#Skirts from above

[timlucys]

the day the fandom realizes that chenford doesn't currently function within the confines of a healthy, communicative, adult relationship is the day i will know peace.

#like yes if the relationship you were talking about existed i'd be anti breakup too #but it doesn't! and those flaw-free characters you talk about don't exist on the show - they only exist in fic! #these are flawed messy and sometimes immature people with a vast number of communication issues #and a penchant for being the martyr (tim) and being the runner (lucy) #they're not automatically devoid of flaws once they're together. if anything their fear makes those flaws worse #their lack of communication and overt side-skirting of issues is prevalent from 512 to 521 without the rose coloured glasses filter #like step back from the pancakes and the 'dadford' and i promise you'll see two people with a myriad of interesting and complicated issues #and that people are allowed to think a fascinating way to handle this is to get them apart to build them stronger back together #YOU are allowed to think otherwise. but others can view this as compelling storytelling and put that above their shipper goggle lens #text

[hzdtrees]

Moon on the water

#horizon forbidden west #hfw #hfw photomode #there's a stupidly large no-fly zone around the greenhouse if you haven't completed the demeter quest yet #it reaches up to the nearby mountain range #and even if you glide in there you mostly lose altitude but don't travel very far #on the upside #gliding into the cutscene led to aloy wearing a glider skirt in a few shots #mostly i wanted to see if couldn't get a few pics of the boats the quen arrived with and maybe drop into the roped-off area from above #since there are invisible walls around it if you approach from the sea where the shelter is or the ruins to the side #but turns out it's more of an oversized invisible cube #and approaching on foot really gets you the closest to it #nonetheless a few river pics came out of it

[catgirlforeskin]

I hope one day we learn what happened with the Halo show. It got a lot of unfair criticism from people who didn’t watch it or wanted it to be a retread of the games (which would’ve been terrible).

The show clearly had people on board who had deep knowledge and respect for Halo and its themes, much more than many of the detractors who decried that the show “wasn’t Halo” because it had civilians and mister chief took off his helmet. One of the main characters of the show, Soren, was only ever mentioned in a single short story in an anthology book that’s not even popular among people who like the books. And I love that dude! I lost it when he showed up!

It focuses on Madrigal and the Rubble and the insurrectionist conflict there, something only brought up in a single book primarily about unimportant side characters, and yeah, it changed some details around (like making it a mostly Korean colony instead of Mexican, which I didn’t love) but like, if years ago you asked me what my ideal Halo show would be, I’d talk about the insurrectionist conflict, and the best I would realistically hope for is a “both sides bad” story, but we didn’t get that! We’re meant to root for the anarchist terrorist group!

But I say all this upfront because the show had so many baffling design choices, leaning in hard on chosen one prophecy junk with Forerunners, putting in Master Chief at all, having Master Chief have a straight sex scene. There’s a lot that wasn’t great, and I have to wonder, why?

People like to say it was just made by people who don’t care about halo but that clearly isn’t true. Was it just a case of having lots of writers on the team who all wanted different things, and thus the show came out as a patchwork of different aspects of halo poorly stitched together? Was it executives fighting with the writers and shoehorning in more easily marketable material like Master Chief and the sex scene and whatnot?

Was it a mix of a lot of factors? Probably! Will we ever really know? Probably not! But I can’t help but wonder at why this happened, and what else could’ve been

#halo #cutting myself off from saying more above but ahhh! #silver team is such a weird amalgamation of gray team and some blue team naming why not just make it gray team #also grumble grumble I much prefer the rubble in the books #read The Cole Protocol! #and then the kilo-five trilogy because they’re the better ones lol #Cole Protocol walked so Glasslands could fly #also I liked kwan ha fine but man I miss diego and Ignacio and Maria and the book rubble crew #also also them generally skirting around their politics and doing all this like. mysticism stuff felt…bad #ok ok I’m gonna stop for real now #NO IM NOT GIVE US A JACKAL SHIPMISTRESS IN SEASON TWO #AND LET US SEE NIPPLE ACADEMY! I WANT TO SEE THE *I am vaporized by a fuel rod canon*

[samotnya]

Went insane and almost ordered flared leggings at 3 a.m. tonight ☠️☠️ then suddenly became aware that the feeling of flared trousers sends me into a blind range 7 out of 10 times.

#i am just going to get distressed skinny jeans and be happy and comfy #do they still sell those? #I'll just have a look at the jeans section at work #nothing goes above skinny jeans idc what y'all say #and if i really really want something from killstar then I'll get a skirt lol

[bubblesune]

“I heard energy drinks have cum in them. Cum taste really good.”

#' love me harder ' ic #' eyes from above ' dash commentary #' skirts up ' suggestive

[voluptuarian]

wish I was living the life of one of those saucy little bitches from the La Vie Parisienne covers...

#in other words living it up 24/7 in hot little outfits (titties out whenever manageable) #always with the perfect hat and handbag for the occasion #having erotically charged encounters with various mythological creatures #or 'unfortunate' mishaps in which my beautiful coats and/or fashionably cut skirts fly up exposing my expensive stockings and shapely legs #possibly both at once #constantly about to go to a party or just getting back from one #taking breaks only to nap shop or sea-bathe #and doing all of the above as irreverently and stylishly as possible #like the absolute Dream Life #la vie parisienne

[hellenhighwater]

You know what, since I'm thinking about it anyways, let's talk formalwear accessories. Most of these are traditionally menswear but a bit of gender fuckery is good for the soul, and frankly most of these are about making your mass-produced clothing fit and lay properly without having to go to the tailor.

Shirt stays: these go around your thighs to hold your shirt down, so that it stays smooth and tucked in. They're usually elastic, with 1-3 clips, and if you wear skirts frequently this is a GREAT way to make sure your top doesn't ride up. The clips will be visible if you're wearing something tight, so loose pants or skirts are where these do best. There's also an insane version that clips to your socks, but that is for lunatics. If you wanted, you could also use one of these clips to hold up thigh-highs.

These do a great job of smoothing and narrowing the waist area by keeping your shirt from bunching there.

Sleeve garters: usually metal, leather, elastic, or silk. These are usually worn with button-down shirts to adjust where your cuff falls on the wrist or hand. They're properly worn on the upper arm, and you pull the fabric of the sleeve above the garter until you cuff is where you want it. Because this creates a puff of sleeve at the bicep, it also broadens the appearance of the shoulders. It's great if you're working with your hands or if your sleeves are often too long for your preference.

Waistband clip or belt adjustment clip/buttons: Three different ways of tightening the waistband of a pair of pants or a skirt. You're not going to get more than an inch or so tighter without weird bunching, and for most of these you'd want them to be hidden under a shirt or jacket, but they do the job if that's something you're having issues with.

Collar pins: There are so many fun ones out there, both with and without chains. They're not terribly practical, though the slight weight may help keep your collar where you want it. Also consider collar tips, which pin (surprise) to the very tips of your collar points.

Sweater clips/guards: meant to hold your sweater or cardigan mostly closed. Great if your cardigan doesn't button, or if you don't like it to be buttoned all the way.

There's tons of other stuff out there like this--etsy is a great place to find this stuff. A lot of these are old solutions to the very modern problem of mass-maufactured clothes not being as one-size-fits-all as advertised, but they're also a fun way to put a bit of personality into businesswear.

#yes i know that's peaky blinders in there

[pinkfemgurl]

300 notes: Use a medium plug now 600 notes: Spend $20 on sissy clothes (must be pink) 900 notes: Wear panties 24/7 from now on 1200 notes: Spend $40 on sissy clothes (must be pink) 1500 notes: Sit on a 6-inch dildo once week for 30 min 1800 notes: Listen to 1 audio file of sissy hypno before bed 2100 notes: Wear androgynous or feminine clothes at home from now on 2400 notes: Practice deepthroating the current sized dildo twice a week 2700 notes: I can cum only once a month 3000 notes: Sit on a 7-inch dildo 2 times a week for 30 min 3300 notes: Wear androgynous or feminine clothing in public from now on 3600 notes: Wear only slutty or pink sissy clothing at home 3900 notes: I have to wear a corset under my clothes everyday 4200 notes: Use a large plug now 4500 notes: Use a smaller cage 4800 notes: I can only watch/listen to girly media, anything masculine or geared towards males is banned 5100 notes: Sit on an 8-inch dildo 3 times a week for 30 min 5400 notes: Listen to sissy hypno every time I do anal 5700 notes: I can only cum when I'm riding a dildo and it's changed to 1 cum every 3 months 6000 notes: Make a Twitter account archiving proof and progress 6300 notes: Every week either post proof/update pics of locked chastity, gif of current dildo riding, gif of current plug insertion, and pics of current sissy outfit that I'm being made to wear from these tasks 6600 notes: I have to permanently use she/her pronouns 6900 notes: Sit on a 9-inch dildo 4 times a week for 30 min 7200 notes: Lock myself in ballet heels for 3 hours every day 7500 notes: From now on edge every day for 2 hours 7800 notes: Use a smaller cage 8100 notes: Every 3 days I have to use a chastity cage with a sounding rod 8400 notes: Buy the most embarrassing humiliating sissy pink dress I can find (with all the ruffles and it locks when zipped up) 8700 notes: I can only wear a dress or skirt in public from now on 9000 notes: Get Started on Estrogen 9300 notes: Every 3 days either post proof/update pics of locked chastity, gif of current dildo riding, gif of current plug insertion, and pics of current sissy outfit that I'm being made to wear from these tasks 9600 notes: I now have to use a sounding chastity cage from now on 9900 notes: Sit on a 9-inch dildo 5 times a week for 1 hour 10200 notes: Once a week, I have to replace my plug with a dildo while I'm out in public for the day 10500 notes: I can only cum once a year 10800 notes: Buy a fucking machine 11100 notes: Buy and use sounding rods 3 times a week for 30 min 11400 notes: Buy breast/nipple pumps and use it twice a week to increase the size 11700 notes: Put on an inverse chastity cage from now on and no more edging or unlocking 12000 notes: Start an OF 12300 notes: Clicker train myself to get horny to the thought of cocks 12600 notes: I can only cum from anal 12900 notes: Make an Amazon Wishlist and add 100 toys and clothes for anyone to buy. Anyone who buys them will get a free show with what they bought 13200 notes: Use an XL plug now 13500 notes: Only use 10-inch toys from now on sit on it 6 times a week for 30 min, once a week use a 12+ inch toy 13800 notes: glue the lock shut, flush the key down the toilet, the only way I'm getting out now is if I hit 15000 notes 14100 notes: Listen to any hypno file people send me (including Bambi Sleep files) 14400 notes: Let anyone make demands in my messages, I have to obey the first message that I see per day 14700 notes: Get blackmailed by someone of my choice

^ I HAVE TO DO ALL OF THE ABOVE ^

15000 notes: Bottom surgery (My Life is Over). However I have to spend at least 25% of the entire chastity sentence in a cage before I get bottom surgery to prolong this even longer.

THE POST IS COMPLETE NO MORE NOTES ABOVE 14,813 COUNT

#feminine sissy #faggot sissy #sissi femboi #sissifyme #submisive sissy #beta sissy #sissy caged #humiliated sissy #sissy tasks #humiliation sissy #small dick humiliation #sissy cd #humiliation slave #sissy for daddy #humili sissi #panty sissy #permanent sissy #pink sissy #chastikey #caged chastity #chastisement #chastized

[cedar-phoenix]

I just remembered skirt length regulations at my middle school were written to be measured *while the student was kneeling*.

Ew.

#in case you're wondering how it worked. fold a piece of paper in half lengthwise. then use the paper to measure from floor to skirt hem. #if the hem was above the paper it was a dress code violation #i think they either rewrote it or enforced it different at some point. because. it's not a good look.

[pimientosdulces]

princess

[Image Description: two digital drawings of Princess Bubblegum from

Adventure Time drawn in different, original outfits.

Princess Bubblegum is a young woman with light-pink skin and long pink hair that goes down to her knees. She wears a thin, golden crown that wraps around her head with a single point at the center of her forehead that rises up.

All of her garments are also pink.

The first drawing depicts Princess Bubblegum wearing a pencil skirt with a second skirt above it that fans out like a tutu. She also wears a stiff blazer with puffy shoulder pads, a blouse, and a brooch. She has wide boots that go just above her knees. Princess Bubblegum stands straight with her gloved hands tucked behind her back.

The second drawing depicts Princess Bubblegum wearing a set of striking, militaristic robes with a cowl that flares out around her neck and long, flapping sleeves. There are long slits up the sides of the robe for mobility. Princess Bubblegum stands with one hand on her hips, glaring sternly.

End Description.]

#adventure time #princess bubblegum #who would’ve thought I would be making at art in 2023 lol #10 year old me this one’s for u #at #my art #x

[razzafrazzle]

i was obsessed with them when i was 8 and i am still obsessed with them now

[image description: a page of drawings of marceline and simon from adventure time. on the left is marcy wearing a white cropped sweater, a short black skirt, red tights, black fingerless gloves, and black boots. there is a caption that says "Average Bisexual" next to her. next to that is a short comic of marcy and simon, where marcy is floating over simon as he reads a book. marcy asks, "hey simon. ever kiss another man before?", to which simon replies "well sure." below them there is a caption that says, "he then failed to elaborate." next to that is a drawing of simon with his hands clasped together, with a smaller, uncolored sketch of simon looking surprised above him. the entire page is colored in a watercolor style. end id]

#if marshall gets textured hair then so does marcy!!!!!!! its equality!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #anyways i am once again posting about sad old scientists <3 they are a top tier breed of guy #doc talks #my art #adventure time #fionna and cake #marceline #marceline the vampire queen #marceline abadeer #she has so many names huh #simon petrikov

[aikatoru]

Uncle Sukuna

Warnings: Reader discretion is advice!! Contains 18+ content, age gap, reader is above 18!! Flirting, fingering, grinding, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, pulling out.

Tagging: @eveningatthemoviesnetwork @yuujispinkhair

Dividers credits by @saradika

Notes: I got so horny thinking about Uncle Sukuna 😩

Please like, comment and reblog!! Thanks 💕

Uncle Sukuna who’s your dad’s business partner and friend, much much older than you.

Uncle Sukuna who’s in his forties but still as fit as ever and looks like he could still get it.

Uncle Sukuna who you’ve had a crush on since forever, I mean how could you not, everything about him was hot, from his physique, his tattoos, his intense gaze and that deep lithe voice of his that always made your pussy pulse and thighs clenched.

Uncle Sukuna who’s not married cause he enjoys the bachelor’s life way too much and claims that he just hasn’t found the right woman, but don’t worry you could fix him.

Uncle Sukuna who thinks of you as the pretty brat princess your father raised you to be, never looking your way at least…until now.

Uncle Sukuna who finally notices your advances, the cute mini skirts and the too tight tank tops you always wear just to get his attention, what a pretty little slut he can’t help but smirked. Have you always been this brazen?

Uncle Sukuna who you finally get to talk to alone, and in his amusement he entertains you, seeing how far you were willing to go…

Uncle Sukuna who can’t help but get hard in his pants when you started pressing yourself against him, full on begging him to fuck you, to take you and make you his woman.

Uncle Sukuna who at first wanted to step back and refused, remembering your father and his friendship with him. He wouldn’t want to dishonor his daughter like that, but with the way you were pleading and grinding your clothed pussy on him, how was he supposed to resist?

After all he is only just a man…

Uncle Sukuna who eventually gives in, dragging you to your room and hurriedly stripping you of your clothes and kissing you deep, his large hands groping your body, exploring every inch. Until he finds solace within your tight walls, fingering you to your orgasm, having you gushed all over him.

Uncle Sukuna who couldn’t believe just how desperate you were to get fucked, straddling him on your king size bed, positioning his unprotected cock at your entrance, he had offer to use a condom but you whined about how you wanted to feel him. All of him.

Uncle Sukuna who hasn’t gotten his dick wet in some time, so he was a little more sensitive than usual and with how tight your walls were squeezing him, he swore you were trying to do him in.

Uncle Sukuna who can’t help but let out a couple of moans and groans as you ride him, telling you how tight you were and letting you know just how pretty of a slut you were.

Uncle Sukuna who can’t help but thrust into you as your movements starts to falter from exhaustion, having you grab onto his shoulders to keep from falling over as you try to keep up with his erratic pace.

Uncle Sukuna who has enough sense to pull out just in time and cum all over your stomach.

Uncle Sukuna who watches as you collect his cum on your finger and brings it to your mouth to suck it off before speaking, “You know you could have cummed in me. I wouldn’t mind having your babies.”

And for a second he wished he had done it too.

©2024 Aikatoru writes, I do not give permission to plagiarize, repost or translate any of my content.

#aika writes 🤍 #aikatoru blog #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk sukuna #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[yueebby]

how i met your mother  — gojo satoru

contents. fluff, meet ugly, established relationship, highschool!gojo in flashback, gojo just loves his wife and everyone is sick of it

notes. this is apart of my indulge me series but everything can be read as a standalone!

“you forgot to give me a kiss this morning,” your husband pouts from your lap before puckering his lips out, “i’ll need a thousand more to compensate!” 

just a couple meters away from you, paper crinkles harshly as nanami, your fellow colleague, flips the page on the newspaper he’s reading. you hear a heavy sigh leave his lips.  “i missed it when you both hated each other,” he readjusts his glasses with one hand tiredly. he’s disappointed, but not surprised with satoru’s behavior.

this comment causes itadori, who happened to be hanging out in the teacher’s lounge to perk up.

“gojo-sensei and gojo-san hated each other?” he sits up straight on the couch. the pink haired boy looks between you and satoru, who is purring happily as you play with his hair. “i can’t imagine that..” he mumbles quietly. he was, unfortunately, a first hand witness of gojo’s love for you.

the white haired male that was comfortably nestled in your lap looks up at you, “ah! she tried so hard to resist my charms, but this handsome face won in the end!” his loud boast leads you to cover his mouth with the palm of your hand.

“that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” you press your palm harder against his mouth, determined to silence his protests. 

nanami easily ignores his senior’s muffled whines while itadori looks at his sensei in pity. marriage must be tough, he thinks.

you only lift your hand off of his mouth with a shriek when satoru decides to lick your palm. he smirks proudly at himself causing the other two males in the room to grimace at the strange display of affection. 

“darling, you hated me?” his eyes blink up at you innocently, blue eyes on full display. you purse your lips together, resisting whatever game he was playing at. from the moment you stepped into the lounge with him, he insisted on taking his blindfold off. he argues that he has to see you with his own eyes or he’ll die. you argue that he’s dramatic. nonetheless, satoru was cute so you’ll let him get away with it. 

“hate is a strong word– i just didn’t like you very much. we got off on the wrong foot, might i remind you.” 

2005 — year one at tokyo jujutsu tech

meet at 1 chome-1-1 dogenzaka, shibuya city, tokyo

that was written in the letter addressed to you from yaga. the bustling streets of tokyo, filled with the cacophony of hundreds of conversations and the rush of oncoming traffic, were a stark contrast to the serene country life you had enjoyed. 

the sheer mass of people in the street made it nearly impossible for you to spot your teacher and future classmates, but the heavens above must be on your side because you spot a dark uniform in the corner of your eye, similar to the one you’re wearing.

a jujutsu tech uniform! without wasting a second, you weave your way through the crowd to the tall figure. upon closer inspection, you find that it was a boy with snow hair, a juxtaposition to the dark fabric of his uniform.

“excuse me, but are you by any chance from–” you tap on the abnormally tall frame from behind.

“not interested.” he doesn’t spare you a glance before walking away. it takes you a minute to process what had just happened. did he just–? that must have been a figment of your imagination. you feel as though you were shell shocked.

another voice joins the conversation, “oh, gojo, you found her.” it was another guy with a uniform just like the white haired boy and yours. he has notable bangs, you think. 

“did i? she must be a real weakling. i couldn’t even sense her cursed energy,” gojo now turns back to look at you.

a surge of irritation courses through you, your grip on your skirt tightening. this guy must be some spoiled brat that came from a special lineage. you shoot him a sharp glare from the corner of your eyes, only to find out that he too had a sharp gaze on you.

a low whistle comes out of his mouth. 

 “oh,” there is a noticeable change in the tone of his voice. from your peripheral vision, you notice him take off his round sunglasses. “hey.”  you want to laugh.

out of pure pettiness, you recycle his previous comment, “not interested.”

thankfully, another student arrived, this time it was a girl with short brown hair. she waved at you politely, to which you happily smiled. it was nice to know that there were some people left in this world with manners.

soon after her arrival, yaga comes.

“hello, i’m [last name] [first name] from kyoto. please take care of me!” you bow before everyone but gojo or whatever his name is. you come to find out that mr. bangs is actually geto and the pretty girl is ieiri.

“you didn’t tell me she was hot,” gojo not-so-quietly whispers to geto. the hand over his mouth is in vain because you can still hear him clearly. both ieiri and geto make a distasteful face. 

you look around confused. it’s not everyday you receive such a brash compliment, “...thank you?” 

there’s a slightly horrified look on gojo’s face when he realizes that you had heard him, but he recovers quickly, replacing it with a cheshire grin.

“say, have you been to shinjuku? i’m sure a country bumpkin like you wouldn’t know, so allow me to–” 

there’s only so much patience in your body. with a deep breath and your best passive aggressive smile, you utter, “no thanks.” 

he blinks. once. twice. you assume he is not used to rejection with the way he has yet to process it. 

a soft chuckle leaves his mouth, “playing hard to get, i see. i like a challenge.”

“that’s not really the case.”

“one date,” he announces with a playful smirk, raising a single finger in emphasis.

you’re on the verge of shaking your head in rejection, but before you can, yaga intervenes, swiftly and unceremoniously slapping the back of gojo’s head.

“kids these days,” he mutters under his breath while gojo rubs the wound painfully. you snicker.

gojo straightens up when the sound of your laughs reaches his ears. his eyes track the sound waves back to your face, only to be disappointed when he sees that your attention is on geto. 

unlike gojo, geto was trying to salvage what was left of a good first impression. the black haired male smiles awkwardly, leading you away from his strange friend, “so you’re from kyoto? why didn’t you attend the jujutsu tech there?”

from behind you, there’s an incredulous, “eh? and lose a beauty like that to the kyoto guys?” 

you’re nearly certain that a blood vessel is about to pop. but you swallow your frustration, choosing to answer the only sensible boy you’ve met today.

“i’m trying to avoid clan matters, so kyoto is the last place i want to be,” you explain to geto who nods understandingly. 

what you don’t see is the sneaky wink he sends back at a fuming satoru.

2018 — present day

your recollection must not have been accurate, because your husband is sulking by the end of your story. 

“hmph. that’s not how i remember it.” he crosses his arm with a huff.

“how do you remember it? do tell.” you look down at him. there’s a cheeky glint in his eyes, like you’ve just walked into his trap.

there’s a cheeky glint in his eyes, like you’ve just walked into his trap. “i remembered cherry blossoms falling and more hearts floating around,”

you smack his shoulder.

“be serious!”

he waves his hand in the air to stop your playful attacks, “fine, fine!” 

you know that he’s secretly enjoying the attention.

“well, i’m quite the looker so it was common for girls to constantly gush over me y’know?” he grins. you did not find that amusing, retracting your hands from his hair. he immediately grabs your hand and places it back on his head.

“let me finish!”

you resume your handiwork on his head reluctantly. “go on.”

there’s a content smile on his face, “i thought you were just trying to hit on me! it was only after i took a good look at you, i realized that you were totally hot.”

“i can’t believe i married you.” you roll your eyes, but there is no malice behind the action.

“hah–” his mouth is wide open. “i’m a total catch, ya’ know?!” 

“mhm, yeah. you are a catch toru,” you coo while pinching his cheek and he blushed furiously. 

the two of you are too engrossed with each other to notice the horrified look that has settled on nanami’s face. one peaceful afternoon, he thinks. one peaceful afternoon is all he asks for.

extra notes- 

yuji respects gojo as his teacher, but he still can’t believe that gojo was able to pull you.

there have been multiple occasions where you had forgotten to give satoru a goodmorning kiss, each time he finds you and forces you to actually give him a dozen to compensate. it doesn’t matter if he was on a mission or teaching (he’s annoying like that).

gojo’s the pride of the gojo clan so he was spoiled rotten, hence the reason why he was so sure you were into him.

this is only the start, as your high school years go by, he only falls harder.

#kt.writes.·:*¨༺ #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojou x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #remember spring days!au

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

********************

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

********************

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

********************

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

********************

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, ���you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

********************

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #tattoo artist eddie munson #tattoo artist!eddie #teach me/show me Eddie #eddie my beloved #eddie x fem reader

[satorena]

❛ UNPROFESSIONALISM ! ❜

⟡ content warnings. explicit content. foul language. ceo!satoru. secretary!reader. mentioned past flings. fondlīng. fīngerīng. afab!reader. p in v. unprotected. brēēding. squīrtīng. gojo satoru is his own damn warning. 4.9k.

⟡ serena's note. oh if y’all knew the lengths i went thru just to post this damn fic. . .

“ugh, this is such a painnn!”

“the sooner you finish your paperwork, the sooner you’re off, sir.” you sigh, arms crossed over your chest. you’re used to your boss’ childish antics by now, having worked side by side with him for nearly a year. you check the time on your watch, “work ended about half an hour ago— you might want to hurry up.”

“but y/n!” he drags out your name, voice all whiny and pitched in a telltale manner. he pushes himself off away from his desk, chair rolling back from the impact as he lolls his head back. “this shit is sooo lame. didn’t i hire nanamin to take care of the boring stuff? how come he isn’t here handling this god forsaken load of terrorizing agony?!”

you click your tongue, clutching tighter at the clipboard in your hold. you wonder if he’d been dropped on the head as a child, his lack of self-awareness so painful it makes you reconsider if the check at the end of the week is ever worth it. “he’s scheduled the week off to keep his wife and newborn in check. he signed off about a month ago.”

he snaps his head up so quickly, you’re positive he’s gotten whiplash. gojo blinks at you through big blue eyes and snowy lashes, a dumbfounded look on his face. he lifts his index to scratch at the corner of his lips, and cocks his head to the side, “ahh. . . ‘s that right? wait— nanamin’s a dad?!”

you feel the vein in your head inevitably tick.

“sir,” you let out an exhausted sigh, completely baffled by his ineptitude. he must purposely choose to do this to you, there’s simply no other explanation. “we attended his wife’s baby shower a few months ago—the one you mistook for a bachelor party and had me escorting the escorts back home.” you lift your pointer finger, brows cinched as the memory burns into your mind. he tilts his head to the side, affirming the idea of his cluelessness even more.

you raised a second finger, “we showed up to the hospital to congratulate them on their baby— and you got them that ridiculous cutout board of yourself that sings when you press on the—”

“the button on my dick, yeah!” gojo cackles as if it’s the funniest story ever, as if you hadn’t need to dump a bucket of water on the cutout figure to get it to shut up before he could get his company sued for emotional distress.

you huff, the stressful reminder of that unfortunate day having you anxiously tugging at the hem of your skirt, “yep. that’s the one.” between the baby’s obnoxious cries and exaggerated mecha-gojo moans, you’d rather not think about that encounter.

“and this whole time i figured she was his sister,” gojo snorts, wiping a faux tear from the corner of his eye. he sighs when his laughter dies down, and pulls him chair back into his desk. “man, his wife’s a babe. guess that explains why she looked at me all crazy when i called her fine the other day.”

“you sure that’s the only reason?” you mutter under your breath, the insult flowing off your tongue so naturally that you couldn’t help stopping it, even if you wanted to. that man was all kinds of deranged, his ego and head much bigger than it needed to be.

“ouch, that’s mean, doll.” gojo pouts, clutching at the material of his blazer above his heart. the back of his free hand lands on his forehead as he dramatically leans back into his seat. his eyelids shut tightly, “you’re wounding me. ‘m too young to die. i can’t go on like this— tell my mother i loved her. sign off my will for me, wouldya? make sure to terrorize nanamin some more. oh, and empty out all my search histories. wouldn’t wanna ruin my reputation. and get rid of my porn magazines beneath my bed. ‘ve got some pretty nasty stuff there. and check up on my kid every now and then. and—”

“alright, alright. i apologize.” you cut his rambling off before it spiralled into something far worse. there’s a full headache throbbing at your temple, your feet ache from your heels, and your stomach rumbles in hunger. you���re ready to go home now, but that won’t be possible unless your big man baby of a boss finishes up his task. “i’m sure you’ve a very suitable man. many would be grateful to have you. my apologies, sir.”

he peeks through an eye, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. his beaten-puppy look is quickly replaced by one you know far too well now— the look he gets after beating his rival company in terms of stock. the look he gets after successfully shitting on his higher ups. the look he gets after getting you to cum on his fingers after a long day— you’ve stroked his ego. “i’ve trained you well, princess. always flattering me, ohh, however did i get so lucky?”

whatever have you done to get so unlucky? “time’s ticking, sir. you can’t afford to pick up megumi late from practice again.”

“nanamin’s wife might be a babe, but you’re a gem, y’know?” your boss entirely ignores you, leaning his elbow onto the pile of work he’s now completely erased from his existence. he leans his cheek into his palm, fingertips tapping at the side of his head. “one helluva girl. i mean it— i really lucked out with ya.”

you cross your leg over the other, shifting your hips over the suede material of his couch. you recognize the sultry undertone to his voice, and your clear your throat, “is that so?”

gojo chuckles, flashing you all thirty two teeth, “i mean it’s not everyday you find a woman with your patience. god, you must be in love with me or something.”

you roll your eyes, despite the small smile that creeps up on your lips, “that’s certainly not why i stayed,” which wasn’t entirely true, but it’s not as if you haven’t inflated his ego enough today. “you may be a handful but your pockets sure are generous.”

“wouldn’t kill you to make a guy feel good about himself from time to time, ya know?” he fiddled the black pen between his fingers, twirling the object from knuckle to knuckle. he pauses when you don’t answer, noticing you noticing his finger movements. and so he proceeds with a smirk, “you’re always so tense all the time. . . tell me, when’s the last time you’ve been properly fucked?”

you nearly lose the grip on your clipboard at his audacity, the question throwing you off guard. though, you quickly keep composure— a fierce facade that’s always labelled you as the calm and collected kind. though, you’re doubtful it worked against your own boss.

“that’s an unprofessional question, sir.” you grit through teeth, nails scratching at the wooden back of your board. highly hypocritical of yourself, as you’re absolutely no better than he is— having already opened a window of no return that fateful night you accepted his invite to come inside his home.

“pretty sure we’re past unprofessionalism.” he pushes himself off of his desk, rising to his feet. your eyes trail his movements, from the index finger that hooks at his tie to loosen the knot, to the cock of his head to the side that has his hair bouncing, to the sound of expensive shoes clicking with every stride closer to you.

his presence can be oddly intimidating at times— you’ve noticed while working with him for a while. there’re moments like whenever he steps up on a podium in front of thousands of people, or when the elevator doors slide open and presents him to the building. despite his childish antics, he exudes an aura so enchanting that serves as reminder of that at the end of the day, he’s the boss.

you swallow, eyes following his lean figure until he stops right before you. it’s hard to read him in moments like these, when he’s so unlike himself (or maybe finally truly himself). his hands sit in the pockets of his slacks, legs parted enough to entrap your own legs between his, as he tilts his head forward. his irises darken behind tinted shades, bangs curtaining the raise of an eyebrow.

“unprofessional?” he repeats, and your eyes narrow at him, subconsciously gripping at your board tighter. it’s the only thing that you seem to have control over, since it clearly wouldn’t be this conversation. “you mean like that time i had you creamin’ all over my fingers in the back of my car? or unprofessional like that time you bent over my desk and came all over my face? or was it that night when i had to tie your hands together to keep you from runnin’ away?”

your gaze flickers away from his, the heat of embarrassment creeping from your neck all the way to your face. he wasn’t wrong— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in closer to kiss you instead of pushing him away.

“we’re still at work.” you quip, the last bit of resolve tattering away the longer you feel his eyes on you. your roll your ankle nervously, thighs tightening against another.

“work ended half an hour ago sweetheart, remember?” he reminds you, voice as taunting as ever, and you sure as hell don’t need to see him to know he’s smirking. right side of his lips pulled with a moon crescent dimple on the side— he’s making fun of you. “forgettin’ already? can’t have my adorable secretary so overwhelmed that it’s meltin’ her brain. that should be my dick’s doing only, of course.”

you click your tongue, eyes casting back up to stare him dead in the eye. naturally, he’s already meeting your own, with the same damn smirk you’d predicted, “you have paperwork to finish, sir. better get on that quickly.”

“oh?” he laughs at your command, pulling his hands out of his pockets to rest at his hips. he runs his tongue against the top row of his teeth, and you hate the way your mind instantly travels back to days prior when you’d once had that same tongue working in and out of you.

he hums in faux thought, tapping his index against his chin. his lips fall into a pout before instantly stretching back to its default state, his infamous smile, “i suppose you’re right. come help me finish then, hmm? teamwork makes the dream work.”

you’re skeptical— you know him too well, but you’d rather divert the focus of attention from you to those papers. anything to prevent your mind from wandering off further into endless unprofessional possibilities. “lead the way, boss.”

he curtsies dramatically as you rise to your feet, stomping over to his desk. you notice he’s got shit done, and you’ll most likely be here for a minute. and so, you stand next to the chair he’d abandoned and pick up the pen, waiting for him to sit so you both could get started.

only you should’ve known you’d fallen right into his trap the minute you agreed to his ridiculous offer. you feel him pressed up behind you, lurking over your shoulder to study whatever you had going on. he’s unreasonably tall, frame so large it has you feeling frail in his presence, and his cologne so strong you feel it already clouding your judgement.

damn it all.

clicking your tongue, you tilt your head to the side to narrow your eyes, “well? are you not going to sit?”

gojo blinks at you, “how come? i enjoy the view here much better anyway.”

you roll your eyes, before turning back to his desk. he was a complete idiot if he thought you hadn’t already anticipated his next moves. the more your wrist flexes, mumbling the words you read on your sheets as you write them down, the more you felt him. you could feel the back of your thighs meeting the from of his, you could feel his bulge rubbing at your ass, you could feel his warm breath fanning at the slope of your neck.

damn it all.

“sales have risen to a—ahhn!” your pen falters in your grip, scribbling on the white sheet as it hits the desk. your eyelids shut close, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as a warm mouth kisses at that sensitive spot behind your ear. your palm lays flat against the surface of the table, side by side with gojo’s, body tensing as his mouth trails down lower.

“oh you bastard,” you mutter, shaky hand attempting to grab the pen in an unsteady hold. his chuckle rumbles deep from his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your back. you’re determined to stand your ground, despite the urge to push your hips back into him. he may have soft lips and an annoyingly hot voice, but you would not falter— no matter the moisture of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

you think you have it set in stone, the pen in your hold— albeit unsteady— despite his large hand creeping up your thigh. every trail of his touch leaves an electrifying feeling, and you’re sure he’s noticed your trembling knees if the way he subtly slid his leg in between yours to keep you steady said anything.

it’s when you’re ready to scribble out your mistake to replace it that he decides to plunge his canines to your jugular. the moan that erupts from you is squeaky, your hand clutching tightly at the pen as your back arches into his chest from the painful pleasure.

gojo nibbles and sucks at your skin, running his tongue over the throbbing area to soothe the pain, fingers trailing closer to your now aching core. you’re positive your skirt has now hiked up with how much your hips are pushing back into his, head lolled forward.

“aweee, what’s the matter sweetheart? ‘s too much for you already?” gojo coos, sultry voice sending chills from the shell of your ear down to your core, finally slipping his hand inside of your skirt. his fingertips brush at your clothed clit, the material of your thong shamefully damp in arousal. you huff, nails scratching at his desktop when his index and middle finger rub painfully slow circles at your clit. “but we’ve barely done anything? tsk, can’t afford slowing the company down because you’re too distracted to focus.”

your thighs and arms threaten to give out, body heating with lust and desire. you want to say you hate this, that this is against your typical work ethics, to tell him to fuck off and do the work himself. but the focus on your pussy really has you melting puddle, bottom lip tugged on to suppress any louder sounds to escape.

“y-you’re the worst.” you complain, though it fades into another moan when he pushes his thigh up in between your legs. you’re internally thankful, because had this gone any further, you’re certain you would’ve sunken to the floor.

“love you too, pretty girl.” he presses a kiss at your jaw, fingers pushing past your panties. fuck any resolve you’d held onto— you chuck the pen far away, planting both palms down as you allowed him to take control. every rub of his fingers at your clit had you dripping down his thigh, to where your hips shifted and rolled down his leg, dragging out that blissful heat in your gut.

“givin’ up already? y’didn’t put much of a fight this time, can’t say i’m a disappointed.” his free hand grips at your thigh and trails up to your hips, resting at your flesh to guide you down his leg. he’s all too enthralled by your sensitivity, gaze zeroed in on your expressions— from the slackness at your jaw to the way your brows furrow.

“just h-hurry up already,” you grit, eyelashes fluttering as your eyelids lift. your gaze meets his instantly, and gulp at the hungry look in his eyes. his skin is already flushed pink, lips parted as he pants heavily. “you’re no—ngh, better than i am, dickhead.”

“well aren’t ya damn mouthy,” gojo acknowledged, though clearly unbothered, as his fingers pinch at that bundle of nerve. you gasp, cunt clenching as it leaks more of your essence down on him. your head drops back against his shoulder, the slope of your back curving as you grip onto the closest thing in your vicinity— the hem of his blazer. “hm, whatever happened to my obedient secretary? always so polite and respectful, don’t tell me i haven’t trained you enough?”

“m-maybe you haven’t,” you pant, chest heaving as you feel his fingertips teasing the entrance of your folds. they’re slow movements, applying just enough pressure to ignite the spark in your guts but not enough to leave you wanting more. “can’t even do your damn j-job right and you call yourself boss? hah, wonder if mister geto would have this issue— fuuuck!”

“low fuckin’ blow, sweets.” gojo chuckles darkly, now two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. he wastes no time to plunge himself inside, knuckles rubbing at your velvety walls. you clamp down on his digits, desperate to keep him in for the sake of that orgasm you craved. “and here i was ready to put this pretty pussy in my mouth. you’re dickless for a few days and catch an attitude wimme? that’s cold, baby.”

“dickless?” you cock a brow, teeth gritting as you focus all your energy left on delivering your next line. he always got so cocky whenever he had a slight advantage. “a-according to who—ooh, god, shit!”

“ooh god, shit!” gojo mocks you, a third finger now joining the others. he scissors your cunt open, the slick of your arousal simplifying the slide in. you’re dripping down to his palm, so wet despite the front you’re putting up. he knows you love it whenever he angles his fingers at this angle, the one that has you knees weak and ready to fold. “face it sweets, i’m the only one who treats this pussy the way it deserves. see how well she responds to me?”

and you wish you could negate or deny him, but unfortunately, you both know he’s correct. he’s only got his fingers inside of you and you’re already at your limit. your hips eagerly chase his fingers whenever he pulls out just to thrust them back in, the pad of his thumb drawing infinity signs at your clit. your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, knot in your tummy tightening from the stimulation.

“nghhh, ‘m gonna cum,” your hand slides down the slope of his forearm till where his wrist begins. you claw at the bone, clutching and grabbing at him eagerly. damn him and his damned fingers— driving you to mush with all six inches. “more, hah, need more— gimme more!”

“manners, pretty baby.” gojo coos at your ear, despite upping his pace. his hands reach all the right spots, pussy desperate to hold out to his fingers as they fuck your cunt open, soaking the digits in your slick. “c’mon girl, what’s the magic word? i know you’ve got it in you.”

“p-please! pleasepleaseplease—” you’re cut off by your own gasp as the dam in your stomach finally breaks. you leak on his fingers, squirting your juices as your muscles convulse, walls entrapping him in. your back arches away from him and you grasp at anything in your reach, your mouth gaped. you’re cussing like a sailor, vision blacked out beneath your eye lids as your hips twitch and stutter against gojo’s ruthless pace.

your high washes down, as you lose feeling in your limbs, falling face down to the desk. your skin is moist with heat, mouth parted as drool coats the abandoned paperwork beneath you. your body twitches with oversensitivity, thighs quaking as your last few spurts spray all over gojo’s thigh.

“don’t tell me you’re all worn out from a little foreplay?” your boss teases, his free hand delivering a blow onto your ass cheek. it recoils as you jolt, snivelling like a baby. you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, slacks falling next and pooling at his ankles. the next few moments happen in a blur, but sooner than you’d realized, you’d been turned onto your back with your legs propped over his shoulders and your folds were being played with again, the overstimulation having your toes curling in your heels.

“anddd there we go,” gojo strokes at his bricked cock, your essence serving as lube to coat his dick. he drags his fist from the base of his shaft to the tip, both your fluids and his pre cum mixture softening the jerk. “you fuckin’ water park. jeez, maybe i should plug this tiny cunt to prevent any further leakage, yeah?”

“fucking hurry already!” you don’t whine, or so you hope, though the grip of your legs at the back of his neck does tighten. with your skirt hiked up and your panties pushed to the side, gojo has a clear view of your twitching pussy, a hole designated intentionally just for him. he can already feel the cum in his balls ready to burst and fill your womb.

“and back to mouthy she goes,” he chuckles, using the leverage of his hand at his cock to slap his dick at your folds. the impact causes you to whimper, your hands clutching at the border of the desk. you wish you could wipe that smirk off his face, but fuck if the way he didn’t rub himself against you arouse you in ways that would surely haunt you after the orgasmic high faded away.

“take a deep breath for me baby, kay?” gojo instructs, thumb brushing over the skin above your hip bone, and before you’re able to retaliate, he slides in his dick.

his length is nothing to scoff at, and although you’ve already dealt with it in the past, all that prepping he’d done earlier seemed in vain. he bottoms out quickly, balls deep into you cunt. both your moans blend in harmony, overlapping one another as you settle with the aching stretch. your pussy clenches around his cock uncontrollably, both eager to push and pull him away.

“shittttt,” he whines throatily despite the huge grin on his lips. the flush pampering his skin has gotten significantly deeper, pale brows furrowed to the centre of his forehead. his hands grip at your plush thighs, fingers digging deep into your skin, surely enough to leave bruises. the bastard— he knew you’d be forced to wear your own slacks tomorrow to avoid suspicions.

“no fuckin’ way ‘m already set to bust— hah, fuck, what in the magical pussy is this?” gojo groans, snowy hair bouncing with his head thrown back. the tighter you grip at his cock, the tighter he grips at your thighs and the deeper his breaths are.

you push yourself up to your elbows, giggling at the irony of the situation. “already huh? so it wasn’t the liquor’s fault last time.” surely you were no better, entirely stimulated and body excreting all kinds of fluids from all over, but the ball was now in your court, and you planned on taking advantage. “s-should’ve known.”

naturally, he doesn’t rise to your bait, instead moving his hips away from yours, slowly dragging his cock out until the only part left in your cunt is his pink tip. “don’t make me make you eat your words, sweets.”

you raise your hand and rest it right above his pelvis, eyes set straight on his. you’re both clearly eager and ready to go, but you still had your dignity to uphold. you drag your palm upwards his torso, nails trailing up his button-up top teasingly before clutching at his tie. with the strength left in you, you yank him down and closer to you.

the shift in position stirs his dick in your cunt, knees now pressed closer to your chest. he hovers over you, a newfound look in his eyes you aren’t ready to divulge into—he was a very expressive man after all. both your lips ghosts one over another, breaths hot and mingling. you feel fuzzy, all senses fucked but collectively drawing at a same conclusion: wanting him to fuck your brains out on this desk.

“fuckin’ hell that was sexy.” it almost comes off a whisper, his tone breathless as his eyes bare deep into your. you feel the warmth of his hands fading away in favour to cup at your waist.

you tilt your head to the side, nose grazing against his. your fingers fiddle with the hem of his tie, despite never breaking the eye contact. “you gonna rock my world now?”

nothing more has to be said as he engulfs your mouth into his, knocking the wind out of you. his tongue explores the warm cave of your mouth, no inch left untouched. you moan and kiss him back just as eagerly, sliding the hand from his neck tie to his nape. your fingers thread through his soft locks, nails scratching his scalp and tugging at the roots.

he whimpers pathetically, the pain sending courses of arousal straight to his dick as his hips slam right back against yours. his thrust is rough and deep— leaving you gasping, as he takes the opportunity to kiss you even deeper while simultaneously working on his strokes.

the curve of his cock reaches even deeper than his fingers could manage, rubbing at your gummy walls and stretching them even wider. the sounds of your bodies connecting, your skins slapping, both your fluids mixing— everything felt so wanton, so filthy. he was everywhere, so far in your stomach you swear you could feel him in your throat.

the stretch of his cock at your pussy sent a fiery feeling spreading towards all of your limbs. the squelching of your pussy tightening and clenching at his dick filling the room. he soon picked up his pace, railing into you with every fibre in his body, loving the way your body bounced up in reaction to his thrusts.

“s-shit, oh fuck— don’t stop, ngh, right there!” you begged, throwing your head back against the hard surface. you’d given up on trying to keep your eyes open, the intensity of his dick ramming into your guts so fierce, you’d never felt anything like it.

he takes a sharp inhale of breath, followed by a whiny exhale. you were driving him insane, your sloppy cunt greedily clamping on his dick as if it were its lifeline. “suckin’ me in so tight, shitttt baby, ‘s like you want me to fill this perfect pussy full of my nut.” he dives his tongue deeper into your mouth for extra measure. you’re in a turmoil of multiple emotions at once but you kiss him back— until your lips feel tender and your mouth tastes of his breath.

he was annoyingly intoxicating, whether you wanted to admit it or not. your body spoke every word you were ashamed to say, responding with his own almost too perfectly.

when he slips his thumb to toy at your clit, your toes curl in your shoes and you’re accustomed to the oncoming feeling all too well, nails clawing at his skin. your words come out all fumbled mixed with tongue and drool, “s-satoru, i— ‘m gonna, don’t you stop— fuck ‘s too much— hnng!” you pull away just slightly, eyes all dazed as they roll to the back of your skull.

“shit, oh shit, me too,” he swipes at the drool dribbling past your mouth. from there, he plants more kisses at your skin, nibbling at every inch of you. he’s rutting like a madman, pace unforgiving as he focuses on that same spot that has you mindless. he finds you prettiest when you’re this way— all obedient for him. “my pretty girl— where do i— fuck, where—”

“inside.” as if you’d wanted to kill him, just as quick the word left your lips, he emptied his balls in your cunt. he sobs, his orgasm wracking over his entire body as he slams and fills your pussy full of him. the mixture of sounds is downright sinful, and whether it’d been the focus on your clit or his inhumane stamina, you soon met your similar end.

you cream on his dick once more, legs trembling as your second orgasm washes over you. your mind gone dumb, you do nothing but lay as you take the pounding inflicted on your worn out pussy. with each stroke you see stars, breasts juggling at the match of his pace. it’s damn near painful, but in the best enjoyable way. you feel yourself getting fuller by the second as you spray more of your arousal onto him.

the high eventually comes down for you both, the room reeking of sex. you’re both panting heavily, muscles twitching from overexertion. you couldn’t recall the last time you’d been fucked to the point of a momentary blackout— but you’d be damned if you’d ever let him know. he was too busy crying over your cunt anyways.

after a moment of silence, “. . .shit.”

“what?” you hum tiredly, rubbing the back of your hand to your tired hands. god, you could barely muster enough energy to do just that. what did this man eat?

he skips a few beats, before sheepishly chuckling, the hand that’d once been tracing patterns at the skin of your thighs now moving to your side. your gaze follows his movements, and it’s only when he retracts his hand does your heart sink to your chest.

“we definitely fucked these papers up.”

. . . shit.

io baby.. if you ever end up reading this i did it :c

#stargirl★rena. #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n

[bubblesune]

“Mammon is not invited to the threesome since he likes to bully me.”

#' love me harder ' ic #' eyes from above ' dash commentary #' skirts up ' suggestive