𖥟 your relationship with jinx started with a very simple concept: she gives you weed, you pay her, and that’s it. that was before the lines got blurry, mostly because of what started happening in the cramped, dark backseat of her car.
𖥟 somewhere along the way, the routine changed to her also trading the smoke for a taste of you. she’d only ever gone down on you when she was high, so her tongue was just as hazy as her mind; teasing your swollen clit and lapping your juices for as long as she damn well pleased, working you with a sluggish pace until you squirted all over her face.
𖥟 jinx realized, much to her own frustration, that you were a lot more addicting than anything she could ever sell. she knew it was reckless, but jinx has never been one for following rules.
𖥟 she loves sitting back and lacing up a fresh joint as she watches you ride her strap. she’ll take a long, slow drag before blowing a grey cloud right into your face while you’re gasping and fucking yourself senseless on her. it makes her get all smug and mean for no reason, and she will make you hold eye contact with her even as the stretch of her cock nestled deep inside you makes it an impossible task.
𖥟 at first that’s all it is; ego and lust, her wanting to see if she could get that pretty fucked out look on your face every single time. now she slows down just to hear the noises you make when you’re close, dragging it out because she likes having you squirming under her more than she should.
𖥟 she gets touchy after a while too, always yanking you into her lap while she rolls, shoving her cold hands under your shirt, hooking her chin over your shoulder while you talk…
𖥟 she starts texting you even when you’re not buying anything, pretending like she was just in the area. as if either of you believes that shit, but who can blame her when it works every time?
𖥟 the no feelings involved rule starts feeling like a joke the second she notices you taking care of her without making a big deal out of it, or letting her sleep at your place after a long night. those get under her skin the most; she just lays her head on your stomach while you play with her braids, but she’d never admit how much she needs that soothing feeling of your fingers running though her hair after particularly bad jobs.
𖥟 jinx is a total chatterbox when she’s high out of her mind. with her eyes rolled back into her head as she grinds her soaking wet cunt against yours, her voice all raspy and lopsided as she rambles about how your pussy feels like a goddamn dream, then how much she loves the way you squelch together, her words tripping over each other. then when you’re done and locked in a lazy, sweaty cuddle, she switches to yapping about some hextech thingy she’s building.
𖥟 gets irritated whenever you look too pretty on purpose 😭 if you answer the door dressed all nice, she’ll narrow her eyes at you immediately, and tug you closer by your hips with a “who’s all this for, huh?”, even though she has absolutely zero right to be jealous.
𖥟 so word of warning: if you’re playing the field or getting your stuff from someone else, you better make sure she doesn’t hear about it :) jinx is a lot of things but she’s not chill about competition, especially with you involved.
𖥟 she gets quieter after sex sometimes. not awkward quiet but just busy trying not to think too hard about how safe she feels laying with your arms around her. even when she stays silent, the way she keeps glancing at you from time to time tells you everything you need to know.
𖥟 your “meetings” start getting longer, and instead of the quick transaction and a quick fuck, you just hang out. doesn’t matter if it’s at your place, her workshop, or even somewhere nice she drives to just so you can sit together and talk, jinx always leaves with the same terrifying realization: you haven’t been just a customer to her for a long time.
𖥟 you only get closer, and in her head, jinx is hiding her inner turmoil pretty well. that’s until she accidentally blurts out a breathless "i love you". she looks terrified as she realizes it, her eyes darting around like she’s waiting for you to leave. she’s about to start rambling or making a joke to cover her tracks, her mouth opening to backtrack but you don't let her.
𖥟 you just let out a giggle, reaching up to cup her face and pull her down into a deep, sweet kiss. as you pull away just enough to whisper "i love you too" against her lips, you can feel her body relaxing into yours, realizing she doesn't have to hide it anymore
had a lot of fun mixing Cait and Vi's features (and their parents'!). Their names are Catherine (purple hair) and Clover (pink hair)! Catherine goes by Kit though, and she's 2 years older than Clover ^-^
Definitely want to explore this version of the Kiramman family in the future!
𝑐w: yearning pining etc etc, not proofread, just fluff, will probably continue later i just needed to get this bsf abby worm out of my system . . .
𝑤c: 0.6k
bsf!abby who you’re a little too open with . . you change in front of each other, sleep held close to her chest during sleepovers, kiss her on the cheek followed by a BUNCH of kisses all over her face (some placed dangerously close to her lips) when you feel reaaally happy or grateful, like when she lets you copy off her on a test. but you never notice the look in her eyes, the want. the longing for something she can’t, or rather what she won’t let herself have.
bsf!abby who never initiates anything that could be deemed too weird for friends to do, but at the same time never complains when you do.
bsf!abby who doesn’t say anything when you fall asleep with your head on her shoulder. you were sharing earbuds, and the music must’ve lulled you to sleep. she only gently lifts your head to pull it out so you wouldn’t wake up with an huge red earphone/wire shaped imprint on your cheek.
she pauses. she’s still holding you, and she feels her focus moving to all the little features of your sleeping face. the short puffs of air leaving your lips, the curve of your nose where she often plants her “friendly” kisses, and the restless shifting of your eyes behind your eyelids. her thumb instinctively brushes your cheek, and when she realises she’s been staring a bit too long, she pulls away like she got burnt. your head drops back on her shoulder with a sigh and a shake of her head.
bsf!abby who may still be in denial about being Not straight. doesn’t know why she feels nauseous hearing about the new girl you’re talking to. she just nods along and pitches in with half hearted agreements whenever shes required to. she tries to play it cool when you ask what she thinks.
“i dunnoo.. she just sounds kinda whack.”
“okay, wow. you’re such a hater! she’s not even that bad.”
“i’m just telling you what i think! i don’t want you coming back crying because you got ghosted again.”
“right. okay. hater…”
bsf!abby who is so competitive. always yells out “first one to get to the car wins!” and taking off running immediately. and no, she won’t run at a slower pace just so you win. she loves you, yeahh… doesn’t mean she’ll give you free wins!
bsf!abby who loves wordle, connections, and crossword…the holy trinity of nyt games. she’ll regularly compare scores with you, all smug and proud when she guesses the word on her second try.
“hah, again? you used the worst starter word possible. the trick is to…” abby explains as she moves closer, peering at your phone over your shoulder.
her body looms over yours from behind. her arm reaches down to tap at your screen and point at something, and you cant stop yourself from tilting your head to rub your cheek against her bicep while you listen to her ‘strategies’.
“hey. i really hope you’re listening. this is important stuff, yknow.” she says, and smiles at your puppylike behaviour.
her other arm comes down as well and she squeezes you, tight. the side of her head presses against yours. she keeps talking, but you can feel warmth from her cheek seeping into yours. you can hear the smile in her voice and it doesn’t take long before there’s one on your face too.
( 🗯️ ) thinking about… being married to firefighter ! vi
( 🗒️ ) content warnings : pairing : firefighter ! vi 𝔁 wife ! reader ; nsfw content ; mentions of injuries ; fluff ; guided masturbation ; nipple play ; finger sucking & finger licking ; nudes + modern au ;
firefighter vi ! who always kisses your head before a shift at the firehouse. her shifts usually start super early so she’s almost always gone by the time you wake up. not that, that matters to her, she’s been kissing your head before work every day since the two of you started seeing each other.
firefighter vi ! who twirls her wedding ring around her ring finger whenever she feels nervous or uneasy. whether it’s a slow day at the station or a super busy one, thinking about you always seems to quiet down her racing mind.
firefighter vi ! who calls you out of the blue every day, the moment her break starts, she’s immediately dialling your phone number and calling home. firefighter vi ! who says every day without fail that listening to the sound of your voice is the best part of her day.
firefighter vi ! who always brings you lunch when you’re working. and even when you’re not, if you happen to live close to the station, she’ll go out of her way to have lunch with you.
firefighter vi ! who always sends you photos in uniform with the helmet on because she knows it drives you crazy. sometimes, she’ll sneak into the bathroom during her break and take photos of herself with the jacket open and nothing underneath, just to send them to you while you’re at home or working ( she honestly prefers it when you get them while you’re out of the house, the thought of you having to contain your reaction while in public never fails to turn her on )
firefighter vi ! who has a picture of you in her wallet, firefighter ! vi who looks at said picture whenever she’s feeling nervous or unsure of herself, she uses your face in her wallet to remind herself to keep fighting and to come back home, safe, to you in one piece.
firefighter vi ! who always calls you whenever she’s sent out to fight a dangerous fire :( she hates disturbing you, hates hearing your broken voice over the phone and the worry in your tone. but, she hates the thought of not making it out of the fire without telling you ‘i love you’ one last time, even more.
firefighter vi ! who ( against her will ) is in one of those beefcake calendars. firefighter vi ! who blushed like crazy when you came to the station and bought every single one of them ( you wouldn’t want a bunch of strangers looking at your girl all sexy and half naked after all )
firefighter vi ! who is always riled up after a shift, it doesn’t matter if it was long, short, dangerous or boring, thinking about you is what gets her through the day. thinking about you without any clothes on is what gets her through the dullest moments of her work day. which results in soaked panties and an insatiableness for you that can only be tamed by her fingers in your mouth… or your cunt.
you were lounging on your couch staring at the tv, you couldn’t even tell what channel was on, your eyes had dried up from the lack of sleep, but you needed to stay awake, you wanted to stay awake. you hadn’t seen vi all day and it was honestly wearing you down. plus, you knew she was just as desperate to see you, given the not so innocent texts that she’s been sending you all day long.
you wanted to wait for her, be good for her but… as you open your text messages to check if she has sent you anything else ( like the time she’d be coming home ) you’re immediately met with the last photo she sent you— vi, in her uniform, complete with that yellow helmet of hers. but, with a detail that had you drooling into your screen, her jacket was completely open, her perfect nipples hard and peaking under the fabric for only you to see, her happy trail forming a path between her belly button and her pussy.
the more you stared, the wetter you got. the more you wanted to wrap your lips around her nipples and graze your teeth over her flesh, to mark her up so everyone ( including those girls who always hit on her while she’s on the clock ) know that she belonged to you and that you belonged to her.
you run your fingers over your chest, circling your nipples the way vi would, you feel your nipples protrude against your blouse, waking up slowly but surely. but it’s not the same, your missing the callouses on vi’s hands and your missing her taste too. you continue your path down your own body, trailing your fingers over your stomach until you reach your clit, circling the little bundle of nerves, once, twice, until you’ve gathered enough wetness on your slit in order to plunge two of your digits inside yourself, you moan and throw your head back against the couch cushions, raising your other arm up in order to maintain eye contact with the vi from the photo on your screen. what you wouldn’t do to have her fingers inside of you, right now. you let out a breathy sound and close your eyes for a second, imagining vi on top of you, plunging her calloused fingers in and out of your hole while her breath fans across your face.
but, apparently it was a second too long because you missed the ‘clink’ of your front door opening while lost in thought… and lust. heavy boots stomped through the floor of your house in the direction of the living room. you hear vi’s grave voice calling out your name when suddenly it stops, both her footsteps and her voice calling out for you, the noise replaced by a naughty whistle that travels from her parted lips and into your waiting ears.
“so this is what you do when i’m not around? huh?” vi asks, sarcasm coating her deep voice.
you’re petrified, your fingers still inside of you while you attempt to control your breathing and make it as even as possible under the circumstances. your phone is still in your hand, vi’s photograph still shining on your face.
vi takes a couple of steps forward until she’s hovering over you, her scent fills your nostrils and almost makes you moan all over again, a mix of sweat and that body wash of hers that she’s worn since the day the two of you met.
“i didn’t tell you to stop, now, did i?” vi taunts, getting closer to you. “what were you thinking about?” she asks, she’s so close that you can feel the heat of her breath on your cheeks.
“you.”
“me, huh?” vi questions, her air of aloofness and nonchalance completely intact before her eyes move from your flushed face to the photo on your screen— her photo. “mmmh.” vi muses. “should i be jealous?” she asks, cockily.
you turn your head to look at her only to receive a sound of reprimand in return. “no, no, you were having so much fun with photo me, i’m not gonna be the one to ruin your date.”
“vi!” you complain.
“look at the phone.” vi repeats, her voice leaving zero room for argument. “so…” she starts. “what were you thinking about?” vi asks, again, this time pushing for more details.
your fingers are still inside yourself, not moving just… there. “you… fucking me.” you respond, a little more breathless than what you would like to admit.
“I see… was i good?”
“yes.” you breath out, moving your hips just a little in order to curve just how uncomfortable you are.
“mmm, and what did i do?” vi asks, her eyes moving from your hips to your face before tilting her head down and blowing hot air into your ear.
you shiver at the sensation, curling in on yourself before gathering enough brain power to answer her previous inquiry. “you touched me right there.” you say, before jerking your head down, motioning to your chest.
vi trails her calloused hands over your stomach, slowly, before pinching your right nipple, making you jerk off the couch. “right here?” she questions, circling your nipple with two fingers before pinching your other bud.
you jerk your head back and stare up at the ceiling. “yes.” you moan.
vi takes your reaction as encouragement and sneaks her head under your shirt, running her tongue over the flesh of your breasts, licking and sucking until you’re panting like a dog. it’s only when you clench your legs around your own digits that she grazes her teeth over your sensitive peaks. “like this?”
“mhm.”
vi emerges from under your top and locks eyes with you. “what did i do next?” she questions, her clear eyes boring into your skin.
you’re having a hard enough time breathing without choking on your own saliva, you don’t know how you’re supposed to focus long enough to answer her million questions but you do it anyway, something about the tone of her voice is making you want to be good for her. “you put your fingers in me.” you confess.
vi looks amused, and beyond cocky, she trails her index finger over the skin of your face, swirling it around your cheek before stopping and pressing two digits against your sealed lips. “then why aren’t you?” she asks, lifting both her eyebrows before plunging her fingers into your mouth.
you moan at the fullness and close your eyes while your tongue laps at her digits, hungrily, you move your own fingers inside yourself curling them and uncurling them while moving your hips up and down in chase of relief. you open your eyes, momentary, in order to stare at vi’s blue ones, her lips were parted, her cheeks red in fascination and lust. the couch starts scratching the floor with the sheer force with which you’re moving your body against your hand, until something inside you snaps, your movements become sloppy and uncoordinated while black spots fill your vision, you bite down on vi’s fingers, making her let out a groan in appreciation before you’re coating your own fingers with your release.
vi sighed, appreciatively, before removing her fingers from your mouth and plopping them into her own, lapping at your spit like it was a bottle of cold water after a hard shift. “good girl.” she praises, meeting your lips with hers in a sloppy kiss.
firefighter vi ! who is the definition of ‘happy wife, happy life’ she’s completely whipped for you and everyone knows it, including her coworkers who tease her endlessly about it, not that she minds it too much, it’s true, after all. plus, she’s proud of everything that she has built for and with you.
firefighter vi ! who, sometimes ( more like all the time ), comes home battered and bruised because she refuses to let anyone else’s hands touch her skin. she’ll come home, take off her uniform and plop herself, wordlessly, in front of you, you know this dance by heart by now. so, you simply reach for the first aid kit that’s stashed under the counter and start cleaning up her bruises and putting ointment on her burns.
vi isn’t one for open vulnerability, at least not in front of others. but, when she’s with you, sitting on the counter while you tend to her bruises and run your hands over her sweaty head of hair, she lets herself relax, she lets her eyes squeeze shut and her head tilt back while your hands tend to her battered flesh, sometimes she’ll even let little sounds of relief escape her parted lips, telling you, without words, that you’re doing a good job.
firefighter vi ! who’ll come home, late at night, and lay next to you completely clothed ( uniform and all ) after a hard shift.
it was way past 2 a.m. when you felt the bed dip beside you, you couldn’t see your wife, you could only see her ginormous fire jacket. you roll over under the covers and run your fingers over her pink hair, removing it from her eyes.
vi remains motionless, her eyes dazed and clouded over.
“vi what’s wrong?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep.
vi sighs, deeply, but refuses to move from her spot atop the covers. “can you just…” she starts, uncertainty coating her otherwise smooth voice. “hold me?” she finishes.
“of course.” you answer in kind, before opening your arms for her and letting her get comfortable in your arms.
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 full fic to . . . having a homoerotic friendship with Jinx
pairing: Jinx x fem!reader, modern au.
# cw. homoerotic friends to ???, soft dom!Jinx x power bottom!reader, bratty!Jinx x softer!reader, codependency, intoxication, double-ended dildo, mutual masturbation, size kink/size queen!Jinx, corruption kink, light degradation + praise, obedience kink-ish, overstimulation, squirting, Jinx gets too greedy, aftercare-ish, smut with plot. mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ
# word count. 7k
ᯓ ☘︎ lucky speaks: this got a bit out of hand, i was aiming for 3k words </3 kinda rushed ending! half proofread. this one goes out to the anon who suggested that Jinx is selfish with her pleasure :3
the thing about Jinx and you is that your friendship isn't normal—not by any sane standard, metric, or rulebook ever written. not when you've already burned through every normal boundary two so-called "roommates" should have.
you circle each other with a heat that polite people would call “chemistry” and honest people would call “foreplay.” you're touchy in that way girls with repressed desires often are—careless, intimate, blisteringly casual. Jinx pads around the apartment half-naked: tank top sliding off one shoulder, little shorts that could qualify as underwear, and you don't even blink anymore. your eyes might flick once—traitors—but you pretend it's casual. you change shirts in front of her, and she doesn't look away. she just pretends—badly—that she's only admiring your bra choice or collarbone or whatever flimsy excuse she can muster that day.
you share baths like it's a water bill strategy, sitting knee-to-knee in a porcelain tub too small for one person, let alone two grown women pretending not to notice how often your calves slide over each other. like shaving each other's legs is some sort of sisterly bonding activity.
she smacks your ass when she needs attention—no warning, palm heavy, echoing in the hallway—and you retaliate with a hit so hard her thigh tattoo jiggles. she calls you a slut, you call her a whore; and somehow, it lands sweeter than any "good morning" or "i love you" you don't dare say out loud ever could.
it's absurd, borderline perverted, and deeply codependent—but it's working for you. this is affection, apparently. it keeps you both fed in a way normalcy never could. and for the most part, you get away with it; neither of you acknowledges the heat simmering quietly under every touch, nor the way your shared baths grow longer, slower, full of casual nudity that doesn't feel casual at all once the steam starts clinging to the walls like a witness.
your friends pull you aside and ask how you “put up with her.” their tone always shifts—curious, confused, a little nosy—because they’ve seen the way she crowds you in doorways, the way you adjust her necklace for her, the way she tugs you onto her lap at parties half-joking, half-not. they ask why she bites your shoulder when she’s bored. they ask why you let her.
Jinx gets questions, too. people ask if you’re “a thing.” she laughs like the idea is ridiculous, even though she never denies it outright. she just shrugs and says, “we’re close,” which is a lie lacking even the respect of effort.
according to everyone else, you’re either fucking, denying that you’re fucking, or about to start fucking any second now.
"you ever think that if we were straight, people wouldn't be so obsessed with whether or not we're sleeping together?" you asked once, lost in thought, watching her take a rather ambitious hit from her bong.
"oh, we'd fuck if we were straight," she replied, voice hoarse as she coughed through smoke. "just less cutely.”
"we're not cute."
"we're fucking adorable."
and that was that. she said it like it was the simplest fact in the world. somehow, that ended the conversation—though it answered absolutely nothing.
your degeneration begins, as most scientific breakthroughs do, with online rabbit holes and questionable sobriety.
you're cross-faded, dangerous in that specific way only two girls who know each other's schedules, traumas, and bra sizes can be. you're idly stroking the ends of her hair, wearing nothing but panties and an oversized shirt you definitely stole from her laundry pile. she's wearing a pair of soft shorts and no bra, nipples visible through the fabric of her crop top and absolutely not a problem for anyone involved. you're both flushed, stupid and pliable from mixing THC and cheap sangria. you end up on your stomachs without even meaning to, slowly sliding off the couch like wax slipping off a candle, until you're sprawled on the floor in front of Jinx's laptop. it feels juvenile, like a middle school sleepover where you're googling things your parents would have killed you for.
except you're adults, and this is much, much worse.
the search history starts tame: "worst tattoos ever," "can you microdose nutmeg," and a few subreddits you'll regret opening. but the real descent begins when Jinx opens pornhub like she's pulling up a recipe for banana bread.
the carpet is soft beneath you, shoulders touching, legs kicking behind you in lazy little motions, mirroring each other's rhythm like a pair of bonded siamese cats and betraying your excitement. she clicks on the first video she sees, and something softcore loads: two girls on a bed, all sighs and colorful lighting but nothing explicit yet. barely porn by internet standards, really, but you both giggle into your hands anyway, like two corrupted schoolgirls sneaking "girls kissing" on the family computer.
and then it devolves—beautifully. somewhere between the second and third video, you morph into the most insufferable pair of sex critics the world has ever spawned.
"no lube? rookie move."
"her nails are way too long for this. she's gonna core her like a fucking apple."
"he needs to shut up. and shave his ass."
"mute him. immediately."
"no one needs a close-up like that. seriously! nobody needs a panoramic shot of swinging balls."
you're choking on laughter, bumping into each other every time one of you shakes too hard. at some point, Jinx's chin hooks over your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin as she steadies herself on you. your foot hooks behind her ankle in response, thoughtless and intimate.
somewhere in the haze of poor lighting, bad acting, and fake orgasms, you lose track of how many videos you've critiqued. obviously neither of you is going to admit that you went from mocking the performers to actually watching—that would be healthy. you're definitely not giggling because the girl's face looks really pretty when she moans. you're definitely not pressing your thighs together because the rhythm is doing something inconveniently effective. you're definitely not shifting your hips against the carpet with a little too much intention, searching for a hint of friction.
this is fun. this is platonic. this is just two friends doing dumb shit on a friday night.
sure.
you're pretending, because that's what you're best at.
but pretending doesn't stand a chance against the algorithm, because a toy appears in the next video—a cute-looking rabbit vibrator—and Jinx perks up like a meerkat spotting danger on the horizon.
"woah, pause," she blurts, grabbing your wrist and dragging the laptop closer. "zoom in. no, go back—there!" her manicured finger taps against the screen with the kind of excitement that has historically led you both into terribly wonderful decisions. "that one actually seems fun. how much do you think it is?"
"you're joking."
she isn't. you know she isn't—her pupils are too big, her voice too soft, her interest too real. and that's the exact moment everything starts going downhill in high definition, because of course you google the brand and manage to click yourselves straight into an adult store homepage overflowing with silicone just to satiate her needs.
suddenly, the screen becomes an erotic fever dream with flashing neon banners and lube bottles sorted by flavor. the categories bloom across the header in bold fonts:
"what the fuck," you whisper to yourself, mildly horrified.
"what the fuck," she echoes, but with the delighted awe of a kid in a candy store. she's already scrolling like the investigator she pretends to be, nodding to herself. "ooh—gift cards! makes christmas shopping easier," she chirps.
you inhale sharply, like someone witnessing a car crash you cannot look away from, when you spot a section titled "UNUSUAL FRIENDS," featuring alien dicks and jelly-like appendages with suction cups—products that look less like sex toys and more like sci-fi movie props.
"Jinx, holy fuck. why are there so many ridges?" you gasp, jabbing a finger at a chartreuse tentacle with a price tag so high it should come with dinner and aftercare. you bury your face in the carpet, groaning into the fibers.
"there are too many ridges," she agrees solemnly, rubbing circles into your back like that might help.
you scroll further into the best-sellers: Jinx hums approvingly as glass plugs roll into view, then lets out a low whistle at a sleek, vibrating wand she was not-so-secretly considering for herself two weeks ago.
"you were eyeing that one," you point out, unable to hide the amused glint in your eyes.
"yeah," she admits, shameless, "but the shipping sucked."
then you hit the glitter section—sparkling dildos promising a "magical experience," as if the fairy godmother manufactures fake cocks on the side.
"no one's hole is that ambitious," you mutter.
she doesn't even miss a beat. "speak for yourself."
you smack her arm, she smacks your ass, and balance is restored to the universe.
fifteen minutes pass in a blur of silicone, sizing guides, and color options. you get distracted comparing thicknesses, she gets lost comparing vibration patterns; you both get derailed by something labeled "the diplomat."
"i refuse to understand who this is for."
"diplomats, obviously," she deadpans, scrolling away before you have to think about it too hard. she flattens her palm on the carpet, turning to you like she's about to make an announcement. "okay. we pick something just for ourselves, nothing weird. self-care, right?"
"right," you nod, trying not to visibly swallow your own heartbeat. "because we're mature."
you scroll at a cautious pace, cursor hovering over something gentle, pastel, subtle—curved just right, designed for comfort, pretty in that quietly humiliating way that reveals far too much about who you are behind closed doors.
you click it curiously.
Jinx sees.
Jinx pounces.
"awww, look at you," she croons, sliding closer like she's drawn by the scent of embarrassment, "sweet little princess picking her baby dildo."
"some of us have functioning pelvic floors," you reply flatly, giving her a lazy shove. she uses the momentum to burrow in even more, chin hooking over your shoulder again, arms half-wrapped around your waist like she's claiming real estate.
"ohhh, that's how you wanna play it?" she murmurs, nosing at your skin. she's all warmth and limbs and cheap sangria breath as she laughs into your neck.
this isn't new.
this isn't strange.
this is just… Jinx. touchy on a normal day, unbearable when she's high.
"get off," you mutter, not even pretending to mean it.
your denial has no spine.
Jinx has never minded exploiting that.
"mhmm," she hums, not listening at all, already dragging the freckled bridge of her nose along your jaw. "knew you'd go for the soft one." she presses a teasing kiss just below your ear, light and obnoxiously knowing. her fingers curl around your hip, tugging you in. "i bet you like everything soft and gentle, hm?" she whispers, voice dropping into something hot and mean. another kiss, closer to your throat. she bites, gently, just because she can. "you melt for that shit. slow and nice and sweet—"
"please shut up." you roll your eyes—not because you disagree, but because she's right and you refuse to give her the satisfaction. your head tilts anyway, giving her more room.
she grins against your skin, practically purring, soaking in your reaction like it's her favorite narcotic. when she finally pulls back—just far enough to breathe, not far enough to give you proper space—she sits up and immediately selects something arrogant in size for herself, like she's got something to prove.
"you can't be serious," you whisper, almost in awe, blinking at the toy on the screen. "babe, that's a colonoscopy if you slip it in wrong."
she wiggles her eyebrows in response. "i like a challenge." and then, because she can't help herself, she dips back in and plants another kiss to the crook of your neck—mocking, adoring, filthy in intention but playful in delivery. "what? too big for you?" she asks dumbly, all mock innocence. "you picked your cute little pastel training wheels. i want this."
she knows exactly what she's doing. it's not a boast—it's a performance, a demonstration of exactly what kind of girl she is just in case you still had any doubts. she wants you to imagine it: her struggling to take it, sweating and splitting herself open on colorful silicone and still not giving up until she's overstuffed, whining into her pillow. she wants you to know she's stubborn enough, needy enough, capable. she wants the idea to stick to your brain and rot there.
"don't worry. i'll leave the delicate stuff to you," she murmurs, lips brushing along your pulse, "let me handle the heavy lifting."
"you're fucking insufferable," you groan, but your hand drifts up to her hair all the same, giving her scalp an indulging scratch that makes her melt into you with a low, pleased sound.
"and yet," she murmurs, voice smug and velvet-soft right against your ear, "you're still letting me talk shit."
and for a while, everything is pleasant, manageable—just two girls buying masturbation supplies. you browse, you debate colors and sizes and shapes like you're picking an accent pillow. between the warmth of her body pressed along your back and the slow pulse of the laptop light, you almost forget you're shopping for things meant to make you shake and moan. if the universe had mercy, it would let you stay in this small illusion.
but because curiosity is a slippery creature, it does what it always does with the two of you: mutates into depravity.
Jinx scrolls, pauses, then scrolls back up. her finger hovers over a category neither of you has acknowledged yet—intentionally avoided, even.
"you ever used a double-ended dildo?" her voice comes out too airy and casual to be anything but interest hiding under a joke.
"where the fuck did that come from?"
"we're looking at sex toys," she says with a helpless shrug, as if that explains everything. "my brain is doing its job."
"so is mine," you say dryly. "and it's telling me you're about to say something stupid."
"okay but seriously," she presses, turning onto her side to face you fully. "have you?"
"no," you answer simply, refusing to give her any foothold. "why? you need someone to practice on?"
"bitch." she pinches your thigh sharp enough to make you jerk. "i'm just saying. seems fun."
you scoff, pretending the heat isn't already pooling low while trying to play it cool. "for who?"
"for us. obviously." she scoffs, like it's the dumbest question you've ever asked.
"yeah, okay. sure. because that's casual."
"it can be casual," Jinx insists, far too confident, far too earnest for someone suggesting a shared silicone toy. "like brushing each other's hair… but sluttier."
you stare at her. she stares back, unblinking, dead serious in the most unserious way you've seen since the day she moved in with three boxes and a promise to "never bring weird shit into the apartment."
lie number one of many.
"this is the worst metaphor anyone has ever said to me."
"what? you think women in ancient greece weren't—"
"i got the message. stop talking."
she snickers, nudging your shoulder with hers like you're in on the joke instead of actively drowning in it. "hypothetically speaking," she tries again, "if we got one—"
"hypothetically."
"hypothetically," she repeats with an exaggerated nod, holding up a finger with solemn dignity that means absolutely nothing coming from her.
"uh-uh." you sigh, already exhausted. "and what color would this hypothetical… shared dick be?"
"blue," Jinx replies instantly. "as god intended."
"you just want it to match your aesthetic. pink is literally the universal dildo color."
"boob punch incoming if you keep that up."
and suddenly, the adult store homepage doesn't feel so harmless anymore. neither do the categories. neither do the toys. neither do her eyes when she peers at you and says, "we could look at them, y'know."
everything after that happens too fast, too stupid to track—a blackout made of adrenaline and shared intoxication. you're aware of flashes, maybe: her hair brushing your cheek, your hand accidentally covering hers on the trackpad. a pink option. a blue one. her saying, "that's cute," and you mumbling, "that's nicer."
time stretches, collapses, folds in on itself. you come to, like waking up from a trance, and there it is: a pink-and-blue double-ended dildo sitting in the cart. a compromise, a diplomatic solution—like it fucking matters. as if the color would change anything about the fact that you're ordering a shared dick specifically designed to be inside both of you at once. as if the soft fade from cotton candy pink to electric blue is going to matter once you're both split open on it. as if a stupid silicone hue would distract either of you from the fact that you're ready to ruin your entire, already-rotting friendship over joint penetration.
Jinx's thumb finally hovers over the checkout button. "say please."
"for what?"
"for me to buy us a shared dick. c'mon."
"Jinx, i'm not begging for—"
"you're scared."
"of what? your pussy?"
"you should be."
click.
order confirmed.
your doom is sealed, boxed, and en route.
the world doesn't explode. no alarms go off. no divine being descends to slap the laptop out of your hands—unfortunately. you just lie there, side by side, high out of your minds while the order confirmation number glows in front of you.
because now there's a dildo—three, technically—hurtling toward your apartment through the miracle of express shipping, and you both know exactly what that could mean if you weren't cowards.
it arrives exactly three days later, in a discreet brown box—plain, innocent, offensively unlabelled. the universe hands you plausible deniability on a silver platter; the postal worker, however, drops it against the door with a thud that sounds like judgment.
"special delivery," Jinx announces as she carries it in. "our friendship just got balls-deep."
you follow her into the kitchen, scrunching your nose as you peer over her shoulder. she grabs a knife and slices the tape open, peeling the cardboard flaps back.
and suddenly there's too much inside.
three toys: the two personal ones you each picked, tucked neatly in their boxes… and the main attraction. the double-ended dildo sits nestled in tissue paper, pink melting into blue with a dreamy and romantic softness that not only mocks you both, but contrasts with the thickness itself.
you both stare at your purchase, heads tilting in tandem.
definitely bigger in person.
"wow," you manage, a bit breathless already. "that's… optimistic."
"still scared of it?" she asks, annoyingly gentle.
"i just think it looks…" you mutter, gesturing vaguely, "a little too eager."
"i like it eager," she replies, with the confidence of a woman who's absolutely planning to break herself on it.
"i didn't think you'd actually—"
"you literally held my hand while i checked out," Jinx reminds you—not even smug, just factual.
you clear your throat and slide it back into the box like you're taming a snake. you both drag it into her nightstand like it weighs sixty pounds of suppressed desire and shove it inside—out of sight, not even remotely out of mind.
the next few days pass in denial. you pretend it's funny, she pretends she's not waiting. you try not to think about the thickness, or the way the silicone probably gives under pressure, or how your bodies would move against each other. she keeps picking it up at inopportune times—asking your opinion on angles, positions, storage. you argue over what lube counts as "neutral."
still, neither of you says no.
and the longer it sits untouched, the harder it becomes to pretend it was just a joke.
much harder than taking it ever would be.
everything comes to a halt on a saturday—rainy, boring, insomniac-heavy. Jinx is already high, sprawled upside down with her legs hooked over the headboard, flicking her zippo open and closed in an absentminded rhythm. her shirt has rucked up over her ribs, exposing a stretch of soft, pale stomach and the freckles scattered across her hips like sugar someone spilled just to tempt you. you're sitting cross-legged on the floor, pretending you're not staring at the curve of her waist every time she shifts.
you're not even talking about sex—just bad exes and worse sexts. how both of you have better luck getting off by yourselves. how dating is exhausting, how hookups are awkward, how lately it just feels easier to not bother.
"i haven't come with someone in, like… over a year," you admit, voice small and blunt in the low light.
"what?" she blinks at you, lighter clicking shut with finality. "babe, that's negligence."
"takes too long." you shrug, rubbing your thumb along your calf. "and i hate pretending."
she studies you, and the upside down angle does nothing to soften her expression. "you wouldn't have to pretend with me," she points out simply.
"Jinx—"
"i'm just saying!" she rolls herself upright with a lazy twist, hair messy, eyes slitted with something sharper than weed. she crawls to the edge of the bed, sitting right behind you, peering over your shoulder like she's reading your pulse. "i'm practically your best friend, right? i'd trust you to make me come. easy."
you turn your head slightly, just enough to see her in your periphery, heartbeat tripping over itself. she doesn't smile yet—just watches you, waiting for your brain to catch up.
"that's not what i—you can't just say things like that," you manage, conflicted.
"why not?" she asks softly. her voice has changed—lower, smoother, threaded with something warm enough to curl around your ribs. she shifts off the bed, landing quietly on her knees behind you. her presence wraps around you like heat, legs bracketing your hips without quite touching. her hands come to rest lightly on your shoulders, thumbs brushing slow arcs into your skin—testing, wordlessly asking. "i'm serious," she murmurs into your ear, making your skin prickle. "you hate pretending. i hate pretending. feels like an obvious solution."
oh, the irony. the staggering, ridiculous irony—pretending is all you've ever done with her. your entire friendship is a performance; touchier than friends, cleaner than lovers, stitched together with denial and long looks you both refuse to name.
and now she says she's tired of it, like you both didn't build your whole dynamic on it. you're not sure whether to laugh or scream or call her out on it.
but the hypocrisy tastes sweet coming from her mouth.
"that's not fair…"
"hey," Jinx soothes, fingers sliding from your shoulders to your upper arms, slow enough to feel intentional but not indecent just yet. "you said it yourself. it's hard with other people. too much pressure, too much bullshit."
you simply nod, small and helpless, because you can't seem to do anything else.
"but not with me," she continues, voice dripping with something unbearably coaxing and decadent. "i know you. you wouldn't have to fake a thing." she leans in, chest to your back, her breath ghosting down the side of your neck. "i could help you… if you wanted."
a beat, then another. her hands glide down your arms again, stopping just above your elbows—gentle, deliberate, grounding.
"i can do it for you," she adds, softer this time, as if she's afraid you'll spook if she pushes too hard. "you deserve someone who actually pays attention."
you swallow—too hard, too loud—but at least the sound means your throat is still working.
"i'd pay attention. i'd make it good," she murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear lightly. "you know i would."
"fuck," you breathe out involuntarily, and she exhales like the sound of you needing her is its own high.
"mhmm," Jinx hums, smiling into your neck. "i can do it for you." her fingers skate down your sides, slow and teasing, until her hands curve around your waist, drawing you back into her in a soft-bodied claim. "we already have the toy."
the words go off inside you like a shot. your stomach flips violently, thighs pressing together before you can stop them, and she tightens her grip on you just a fraction, just enough to tell you she liked it.
"yeah," she breathes, her teeth grazing your jaw like it's taking everything in her to hold back. "it'll just be you and me, like always." her hands slide slowly up your waist, fingertips pressing into the most sensitive spots she has no business of knowing this well. "tell me you don't want that."
you can't speak. you can barely breathe, really. your whole body is trembling now, betraying you as you lean back, practically offering yourself to her.
"or…" her voice drops into a velvety kind of whisper, like she knows what comes next, "tell me to keep going."
you strip because she does; Jinx strips because she's been waiting for the excuse. the second her shirt comes off, she looks lighter, energized. her shorts drop to the floor, and she kicks them away with ridiculous enthusiasm. her body is a map you know well: the scattered freckles on her chest, the faint scars across her thighs, marks you've noticed a hundred times but somehow feel new under this lighting.
and when she drops her panties, there's the bush—slightly darker than her hair, shaved down into a cute little heart. a blue heat-center you're not supposed to care about.
you're trying to look calm, but your skin feels too tight, every breath a little too sharp. there's nothing unfamiliar about the nudity, but this is different—this is intent, stripping for each other, stripping for sex.
you set the rules almost too quickly: ass to ass, no kissing, also known as the commandments of cowards. because it can't be too intimate, obviously; it can't look like what it actually is. it's not about you after all, right? it's about… curiosity, biology, friction.
the lube is cold as Jinx warms it between her palms, but her hands are shaking with how badly she wants this—wants you, wants this boundary erased, wants the physical proof that she was always right about the two of you. you lie on your side, already soaked, rubbing gentle circles over your clit—enough to take the edge off while keeping yourself aching. she watches openly, unblinking and pupils blown, like seeing your body react is something she's wanted for months.
"if we go ass to ass," she finally says, coating both ends of the dildo with just enough lube, like she's been practicing on fantasies of you, "then it's not, like… intimate intimate."
"you mean if we don't make eye contact while we fuck each other at the same time?"
"exactly!" she beams, almost giddy. "it's practically platonic."
your laugh breaks halfway through, dissolving into a helpless sound you don't want her to hear. you eventually end up on all fours: face down, backs turned, knees digging into the mattress, toy heavy and slick in your hands.
"okay," Jinx breathes, settling behind you, crouched and buzzing with anticipation, "on the count of three."
you nod, though your head is spinning. she's excited—genuinely, stupidly excited—because to her, this is a door she's been secretly pressing her weight against for months, waiting for the slightest give.
and tonight, you've opened it for her. this moment? this setup? this is the closest she's ever been to getting what she's wanted from you.
"one."
"two."
"three—wait!" she suddenly bursts into cackles. "are we going in together or, like… alternating? i feel like we need a traffic system."
"Jinx!" you whine,spine arching involuntarily, nearly collapsing forward. "please."
"right, right. shutting up."
liar.
you feel dizzy before it even starts. your thighs tremble as you press back slowly, guiding the blunt head in, letting it nudge you open with a faint whimper. you freeze for a split second, humiliated by your own voice. it's not instant pleasure—it's too big for that, too much. "shit," you whisper, your movements shallow and tentative.
"cute when you swear."
"you're already pushing it."
"i'm pushing it, alright."
behind you, Jinx grunts softly—a sound so hungry it tells you she's already taking more than she should, already pushing herself further than you are. you can only imagine it: pink folds dwarfed by the sheer thickness of the toy, taking inch after inch like she's starving for it, hazy-eyed. you don't have to look at her to know it.
"fuuuck, you feel that?" her voice is all grit, low and wild. "i forgot how good that is."
she hasn't; she just likes saying it out loud. she likes reminding you what kind of girl she is—soaked, sensitive, cockdrunk the second something's inside her. she wants you to hear it. she wants her own filth to rub off on you, like a sick little claim.
"this is—" she laughs under her breath, delighted and disgusting all at once, "—so fucked. even for us."
you're too busy gasping into your palm to answer, trembling as you take more. every time you try to steady yourself, another ripple of sensation knocks you off balance, punching moans out of you at the worst moments. and Jinx is eating it up. she's the first to start moving properly, grinding back slow and low, making the dildo push forward, forcing it deeper into you and bridging you both. she's loving this—the stretch, the pressure, the greedy fullness. it hits something inside her brain like a switch every time. no one else knows that, but she hopes you do—she wants you to.
you whine, hand slipping between your legs to rub fast, wet circles over your throbbing clit, walls fluttering frantically as they struggle to adjust.
"you're fucking tight, huh?" Jinx rasps, voice cracking around the edges of a laugh she’s too far gone to swallow. she fucks herself down on the toy with more force that necessary, grinning through it, wanting to feel you flinch underneath every slam of her hips. she's always been the impatient one, a greedy little whore when it comes to sensation; so she rolls her hips back harder, meaner, gasping when the stretch doubles through the toy, knowing full well that every thrust slams right back into you.
she’s bullying your g-spot over and over, wanting to push you, overwhelm you, watch you fall apart faster than her; she's enjoying your struggle even more than her own pleasure. she loves how much power she has over you, how she can make your voice stutter and your thoughts go fuzzy just from being a little selfish.
"poor baby can't take it already?” her tone is pure corruption—soft, mocking, coaxing, loving the way your breath stutters every time she speaks. “god, you’re adorable.”
"don't… don't say that—"
"mmh," she groans, pleased and vicious all at once. "knew it. knew you'd be like this."
"like what?" you manage, though your voice is shaking.
"like everything i imagined," she whispers. "sweet, overwhelmed. trying so hard to keep up."
you let out another broken sound, strangled and humiliating, and she shudders behind you—a full-body reaction she doesn't bother hiding.
"yeah," she pants, and you can hear the smile in her voice. "give me that. let me hear you."
you don't even notice how frantic your movements have become until the bed starts creaking with the motion, but you both keep grinding, fucked full on either end of the same dripping thing. your knees spread wider, backs bowing further and further as you keep chasing the spot that'll make your vision swim. the toy finally gives and bottoms out, leaving no room to pretend. it disappears between you and forces your pussies to press close, flushed lips parting against each other from the pressure.
Jinx registers it first and lets out a filthy little giggle, bottom lip happily caught between her teeth. "clits are kissing," she points out. "that's so fucking cute."
you choke on a moan, entire body tensing as you try to pull forward, but the dildo is buried—locking you in place, folds rubbing against hers, wet and swollen. "Jinx! just… shut the fuck up—"
"don't move!" she pants, voice high, panic and exhilaration tangled together. "don't you fucking dare—this is perfect."
"Jinx, please… fuck!”
"you feel that, right? feel how wet we are?" she rocks her hips in deliberate circles as if to emphasize her point. your juices mix, sticky and hot between your mashed folds, clits making out together with each thrust. "that's your slick on my clit. you're soaking me."
you're gone—grinding, whining, barely keeping yourself upright as your nails dig into the colorful sheets beneath you. "it's too much… s'too deep, i can't—"
"nuh-uh. you'll take it," she snaps, hips slamming back, wanting to feel you buckle under her. "you'll learn to take it. right here, with me."
you try to keep the rhythm, but Jinx has no sense of moderation, no concept of pacing. you're both moving, sure, but she's the one dragging you into her tempo, like you're an accessory to her pleasure. she's bouncing a little now—short, fast thrusts that make the toy slap wetly between you, obscene in the otherwise quiet apartment. of course she's not even trying to hold back; she's not built for restraint. not when she can feel the toy tug and push with every needy grind of her hips.
and the whole time, she’s loud on purpose. not performative—Jinx doesn’t do fake. but she doesn’t bite back a single moan, not one strained whimper, not a breathy curse. she lets every sound spill out of her, messy and unfiltered, because she knows you can hear her. because she wants you to. she’s loud because she wants you undone by the fact that she’s getting off on you.
it's making you lose composure faster than you want to; you need something to cling to while she's ruining you from behind so easily without even looking. you're overwhelmed, dizzy and trembling, but something about that intensity feels right, like she's pressing buttons you didn't know you had. you reach back blindly, hand fumbling for purchase until it finds her thigh, fingers digging into the soft and creamy flesh to ground yourself. her whole body jumps at the contact, driving the dildo deeper. her brain is pure static by now, near delirious, but she lives for this—you being full, stretched, used, needing her.
your sounds build: moans layered, breaths stuttering, skin slapping, slick squelching. "you sound so fucked out," she giggles, eyes wide and unfocused. "i haven't even touched you." but then she grabs for you, too—one hand gripping the soft meat of your ass, anchoring herself and driving harder. "mmph—harder! c'mon, sweet girl."
you obey before you can think, hand clawing into her hip now, yanking her back. the sound she makes when she feels you commit nearly undoes you. her eyes roll back, and your name starts falling from her lips like a mantra—over and over between high-pitched moans and sobs of pleasure. she tries to touch herself, tries to stay ahead of the sensation, and you can hear how sloppy it is. she's chasing the kind of friction that only makes things overstimulating; she twitches away from her own touch, then forces herself right back into the feeling like she refuses to slow down.
"there you go. good fucking girl," she breathes proudly, voice breaking on a whimper. "you're not—mmph—used to this, huh? bet you're loving it anyway."
she's losing to her own greed, and you're losing to the desperate need to keep up with her, to not disappoint her. you want to be the one who can keep up with the girl who never holds back.
"fuckfuckfuck—i'm right there, m'gonna come—don't stop—"
you beat her to it when your body arches, mouth opening in a silent scream, thighs clenching as your orgasm rips through you—hot and humiliating, gushing around the toy as your pussy sucks it in with each spasm. Jinx groans behind you, hips jerking back with a final slap, pressing your asses flush. she arches and clings to the headboard, face crumpled, borderline sobbing through the unforgiving release as her cunt clenches hard around the other end.
and then you hear it—a heavy, squirting sound as more wetness pools between your locked bodies, soaking the back of your thighs and darkening the sheets beneath you. "oh—fuck—oh my god—" she chokes out, half-laughing, half-crying, the sound coming out wrecked and startled, drunk on her orgasm. "i—gah—i didn't—holy shit!"
you let out a prolonged moan, grinding faintly through the aftershocks as relief floods your body like never before. your releases coat the toy, sticking between your folds in a shared mess—there's no way to tell whose slick is whose anymore. but while you're already done, already whimpering, shaking and breathless, Jinx keeps moving.
"Jinx, wait! shit—" you gasp, but the words barely come out, dissolving into a violent twitch. "m'too sensitive—"
"just a little more… please, don't pull away yet," she whines, only half-apologetic as she tightens her grip and holds you in place.
relentless. greedy. selfish.
because if she still can, she will.
her hips roll back into yours, sticky cunt smearing against yours, toy still buried so deep it squelches when she moves. you feel her clit throbbing right against yours, making you mewl faintly into the pillow, helpless.
"be good," she whimpers, almost pleadingly. "i don't even wanna come—just wanna—"
you try to bear it, to stay with her through the last of it, but your body betrays you, fucked open and raw—you're flinching, toes curled, pussy fluttering around the toy in overstimulated panic. it's the sound of your wet, ruined sob that finally cracks something open in Jinx.
she lets go, hand going slack and falling from your hip, chest heaving. you slump forward at the loss of your anchor, only dragging the toy along your sensitive walls, face buried in the sheets. she peers over her shoulder, dazed and blinking, suddenly aware of how tightly she held on, how hard she came, how much she took.
she pulls the dildo out of you first, movements gentle and careful as to not stimulate you further, before slipping it out of herself with a wet pop and tossing it aside.
"shit, i'm sorry. i didn't—i got carried away. are you—” her voice cracks, the apology tangling itself into something almost scared. "are you okay?"
you can't answer immediately; your lungs don't work yet. your entire body is shuddering as the overstimulation riots under your skin. everything feels too hot, too bright, too intense… but not bad. not wrong.
she inches closer, but not enough to crowd you—just enough that you can feel her warmth at your back, uncertain, guilty, waiting for the verdict like she expects you to flinch.
“sweetheart,” she tries again, barely audible, “talk to me. please.”
it takes a full, shaking breath before you can form any sound at all. then another breath before the sound turns into a laugh—soft, cracked, delirious. you lift your head and let out a stunned, breathless giggle that makes your shoulders shake. “Jinx,” you manage, voice wrecked beyond dignity, “holy shit.”
she blinks, startled. “that's not an answer.”
you laugh again—a messy, fucked out little sound—and flop onto your side, facing away so she doesn’t see the stupid smile stretching your lips. “i’m okay,” you pant, still trembling. “i’m… jesus. i'm okay. that was just—” you swallow, cheeks burning, “—a lot.”
Jinx exhales like she’s been underwater. for the first time since the high swallowed her, she lets her hand rest on your bare back—light, cautious, trembling with the leftover adrenaline. "you fucking scared me. i thought i overdid it."
you shake your head, still giggling weakly. "i'm just fried. need a second."
she lets out a shaky breath that sounds like relief and something more awestruck. “you sure?” she asks, softer.
you finally look back at her, eyes heavy, lips parted, expression stupidly dazed. “Jinx,” you whisper, “that was insane.”
her whole posture melts. the guilt, the panic, the tension? it all drains at once, replaced by a grin that’s half proud, half disbelieving, all Jinx. “yeah?” she murmurs, settling beside you like she’s afraid to jostle you. “yeah… it kinda was.”
she moves closer, cunt still throbbing faintly from her orgasm, lips wet and shiny from drooling just the tiniest bit in the heat of it all. she tucks her face into your neck, nose against the soft warmth of your skin, breathing you in like you're the only real thing left in the world. she's soft, completely undone in a way she usually doesn't let anyone see. your fingers trail up her spine, gentle, stroking like you're afraid she might disappear if you press too hard, heart still stuttering against your ribs.
you both know where you are—the after. the part where the rules get reassembled as if they still matter. the part where you should laugh it off and pretend it didn't mean anything.
but Jinx isn't moving. she's not making a joke. she's not hiding. she stays curled into you, hovering close, mouth brushing the line of your jaw. and when you turn your head just enough to meet her eyes, you can see the ruined look in her face—burning but tender, like she's seeing you for the first time and it's too much to handle.
her voice comes out hoarse, a whisper against your mouth when she speaks again.
"i"m gonna break the rule."
theres barely time to breathe before she does.
she kisses you like she's been waiting forever, slow and deep, lips parting with the softest sigh as her tongue slides in, tentative but smooth. you open for her instantly, hand sliding to her cheek, pulling her closer, bodies already pressed together but suddenly not close enough. you kiss like cats drink milk—long, slow licks, tongues brushing in the softest glide, breaths catching with every shifts. she whimpers into it, hips grinding just once against your thigh like she can't help herself. you moan back, licking softly into her mouth, like tasting her there is simply a continuation of everything you had already done.
and maybe this is kind of intimate.
but not like that, right?
— divider by @/cursed-carmine !!
how it feels to write smut sometimes. i physically cannot drop them in the middle of it with no context or buildup. next thing i’m posting will be bite-sized i am TIRED.
— says girl who is doing this to herself for the love of the game
We want Flawed Female Characters! No, not THOSE flaws. 😕 Those aren't sexy, COOL flaws. You know, the ones that I don't think actually SHOULD be considered flaws, that I might even feel personally judged for. The "unjustly martyred by the court of public opinion" kind of flaws. So like a "flawed" woman who's actually kind of a Saint in a way. I didn't want, like, FLAW flaws. What she did was WRONG and that makes her a BAD PERSON, and how can you justify that? If you still like her after what she did, that makes YOU a Bad Person too. Ugh, disgusting. 😕 But anyway, WHY isn't anyone writing flawed female characters?
Trump, ICE, and all of these Nazi bags of shit will rot in the ground, nobody will miss them, nobody will care to remember them. Fuck them. Fuck you if you support them. Fuck your family if they support them. Fuck my family that supports them. Fuck this.
I think the marketing failure around Jennifer's Body is an enormous part of what makes it such a brilliant master class film. You market this film with these male gazey shots of the current Hollywood sex symbol, you make it seem like a pseudo lesbian soft core porno, you then bring all these men who just want to goon to Megan Fox into the theatre. You sit them down. They're ready to watch the extended cut of her scene in bad boys. And instead you subject them to what rape feels like for women. You force these misogynistic straight men who came to the theater to get their rocks off to watch Megan Fox get shoved into the back of a van, taken to a remote location, and ritualistically sacrificed in a way where any idiot can tell it's a metaphor for sexual assault but which no one would find sexy, and then you make them watch her go to her best friend's house and throw up black bile all over the place. You make her gross and unsexy and in pain. And then you make it gay for real in a way that straight men have a hard time comprehending let alone fetishizing.
If you're a capitalist it's a terrible marketing decision but if you're a feminist and a troll it's the most brilliant move anyone has ever made.
having feral hybrid!vi thoughts.... where she gets hauled into the rehab center/shelter bc she's being a menace on the streets and none of the other employees want to work with her bc she's "too spicy" so you decide to give it ago -- you find her curled in the corner of the intake and processing room with a muzzle clamped over her jaws and the heaviest restraints wrapped around her wrists to keep her from lunging at whoever walks through the door. the moment you walk in, you can see the blade of fear in her eyes, and your heart aches for the unimaginable abuse she must've suffered out on the streets.
and it takes days -- entire days where you're sitting across the room from her, slowly inching closer, nudging forward food and water till she'll jerk forward and snatch them away. at first, you have to put straws in all her water bottles bc you can't get close enough to take the muzzle off. but somewhere around day 6 or 7, she finally lets you close enough where she'll take the food from your hand instead of from the ground.
"i wanna take that muzzle off you... will you let me do that?" you ask, shuffling closer on your knees. vi's eyes narrow, but she doesn't growl or try to shift away. you can see the tension in her shoulders, the wariness to her breaths, but you reach forward, and she lets you. a shiver tracks down her body as you slowly unbuckle the muzzle from around her head, tugging it till it falls loose.
she huffs out a breath as you let the muzzle fall and your heart twinges at the dark indents it had left on her skin.
"damn... that looks like it hurts..." you reach up to brush a knuckle along one of the reddened marks, worry making your stomach flutter. vi flinches back at the contact and you jerk back, shocked.
"o-oh! sorry! i -- i didn't mean to startle you --"
vi swallows, her back pressed to the wall.
you inch back just a bit, putting the muzzle down behind you and offering her a fresh bottle of water.
"here."
vi eyes it for a solid five seconds before reaching forward to take it from your hand.
"thanks."
you blink. it's the first thing she's said to you. to anyone (other than the profanities she shouted when she was first brought in). her voice is frayed around the edges, but sweet in a way that you weren't expecting.
and after that, you manage to coax a few words out of her each day. and the time that you spend together starts to stretch longer and longer. she still won't let anyone else near her, always growling or gearing for a fight. you're the only one who can convince her to take a bath, sitting by the tub, helping her scrub the grim from her skin, chattering about the movie you saw last night.
it isn't till she flicks a bit of water at your face that you pause to look at her. the barest hint of a smile kisses the corner of her lips. you crinkle your nose, reaching up to splash her with your finger too. she lets out a tiny laugh, just the breath of a thing, but you feel your entire chest inflate with pride.
"c'mon -- lets wash your hair," you say, smiling as you push up onto your knees and lean towards her. vi freezes -- this is the closest you've ever been, her curled up in the bubble-filled tub and you with your thighs pressed to the smooth ceramic edge. you pause, waiting. vi stares at you for an eternity, her eyes the color of a gunmetal sky.
and then she softens, crinkling her nose.
"okay."
you let out a breath, reaching down to touch her cheek.
"i'll be gentle, i promise."
vi flushes, glaring at the bottle of shampoo as you reach over to pick it up. but she can't keep the groan that works out of her throat as you lather up her hair, gently scraping your nails along her scalp, or the way her ears flick when you run the warm water through her tresses, rinsing out the suds with smooth, certain movements.
"feels good..." she murmurs, a groan threading through her voice as she shivers, her eyes fluttering closed. you grin, lilting her head this way and that, making sure not to get any water in her ears.
when she opens her eyes again, her gaze is glassy, her pupils blown wide.
you sit back on your heels.
"alright, do you think you'd be okay with a back scrub?"
it goes like this -- till you learn the shape and weight of her laughter, the way excitement makes all her muscles tense, and how joy soaks into the muscles of her shoulders, melting her like sun-warmed butter.
you learn that she likes a specific spot just behind her left ear scratched, and that she's not a huge fan of people touching her tail, that her fingers are way more delicate and dexterous than anyone might assume, and that all she's ever wanted was just somewhere to belong, and someone to love her.
"i think -- i think i'm gonna take her," you say one day, leaning back in your desk chair, staring up at the large florescent lights.
maddie blinks.
"what, vi?"
you purse your lips, nodding, "yeah. what do you think?"
maddie puffs out a laugh, "well i mean -- i'm glad! i know y'love her an' all that but... she weren't gonna get any less feral for anyone else but you, so..."
you sigh, rubbing at your temples. you knew this -- you'd known it since the first day she'd let you get closer. the fear threaded through her bones, the trauma emanating from her... you knew that it'd be too much work for anyone else to try and get through to her the way you have. and a smaller, more selfish part of you thinks that you could give her a better life anyway. that she'd be so much better off with you -- someone who knew how to take care of hybrids --
"damn, she's got you bad, huh?" maddie asks, chuckling.
you bite your lips, shooting her a look.
"that's rich, considering you just shelled out top dollar for that pedigree hybrid -- what's her name again? caitlyn?"
maddie flushes to the roots of her ginger hair.
"s-she was a graduation gift!"
you roll your eyes, "yes yes, congrats on graduating, here's a hybrid that costs the same as someone's house --"
"you know that's not what i wanted but --"
you shoot her a grin, "i'm literally joking -- i know that if anything it's you who's whipped for her."
maddie's cheeks are now blotchy with color. she sniffs and tactfully turns the conversation back to you with a lofty --
"well if you're gonna take her home, might as well start tonight, no? i mean... she's probably sick o'sleepin' in that little cot in the room upstairs."
you purse your lips, your heart thudding once, twice in your chest at the thought of taking vi home. home. you resist the urge to pick at your own nails (a bad childhood habit).
"yeah... i'm sure she is."
less than three hours later, you're pushing through your small apartment door with vi at your side, pressed perhaps a bit too close for comfort -- she'd been alright in the car, but you could tell that the ruckus of the outside world had put her on edge.
"well, here it is," you say, waving a hand towards the living room, "i've got a fresh set of sheets in the dryer, so you can sleep on some clean sheets tonight? how's that sound?"
vi cocks her head, looking around, peering around the kitchen and into the singular bedroom.
"where's my bed?"
you chew on your bottom lip, "well... the bed's big enough for both of us so..."
vi stares. on the wall, the clock ticks in 6:08pm.
you turn and begin noisily putting away the groceries you'd picked up on the way back, babbling.
"i mean -- if you want to though, i can definitely set up a different bed for you somewhere -- i just --"
you squeak as vi loops her arms around your middle and buries her face in the crook of your neck, tugging you against her. and not for the first time, you're a bit startled at how strong she is, how warm, how steady. she takes a long breath in; you feel her chest against your back, her heartbeat pattering an uneven hoofbeat along your spine.
"i -- no," she says, her voice hoarse, and almost as low as the first time she'd spoken. you relax, giving her hands a soft pat.
"hey... it's okay." you lean back, swaying slightly as she makes a sound suspiciously like a sniffle. "moving into a new place is a lot, right? it'll be okay... i'll be here. and i'm taking a few days off to help you adjust so... it'll all be okay."
vi loosens her grip ever so slightly, allowing you to turn in her arms. she's not taller than you by much but like this, you still have to tilt your head up ever so slightly to meet her eyes. her ears are pinned to her head, her eyes dark and watery.
"thanks," she finally manages, her voice still gravely. you smile, reaching up to bop her nose.
"welcome home, vi."
she whines, lowering her hand back into your shoulder as you laugh, letting her pull you in for another tight hug.
"now c'mon, you need to shower -- the shelter's clean but not that clean."
vi pulls back, nose crinkling.
"will you... will you stay with me?"
impossibly, you find yourself softening even further. you reach up to card your fingers through her hair, scratching at her scalp.
kaledo-art
annaxmalina
pixelskylines
jbbartram-illu
titsay
yousharknotpass
germansingergirl
