I'm a Jinx yume/self-ship fan, but most of what I write is Jinx x reader. The art I post is of my own yumeship — that’s basically the idea.
⚠︎warning: I don't mind self-insert, but this black-haired woman was indeed created based on me. If you feel uncomfortable, please exit. But I'm also considering creating pure jinx*reader content. I really like this app, 🖤love you guys.
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
✷ sypnosis: reserved reader expresses “discomfort” over jinx’s revealing style.
cw. degradation (j!receiving). modest!reader. suggestive content. men dni!
the two of you were preparing to go out for the evening, not dressing up, simply in the typical fashions that your girlfriend and yourself usually wore.
you’ve been dating for a few months, and you had previously known jinx before you became official.
therefore, you were aware of her immodest way of dressing, always seeing her addressed in her tight pants and small shirt that barely left anything to the imagination.
while you were friends, you never spoke up about your aversion to her style, it simply wouldn’t have been appropriate. but now that you’re dating, you find yourself growing more agitated by the fact, more-so than before.
you secure your pretty jacket around yourself, covering you up perfectly as you observe jinx in her usual outfit, stretching her arms above her head as she waits for you to finish up.
“you should wear a jacket, it’s pretty cold out.” you suggest delicately.
“nah, i’m good. i never get cold.” jinx quips with a smile.
“but you might, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
jinx nears you, eyeing you playfully. “don’t you worry about me, pumpkin. i wear this basically everyday, never had any problems.”
“yes. well, maybe you shouldn’t.” you mutter, avoiding eye contact.
her grin widens as she continues to stare at you in intrigue. “what’s that supposed to mean?” she questions, no offence evident in her tone, only amusement.
during a few awaiting seconds of silence, you consider whether you truly want to say your next words. alas, reasonable thinking flies out of the window.
“you don’t always have to dress like a whore.”
if it was anyone else that you had directed those words to, you would most likely find them offended. but you weren’t entirely surprised when jinx laughed loudly instead of growing insulted.
“really?” she giggles, nothing but delight shining in her eyes and through her voice.
humming in reply, you continue to avoid eye contact, fidgeting with the collar of your jacket.
as you remain timidly quiet, jinx moves in closer, playfully twirling the ends of your hair around her finger.
“say it again.” she whispers.
before you get the chance to question whether you misheard her, she’s abruptly kissing you.
you whimper momentarily, shocked by the sudden action, but after a few seconds, you manage to replicate her kiss. although, not quite as harshly as jinx.
“you really feel that way?” jinx pants softly in-between kisses.
“i’m sorry-”
“don’t be.” she cuts off, “tell me, what do you want me to wear?”
sighing, you decide to indulge her. “just- you could cover up a little more. you don’t have to be so indecent, especially when it’s cold outside. it’s unnecessary, and desperate.”
jinx whines softly, kissing you again, this time more slowly and thoroughly than before, like she wants to physically memorise every detail about the interaction.
she presses herself against you, subtly trying to encourage you to slip your thigh in-between her legs as she grows antsy from need.
instead of going through with your plans for the day, you spent your time inside, undressing jinx further as she finally got you to loosen up.
✷ a.n. wrote the progress day chapter for my wattpad fic last night! everything’s going well, and hopefully soon i will be introducing my fic on tumblr before publishing chapters! im writing a new chapter pretty much everyday, its very fun to write. also ive been thinking about the fic on this post for the past few days and thought it was kinda hot so here u go xo
Tags: Love letters, reader has Alzheimer, death, ANGST, hurt/little comfort, established relationship, unreliable narrator, friends to wives, progressive memory loss
-2,2k ✉𓂃🖊✉𓂃🖊✉𓂃🖊✉𓂃🖊✉𓂃🖊✉𓂃🖊
𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓙𝓲𝓷𝔁,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. As I am writing it, we’re just back from the hospital and you’ve left me to go on a walk.
Jinx hadn’t even been able to look at you as she’d say that she needed some fresh air, storming out of your house just a minute after getting back there. You’d let her, knowing full well she needed a moment to get her spiralling thoughts under control. Then she’d come back to you and you’d figure the rest out together.
I can tell you’re trying to be strong in front of me, you don’t have to, I know just how much you are.
I’ve known you my whole life, or almost. This illness will sure put an end to our decades of shared history but I hope it won’t tarnish them. We did not spend our whole childhood together then find our way back to each other after years apart just for this to ruin it all. I am the bearer of this sickness but you’ll be the one to suffer most from it, which is my biggest regret. I would spare you the pain if I could. However, I am selfish enough to want my wife by my side as I fade away.
The doctor had been all too clear about the inevitable outcome of your disease. It’d be death and nothing else.
I intend to leave you this letter, as well as others that I’ll write in my future but in your past, for you to find after my passing. May my words and love ease your grief.
I love you to oblivion and far beyond.
Yours, always.
𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓙𝓲𝓷𝔁,
I’ve had this urge to write you all of a sudden, even though you are right there in your atelier and I do not recall ever writing you a proper letter before. I really do not know what to tell you, though. You’re there with me all the time, you know everything already.
You sighed, fidgeting with your pen as you tried to think of something to write down. Maybe the things you didn’t dare say out loud. Yes, that would do.
I think I’m doing pretty well for now. I haven’t had major memory loss yet, which is a relief. I hope it will last for a little longer. But then again, if I did forget something entirely, then I wouldn’t know. Trying to remember if you’ve forgotten anything is terrible. I am thankful for every day I wake up and recognize your face.
I am ending this letter to go check on you and admire your latest painting. I might distract you for a while. We’ll see.
Yours, always.
𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓙𝓲𝓷𝔁,
Can I trust you with a secret? Sorry for the theatrics, I’m probably trying to cope with what happened this morning. You see, this morning, for at least ten minutes I couldn’t remember your name. It just slipped through my finger the more I tried to catch it. I did my best to hide it because I was sure it would make you freak out but it was horrible. That might be the sole thing I really want to forget about.
You shivered just thinking about those few minutes when you’d smile at your wife, started telling her something and realized mid-sentence that you couldn’t recall her name. You’d called her ‘love’ instead and panicked internally.
I’m not ready to lose you like this, gone from my memory. I don’t want to and you know how stubborn I can get. I’ll always find a way to remember you, I promise.
Yours, always.
𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓟𝓸𝔀𝓭𝓮𝓻,
Did you know that I am married? I did not. Well, I must have at some point, because I looked willing on the picture Jinx, my wife, showed me.
You smiled to yourself as you looked over at the photos still displayed on the desk.
It’s funny because I always thought I’d marry you. It’s stupid because we’ve only ever been best friends. But sometimes, I still thought maybe… Anyway, I guess destiny had other plans. Or maybe we truly never saw each other again after I moved away. If that is true, then I’m very upset with myself for not reaching out earlier. At least I’m doing it now and I hope you’ll get this letter because I can’t remember your address right now. I probably have it written somewhere. I’ll ask Jinx for help.
You’d better come visit me soon. I miss you.
Yours, always.
𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓟𝓸𝔀𝓭𝓮𝓻,
Big news: I am married. But you weren’t on any of the wedding pictures, how did you possibly miss my wedding day? I hope you had a good reason. It can’t be because you disapproved of Jinx, she is absolutely perfect. I consider myself as lucky as one can be with my condition. She’s a bit of an artist, like you.
In many ways, Jinx reminded you of Powder. She felt different, though. You were looking forward to re-learning more about her.
This morning we painted a little together. I’m actually worse at it then I remember, you would’ve probably laughed at me for the trash I made. Jinx just grimaced and said that not everyone could be as good as her. I don’t know her very well yet (What a terrible thing to write about your own wife, but such had become your life.) although something tells me she was being nice because I’m sick. I’d rather she acted like her regular self.
When are you going to come visit me?
I want to see you for real, your face is too blurry in my memory for my liking.
Yours, always.
𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓟𝓸𝔀𝓭𝓮𝓻,
I don’t know how much time has passed since my last memory of you.
The nurse had said it always threw you off to know the date, she looked so tired that I didn’t insist
But I really hope I told you I loved you the next day. I had planned it for days, you know. I had good reasons to think you felt the same. I don’t know much right now but I can assure you I’ve never loved anyone like I’ve loved you. I couldn’t imagine my life without you, yet I find myself far from you, in this house I don’t recognize. At least the nurse is familiar, she must have been taking care of me for a while now. We swore we’d always stick together so how come you’re so far away that I can’t visit you?
You had asked the nurse, several times. You had dropped the subject after she’d looked close to tears when telling you it wasn’t possible for the umpteenth time. Whatever you were paying that woman, it wasn’t enough. You’d have to get her a pay raise.
Anyway, if I haven’t had the courage to tell you earlier then I’m telling you now: I’m in love with you, wherever and with whomever you are.
Yours, always.
𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓟𝓸𝔀𝓭𝓮𝓻,
I’m pretty sure I wrote you letters before but I have no idea of what was their contents. Have I told you about my nurse? I hope not too much, because I’m about to.
Her name is Jinx, she told me so herself this morning. I really like her, even if she stares at me sometimes with that look in her eyes. It makes me sad, for some reason. But she also makes me laugh with her jokes and her clever words. I’ve watched her paint all afternoon-long and I was like entranced by the sight. Thankfully she didn’t call me out for acting creepy, staring at her like that. She just grinned and smeared paint on my face.
As you wrote all that, you realized just how smitten you sounded. It was stupid, you were just the patient she was taking care of. What chances did you have there? And even if you did have some, you were sick, forgetting more and more of yourself and the world as you had experienced it every day. Jinx was better off oblivious to your feelings and if she was lucky, free from any form of attachment to you.
I’m not going to bother you any longer with my stupid and very cliché crush on the nurse. She doesn’t even wear the uniform, for your information, so don’t start getting the wrong ideas.
Why don’t you tell me about your special someone at the moment, now that I’ve shared mine?
Yours, always.
𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓟𝓸𝔀𝓭𝓮𝓻,
This is the third letter I remember writing you, but I’ve searched everywhere and I found none of your answers. Everything has become so unclear in my mind that I cannot differentiate what’s real and what isn’t anymore. I locked myself up in the bathroom for three hours yesterday.
As you wrote that, you doubted yourself, unsure if it really had happened the day before or how long the incident had actually lasted. You brushed it off as unimportant details without dwelling on the general confusion those doubts illustrated
I thought the nurse wasn’t a real nurse and that she was lying to me. Now I know it was all in my head. That’s why I’m scared I made you up, sometimes. I’m terrified, actually. What if you were just a figment of my imagination? Someone my brain created to fill some gaps? These thoughts are plaguing me all the time. And earlier I thought it was you, waking me up. For a split second, I swear I recognized you. You were there, with me. I wanted to reach for you, hug you tight and tell you how happy I was to see you. But it was only Jinx. Maybe she looks like you. I wouldn’t know, since your face has disappeared from my memory along with any evidence of your existence.
If you wrote me back that would be proof enough. I’ll wait for your letter. Please hurry.
Yours, always.
At this point, you weren’t sure how many more letters you’d be able to write, as your hand already trembled enough to make writing slow and straining
𝖣𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖯𝗈𝗐𝖽𝖾𝗋,
You will probably notice the change of handwriting in this letter. I am indeed dictating to Jinx.
You were lying on your bed, you hadn’t moved from there in days, not that you were really aware of that fact. You were weakening increasingly fast, close to all mobility now excluded. Every sentence took ages to form in your mind, Jinx waiting with the pen in her hand, her gaze empty as she sat at the foot of your bed.
My beloved best friend, I fear these are my last words to you. No matter how little I remember of it, I am grateful for the times I’ve spent with you. Rest assured of my deep affection for you, which I’ll forever hold in my heart. My love for you is there with me even if you’re not, and it always will.
You took a small break, gaze lost in the distance. You didn’t notice how Jinx was biting on her lip so had that the skin broke, while her eyes filled with tears.
Goodbye, Powder. Until we meet again, wherever that might be.
Yours, always.
You sighed and closed your eyes after that, exhausted and oblivious to how Jinx’s tears were falling and staining the paper.
𝖣𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽,
I’ve read every single one of your letters now and even though I’ve never been as good with words as you are were are were, I’ll try my best for you, as I’ve always done and as I would’ve liked to do for much longer.
First of all, I love you. Powder loved you, Jinx loves you, and even if I were neither, I’d love you and I’d be satisfied to exist as nothing but yours.
The last days have been the most painful moments of my life. Watching you forget me was one thing, but watching you forget how to be, how to live, was a whole other. You know, I wouldn’t have wanted to exchange our places, because my situation was so excruciating that I would’ve never wished it upon you. Meanwhile you didn’t seem to be suffering nearly as much, which is my only relief.
Now you’re gone. After months of grieving someone alive, I thought it'd be a relief once you wouldn't hurt anymore. How wrong I was... I want you back by my side so much. Maybe it's selfish, maybe it's wrong, but I wish you were here, lost, confused, blurry-gazed, whatever, I don't care. I'd have you any way if it meant I got to have you at all.
Jinx had to blink the tears away as they had filled her eyes up to the point that she couldn't even see the words she was writing anymore. She would carry forever the memories that had slipped from your mind, like the games you played as little girls, a few years later the afternoons spent talking about everything while laying on your bed, the yearning during the few years you had spent apart, the immediate fireworks-like feeling in her guts when she had seen you again, the stupid smile on both your faces on your wedding day, the warmth of your skin every night... It all survived through her. Your lives had been so tightly intertwined, in a way your existence persevered, through Jinx and as long as she lived herself. That thought kept her alive most days since your passing.
summary: jinx has a unique way of confronting you about your "friends with benefits" relationship. like, for instance, trying to talk you into it while she's riding you.
warnings/themes: smut 18+, mdni, friends w benefits, strapon reffered to as cock, car fun, angry sex (sort of…??? it's fluff in the end 🤞), talking during ykw, reader has commitment issues
words: 5.0k
You knew Jinx wouldn't be able to keep her hands to herself for long, but you still didn't expect her to swing her leg over your lap to take her spot.
Jinx wears a cropped tank top and a skirt that barely covers her thighs. She leans forward, her chest right next to your face, and you can see the outline of her tits. She places her hands on your shoulders, squeezing them as she gets comfortable on your lap.
Your hands settle on her waist. “You should've told me,” you tell her as you watch her toss the top in the backseat. “Could've at least parked somewhere more private.”
She only gives a snort. “Don't act like you mind.”
You don't. You really don't mind.
You lick your lips as you watch her thighs open wider for you, noticing the lack of any undergarments. “You're not wearing any underwear?”
“Was I supposed to?” she asks, rolling her hips in small circles in your lap.
“I'd say not,” you reply, moving your hands off her waist and to her hips. “Makes things much easier.”
Jinx leans down to bring her face closer to yours, and you can smell the shampoo from her hair. It's the one you bought for her after she mentioned a few days ago that she was close to running out.
Your noses brush against each other, and you both let out a soft laugh before moving to connect your lips. Her lips are so soft, so familiar, and the taste of her mouth is so sweet, and you take your time to taste them. You can hear her exhale through her nose as you gently suck on her bottom lip.
Her fingers tug at your pants, the fabric bunching up under her fingers, trying to pull them down. “Get them off,” she murmurs, a subtle breathlessness in her voice. “Now.”
Your lips pull away from hers. “Bossy.”
“You're taking too long,” she whines, lifting her body off of your lap slightly so you can better pull off your pants.
“I'm doing it.” You move your hands away from her hips to fumble with your belt, unbuckling and unbuttoning your pants. You lift your hips and push your pants and underwear down, kicking them off your feet.
Jinx's eyes trail down, and then you see her lips curl into a smirk as she sees the silicone cock strapped to your hip. She hums, biting her lip gently as her eyes flick up to meet your stare.
“Look at that,” she whispers, her thumb running over the tip and down the veins along the length, squeezing it once. “Someone came well prepared.” She wraps her fingers around the girth, slowly pumping it as she looks into your eyes. “Is it new?”
“Yeah.” You nod. “Was waiting for a reason to use it.”
“Mhm. Well, I guess we'll have to change that,” she says, circling the tip along her slick folds.
Your hips instinctively buck forwards as she teases you. You want to pull her down, and you try, but she resists your grip on her hips.
Jinx just chuckles, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “You like that, huh?” she asks, her hips continuing to grind against you, your hips pushing against her in response. “You really like that.”
“Jinx…” you murmur before pulling her close to your chest and pressing a kiss on her lip. Your tongue slides into her mouth, tasting her again. Her hands slide up your chest, around your shoulders, and into your hair, fingers digging into your scalp.
She pulls away from your kiss, looking at you with a smirk. “Ekko told me something interesting today,” she breathes out, her hands returning down to your shoulders for support as she sinks further down, letting the toy stretch her.
You swallow down your moan, your eyes closing briefly. “Are you really bringing up Ekko at a time like this?”
She doesn't answer your question right away. She's still adjusting, her head thrown back as she lets out a sigh. “He mentioned that you're telling everyone that we aren't together,” she says after a few moments, her hands pushing off your shoulders to undo the clasp of her bra. It gets thrown away somewhere on the backseat without a second thought.
“But we're not together,” you state, your hands sliding under her skirt and squeezing her ass. “We're just friends.”
She hums in response. “Mhm, but tell me, baby,” she starts, pulling your hands off her ass and moving them to her bare breasts, “do friends do this?”
Your brain struggles to process her question for a while. Words aren't making their way from your mind to your tongue, and you're not sure what you'd say if they did.
Your hands seem to know what they should do, though, because as soon as you look down, your hands seem to grip and squeeze her tits, rubbing your thumb over her nipples, making them harden.
“Friends don't touch each other like you touch me,” she continues, her fingers running over your wrists, sliding up your forearms as your hands still work on her breasts. “Friends don't do this… friends don't feel like this…”
She looks directly into your eyes before lifting her skirt to fully expose herself to you. Your eyes follow her movement, watching how the thick shaft slips into her drenched cunt. “I think you and I spend way too much time together to be considered as friends.”
Her words make you scoff because, as much as you don't like it, she isn't wrong. Maybe it's because you two are nothing like friends. But that isn't even on your mind at the moment. The only thing you can focus on is her. Her body, her face, the way she feels.
“I've been spending more nights with you than I do with my friends,” she continues. “Have I ever told you that I haven't spent a night away from you in the last year? never slept in my own bed.”
“But we agreed to keep it as friends,” you argue, your hands leaving her nipples to grip her thighs.
“Friends,” she repeats, bringing her hand up to her mouth and sucking on two of her fingers until they're wet and glistening.
You watch her pull her fingers out of her mouth as she slides them down between her legs, slowly rubbing the tip of her two fingers over her clit.
“Friends definitely aren't supposed to be doing what you and I do. Do they, baby?”
“It's... its not that unusual for two friends to do this,” you find yourself saying, and she lets out a snort.
“Mhm. Not unusual for you, huh? so, you do this with everyone.”
“I didn't say that.”
“So you're only saying no to me?”
“We're not together,” you remind her for the millionth time.
“You're really good at making me scream your name for someone who isn't in a relationship with me,” she counters, her eyes lidded. She slips her fingers from between her legs, then reaches behind you, wrapping her fingers around your neck. “You can't date me, but you're all too happy to share a bed and use me when you're feeling lonely? Does that make you feel good, or maybe just make you feel a little less pathetic?”
Her words sting, and you open your mouth to respond. To deny it, to say that it isn't true...but words don't form, not when she's currently taking the cock so deep that you can see the shape of it through her skin, bulging out on her lower belly every time she sinks back down onto you. Your hand gently touches the bump, and you feel like you can even feel yourself filling her up.
Her nails bury themselves into the back of your neck as your hand touches the outline of the toy, her eyes closing before fluttering back open to look at you.
“You're still saying no to me, even when you're inside me,” she mutters between her soft gasps and moans. “Even when you fill me up so good, you still want to just keep me as a friend. You're selfish, you know that?”
Your eyebrows knit tightly, the guilt crawling up your spine to wrap around your throat.
“All the best bits with none of the responsibilities, that's you,” she adds before leaning back, her hands pressing against the roof of the car, back arching. “You just want to have some fun and still-”
Her words are cut off as your hands grab her legs, roughly pulling her back to you, the toy filling her up again.
She moans your name loudly, shifting her hands from the roof of the car to the headrest behind you to steady herself. “You-” she gasps out, her head tilting forward as her hair hangs down, tickling your neck. “Do you treat other people the same way that you treat me? ...or am I just your side piece?”
“What are you talking ab-” you choke on your words as she lifts herself again, then moans softly as she sinks down on the toy.
“I fucking asked you a question,” she snaps, her other hand reaching behind her, grabbing your wrist, and pulling your hand off of her thigh just before you could do it again.
“Fu-” you swallow the curses that were about to escape from your lips. “It's not like—just please, give me a second to think, yeah?”
“You've got plenty of time to think when you're alone,” she says, letting go of the backseat to rest her hands on your chest, grinding her hips slowly. “But when I'm with you, I want you to pay attention to me. You've been distracted lately, you haven't been listening to me.”
Then suddenly, a single drop of sweat runs down her neck, getting lost in the valley of her chest, between her breasts, which she notices.
“See? You're not even looking me in the eyes.” Her words pull your eyes back up to her face. “Can you even look at me when you bullshit me, cause-”
You aren't sure what came over you—maybe it's her words, maybe it's the constant teasing, but you do know that she needs to shut up. So, you do what you do best: put her in her place. You grip her hips and lift her up off of you, moving her to the other side of the seat.
Her back hits cold leather with a loud thud, followed by the sound of her head hitting the headrest and a small whimper of pain. But all of that is immediately drowned out by the moan that leaves her because when she landed on the seat, the cock slid in even deeper, and you can see her eyes rolling up.
You position both of your knees on the seat to get a better angle, and you watch how the toy looks like it's just being sucked right into her. Her fluids are sticking to the silicone, making the toy slick as it pushes deeper into her.
She reaches behind her, searching for the seat recliner button, her fingers eventually finding it. She then leans back in the passenger seat, completely lying down on the seat. “I'll ask you again,” she starts, her legs spreading on either side of you, her hips canted upwards. “Do you do this with-”
You stop her by pulling the fabric of her skirt, the sound of threads snapping was a bit too loud in the car.
She hisses, eyes looking down at her ripped skirt, now with an inch-long cut in the side that exposed her inner thighs. “Hey! That's my favorite-”
“I'll buy you another one.”
“That's not the point-” she begins, but you don't let her finish, hands moving to pull the torn fabric off her and throw it aside.
“Will you shut up for a minute?” you snap, slowly pulling the cock out only to push it back in.
“You-” she gasps, her hands curling into small fists. “Don't talk to me like-”
“You said you wanted to hear me talk, and now you're the one running your mouth all over the place.”
She pulls her bottom lip with her teeth. “Fuck-” she curses as her hips meet your thrusts halfway, filling her over and over again.
You drop your mouth down, giving her neck sloppy kisses. “The answer you want to hear so much is that no, I don't treat others the same way that I treat you. Does that make you happy? seeing you're the only one I do that with?”
“Why?” she asks, “Why don't you date me? is there something wrong with me?”
“No,” you immediately say, leaving a bite mark on the side of her neck.
She pushes your shoulder, trying to move you away from her neck and look at your face. “Then why?”
Your hand pushes one of her legs to spread wider before bringing your mouth close to her ear. “Because this is better,” you murmur, burying your face into the side of her neck.
“Better?” she repeats with a scoff. “Better what? you using me for quick sex?”
You push yourself up, your eyes meeting hers. “That's what we agree to, isn't it?” you say. “No strings attached.” It hurts to say, but it's true. “That's what we wanted, what we agreed on. No attachment, no feelings.”
Your hand leaves her hip, moving down to her leg. The heel of her foot is digging into your upper back as you lift her leg, bringing it up over your shoulder, making her body stretch even more.
“So why do you want me to be with you?” you ask, your thrusts speeding up, and the car is starting to rock on its wheels.
“Sh—because I want you, okay?” Her hands slide up your shoulders to scratch your back, her nails marking you. “I fucking want you,” she repeats, her teeth closing on your shirt in an attempt to bite out her anger.
You lift her other leg to place it on your shoulder, getting her to spread her legs as wide as possible. Your hands slide off her legs, curling them around her waist.
“I want you to come home. I want that. I want you in my home, in my bed, in my life. I want us to be together, I want us to be partners, I want-” a strangled moan escapes her lip when you find the right spot, “-I want something more. If you don't feel the same way, please tell me, because I'll leave and let you do whatever you want, but don't keep stringing me along to keep pretending that this is alright.”
Her words hit you hard, and the silence that follows is too loud for your ears, and there's nothing you can do to drown it out.
You know that all relationships have an end, no matter how good, how right, or how good they were. ‘Everything you have is temporary, so enjoy it while you still can.’
You've never felt any attachment to your belongings, and relationships are no different. You can love, and you can hate, but you never felt any need to be attached. To be deeply attached.
But the idea of her leaving you...
You hate that thought. You loathe it with a passion that burns in your soul.
You look at her, seeing her expression soften. Her eyes are locked with yours, and something stirs within you. “You'd really leave?”
“I would,” she whispers, her hands holding tightly onto the back of your shoulder blades, nails threatening to pierce through your shirt and into your skin. “If you tell me that you don't want anything more, that this is all you want… yeah, I'd leave. I'll give up what I have—what I want.”
You feel a pain in your chest, and your stomach churns uncomfortably, because you know, even with the thin excuse of “no strings attached,” you've been selfish. You've used her. And you know, with the same certainty, that any moment without her is going to feel like an unending torture.
“But tell me. Do you want me to stay?” she asks, her hands trail down from your shoulders to your biceps.
You hate that she's asking you such a simple question, but it's also the most complicated one you've ever gotten in your life.
Your hands tighten around her waist, and your eyes burn with tears you'd never let her see. She sees your struggle, and without any mercy, her hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, her thumb wiping away the tears that you didn't even know had fallen.
“I want you to stay,” you manage, but your voice is too quiet, and she doesn't seem to hear it, so you repeat, “I want you to stay,” this time with more confidence.
“Say it again.”
“I want you to stay-” you lean forward, pushing her legs closer to her chest. “I need you to stay.”
Your hips keep the pace, rough and fast, making sure you hit the right spot. Her eyes flutter and her head tilts back when you drive her body up.
“Stay,” you keep on saying the same word every time you hit deep, making her feel you to the hilt before pulling out halfway again.
Stay.
You need to drive this one word into her, pound it into her mind, carve it into her flesh, sear it into her soul. You want to mark her with the sound of your voice and leave her with something even her own madness can't destroy.
You don't know when, but at some point, the line you refused to cross was crossed a long time ago. Now, you want to push even further, to burn down any boundary between you two.
Your words finally fade, and instead, there's just this ragged breathing that's coming from your throat.
You pound her so hard and deep that she can't think straight, all her strength is devoted to that thick cock filling her up. Her thighs tremble around your shoulder, almost closing around you. Her breath comes out in short bursts, she tries to keep her head up to keep her eyes on your face, but with every thrust, the headrest hits the back of her head.
Your eyes flicker over her face, lingering on her half-lidded gaze, her flushed cheeks, and her parted lips, noticing how her eyes do the exact same.
Her eyes keep looking at you, only you, and you wish you could turn away, but there are tears on the corners of her eyes just like yours, and you can't look away from them.
“I love... I love you.”
You hear her words, the words fall from her parted lips straight into your ears, and god—you feel like you're breaking.
Her fingers run over your cheeks, tracing the slope of your cheeks, wiping the sweat that's dripping from your temples. Her hands slide through your hair before they fall, resting back on your biceps, keeping your face close.
“I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you so much-” she cries out, throwing her head back, exposing the column of her neck.
And with that—the last little bit of strength she has left, that one last little bit of willpower to keep holding herself together—all of it shatters like glass, because, in the end, you're all she's ever wanted. Needed.
She lets out a scream before her body stiffens, back arching off the car seat as her thighs tremble, toes curling, fingers digging into your skin. You watch as her juices spray out all over the car seat, her thighs, and your stomach, leaving a messy trail of clear liquid around you.
You realize that she has been calling out your name, and all you can think about is how good your name sounds on her lips.
The windows are completely fogged up, hiding you from any eyes that want to look in, and you are more than thankful that you parked somewhere secluded. If they can hear anything, the windows are shut and the car is completely soundproof.
So you lean into her, and you don't hold back as you push your tongue into her still open mouth, tasting the sounds that leave her, trying to swallow them, and drinking them like you are desperate to devour every little bit of her.
You feel her tongue touch yours, and she pushes herself upwards just enough to kiss you deeply, her hand sliding under your shirt to feel your sweat-slick body.
You slow down your hips, letting her come down, and her legs feel like jelly in your hands as they fall weakly on the side of your hips.
When your tongue leaves her mouth, you feel like leaving a part of yourself behind.
Jinx's hand leaves your damp shirt to wipe the sweat off your forehead before slowly sliding down your face and then moving down over your jaw.
You pull the cock out of her, giving her body a chance to relax and recover without the toy stretching her out. Your knees fall onto the floor, and you wrap your arms around her midriff, resting your head on her chest.
You don't know how long you stay like that, but you don't mind the silence.
You feel her fingers drawing lines across your upper back, up and down, until she reaches your head. She plays with your hair, twisting it softly around her fingers. You are pretty sure she's doing it unconsciously while her eyes stare blankly into the fogged up windows.
“Did you mean it?” you ask after a moment.
“Mean what?”
“This,” you reply, raising your head to look at her face.
Her eyes meet yours, and you think, if you could, you'd spend the rest of your life just looking into them. “That I love you?” She stops playing with your hair, lifting her hand to brush the side of your face. “Yes,” she says simply. “I love you.”
You don't bother asking her why she loves you, it's not a question you need the answer for.
Your head drops back between her breasts, where it's warmer. “I'm sorry, Jinx,” you murmur as your hand starts tracing her ribcage. You hear her hum, her fingers resuming their soft trailing all over your head, playing with your hair. “I think I've been hurting you.”
And like you had hoped, she has enough energy left in her to scoff at the words. “You think?” she says. “I've been hurting, dumbass.”
“I know, I know,” you reply, tilting your head so you can kiss the center of her chest. “I'm being serious.”
She scoffs again, but you hear a soft chuckle under her breath, and you think, that's the sound that you love hearing most. “So am I,” she says. “It hurts, being with you and not being with you. Do you understand that?”
“I think I do.” You raise your head slightly to look at her face. Your chin digs into the valley between her breasts as you meet her gaze.
“You think you do,” she repeats again, and there's a hint of a scoff. “You know, I'd punch you if I weren't so tired.”
“Thank god for that,” you say, and she rolls her eyes at your words.
“And you should be thankful,” she says, flicking your ear.
“I am.” You lean forward, moving higher up to kiss her lips, just a simple and chaste press of lips. “I'm sorry.”
She tries to follow your mouth when you pull away, and you can see the disappointment on her face.
“I'm sorry,” you repeat after another kiss. “I'm a big idiot for treating you unfairly.” You kiss her again and again, each one of them short and sweet, not even trying to deepen the kiss.
“I'm really sorry,” you say again as you kiss her jawline, nipping her skin softly. “I really didn't want to hurt you,” you whisper into her ear before you pull your mouth down and kiss her neck.
She hums, her legs shifting, and you can tell she is starting to feel needy again.
“I was scared,” you confess, moving down her chest, towards her breasts. “I was too afraid of losing you.”
Your mouth closes over one of her hardened nipples, your tongue flicking over the sensitive nub, and her head falls on the seat. Your hand finds the other nipple, your fingers tugging and pinching it and you hear her moan your name. Your mouth moves from one to the other, sucking on all that soft, smooth skin.
She digs her nails into your head, and then you pull away. Your mouth travels over the valley of her cleavage, giving her pale skin the attention it needs.
You continue leaving hickeys all over her torso, kissing and nipping on her skin, your hands roaming over her body, sliding over the slope of her waist, the slight dip of her middle, the ridges of her ribs. You kiss her ribs and all the way down to her stomach, the muscles in her abdomen jump every time you kiss close to her navel.
Her hand is tugging on your hair, trying to bring your face up towards hers, but you ignore her efforts and move your mouth down her body.
“I'm sorry,” you repeat, your fingers digging into her thighs as you kiss every inch of her until you reach her hips. She gasps, her knees trying to keep together, and you gently run your fingers over her inner thighs, kissing her sensitive skin.
“I didn't want to admit it, but I don't want to lose what I don't have.” You kiss the side of her thigh, running your nose in soft circles, feeling her muscles twitch. “You'd keep me at arm's length, and I'd hold you at arm's length. I thought that it was easier that way.”
Her thighs are trembling by the time your mouth reaches the top of her thighs, only to skip her still soaked, sensitive pussy.
“You-” she gasps, “-you were-” her words are cut short when you sink your teeth into her inner thigh and bite hard, leaving a mark that's going to darken into a deep purple soon. “-were a jerk.” She tries to bring her thighs together, but you place your hand on her knee, keeping her legs open.
You let go of her thigh and kiss over the bite, soothing the skin with your tongue before moving your mouth and kissing the other. “I was,” you say, your hands sliding under her thighs, bringing her legs over your shoulders, making her even more open to you. “I was a fool.”
You run your tongue over her inner thighs, kissing right near her clit, but you skip it, leaving it untouched as she keeps letting out breathless whimpers.
“You were.” Her hands reach down, and you let her pull you back up. You hover over her, and she runs her fingers on your jaw, to your cheek, and finally to your chin, holding your face gently. “I want more than quick sex in the car,” she says softly. “I need more than that. It's not fair to me or-”
“Or to me?” you finish for her. “I know.” It's not fair to either of you. You turn your head and kiss her palm.
“And you-” she gives your face a little shake. “I'm not going to play the fool for you anymore,” she states. “I'm not going to pretend that I'm okay with being tossed to the side or with you ignoring me. I just want you to be honest with me. I'm tired of you acting like you don't want me.”
“I do,” you say, feeling her legs crossing around your waist. “I do want you. I've been wanting you.”
“Then be with me.”
It's that simple.
She just wants you, just you.
“Be with me” she repeats, “no more excuses or lies for being scared or stupid. Be with me, have me, I'm right here.”
You look at her, at her face, her expression, her eyes... and you don't need another explanation. Because, this? This is what has been between you two the whole time.
“Okay,” you say, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, making your body feel lighter. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she replies without hesitation, but before she can say another word, you lean down and press another kiss on her lips.
You know this can't solve everything, not right away. But you want to try and take it.
Because you do love her, and how can you not? She is beautiful and complicated, and she drives you mad more often than not, and she makes you feel things you never thought you would feel, but she does—and you do love her—and if she wants you to be with her, then you are going to try.
For both of you.
And you show her how you love her. You show her with your mouth, your lips, teeth, and tongue. You show her your want and need and desire, but you also try to make your touch and every kiss as soft as you can.
Her hands slide over your face, her fingers wrapping over your ears as she leans up to respond to the kiss, pulling you closer. Her mouth opens to yours, gently bringing your tongue against hers.
You feel her teeth on your lips, and she bites it softly before she finally lets go of you. “Be with me,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip.
“I will be,” you promise, pressing another kiss on her lips, and she smiles against your mouth. “I'm with you.”
She hums. “I'm not letting you go."
That's all you needed to hear. All of that fear—it still stings in the back of your mind. But for the first time, it's small enough to ignore.
“No?” you ask, pulling away.
“No.”
“Not ever?”
“Not ever.”
“Never ever?”
“Never ever ever,” she echoes, and the words are enough to make you smile. “I'm going to make you sick of me.”
Obsessed best friend jinx x Kiramman reader who are DEFINITELY more than best friends and everyone knows it🫦
cw: kiramman reader. secret relationship. yearning. caitvi mentions. awkward reader. fleabag reference ;) sex mentions. getting caught. men dni.
it begun small. the two of you were introduced through your smitten sisters, trying to coerce you both into some kind of family dynamic where awkward dinner parties would likely be involved.
you couldn’t help but notice the amusement that oozed from the blue-haired girl whenever caitlyn would attempt to mould her into piltovan society; even if just for a night.
it never worked of course. all caitlyn received was an overly sarcastic remark from jinx, apart from the times where she would straight up just laugh in your sisters face.
you couldn’t really blame her. even being a kiramman yourself, you had a tendency to find the whole thing rather tedious.
on the rare occasion that jinx was able to be convinced to attend a society party, you were always present, standing politely by your elder sisters side, gazing impassively around the room.
the first time jinx truly paid any mind to you was at some type of gathering. since you weren’t taking it upon yourself to socialise with people, caitlyn had you hold a drink tray like a server before instructing you to not talk to anybody, incase they were of high importance and you decided to say something bizarre.
so naturally, when your sisters fiancé walked over with her own sister boredly trailing behind her, greeting caitlyn before turning to you and offering a casual “hey,” you stared at her and said absolutely nothing.
amidst the awkward silence, cait turned to you with a roll of her eyes. “say something,” she beckons, her tone loudening slightly before she looks around the room, making sure she keeps her composure within a room full of people.
“hello,” you smile as if the situation went completely well before caitlyn takes two drinks from your tray, offering them to the two sisters.
after a while of the four of you strolling around the room, talking to others here and there, caitlyn declares that she and vi are going to talk with an investor, leaving jinx and yourself in each others company.
once again, you didn’t make an effort to do anything but stand in place, looking ahead of you at nothing in particular. you could feel jinx staring at your face from beside you, and you could practically feel her entertainment over your blatant discomfort pushing you to start some type of small talk before she starts to laugh at you.
you didn’t get the chance to begin talking about the weather outside that you could barely see due to the high walls surrounding you before jinx spoke up.
“i didn’t know she had a sister, never seemed to mention you.”
rude, you thought, taking a breath before replying.
“well, she’s mentioned you, and it was never anything good.”
jinx’s abrupt laugh had a satisfaction subtly blooming beneath your initial irritation, glad that you’re able to entertain a girl who is seemingly unimpressed with pretty much anything piltover or kiramman related.
after that, jinx seemed less begrudged to attend events, only to show up and tease you the whole time.
your sister did seem hesitant about your growing bond, even though it was her who had pushed you to talk to her. cait didn’t hate jinx, but she knew how much trouble her mere presence tended to cause.
the two of you spent events cuddled up together in a corner, not bothering to converse with others. until suddenly, you were inviting jinx over to the house; much to caitlyn’s bewilderment, but she couldn’t exactly object since she was engaged to her sister.
as your friendship progressed rather quickly, it proved difficult to separate the two of you; jinx often found herself glued to your hip, especially while others were present.
she would never say it aloud, but jinx adored being the person closest to you. the person that you tell about your mundane tasks throughout the day, the petty arguments you have with your sister, how exhausted you get during events, what you’re going to wear to them…
when she thinks about the possibility of some prissy piltie girl taking her place, it’s hard for her not to grow irritated and somewhat territorial.
but that’s just who jinx is. she likes to feel needed; needs to feel needed.
of course, without knowing the full weight of jinx’s thought process, you still have no problems supplying her with your undivided attention and company, not being too fond of others anyway.
as vi kept a watchful eye on her younger sister during events and dinners, she observed the way jinx grew twitchy whenever you were engaged in a conversation that wasn’t with her.
since the sisters lived together, vi was also the one to be subject to jinx’s mood swings whenever you rejected her invitation to hang out, usually being too busy following in your own sisters footsteps.
whereas in the kiramman household, caitlyn and your parents were growing tired of listening to every detail of your time spent with jinx while they were peacefully attempting to enjoy family breakfast.
whenever your mother delicately tried to direct the conversation elsewhere, somehow every topic was connected to your best-friend within your mind. soon enough, they realised that they had no choice but to listen.
sleepovers were especially taxing from your families perspectives. whenever you slept over at jinx’s place, vi’s only escape was to seek refuge with caitlyn in piltover instead of trying to sleep in her own bedroom while suffering under the sound of loud music and girlish giggles next door.
while in your home, your family migrated to the opposite end of the house for the night, finding it more successful than trying to convince the two of you to keep it down.
you were careless about the innocent nature of your noise in the early evening, and you only begun to quiet down as the night went on and the others were already deep in sleep.
annoying your relatives with your loud conversations and giggles was all good fun to you, but if they ever heard the sounds of pleasure escaping past your lips as jinx held herself firmly between your legs, you would be utterly mortified.
it wasn’t until one night over at jinx’s place after months of regular sleepovers that vi had awoken during the night, moping to the kitchen for a glass of water when she walked past her sisters bedroom, no longer hearing laughter, but heavy breathing coming from the opposite side of the colourfully decorated door.
let’s just say, vi was quick to fully awake once she heard you panting her sisters name amidst soft hums and whimpers.
she didn’t mention it to her fiancé, but a few days later when caitlyn went on a rant about the sickening teasing and flirting between the two of you when you were supposed to be working, vi couldn’t help herself.
cait was unimpressed, but not entirely surprised. she would have to be blind, deaf, and simply ignorant to ignore the behaviour between the two of you.
unlike yourself, whenever you informed vi and caitlyn that you and jinx were going to have another sleepover, you purposefully ignored the way the pink-haired girls eyes widened as she glanced over to your sister, whom sat politely in her chair as she sipped her tea, casually focusing on her paperwork.
honestly, they didn’t really care that you and jinx were hooking up, but caitlyn did find it slightly insulting that you assumed she was dull enough to think that the nature of your oddly close friendship was entirely innocent; especially knowing jinx.
during the planning of yet another high-society event, cait had picked out a beautiful long navy blue silk dress for you to wear, the only problem was that it was rather low cut, and showed off the marks that jinx had scattered over the top of your breasts the night before.
too humiliated to inform your sister of your hesitance to wear the dress, you decided on stealing an elegant shawl from her closet and being done with it.
although, after months of “sneaking around” with jinx, assuming you were the picture of subtlety, you both had grown sloppy.
jinx had taken a liking to teasing you during events. she loved watching the way your cheeks flushed as you grew antsy with every crude phrase she murmured in your ear.
after an hour or two, she had you against a wall in a desolate hallway, eager hand pressed against your silk covered breast as she bit onto your bottom lip with a smile, your nails digging into the skin of her hips as you gripped onto her desperately.
suddenly, you were interrupted by your elder sisters stern voice. “one event!”
you gasped, pushing jinx away as she groaned and rolled her eyes at your sisters presence. looking at vi with a “seriously?” gesture who stood beside cait bashfully.
“one event is all i intended. is it that hard for you to stay put? is it necessary for me to hire you a babysitter?” she scolded.
“i’m sorry,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.
“i can babysit her if you want,” jinx says, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing as caitlyn narrows her gaze in her direction, holding her fingers to the bridge of her nose before walking away with a sigh.
vi rocks back and forth on her heels with her hands stuffed into her pockets as awkward silence hangs over the three of you. it isn’t until a bleak few seconds later that she gets the memo and follows your sister back to the party.
“whoops,” jinx whispers, laughing and nudging your shoulder as she trails after vi, smiling with nothing but pure glee as your eyes remain wide in vexation, the flush of your cheeks remaining.
permanent taglist : @ilovejinx1010 @puppymei-anon @evereenashaven @alduinworldeater11 @reiaeri @bluefootedbooby @prettyyyy-girl @sevikasswifee @sugarottedteeth @esop3 @lobotomymutt @baeholic @autistic4jinx @uniquewombatexpert @a-star-bear one time tag : @eternaltruce
a.n. this kinda sucks im sorry. also i figured out the cause of my lack of motivation.
i appreciate all of ur requests so much, genuinely. but i lose motivation when i have to reply to a request when i don’t really have any ideas on how to write it in the moment, and then i turn out unhappy with it and have to put off my own ideas.
so im gonna keep my requests off for a longer time so they don’t pile up while i write more of my own ideas so i don’t go ages without writing and posting. love u all sm thank u for your patience, ur the best xoxo plus im lowkey thinking about writing a full jinx fic on wattpad…
no idea if your requests are open but i would die for some powder x older woman rn 🤤🤤
btw your writing is fire like omg??
cw. older!reader. sugarmommy!reader sugarbaby!jinx strap riding. condescension mention. slight power imbalance? men dni!
i think the way jinx would be persuaded to date somebody older would be due to older!reader buying certain expensive tools and devices that jinx needs for her gadgets, but otherwise couldn’t get her hands on. the slightly condescending tone that you use while calling jinx “cute” and caressing the side of her cheek has her flushing in seconds and fighting the urge to avoid eye contact, but she simply offers some playful words to brush off your compliment before meekly curling up into your lap, allowing you to brush your fingers through her thick blue strands. she adores the way you switch between affectionate encouragement to showing indifference towards her as you focus on your work while she rides your strap. she snuggles up against you and burrows her face into your neck, inhaling your addicting scent as she licks over your soft skin, grinding her hips down harder against your lap while she thinks about how sweetly you take care of her.
. a.n. this was requested a while back as im still getting through requests ive got like 60 left i need to lock in… but appreciate u for the compliment thank u sm :,)
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's that gazing at me from afar?"
Powder did keep the Hex shards after. All of that explosive potential, just a decision or an accident away… And with the Arcane in the air, who's to say what you might find.
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