as I push my tongue inside.

"Jinx—holy shit!"

Her voice is wrecked, needy, breaking apart as I move, tongue and lips working in tandem to unravel her. She tries to hold my gaze, but she can’t—her head falls back, mouth parting in a soundless plea.

My fingers replace my tongue on her clit, circling, coaxing, guiding her higher as I devour every reaction, every desperate sound spilling from her lips.

She writhes beneath me, pressing her face into the pillow as if she can contain the pleasure, and it’s intoxicating.

And then—

My name, her voice breaking around it, slipping between variations, between love and abandon.

"Jinx—fuck! Pow, Powder!"

Her body bows, hands clutching the sheets with a desperation that might tear them apart, and I don’t stop.

I drink her in like she’s the sweetest sin, the most potent drug, something sacred.

Eventually, trembling hands pull at me, urging me up, and though I want to keep tasting, I relent.

I pout, but one look at her—soft, glowing, utterly undone—and I’m undone too.

I shift beside her, fingers slipping between hers, holding her, grounding her.

"You okay, toots?" I tilt my head, waiting. But she’s still floating, lost in the aftermath.

I grin, waving a hand in front of her dazed expression.

"Earth to Y/N."

She giggles, hazy, dreamy, nodding as if the world makes sense in this moment and this moment only.

"I've never been better," she murmurs, voice still syrupy and sweet.

She tugs me closer, pressing a kiss to my lips, and fuck—

I could stay like this forever.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: they finally got 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂, hope you liked it ;)

please like and reblog <3

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