fortunxa
fortunxa
cyberpixie.☘︎
602 posts
i was never online.
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fortunxa · 17 hours ago
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what kink of mine to barely conceal inside my fic next
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fortunxa · 18 hours ago
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just love the reference
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fortunxa · 3 days ago
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request for vi and powder playing mario games together
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fortunxa · 3 days ago
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Jinx arcane you will forever be famous to me
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fortunxa · 4 days ago
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i forgot her purple streak when i posted her earlier so here😭 also fixed her neck and my god awful handwriting a lil😭😭
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fortunxa · 4 days ago
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wip of jinx for my post canon fic :3
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fortunxa · 5 days ago
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guess what!! i made a strawpage :3
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i’ll link it in my pinned post so it’s more permanent if anyone cares
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fortunxa · 5 days ago
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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
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she makes me (,,>ヮ<,,)!
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fortunxa · 5 days ago
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love jinx DOWN but yeh she'd def hate the labubus because they're trendy, one of her toxic traits is imnotlikeothergirlsism 😔
she definitely has the “i’m not like other girls” syndrome but it’s clinical. she earned the mindset, she put in the work. let her cook 💯
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fortunxa · 6 days ago
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the arcane fandom is alive. the arcane fandom has made a resurgence. arcane is trending again.
(my daily affirmations)
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fortunxa · 6 days ago
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i think over a month I said baby Powder looked like a sonny angel, well jinx is a LABUBU, that fuckass evil smile and big eyes ??? Yeh that's her (one of my personal hc of her is that she would love all kinds of "ugly" quirky trinkets like labubus and fugglers and would even make her own to put on her bags and belts)
we got sonny angel!Powder, now we get the labubu!Jinx sequel
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the thing about Jinx is that she’d love labubus at first because those ugly fuckers look like they bite. but the moment they get too mainstream? she jumps on the hate train because her individuality complex is hurt (you can still find hers buried somewhere in her room). she calls them “stupid, capitalistic gremlins” when she sees the new prices. do NOT get her started on labubu matcha.
but she’d lose her mind over fugglers. she’d genuinely think they’re cute in a “this is my son and i’ll kill for him” way. gets lowkey emotional over their dead eyes sometimes.
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fortunxa · 6 days ago
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the infamous hairbrush incident <3
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aftermath of last night
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fortunxa · 6 days ago
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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 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 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
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fortunxa · 6 days ago
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if jinx told me i dropped my hairbrush in something sweet i'm licking the handle hoping it tastes like her cunt idgaf 💜
see now that’s the energy i wanted. you people get me <3
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fortunxa · 7 days ago
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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 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 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
+ visual by @jinxsdoll !!
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fortunxa · 7 days ago
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i figured it out. but at what cost?
it’s the pics. it’s always the pics.
sigh
post not showing up in the tags again so nvm i guess
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fortunxa · 7 days ago
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lucky... I'm ovulating please you can literally have my first born child I'm begging you im on my knees I crave it I NEED MORE FREAKY PERVERT JINX PLEASEEEE 🙏🙏🙏🙏
anon, you can get up now… i’ve heard your pleas, and something filthy is in the works as we speak. the people will get their dose of nasty and pervy Jinx tonight !! i’m so excited. i’m so (not) sorry <3
[link for the request]
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