thisrots

[thisrots]

bababooie

[thisrots]

jinx literally holding the reader’s legs still when they can’t stop shaking 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

jinx had been latched onto your swollen and abused clit for hours. pretty candy pink lips pursed around your precious bundle of nerves, tongue carefully swirling around it like she was coaxing another orgasm out of you. your thighs were clamped shut around her face, lower body quivering like a loose leaf in the wind, face stained with tears and runny mascara.

“j-jinx, please—can’t, i-i can’t anymore—mmfff! please!”

your voice was dripping with desperation, hands lost in her messily braided hair, strands of blue tangled between your fingers. her cheeks were flushed, eyes rolling back with each plead that escaped your beautifully pouted lips, moaning against your overspilling cunt with each torturous tongue flick. the warmth in her lower stomach spread out between her inner thighs, leaky pussy painting her black panties with a clear coat of arousal.

with a lewd pop, she released your bud, panting as a string of your wetness mixed with her slobber connected the two of you. “you know, for someone who begged for me to touch them, you don’t seem very appreciative, toots.”

her long, lanky hands wrapped around your thighs, pink and blue chipped nails digging into the plush of your skin, forcing your them apart. she watched as your pussy lips spread open for her, strings of your sticky creaminess coating your cunt, tiny clit bulging out and pulsating at her—quietly begging for both mercy and—fuck, please more.

“you’re gonna take what i give you, yeah?” she pressed supple, wet kisses against the softness of your inner thighs, nipping and licking lightly, shimmering violet eyes looking up at you with innocence you know damn well she didn’t have.

“and besides,” her lips grazed over to your sensitivity, mouth hovering over your abused bud, squirming underneath her touch. “don’t act like you don’t know—”

with a sudden long tongue stroke from your scorching hot hole to your clit, she held your thighs in place, smug smirk curled up on her lips at your broken mewl, feeding off of your whines and dripping juices that made her cunt flutter with need.

“i like it when you beg.”

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waked, baked and started thing about caitvi + puppy play...vi in the 'bite risk' collar...cait yanking her back onto the strap by the leash until she's too overstimulated to form words. many thoughts of the like

[thisrots]

they’re animating homestuck…. i’m never escaping its fucking shackles

[thisrots]

Vi

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vi with a huge bush, i mean wild, untamed hair everywhere leading up her to happy trail and on her thighs too, EVERYWHERE and reader is 100% here for it

bushes save lives

i share this with you my nonnie cuz there is not enough love for bushes and it hurts since i just know my girl’s so chaotic down there, always saying some shit like — "girls love it, why would i take away their main treat?" so she can somehow explain why she would never, ever, in her entire existence would touch a razor by free will. she's a nice mystery to unfold when her pink hair starts right beneath her navel to end up in a messy, untamed bush under her briefs that coats her mount entirely, going down her outer labia to her inner thighs, pink all over.

and vi’s not very shy either when she finally has you on your knees in front of her. close to her cunt she doesn’t care about hair as her hips roll against your mouth to present herself to your lips. soaking wet, her arousal leaks to her intimate hair making it stick to her legs, slowly dripping to her ass and fuck, the sight itself is so erotic you're sure you're going to die as you use your thumbs to spread her further apart, tame down all of that sticky hair to the sides and find her clit.

she also gets off with the sight of you all smeared and filthy with her, hair against your face, transparent arousal in your cheeks as if its gloss in your lips and not her. needy, she rubs herself against your face, choking on the nice feeling of your lips assaulting her: anyway,,,,, that's something to dive in another time hope i matched your freak cause this is. my. vibe. right here.

[thisrots]

Jinx arcane you will forever be famous to me

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contains masturbation, sevika thinking about reader, sexual frustration, desperate sevika.

words: 1.7k

—Getting close now.

The car is quiet, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional wet sound of tires rolling over late-night asphalt. You���re curled up against Sevika’s side, your body warm and heavy from cheap wine and too much cake at Mel’s party with all of you guys coworkers.

Sevika sits stiffly beside you, pretending like she’s looking out the window, but really she’s trying to remember how to fucking breathe.

Your head is on her shoulder at first. Innocent, soft. She nearly dies on the spot. It’s the kind of contact she’s dreamed about for months: your body against hers, casual, trusting. You smell like cherry body spray and sweat from dancing too much with both you coworkers, and Sevika’s heart is beating like she just ran laps.

You sigh, a low breath through your nose, and you don’t move. Stay into her side like you belong there, like it’s not unraveling something dangerous in her gut.

Sevika swallows hard, her jaw clenches, she stares straight ahead. You’ve never touched her like this before.

You’re both flirting with each other, but it has nothing to do with this.

Then you shift.

Still mostly asleep, your body melts sideways, sliding down her arm until your cheek brushes her bicep. She tries not to move, tries not to spook you. Tries to tell herself this is fine.

It’s not fine.

Because you shift again.

And your head drops gently onto her lap.

Sevika forgets how to swallow.

She freezes, wide-eyed, muscles tense beneath your weight. You sigh, soft and happy, like her lap is your new favorite pillow. And then, to Sevika’s horror, and also her deepest, filthiest pleasure, you move again.

Your nose nudges the seam of her jeans, right against the zipper. Close enough that she can feel your exhale through the fabric.

She nearly groans.

Her hand twitches on the seat. She’s clenching her thigh like she can somehow will her body to stay calm, but her pulse is hammering between her legs. Her jeans feel tight. Way too fucking tight.

Your breath ghosts across her lap, hot and steady, and she swears, swears, your nose brushes her zipper again when you shift slightly.

Her jaw locks. She stares out the window like it owes her something, face flushed, neck hot, pupils blown even in the dark.

You have no idea what you’re doing to her.

Or maybe you do. Maybe that soft sigh you let out is on purpose. Maybe you’re pretending to be asleep while you press your face right there, just to see what she’ll do. Maybe you know that Sevika’s been losing her mind over you since the day you leaned over her desk and asked if she was free for lunch.

She swallows. Hard. The car takes a turn and your head rocks a little, pressing in closer.

It takes everything in her not to gasp.

She grips the edge of the seat. She’s going to hell. She’s going to hell and you’re dragging her there face-first.

Sevika stares down at you like you’re something sacred. Or dangerous. Or both.

Your lips are parted, soft in actual real sleep, and every time you exhale it punches straight through her core. The curve of your cheek is warm against her thigh. Your breath, steady and unbothered, ghosts over her zipper like you’re trying to destroy her.

She clenches her jaw so hard it aches.

You shift again, just a little, just enough. She closes her eyes. Just for a second, just to stop herself from looking again. From imagining how it would feel if your mouth moved, just slightly—if your lips parted and touched her there.

She exhales through her nose, slow and shaky.

You’re asleep, she reminds herself. Out cold. You don’t know what you’re doing, you’re tired, probably tipsy. This isn’t anything. You’re not teasing her. You’re not pressing your face against her zipper on purpose.

But fuck, it feels like it.

She dares a glance at you again and instantly regrets it.

You look so peaceful. So soft. Your head shifts, barely, but it’s enough to drag your mouth even closer to where she’s most desperate. Close enough that she swears she can feel your breath through denim.

Her underwear is soaked. It’s embarrassing.

She shifts her hips, just a little, trying to find some relief, but it only makes things worse. The friction of her jeans, the heat trapped between her legs, your fucking face right there—

Sevika groans. Quietly. Barely audible. But it escapes before she can stop it.

She covers it with a cough, tilts her head toward the window again, and bites down hard on the inside of her cheek.

Get it together, she thinks. You’re not gonna cum in a fucking Uber just because she fell asleep on you.

But her pulse is throbbing between her legs, and her breathing’s gone shallow, and her thighs keep clenching like she’s seconds from breaking.

And you, blissfully unaware, shift once more, turning your head so your cheek is pressed right to the inside of her thigh now. Lips inches from the zipper, nose brushing denim, your soft breath against her heat.

Sevika stares down at you.

God, she’s pathetic.

And you’re not even doing anything.

Finally— after twenty fucking minutes, she wakes you up at the sight of your building apartment.

“Hey,” Sevika says, voice rough. She touches your arm. Just barely. Her fingers shake.

You stir slowly, blinking up at her from your place on her lap like you didn’t just spend the last twenty minutes suffocating her will to live. “Mmh?”

“We’re here,” she says, low and quiet. “Your place.”

You stretch, warm and drowsy, rubbing your cheek against her thigh before you sit up.

Sevika nearly bites through her tongue.

The cold air that rushes in where your body used to be should help, but it doesn’t. It only leaves her empty, and too aware of how wet she is. Of the ache between her thighs, of how her clit is pulsing like it knows what could’ve happened if you’d just stayed there a little longer.

You blink at her again, smiling like you like her. Like you trust her. That stupid sweet sleepy smile that melts her from the inside out.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, soft. “And for letting me… you know. Collapse on you.”

“Anytime,” Sevika rasps. It comes out too fast, too rough. She clears her throat, tries again. “It’s fine. You were tired.”

You chuckle, and she watches your fingers brush through your hair as you step out of the car. She follows you to the door like it’s muscle memory. Like her legs just know to carry her behind you when you’re around.

You fumble with your keys. Sevika stares at your back and tries not to imagine what your sheets smell like. What your skin tastes like.

The lock clicks.

You turn to her again, eyes soft. “Good night, Vika”

She swears she feels it, Vika, like a tug behind her navel. No one calls her that but you.

“Night,” she manages. Her voice is gravel, her hands are fists at her sides.

The door shuts. She’s alone.

Back on her seat, the Uber engine hums, the car starts moving again.

Ten more minutes to her flat.

Sevika sits back in the seat and finally lets herself breathe but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t help.

She clenches her thighs, jaw tight, shoulders stiff, grinding her molars together as if she can anchor herself in the pain of holding it all in.

Her underwear is completely ruined. She can feel it, damp and sticky, clingy and soaked against her skin. Every shift of her hips sends heat crawling up her spine. She’s been dripping wet since you laid your fucking head in her lap.

“Ten more minutes,” she mutters to herself, eyes squeezed shut.

She’s gonna make it.

She has to.

Because if she doesn’t, she’s cumming in the back of a car over nothing but your sleepy breath and the memory of your mouth inches from her zipper.

Pathetic.

So fucking pathetic.

She barely remembers telling the Uber driver thanks. Barely remembers punching in her building code or kicking her boots off by the door. Her key misses the lock to her unit twice, her hands are shaking.

By the time she’s inside, it’s like her body takes over.

Jacket flung somewhere, belt undone, she doesn’t even make it to the bedroom, just stumbles toward the couch like she’s drunk on you, which she kind of is.

She thinks about you.

The weight of your head on her lap. Your breath against her zipper. The way you sighed in your sleep like her thigh was the safest place in the world, the heat of you, he closeness. That sweet little smile and your voice in her ear—“Good night, Vika.”

She shudders.

Her jeans are unbuttoned with clumsy fingers, yanked down just far enough to shove her hand between her legs. Her underwear sticks to her like a second skin, soaked through, embarrassing.

She doesn’t even bother pulling them off.

One finger. That’s all it takes.

She moans.

It’s raw. Ripped from her throat like she’s been holding it in for months—because she has.

Then she drags her two fingers through the mess, breath catching, hips jerking. She’s so sensitive it almost hurts. Her clit is swollen, twitching at the first real touch. She presses down, just a little, and her back arches off the couch.

Your name echoes in her mind, silent and needy.

She doesn’t say it out loud. She can’t. But she feels it.

She imagines you waking up right there in her lap, warm and sweet and still sleepy. Looking up at her with that soft little smile, asking what’s wrong when you see the tension in her jaw. Leaning in without shame, lips brushing over denim just to hear her fall apart.

Her hips jerk and she groans. A raw, guttural sound that breaks in her throat. Her thighs are trembling, her back’s off the couch. She chokes out another breath, fast and sharp, and keeps rubbing harder, sloppier, chasing it like she’s gonna die if she doesn’t get there.

She thinks about everything she wanted to do in that car, every sound she swallowed, every filthy thought she shut down.

She thinks about your breath.

Your lips.

Your weight on her lap.

That fucking voice.

“Good night, Vika.”

She cums fast. So fast it knocks the air out of her.

“Ohh—fuck—” she gasps, legs snapping tight around her hand as the orgasm rips through her like it’s been waiting.

Her mouth falls open. She’s still panting. She doesn’t stop.

The aftershocks make her twitch, her hips bucking helplessly into her palm like her body’s trying to chase more. Slick is everywhere, on her fingers, her thighs, the fucking couch cushion. She rides it out anyway, hand slowing, eyes shut tight like she can trap the feeling there. Like if she squeezes her thighs hard enough, she can hold onto the ghost of you.

You’re probably asleep in your bed, dreaming of something soft and simple.

And Sevika’s on her couch, fingers still buried in her soaked underwear, chest heaving, whole body aching for someone she’s not even allowed to touch.

Pathetic.

She lets her head fall back. Breathes.

One more minute.

@riotstemple29

[thisrots]

the summer hikaru died is so good oh my god

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I fully believe that Jinx is farsighted based on exactly one (1) scene where she holds papers slightly away from her face when she's reading from them.

Anyways, imagine Jinx with reading glasses that she refuses to wear.

[thisrots]

fuck it im posting her by herself too in retaliation to twitter censoring me EVERYONE FIRELIGHT LEADER POWDER COVERED IN HICKEYS AND BITE MARKS YEAHHHHH

[thisrots]

Hexstrap?!

kei (@keidehoi) on X

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jinx is the definition of a sleeper build with lean muscles and small frame but then lifts a whole ass rocket launcher then parkour through zaun with it like its nothing

she makes me (,,>ヮ<,,)!

[thisrots]

the arcane fandom is alive. the arcane fandom has made a resurgence. arcane is trending again.

(my daily affirmations)

[thisrots]

boot humiliation.

tags: humiliation, age gap, bondage, dirty talk, dumbification, boot-riding, mean!sevika

you didn’t even know how you ended up like this.

your wrists were tied high above your head with thick black rope, the knots biting into your skin. your ankles were spread wide apart, bound to separate floor hooks in a humiliating open v, leaving you completely exposed.

you were so fucking small beneath her. your legs were forced open to bare every inch of your cunt, puffy and glistening from the constant edging. your labia were slick and swollen, parted so the delicate inner folds peeked through, slick dripping down in thin strings to your ass. your clit was hard, practically begging for pressure.

sevika looked down at you with a grin that could slice concrete. her short hair hair fell loose, thick arms crossing as she surveyed your bound and defenseless body.

“fucking look at you,” she growled, voice heavy with amusement. “spread open like a whore and waiting for me to ruin you.”

your cheeks burned, tears welling in your lashes, the shame hot and devastating.

“i should take a picture of this,” sevika taunted slowly, tapping the toe of her boot right against your open, slick slit. “show you what you look like when you try to play grown-up against me.”

you gasped as the cool leather pressed against your clit, just a nudge, but enough to make your hips buck instinctively, tugging against the ropes. sevika chuckled at your pathetic little jerk and grinded the toe of the boot up harder until the seam caught right on your clit, dragging the nub side to side.

“aww, poor baby. all tied up and squirmy? what, you thought you’d talk shit to me, huh?” she cooed in that condescending tone, “thought you’d challenge a grown fucking woman and not get put right back in your place?”

she lifted her boot a fraction, then slammed it down again. not enough to hurt but enough to smack your puffy lips and squish them wide so your inner folds seperated. your entire slit was on display, glistening, wet, quivering. the pressure made you mewl, your thighs trying to close but the ropes holding you open, humiliatingly so.

“look at this cute little pussy,” sevika spat. “pink as fuck, twitching like a rabbit. god, you’re such a soft thing. bet you’ve never even been worked over properly before me, huh? bet no one’s ever made you this fucking messy.”

you whimpered. she wasn’t wrong.

your clit was fat and painfully swollen, your labia flushed dark pink, your hole flexing and dripping slick every time the boot dragged across it. the leather was rough, just a hint of grain, enough to catch every nerve ending and burn them in the best way. she leaned down, big hands on her thighs, studying the mess between your legs like a war prize.

“how’s it feel, baby?” she sneered, grinding the toe of her boot against your clit with a sharp twist. “being my girl and still getting treated like a fucking dumb slut who can’t keep her legs closed?” “nnh—ah—sevika, please—” “please what? huh?”

she pressed harder, the hard curve of the boot grinding straight over your pulsing bud, your hips arching up despite the ropes. the friction was filthy, it pushed your juices all over the black leather, slick squishing under the pressure.

“say it. say you’re a dumb girl who needs me to break you.” “i—I’m a dumb girl,” you choked out, tears dripping down your temples, “sevika, please—” “needs who?” “needs you—” “damn right.”

sevika shoved the toe of the boot between your folds so roughly your entrance gave, your hole parting around the pressure as if you might actually take the whole boot if she made you. it was filthy. indecent. your entire pussy spread around the polished toe, juices streaking the leather, clit so battered it felt close to bursting.

“look at this." her voice was thick with possessive rage. “all this mouth, all these tantrums, and look where you end up. tied up, spread out, riding my fuckin’ boot like a cheap street bitch.”

she began to rock her foot slowly, grinding your entire sensitive pussy against the leather again and again until you were sobbing from the friction. the ridges of the boot seams caught every nerve, your clit so raw you couldn’t stop twitching, your walls clenching uselessly on nothing.

“this pretty pink cunt so soft it can’t even take a slap without weeping,” sevika mocked, pulling her boot back, letting it slam again into your mound so it smacked a splash of slick against your inner thighs. “god, i fucking love watching you squirm.”

you tried to twist away, crying from the raw overstimulation, but the ropes held you tight. sevika’s eyes went dark when she saw your hips jutting up.

“ohh you’re gonna cum,” she growled. “right here, on my boot. and then i’m gonna leave you tied up ‘til you beg for more.”

she dragged the boot in one slow, agonizing stroke up the entire length of your slit, grinding your clit so hard your vision popped with white stars...

“go on, baby. cum like the stupid little girl you are.”

your orgasm ripped through you so violently you almost blacked out, your thighs spasming against the ropes, your clit throbbing like it was on fire, gush after gush of slick soaking the toe of sevika’s boot. your body convulsed, too raw to even scream, your voice catching in a broken, messy sob.

“good girl,” sevika purred, twisting her boot one more time over your destroyed clit. “that’s where you fuckin’ belong.”

in a humiliation mood rn

[thisrots]

I’m dying at Jinx and Vi’s respective reactions to being charmed by Ahri.

[thisrots]

Jinx masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

#cw. obsessive + pervy!Jinx, oblivious + fem!reader, solo masturbation (f), improper use of a hairbrush, voyeuristic fantasies, dubcon, requested. MDNI .ᐟ.ᐟ

word count: 1.5k

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Jinx has it bad. not in the dreamy, hopeless romantic way. it’s not flowers and nervous glances. no, what she feels is raw. carnal. unhinged. she’s crawling-out-of-her-skin, obsessive, sweaty-palmed feral about it.

and “it” is you.

her roommate. her sweet, soft, scatterbrained, easy-going roommate. the one who leaves pastel panties hanging on the bathroom knob like they’re part of the décor. the one whose ass is sticking out just slightly in that loose pajama set. the one who pads around the apartment braless without considering that someone might be watching. might be hungry. the one who giggles at dumb TikToks and makes her feel like a goddamn predator when she can't stop staring.

Jinx thinks you’re perfect.

she also thinks she might be going a little insane.

because she knows it’s wrong—the watching, the wanting… but she never claimed to be good. or sane. or morally sturdy. not when it comes to you.

and that hairbrush.

that stupid, pink thing with the cutesy-ass hearts, rounded handle, and soft bristles that still carry the scent of your shampoo. the very same brush you use every morning while perched on the edge of the tub, legs crossed and eyes still heavy with sleep, whimpering quietly when you hit a knot—a tiny, breathy “ah—fuck” followed by the faintest pout like it genuinely hurt. she watches you every time, pretending to scroll on her phone, eyes flicking up just enough to make it seem casual. but in reality? she’s cataloguing everything: the slope of your back, the way your fingers twitch with frustration, the slow flutter of your lashes when you blink slowly. and then you look at her, all soft and unaware, and ask so stupidly, “do i look okay today?” like you’re not the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

it used to be cute. now, it makes her wet on sight.

the first time she touches it, it’s innocent. she’s cleaning the bathroom. she moves it to wipe down the sink. that’s it.

the second time, she picks it up. just to feel the weight. just to imagine your fingers curling around it, knuckles flexing as you pull the bristles through your hair. she mimics your movements, slow and deliberate, imagining what it feels like to be you. pretending, just for a second.

by the third time, she’s grinding on it, knees bruising on the cold tile as she rocks against the handle with filthy intent. just one sick little moment of curiosity, she tells herself. a one-time thing.

but it escalates quickly after that. because the moment you leave that dumb piece of plastic out? that’s all the unspoken permission she needs.

Jinx waits for the apartment to go still—lights off, you tucked in bed, probably hugging a pillow, breathing even—and that’s when she moves, locking the bathroom door behind her. the scent of your body wash still lingers in the humidity, sweet and buttery, soft in that way that coats the back of her throat and makes her feel lightheaded. there’s a fogged mirror, a wet spot on the bath mat where you stepped out, a towel hanging limp from the rack, still damp.

you always leave a trail behind without knowing it, like a girl born to be followed.

she drops her sleep shorts, kicking them away once they pool at her ankles. she wants you—on your knees, on her face, under her. she wants to peel your tiny bottoms off and see what you smell like when you’re turned on and begging.

but she gets the brush instead, held tightly in her hand like it’s contraband, still a little warm and tacky from your hand lotion. sometimes, she plucks the little strands of your hair from the bristles and collects them like stolen keepsakes. but she doesn’t bother tonight; she needs it fast. her cunt pulses instantly, and she didn’t even touch herself yet.

“you want me to, don’t you?” she whispers, already breathing a bit heavier. “you wouldn’t keep leaving it out if you didn’t.” she spreads her legs wide on the cold bathroom floor, panties shoved aside and already wet. she spits on the handle out of habit, like it’s a courtesy, but she doesn’t even need to prep anymore. she’s already slick—embarrassingly so—just from the thought of you sitting on the counter the next morning, bare legs swinging, brushing your hair and going, “this thing’s getting kinda gross…”

yeah. no shit.

she doesn’t tease, just presses the end between her puffy, glossy folds and pushes in, parting easily around the gentle shape. she still gasps like she’s being split open by something huge instead of a glittery handle, and she watches as it disappears inside her with a wet sound, inch by inch, until it’s swallowed whole.

in. out. in. out. slow. real slow.

she works it deep enough to see stars, hips twitching as she angles it just right. “ohh, that’s filthy,” she mutters, breathless, and the drag of it against her sensitive walls makes her toes curl. she whimpers, eyes rolling back as she fucks herself harder on it like she’s in heat—panting, drooling, greedy cunt squelching around the handle so loud it drowns out the hum of the bathroom fan. she’s already too far gone to care about the volume as she slaps her throbbing clit—sharp, fast, over and over—just to chase that delicious edge. “mhm—yours… yours… fuckfuckfuck, mine now…”

she clenches around it every time it bottoms out like she’s trying to milk it, free hand sliding under her shirt to pinch and pull at her own perky nipple until she moans.

and through all of this, she’s thinking of you.

she knows you’ll pick the hairbrush up in the morning like you always do, murmuring to yourself about coffee and class. she thinks about you finally noticing—frowning, sniffing the handle, scrunching your nose in confusion. “weird,” you might say. “why does it smell like…”

like what?

like pussy?

good. she hopes you’ll taste it for yourself one day.

Jinx will let you hold that brush. let you touch it. let you drag the bristles through your hair with it like nothing’s wrong, like your innocent little routine hasn’t been turned into a ritual she gets off on. and she’ll watch as usual, chest heaving, thighs pressed tight, pretending she doesn’t know exactly where it’s been.

a part of her wants to get caught. wants you to walk in mid-act and see her ruining herself on cheap plastic.

would you scream? blush? cry?

would you stare, all wide-eyed and horrified, and stammer, “is that… mine?”

god. Jinx would die right there.

“yeah, baby,” she’d moan proudly. “you’re already in me. you just don’t know it.”

but her biggest fantasy isn’t being caught—it’s that you’re just as filthy. that she isn’t the only freak in the apartment after all. that maybe, late at night, you use that dumb piece of plastic the same way she does, shirt bunched under your tits as you whimper sweetly into your pillow while she sits in the living room one wall away, clueless.

what if you’d both done it? what if you’d both used the same fucking hairbrush to get off—days apart, maybe hours, slick still fresh, dried in faint smears on the grip? what if you’d already shared it? what if all those times she left it messy, and you picked it up anyway… you knew?

oh, the mere idea of it makes her dizzy. it makes her come hard, mouth open in a silent scream, legs shaking as heat floods her body all at once. the bathroom tile feels freezing against her flushed skin as she twitches through the aftershocks. her thighs spasm. her breath comes in shallow gasps as her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth, dry and panting. she keeps the brush inside her for a little longer, still clenching around it like she’s trying to fuck herself full on the ghost of you, still pulsing with each throb of her heartbeat.

and when she finally pulls out? it comes out with a wet little pop, slick clinging in messy strings that stretch from the handle to her cunt, glistening in the bathroom light. she rinses the bristles before giving a half-assed attempt at patting the handle dry with toilet paper, as if that does anything. the plastic is still warm, still sticky, still soiled. she places it back regardless—same spot, slightly crooked, contaminated.

she smiles—faintly, tiredly, but so damn proud.

because tomorrow?

Jinx will lean against the doorway, heart pounding in anticipation, trying to look casual while you pad barefoot into the bathroom. you’ll grab the brush like always—yawning, hair a mess—still caught in the haze of sleep.

you’ll pause.

frown.

“…why’s this sticky?” you’ll murmur, voice croaky and soft.

and she will bite her lip so hard she nearly moans—just to keep from grinning, from giggling, from confessing everything. she’ll simply shrug, eyes wide with mock innocence. “you probably dropped it in something.”

you’ll blink at her—slow, oblivious, kittenish in that way she loves. “like what?”

“dunno,” she’ll say, voice syrupy. “something sweet.”

🐈‍⬛ repost! because tumblr likes getting on my last nerve <3