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gay4tiddies · 1 year

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Painted Hearts

Part 5

This is part four of a Jinx x female reader series, in which the reader ends up in the Arcane universe and winds up getting involved with the plot. Starting just around where series main plot begins

It often feels like a person cheats time in the hours between closing one’s eyes and opening them come morning. This void of space can be filled with dreams, some of which you may or may not recall, some of which may have been reoccurring since you were young enough to recall them. Dreams can be joyfully lucid, crushingly depressing, often times they exist as a vault of unexpressed, unpredictable, and unprecedented emotions.

Today your dream was foggy, vision distorted as you’re stumbling down a seemingly endless tunnel. There’s a figure ahead, you can’t imagine their identity, but you cannot help but chase after them.

Luminous, vivid blue was a colour that you saw only at night, hidden under the lids of your eyes. A stark, bare colour that seemingly filled you with only the most overwhelming emotions. You always remember these dreams - whether your entire dream was stained monochrome blue or even if you catch but a mere flicker of the captivating colour. You’d always awaken, heart racing, gripped with frustration as you fail, continuously, to envision that unmistakeable forget-me-not blue.

Perhaps it was for this reason that you chase the figure so desperately, the familiar braids flowing behind her, dancing almost tauntingly at the very tips of your outstretched fingers.

Only when your hands clasp empty air does she finally still. You could have sworn she spoke, her voice indistinguishable, smothered and muffled by the fog.

Your mind wanders aimlessly as your gaze settles fixedly upon the intricate designs mapping her back, pondering why this person was running from you, lightly tracing the swirling clouds. Her skin was icy to the touch, yet you felt an indescribable, content warmth settle around you both.

Twin braids swing rhythmically as she turns, ghosting her own fingers over your bare skin, before gazing unflinchingly into your eyes.

Oh.

Eyes of an unmistakable, addictive colour mirrored your bewildered stare. Immediately, you were enraptured by the bliss of her presence - immensely, overwhelming smitten with this intoxicating stranger. Her touch littered your arms, collarbone, neck, every brush somehow hitting you like static. Yet gradually the air around you felt smothering, suffocating. As if those sparks of static had set your body alight.

You take an unsteady step backwards; her hands fall to her sides; her caress has left you smouldering. The fog surrounding you now felt like thick, painful smoke, swallowing your breath in a ghastly cloud.

Her expression was one of desperation as she reaches out towards your retreating figure, now acidic pink eyes pleading for your return. But you don’t want to burn with her, you don’t want to go up in flames, melding together into twisted effigy.

You wrench yourself away, staggering into a sprint.

Yet it was as if you were running through quicksand, limbs moving in slow-motion, never gaining so much as an inch of ground.

Airy laughter grazed your ears as you felt lithe limbs embrace you, torso pressing flush against your back, warm breath ghosting your neck as she purred sweet, possessive nothings into your skin.

It was almost comforting, that groggy, sinking feeling her clasp now had upon you – like a warm cup of chamomile laced with a lethal dose of nightshade.

A slow, soothing way to die.

Awaking to the familiar bite of cold air, you cringe into the warmth of whatever material is covering you. Even worse, everything ached, you expected that this was how someone would feel after ascending a mountain - whilst carrying a sack of bricks in tow. You didn’t want to open your eyes and acknowledge this fucked up situation you’ve found yourself caught in, however you force yourself into consciousness.

Immediately you’re fully awake.

It only takes a couple of seconds for you to register that you’re suspended in mid-air, having been sleeping far too comfortably upon a make-shift hammock. Rope netting, of which you recall being hung around the fan blades, has been hastily wrapped in thick swathes of dark fabric, the same slightly rough material you’re covered in. There’s at least a thirty metre drop beneath you, of which you are not going to risk, leaving you unable to so much as attempt to escape.

Of course, she’d have made sure you had no means of escape - it’s not like she’s going to trust you, even after your embarrassingly desperate pleads to survive.

You call out awkwardly, to which there is no response. Assuming you’re alone, you exhale and fall back into the swinging bed. Whilst it might be a way of keeping you from running off, it was strangely accommodating. Although, the sheets most definitely weren’t actual bed covers, maybe curtains or merely raw fabric, and smelt slightly floral. Below you could see a few lights illuminating the workspace, the occasional splashes of neon colour reflecting off the florescent glare. It was just as you had seen in Arcane, eerily exact.

Letting yourself relax, your mind wanders for some time until you hear the distinct sound of a door opening and wet boots trekking across the fan beneath you.

Peeking over the edge of the hammock, you find the figure of a forlorn looking pyromaniac. Her arms are wrapped around herself, clothes positively drenched. You can assume that the scene in which Silco evil-baptises her has just occurred. As if feeling your gaze on her, she glances upwards, eyes immediately finding yours. A manic grin twists her previously solemn features as she waves her arms around excitedly.

“Mornin’ toots- missed me much?”

You were about to reply, negatively, however she didn’t stop to hear your response.

“Y’know how cold underground water is? It’s freaking freezing! How was I supposed to know to bring a warm change of clothes - if all I got was some foreboding message to meet Silco at the lake??”

She was pacing back and forth, a visible trail of water puddling across her path. Stopping occasionally, she’d throw her hands in the air or harshly whisper into the air beside her.

“Oh yeah- don’t worry about the specifics of how I know Silco. He’s sort of like my adoptive old man, also still a very dangerous drug lord – but I haven’t told him about you yet… So, make sure not to get us caught glowstick, cuz he might actually kill you ahaha…” She’d trail off, leaving you debating your own safety.

You still can’t seem to get a word of response in, as she continues to chatter mindlessly to (presumably) you as she walks around the fan blades. At some point she’d begun to strip off her wet clothes, talking nonchalantly in the process. You turn your gaze away from the near nude woman in embarrassment as she walks in and out of sight, twisting various levers as she goes. Hearing a metallic squeak alongside the sound of a tap running, you faintly recall seeing a bathtub in the series setting. How Jinx manages to get hot water up here, you cannot imagine - although she’s certainly smart enough to have fixed that up for herself.

Laying back, your hands cover your face as you groan in frustration, listening to the idle chatter for what seems like hours before you hear her leave the water.

“Y’know that lake water was dirty too- l swear Silco forgets I’m a girl sometimes. Like, I might be a slightlymanic, gun-wielding terrorist- but I’m still a woman who likes to stay outta dirty water and smell clean!”

You feel faint amusement at this, listening to her rant to you as a frustrated daughter of a single parent. It was so strangely mundane, enough to feel at ease with.

“I’m surprised he doesn’t understand, seeing how much hair you have.” You exclaim genuinely.

“Precisely!” She cries out, “I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall when I bring up anything- anything… feminine with him!”

A smile plays at the corner of your lips.

“Anyhow- Let’s get ya down from there.”

Your stomach momentarily drops as you feel the hammock jerk downwards; your knuckles turning white as you immediately grip the netting.

“Whoops! Sorry ‘bout that toots, may or may not have over-oiled this lever last night.”

You bite back a catty remark, choosing not to snap at the woman lowering you from a fatal drop.

The netting stops descending after a short time, suspended a few metres from the blade, in alignment with the faded green sofa. Taking this as an invitation, you clumsily clamber off the make-shift-bed and onto the sofa below, sitting awkwardly as the blue-haired captor waltzes back from wherever she’d been. A stained, somewhat wet towel is then dropped on the cushioned surface beside you, to which you wrinkle your nose at in slight disgust.

Jinx now stands over you dressed in her usual attire, bar her shoes, hair roughly styled into wet braids. You note that her usual fringe is absent, imagining that it appears when her hair dries, and braids loosen. You can smell something faintly floral and sweet in the air near her.

“That” she points at the abandoned towel, “is for you.”

Halting your observations, you raise an eyebrow in question.

“Look- ya kinda smell toots, like you’ve been rendezvousing in sewers kind of smell. There’s a tub over there, so use it before you stink up my workshop.”

You can feel your cheeks heat up in angry embarrassment at the blunt comment, now feeling incredibly self-conscious under her gaze.

“Fine.” You huff, snatching the towel up as you tread briskly towards the forementioned tub.

You’re met with a faint surprise, now seeing that Jinx had stacked a flimsy wall of wooden crates around the bath to allow you for some form of privacy. For at least this you are grateful, shimmying past the wall and into the small enclosure.

The bath itself is hideously stained; splashes of vibrant colours overlap into off-putting, dirty greys that disappear under the sheen of soapy bubbles. You dread to know what colour the water is beneath the foam, nevertheless, you strip and hesitantly slide into the warm bathwater. Beside the tub is a small, wooden table, on which sits an array of seemingly random bottles, jars, and flasks filled with hell knows what. You can only eye the label-less jars with the necessary suspicion they deserve.

“I forgot to tell ya-“ You startle as a blue head peers over the wall, hurriedly ducking under the colourful bubbles. “don’t go using any of those greyish greenish liquids - they’re definitely not for cleaning.” Jinx proceeds to then throw her arms in the air, mimicking an explosion sound to accompany it. This is then followed by a muffled, amused snicker.

What’s the point of putting together a privacy wall if she was just going to evade it anyway?

You furrow your brows, exhaling shakily in attempt to keep your wits about you. “Right, cheers for that - Can you please leave me to bathe alone now?”

She pauses, shadowed eyes briefly narrowing before shrugging dismissively, disappearing behind the crates. You sigh in relief, sitting upright to separate the green and grey liquids from the huddle of glassware. For further safety you discard all yellow and blue liquids too. Ultimately, they result in green too - right?

Finally, you take a hesitant sniff of a pinkish bottle, a clear liquid that smelt refreshingly non-toxic. Honey and begonia, a scent you now recognise Jinx having smelt of earlier. At this you deem it safest to use, going through plenty of the soapy liquid to scrub through the layers of grime you’d accumulated over the last twenty-four hours or so. You certainly smell far better, even if of begonias. These particular plants bloom into awfully pretty flowers; however, in the past a bouquet of begonias was sent as a warning to beware of bad omens. How eerily fitting.

Quick to leave the lukewarm water, you eye the somewhat cold, damp towel hesitantly before roughly drying yourself off with it. Beside it lays a neat pile of heavy-duty, practical clothes, seemingly a mix-and-match of your choice. The colours consisted of surprisingly neutral earth tones, material decidedly layered and of an almost military or dystopian style. Yet the beneath, the inner linings were decorated with familiar, neon drawings. It would almost seem sweet, yet you sense that there is most definitely an underlying meaning – perhaps in how these signature doodles can be seen to mark a certain ownership over what Jinx would deem as her property. A constant reminder that you’re not here to live as her roomie, but as her personal project.

But at the same time…

Trailing your hands over the material, you can’t help it as your lips tilt into a gleeful smirk.

These clothes are fucking cool, apocalypse-core type of hot.

Strangely satisfied, you push a few crates to the side, sliding through the make-shift room and into open space, immediately coming face-to-face with consequence of your bad karma.

Had she been standing there this whole time? You’re tempted to ask her; the feeling of discomfort having been growing in your gut since the moment she’d opened her mouth. But perhaps accusing the manic, schizophrenic pyromaniac of flaunting her disturbing behaviour isn’t a bright idea.

Meanwhile, the said pyromaniac merely looks you up and down, nods and then proceeds to scamper off towards her central workshop, to which you slowly trail after her.

Perhaps it’s because she’s never really hung out with anyone her own age?

It hits you – this might just be the first time she’s ever allowed anyone in her sanctum besides Silco, yet alone having someone living here with her.

So not only are you a living project, but going through some sort of deadly social experiment on the side?

Mothertrucker dude.

If the current situation wasn’t so decidedly inhumane it would almost be attractive, the whole being pinned down and then non-consensually having your blood drained to keep yourself alive thing. You hiss as a deceivingly delicate hand holds your arms down, not too gently inserting a needle into your wrist.

“Blimey toots, you sure writhe around for someone who volunteered for this.”

You shoot her a scathing glare, to which she grins snidely, pinching your cheeks with an eerie fondness of a sort.

“Ouch, that look could do with some ice.”

“Well perhaps if you hadn’t pounced on me out of nowhere then the whole experience would have been a whole lot less like I was being mugged.”

She rolls her eyes, chuckling as she releases your limbs, climbing off of you.

“Look, I thought that ya wouldn’t be up for it unless I made it more fun!”

“…Fun?”

“Mhm.”

You groan frustratedly at the sheer inability to communicate that this woman possessed. You hadn’t even been given time to dry your hair before she’d jumped you. And now here you are, left wired up to some sort of make-shift trima machine, slowly filling sandwich bags up with your bioluminescent blood. Just to further help the situation, you can clearly see a few test tubes of your blood already sitting at Jinx’s workstation. Paired with the scattering of bruising pinpricks left in your alternate wrist, it’s pretty clear that she isn’t so much as trying to hide the fact that she’d already been draining you.

This must be what it feels like to wake up in a motel submerged in an ice bath with one of your kidneys missing.

Not to mention how utterly boring the task that had been forced upon you is, all you can do is glare at the woman slouched over a table, clearly completely fixated on perfecting the Hextech crystal. Music blares from the vinyl beside her, deafening any of your attempts to catch her attention.

And then it felt like you were watching through a screen again, blue sparks erupting from the workstation. You simply can’t take your eyes off of Jinx, braids dancing around her rhythmically, an expression of prideful extasy cast over her features. Shimmering specks drifting mesmerizingly from every direction.

The piercing sound of glass shattering snaps you out of your trance, almost as if reality was slapping you around the face as a reminder that you too are present in this situation. Surprised, Jinx skids to an imminent stop, leaping from her chair instinctively as broken viles of your blood seep over her desk and dissolve into the spiralling crystal. The result was immediate, as another wave of raw, galvanised magic bursts from the device, a pulse powerful enough to send the flimsy device attached to you flying into your chair. With a strangled yelp from you, the needle is haphazardly torn from your arm, and almost like a swarm of bees, the sparks descend upon you.

Static, all you can seem to disconcert are sharp, electrical pinches. Neither painful nor discomforting, they felt strangely natural. Warily cracking open your eyes, you’re met with a surge of light, of which you can barely squint through. Lifting your bare arm up, you’re quick to observe the sparks seemingly multiplying at the touch of your bare skin. A figure soon enters your field of vision, hands clasping her own face in giddy excitement.

“Oh toots, you’re blue- like literally glowing iridescent!” She swoons, gushing over your newfound condition in fascination. You feel the all-too-familiar bite of nails digging into your skin, already kneeling besides you to trace the map of glowing veins exposed across your arm.

“Wow, I didn’t even notice.” You drawl sarcastically, already feeling the threat of an approaching migraine. It would be so hideously cliché of you to faint twice. Must be these god-awful lights, and the god-awful company.

Snickering, Jinx glances up, gappy front teeth biting over her lower lip.

“You’re practically a power up… An enhancer- D’ya know what this means?”

“…That I’m lucky to not suffer from epilepsy?”

She giggles, gripping your chin tightly as she leans in, eyes never once leaving your own.

“It means you’re one hell of a valuable asset Glowstick.”

Ughgffg sorry for how long this took, I had writers block and a gazillion hugeass assignment deadlines to meet this last term. Made a longer chapter to make up for the wait tho so hope you guys enjoyed aha

The style of clothes I was portraying are seen in Hamcus clothing. The designer of the brand Tuff Leung shows absolute individuality in his designs, the concept of which focuses not so much on clothes as on characters from sci-fi movies and video games. Each collection is dedicated and presented as a separate race, which is already unique.

Tag list: aglist: @imaginewriting @jarofmace @amelies-a-simp @earning-my-love @i4cosmic @lewwz @keijustbeingsimp @xxmadxlovexx @daughterofposeidon1342018 @pinkroulette @pinkrose1422 @screechcat

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celestie0 · 2 months

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

luxury & lingerie. a retail au

“𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤.”

ᰔ pairing. retail au - rolex salesman gojo x victoria's secret associate reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo is the rolex watch shop's pretty boy & you're the victoria's secret lingerie store's new hire that works across from him. let's just say he's determined to get inside your pants.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, porn with plot (seriously that's all it is), smut, casual sex, possibly comedic, lots of terrible flirting, tiny bit of fluff if you squint, gojo's got a daddy kink that you really have no interest in entertaining, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, blowjobs, oral sex, praise kink, some degradation, sort of cum play, banter, suguru & choso are in it too (the hot-boy sales trio)

ᰔ word count. 6.5k

a/n. hellooo this started with this concept idea i had of hot retail worker gojo who just wants to flirt with you instead of actually do his job lmfao. this was seriously just a stream of my consciousness. hope you enjoy! and thanks to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this. creds to @quinnyundertow for the sephora lipstick idea.

The sound of Suguru’s voice was the last thing going through Gojo’s mind right now.

“Anyways, I put the car in reverse, she’s on aux. I’m thinking, she’s gotta have good taste, right? She’s the one that suggested the Maneskin concert in the first place. But you know what she starts playing? Country music. Fucking country music. And I’m not necessarily opposed to a good— dude, are you even listening?”

Choso leans over the polished display case of the mens’ latest Rolex models, staring at the two idiots in front of him. “No, he’s not. He’s been ogling the tits on that mannequin over there for the past five minutes.”

Gojo finally blinks out of his trance, irritated. “I’m not staring at the mannequin, I’m staring at—”

You. New hire. Over at the Victoria’s Secret that was across from his turf at the mall. You were standing on your tiptoes on a mini ladder, wobbling a little, reaching up for a mannequin at the display window to switch out the corny yellow sleeping mask on its face for one that was a more sleek, satin blue.

The fabric of your uniform slid up slightly, skin of your midriff exposed, and he has to suck a breath in through his teeth.

“I called dibs on that a week ago,” Suguru says from where he stood, lazily leaning on the counter.

“No fucking way. I’ve got dibs.”

“Dibs? Really? I work with a bunch of prepubescents,” Choso groans, tipping his head back to stare up at fluorescent mall lighting.

Suguru’s voice sounds like he’s lax at the jaw. “Is anyone gonna tell her that’s the ladder they use to prop the door open, and not the one to flash Satoru’s horny ass while changing out a mannequin?”

“I’ll be the one to tell her,” Gojo says.

At the display window, you slowly peel the panties off of the mannequin without a thought in the world to use the store’s modesty curtain, and Gojo, Suguru & Choso are all staring. And probably every other man within the store’s radius.

“Holy fuck,” Gojo says, strained.

“Holy fuck, indeed,” Suguru marvels.

“She’s clueless,” Choso sighs.

“You can have the mannequin, I get the girl,” Suguru offers, something just to get under Gojo’s skin.

“Shut up. I’m going over there.” He stands up onto his feet from the leather client chair he had been sprawled across up until this point of his shift.

“Can’t wait for you to royally fuck this up,” Choso muses with a smirk, arms crossing at his chest.

Gojo grumbles something under his breath when he hears Suguru’s coo of agreement, and then he’s making his way across to the Victoria’s Secret entrance. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his black dress shirt, as if he expects the sight of the skin at his collarbone to have you seduced like a victorian man seeing a lady’s ankle for the first time.

He makes it through the welcoming glass doors that lead into the sultry & dark ambience that you would expect of a lingerie store, and he rounds to the right, stopping a few feet away from you.

You were combing through a rack now, lips pursed in concentration until he clears his throat.

Glancing over, your shoulders tense and you pull your retail headset earpiece down, leaving it hanging by the wire that was clipped to the neckline of your shirt. His eyes flicker to the nametag pinned above the curve of your breast. You look at him with wide eyes. “Oh, hi sir. How can I help you?”

“Oh, no, I’m not a customer,” Gojo quickly corrects you, although he liked the sound of sir from your lips, “I work over there.” He points with a jerk of his chin towards the obnoxiously gaudy exterior of the Rolex watch store facing the two of you.

You blink at him. “Ah, I see.”

“You new here?” Gojo asks, taking a step forward and resting his elbow up on the metal bar of the rack just to get more into your space. “Haven’t seen you around.”

The corner of your lip turns up slightly at his words. “Why? Do you keep a roster?”

“I—no, not really,” he responds, already a little speechless, “wait, a roster of what?” He’d say he does if it’s a roster of pretty girls he’s been fantasizing about tit-fucking all day long, with you being at the top—no, the only one—on that list.

You shrug a little. It’s kind of meek and cute. “Of new hires?”

He breathes in deep. “Yes. Yes, I do. I just like to make sure the newbies feel welcome around here. Y’know, taken care of.”

You smile, turn to face him and relax your posture. “Oh. That’s sweet. Yeah, I feel pretty welcome here, thanks.”

“That’s good.”

“I mean, everyone’s been really nice to me so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, and I really like the break room on this floor. The last place I worked at didn’t have a toaster oven.”

“No way.”

“I wish the clock-in machine was easier to use though…”

“For sure.”

You glance at him suspiciously in the middle of your rant. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Cause you’re real pretty, angel.”

Your brow raises, the keys hooked to the loop of your jeans jingling as you place a curled hand to your hip. “Angel? Really? Cause of— cause of Victoria’s Secret angels?”

Gojo’s stiff, his elbow still resting on the cool metal pole, and he glances up at the ceiling before looking back down at you. “Uhh…sure? Yes.”

“That’s not very original.”

“Man, you’re really making me work hard for this. Unfortunately, that only makes me want you more.” He leans down closer to you, to catch the scent on your skin, and he can’t tell if you’re amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks round as you narrow your eyes at him.

“This is you working hard for it? You haven’t even told me your name yet, watch boy.”

He sees your fingers wrap around the cold metal bar of the rack, and he tries hard not to picture them wrapped around something else, but to no avail. You jut your hip out to bump him, pushing him out of your way, before you start rolling the rack down the store.

He trails behind you. “My name. It’s Satoru. But to you, I can be dadd-”

You stop in your tracks, turning around to face him with a scowl, but he was too distracted by the shape of your backside to be reflexive enough to stop himself in time, and he ends up crashing right into you. The momentum has you falling back with a gasp, tripping over the foot of the rack, and his arm flies around your waist to keep you upright, and then pressed up against him too just for good measure.

His face is just inches away from yours. “Shit. Sorry.”

Your arms are squished between his chest and yours, pinky tickling the skin at his collarbone, and the contact has him reeling. “I-It’s fine,” you say, lashes fluttering, “now let go of me, before I file a harassment complaint.”

He instantly retreats, releasing you, watching you stumble a bit before gaining your balance again. “God, no, please,” he sighs, “I really need this job.”

“You don’t act like it,” you mumble. You fix your hair in front of him and tuck the fabric of your shirt that came loose back into your jeans. He doesn’t have to touch your cheeks to know they feel hot, he can tell from the purse of your lips and the way you won’t make eye contact with him.

The voices of a couple women are heard from down the aisle, as well as the plastic clinking of hangers on racks as they peruse the sheer bralettes dangling in color-coded fashion. Gojo sees you struggling to pull the rack you were working with away to the side to let them through, and he comes up behind you, gripping the metal bar to do it for you. He catches the fragrance of your hair at the crown of your head, and he inhales slowly.

The women walk by, throwing a few curious glances at the two of you, and Gojo doesn’t move from where he’s holding onto the rack and has his arm pressed against yours, his only lifeline to find some reason to touch you right now.

You start pushing the rack forward again, and he continues to follow you, keeping a more respectful following distance this time. He’s distracted by the pair of crotchless panties hung over your shoulder. He picks them up by the string. “Who the fuck actually wears these?” he asks, dangling them in front of his face and turning them around in the air to inspect it.

Your eyes are set forward for your destination. “Middle-aged women that are desperate to seduce their husbands before those men ride the high of buying a $100k watch by fucking a twenty-something-year-old instead.” You snatch the pair from his hand. “I’m rooting for those women. The men at your Rolex store? Not so much.”

He’s on your heel until you round to a smaller section of the store, wheeling the rack over to a corner near the collection of lace panties sprinkled across cubbies under dim purple lighting. He glances over his shoulder and takes note that this area’s tucked away from the eyesights of the cash registers and storefront.

He hears you sigh, then say “Why are you following me?”

He meanders closer to you with his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks. “Because…y’know, like I said, I wanna make the new hire feel settled in.”

“I literally feel so very unsettled by you right now,” you say to him with a wry expression as you start sorting through lace underwear, referencing some chart in your hand to get it right.

He walks up to you and peers over your shoulder at the illustration, and notices the way you stiffen a bit but also lean back into him. “Huh…so the cheeky panties go in the left top & bottom cubes. And they’re the ones with medium coverage and…” he squints his eyes at the chart, dim lighting doing him no favors, “and they have an alarming fit.”

You scoff through your nose. “It says alluring fit. Can you read?”

“I— shut up. Yes I can read.”

You twirl around to face him, a hint of an amused smile to your lips. His eyes widen a bit at the sight of it, until he registers it’s a cheeky one, like those panties.

“Watch boy is illiterate. Must be why you still work in retail.”

“Yes, keep being mean to me, new hire. It’s hot,” he groans, hands still in his pockets as he leans towards you. You don’t shy away, just keep on looking up at him in this little corner he has you in, a twinkle in your pupils now that he wasn’t seeing earlier.

He’s surprised when your finger hooks the fabric in between two of the buttons on his shirt. You play with the material, pinching it, but never tug on it. “What’s a grown ass man like yourself doing still working for commission at a mall?”

“Okay, ouch, a little too mean,” he backtracks, watching your tongue briefly swipe across your lip, “let’s be a bit nicer.��

Now you’re tugging on the fabric, hooked finger pulling him closer to you until his hands have to fly out of his pockets and his palms press against the wall, caging you into it. “Illiterate and can’t take a dig. Pick a struggle,” you say to him with a sweet look up.

He’s getting the sense that you’re into him too. He grabs hold of your waist, thumbs rubbing your torso over the fabric of your uniform just to get a feel. “Well,” he starts, bringing your hips forward to his, pressing the erection he was building against you, “this illiterate retail worker could fuck you real good if you’d just give him the chance.”

A small gasp leaves your lips, eyes widening and you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth. Fuck, he wants to kiss you. Wants to be the one biting your lip right now. Your hand grabs his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin left exposed by his rolled up sleeve. “It’s…It’s real well, watch boy. You’d fuck me real well.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll fuck you real well,” he tells you, as his head tips towards your cheek, lips brushing against it. It was just a tease, so he pulls away but still looks down at you in closeness. There’s voices around the corner, but he doesn’t really care.

“You’re awfully forward,” you breathe out, and he almost goes insane at the soft whimper that leaves your lips when he can’t help but jerk his hips forward a bit.

“Y’know what? Fuck it,” he grumbles, pulling the rack across behind him so he’s created a covered haven for the two of you against this wall, and then he kisses you.

There’s a yelp that he muffles from you as his lips move against yours, slow, because you're new to him and he wants to savor it. His hand finds the small of your back, spreads across it, pushing you to arch towards him, and his teeth catch your bottom lip when he feels your breasts press against him. You’re pliant, opening your mouth for him, and he takes up the offer to taste you. Soft & warm pressed up against him, a subtle sweetness on your tongue, and he only pulls away because you squeeze his shoulder hard.

You’re breathing fast, cheeks shy, a little cutely cross-eyed from his proximity when you look up at him. “I-…okay, I’m a little mad that you’re a good kisser.”

He hums, tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly and you grip the collar of his shirt to keep him close. “I’ll kiss you nice in a lot of other places too.”

It doesn’t really take much convincing after that.

“Oh…oh my god—,” you mewl, back against the mirror of one of this fine lingerie establishment’s fitting room stalls, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you raw with the aim to please.

“Shit, knew you’d be tight,” he groans, pressing a kiss to your jaw when you tip your head back in pleasure, throat loose with a moan, “pretty little new hire. Just had to break you in.”

“S-Satoru,” you moan through a breath, the sound of his name on your tongue having his cock twitch inside your walls, mixed with the pain of the grip you had on the hair at the back of his head.

He has your shirt bunched up along with your bra, tits exposed for him. His head dips to pull a nipple through his teeth as he feeds you with a few slow, deep thrusts, and his eye catches the earpiece of your headset, still clipped to your shirt, bouncing around with every one of his movements inside you. “Really hope that thing’s off,” he mumbles against your skin, “but if it excites you to have it on, I—fuck, I wouldn’t really mind either way.”

Your hand flies to his bicep when he runs his thumb over your clit, legs wrapping around him even tighter. “More. Need more,” you say, head in a haze, and he really could’ve cum inside you right then and there but he holds out to enjoy some more time buried in the warm pleasure of your cunt.

“If you want something from me,” he grunts between thrusts, “you’re gonna have to beg me for it, love.”

“Fuck me harder,” you cry, eyes shut closed, and he almost feels sorry for you.

“That’s a demand,” he informs, pinching the flesh of your ass and enjoying the way you clench around him from the action, “I told you to beg.”

“Please, oh my god, please—,” you start, moving your hips against his now, and he hears the lewd sound of your flesh slapping more fervently against the mirror. “Please fuck me harder.”

“Good girl. Pretty girl,” he praises you, thumb finding your clit again as a reward, “see what you get for being so nice to me now.”

He bucks his hips harder, your arms wrapping around his neck in desperation, chin resting at the top of his head as his lips fall to your neck, and he kisses, nibbles, sucks, anything to get that sweet taste in his mouth while he draws stars over your sensitive bud, eliciting broken whimpers from you over and over again.

“Gonna let me cum inside?” he asks, feeling his balls jump at just the thought of filling you up, his thighs feeling hot from the anticipation of you giving him the permission. “All that shit talk earlier about me being a dumb mall worker, but you’d still let me finish in you, right?” His hips stutter slightly, vision starting to blur, and he feels your walls flutter tightly too, “cause I bet it turns you on that you’re letting this dumb retail man fuck you senseless in a flimsy little fitting room right now, regardless.”

“Satoru, please,” you’re begging, the crack in your voice hoarse like you’re about to cry from the pleasure.

“Answer me,” he demands, retreating the thumb that was toying with your clit. He pulls one of your arms from where it was wrapped around his neck to pin your wrist to the mirror. “You want me to cum inside you or not?”

Your hips press so harshly against his that he hardly has any leeway to thrust anymore, and it makes him hiss in protest, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass to let up. “I want—mhh, I want you to cum inside me, please, please,” you plead, desperate, grinding your clit against the skin above his cock, above the place he was buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, the sweet words processing in his head, and he loses all sense of control, motions eager and desperate, chasing after his high and his thumb is barely considerate enough to chase after yours too as it rubs relentlessly over your puffed up clit. You shiver against him, walls clenching around his cock impossibly tight, legs wrapping around his waist possibly even tighter, and he feels every nerve as you come undone around him. The gripping sensation your orgasm had on him has him faltering with harsh thrusts forward, and he holds your hips flush to his as the first spurt of his cum spills into you, followed by more with repetitive juts of his hips until he’s emptied himself entirely into you, and you’re just pumped full of him.

You swat at his chest, squirming as he leaks the last drop from the tip of his dick, and he can tell you’re overstimulated.

“Sorry,” he says through a short exhale, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and he slowly pulls out of you, cock falling limp over his thigh, and he holds you until you find footing on the ground, albeit a bit wobbly.

“Oh no,” you mewl, clenching your thighs together when you feel his cum starting to drip out, and he quickly bends down to hook your panties up back into place. You give him a pointed look.

“What? The easiest clean-up is not letting it out,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him so he gets to feel the plushness of your bare breasts against him and he kisses the top of your head. “You’re real good, new hire. Or whatever the fucking proper way to say it is.”

He can tell you’re rolling your eyes even though your face is buried in his chest.

“You’re a dumbass,” you say, sounding muffled.

—

Gojo spends about 90% of his shifts meandering across the shimmering tile floors of the mall to the Victoria’s Secret, and only spends about 10% of them actually being a watch salesman. His boss was starting to get real fuckin’ fed up with him, threatening to fire him yesterday for the two-hour lunch break he took because he was eating you out in a storage closet, but he really couldn’t be bothered to care. He was an addict, and he needed to get his fix. Not before annoying the shit out of you, though.

“Alright, daddy’s home. Let’s get to it. I’m on my lunch break,” he says, walking right up to you in the middle of your shift while you’re folding slip dresses onto a display table, his hand reaching for your waist but you retreat from him.

“For that, get the fuck away from me.”

He sighs. “I’ve been wanting to touch you all day long. Do you purposefully walk your gorgeous self across the front of the store that many times just to tease the hell out of me? I’m suffering.”

“I walk across the storefront because I’m doing my job,” you mumble to him.

“No, I swear, you do it to—”

“Sweets,” one of your coworkers calls out to you from the other end of the store, the one with a pink buzzcut that acts kinda scary. “Is that man bothering you?” she asks through a smack of her gum, “want me to call security?”

“Yes.”

“What—”

After a couple of minutes of vindicating himself to mall security that he is not a threat to public safety, which you watch in amusement with no help at all, he’s shortly back at your side in a different section of the store to annoy you.

“When are you gonna wear one of these for me?” he asks, holding up a pair of jaguar-print panties.

“Never,” you say to him, scanning the tags on the underwear in a box of new arrivals, “those are ugly.”

“Okay, how about these,” he says, pulling a pair out of the box. “They’re see-through. I like that.”

“No,” you say, snatching it out of his hand.

“Oh c’mon,” he groans, doing a quick glance over his shoulder to check if the coast is clear before taking a step forward, pulling you to him by a finger hooked through the belt hoop of your jeans. “I’ll buy them for you. Ring me up.”

You look up at him, hand placed on his chest but you weren’t pushing him away just yet. “Really? You’re gonna buy me panties from the store I literally work at? At least have the decency to shoplift them for me.”

He has a smile on his face when he leans down closer to you, both hands now playing with the loops of your jeans. “Ohhh you’re into criminals. Will you tackle me to the ground if I do?”

“Yes, to arrest you. Not to fuck you.”

“Why not both?”

“Satoru,” you chastise him when you hear footsteps around the corner, and now you’re pushing him away and clearing your throat before busying yourself with the box again as a few customers walk by. Gojo shoves his hands in his pockets, and then his eyes widen a bit when his knuckles hit something.

“Oh yeah,” he says, “I got you this.” He pulls out a small, shimmering black tube and holds it out to you with an up facing palm.

You lean forward to glance at it. “Is that…lipstick?”

“Yeah,” he says, “the lady outside Sephora was giving out samples.”

You cross your arms at your chest. “The lady outside Sephora was giving out free samples of lipstick to you?”

“Can you just take it already? My arm’s starting to hurt.”

You swipe it from him and inspect it. Popping the cap open, you twist the cheap plastic adjuster so that the tip of the wax peaks out. It was a deep shade of red. “Did she try to talk to you?”

“Uhh, yeah. Something about how this new formula is smudge-proof or something. Was hoping we could test that out.”

You roll your eyes. “She probably wanted to test that out. With you.”

“What, are you jealous?”

“Not really, no,” you say and hand the lipstick back to him. He looks at you puzzled. “Lipstick isn’t really for me, sorry.”

“I literally saw you wear some the other day. That’s what gave me the idea,” he says, “of turning my dick into the shade of your lipstick.”

“Could you be any louder?” you hiss at him, glancing at a coworker who could’ve potentially been in earshot.

He shrugs and pinches the tube of lipstick between two of his fingers, holding it up between the two of you. “You sure you don’t wanna?”

Turns out you were not too opposed to the idea, but he had to earn it by making you cum a couple times in the janitor’s closet at the end of the floor. He likes having to earn the sight of you on your knees, it turned him on way more than he had expected.

“My jaw is so fucking sore,” he complains, opening and closing his mouth a few times to stretch it out, then runs a hand across his jawline. “You were a lot less sensitive today. Took way longer.”

“Maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are,” you say, pulling the buckle of his belt loose, sitting back down onto your heels to get more comfortable while you undress him.

“Bullshit. Should’ve used that insult maybe the first or second time I gave you head. It’s too late now, after the filthy things you’ve said to me in your desperation to cum.”

He watches you flutter your lashes a few times, fingers stopping their movements, and you shift a little from where you were seated on the ground. You were aroused, but still committed to the attitude. “I don’t have to do this for you, you know.”

He shudders a little. “Wait, you seriously don’t want to? You don’t have to.”

You sigh. “You were supposed to demand me to do it anyways. Would’ve been hot.” You pull his belt loose and your thumb and index finger pinch the button open with ease. “You don’t wanna fuck me, though?”

“Of course I want to fuck you, I will always want to fuck you. But the last time we got rowdy in here, I almost killed you when I knocked the shelf over.” A chill runs down his spine. “Not taking any more chances.”

You giggle a little at the memory while zipping down the front, then your fingers dig into the fabric of both his slacks and his boxers, pulling them down until he’s sprung free, fully thick and hard, courtesy of the cute sounds you were making earlier while his tongue was playing with your clit.

“Are you not gonna put the lipstick on?” he asks.

“No.” You grab a hold of him mid-way, giving an experimental tug, and raise from your seated position onto your knees.

“But—”

“I told you, lipstick isn’t my style,” you say, eyes flickering up to him when you kiss the tip. He sucks a breath in.

“Damn, okay. I was genuinely curious if it was smudge proof. The lady was really hyping it up,” he says and he sees your shoulders drop.

“Enough of the Sephora lady,” you mumble, pressing your lips against his tip again, but as less of a kiss.

There’s a sulk in your posture from where you look up at him on your knees. His heart does this weird thing where it aches a little, and he wants to get rid of the pout on your face with a few sweet words, but he settles for pushing the tip of his cock past your lips instead. Works all the same in the end. “Good girl,” he groans when you take him all the way to the back of your throat, and your fingernails dig into the skin of his thigh as you let out a muffled moan.

“Fuck…” He pulls his hips back slightly, allowing you to adjust, but when you swallow and his tip feels the roll of those muscles, he’s pushing into your mouth again. “C-Can you take more?”

You try your best to give him a nod and you bob your head once, tongue swiping over the vein that was throbbing the proof of his need for you right now.

“I’ll finish fast, baby,” he tells you, voice husky, fingers combing through your hair gently, “just take it how I want it, and I promise I’ll be quick, okay?”

You nod again, thumb rubbing the skin near his groin in reassurance. You squirm a little and press your thighs together when he grips your hair tighter now, encouraging your head to bob up and down on him, and you do as he wants. Your cheeks hollow out, sucking on him, and he swears he’s already close to cumming.

“Yeah…fuck, yeah,” he grunts under his breath, “good. Just—just like that. You’re so good. Pretty girl,” he juts his hips forward to see if you can take it, and you do, “on her knees for me.”

Your throat vibrates with a moan, and he sees you squirm even more. You take him all the way in, to a place deeper than the back of your throat, so well without a gag but there’s a prickle of tears in your eyes, and he rubs your cheek softly while he feels the sweat collect at his temple. “Oh fuck, I’m— shit, baby. I’m close.”

You drag your lips across his length, retreating with a thorough hollow to your cheeks, and release him with a pop and your tongue stuck out connecting a string of your spit to his tip. Your hand immediately starts to rub him up and down as you look up, and the soft panting leaving your lips and fanning across his cock has him swallowing hard. “S-Sorry, needed a break.”

“That’s okay,” he says, swiping at some of the saliva pooled at the corner of your lip. “Take your time.”

You kiss his tip in acknowledgment, then take him in again, this time both hands working at the base as you bob up and down, more free with your moans and the sensation of them reverberating in the canal of your throat makes him grip your hair with both hands, desperate.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” he grunts, head tipping back and hitting the door. “Real close. Your mouth feels so good, you’re driving me insane.”

You suck on him, hard, taking him in to his favorite place that’s at the back of your throat, and when your hand reaches out to play with his balls, paired with the sensation of fast exhales through your nose onto the skin of his groin, his eyes close shut and strained and he’s jerking his hips forward to spill his cum down your throat. “Fuuuuck. Oh my god.” He exhales, watching you swallow over and over again as he pumps into your mouth, then he slowly pulls out when he feels that he’s done.

You sit back down on your heels, hands now neatly folded on your lap, looking up at him and his thumb prods at your bottom lip for you to open your mouth. You do as he wants, tongue hanging out in the process, and he sighs in satisfaction when he sees you’ve swallowed it all. “Beautiful, baby. Come here.”

With a hand wrapped around your arm, he gets you up on your feet and kisses you. You hold onto the fabric of his shirt for purchase, and he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. “Doing okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod, tightening your grip on his shirt, “I liked it. Liked it when you said I was good.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “More than good, angel. You’re perfect.”

—

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. You look like you could use a break,” Gojo says to you in Victoria’s Secret on a random Saturday morning. He usually always works on Saturday, but he’s never seen you here on a Saturday before. Apparently you were picking up extra shifts since you were going on vacation next week, something about a wedding in Spain. But you’d worked six consecutive shifts in a row, and the exhaustion was starting to show.

“I don’t know…your store scares me,” you respond back to him. You were behind the register, and he was pretending to buy forty-two pairs of panties just to talk to you.

“It’s not scary. I just want to show you around,” he says, standing up straight from where he had been leaning over the counter.

You eventually give in, toying with your name badge as you make your way around the counter to him, eyeing the smile on his face before he leads you through the aisles and eventually across the mall to the Rolex watch store.

It wasn’t horribly busy for a weekend, but there were still a few clients around. Choso was helping out a regular, a man who has bought four $200k watches within the past two months, and Choso’s been biting his nails worried he’s going to have to play witness in a tax evasion court case should that client eventually get caught by the IRS for fraud one of these days.

Suguru comes around the corner the second he sees you walk through the polished glass doors, and Gojo’s already annoyed.

“Hey, it’s the new hire,” he greets you, stretching his hand out and you accept it in a shake. “I’m Suguru.”

“Not really new here anymore,” you say to him after introducing yourself, “been here for a couple months now.”

“Oh really? Time flies. Thanks for all the shows, by the way,” he jerks his head off to the Victoria’s Secret store, “I’ve enjoyed watching the 101 ways you can remove a bra on a mannequin. Might have to incorporate some of them into my personal life.”

Gojo scoffs. “Yeah right, like a woman would let you within a hundred feet of her bra.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow with a sleazy smirk on his face, before leaning closer to you. “Should we prove him wrong about that, darling?”

Gojo hates the way he sees you blink your lashes at him and blush, so he’s grabbing your hand and walking you across the store, away from Suguru. He circles you around to the back near one of the display counters. Ladies’ new Datejust models, pretty classy and feminine. He walks to behind the counter, with you staying on the other side, like you were a genuine sale.

“See anything you like?” he asks, resting his elbow on the glass and peering down through it.

You blink at him. “Uh…of Rolex watches?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm…” you press your index finger to your chin and glance at a few. “I like that one.” You point with that same finger and he follows the line with his eyes.

“Hm,” he says, using his key to unlock the case, then slides the opening to the side to gently pull the watch out. “Oystersteel and yellow gold, 18 karat. Wanna try it on?”

“Sure.”

He releases the safety clasp, pulling apart the band, and slides it through your hand down to your wrist, then fastens the clasp until he hears a click. You immediately raise your wrist up into the air, twisting it to assess, and there’s a sparkle in your eyes.

“How much is it?” you ask.

“Thirty.”

“Thirty-what?”

“Thirty-thousand.”

Your jaw drops. “Oh my god. Get this thing off of me.”

He laughs and his hands find the clasp at your wrist, unfastening it and you’re trembling a bit as you shake it off before he catches it in his palm. “Not my fault you literally chose one of the most expensive watches we have in this section.”

“This is insane. How do people afford any of these?” you ask, feet wandering and now you’re clearly curious as you inspect the cases.

“We have more affordable watches available for lingerie store workers,” he tells you, clicking his tongue to get your attention and you turn around then follow him to the other end of the counter. He points at the glass. “These are all under three-thousand.”

“Oh…” you peer at them with interest, and he watches you. His eyes fall to your wrist.

“Here,” he says, sliding the display case door open, and pulls out another watch, “I think you’d look nice in this.”

He shows it to you for a second before releasing the clasp and holding onto your hand to slide the watch through it. After fastening it, he looks up at your expression, and his heart’s beating a bit faster. You turn your wrist in the air to marvel at the watch, and he thinks your eyes look stunning from the way the shimmer of the watch reflects off of them.

“Wow,” you say.

“I knew you’d look good in anything rose gold,” he says, both elbows on the counter as he watches you, “this one’s only a couple thousand.”

You’re still a little speechless as you look at it, right index finger tracing the dial. He wants to buy it for you. He could, it’s not much of an issue, he’d just have to kiss goodbye to that used gaming PC he’s been eyeing on craigslist for the past couple of months, but something in his gut tells him it’d be worth it. Something in the soft look in your eyes right now tells him it’d be worth it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“That it’s beautiful,” you say to him, swallowing and then extending your wrist out to him. “Sorry, wearing it for too long. Probably lost a few hundred bucks in value just from the two minutes it was on my wrist.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll buy it for you.”

Your mouth gapes. “W-What?”

“I mean—if you actually like it. Then, I don’t mind,” he says, suddenly a bit flustered.

“Satoru. That’s insane. This is a two-thousand dollar watch.”

He shrugs. “I know, but it looks good on you. I can’t shoplift this one for you, though. But I’ll buy it if you actually want it. And if you lie and say you don’t like it, just to be nice, I’ll read right through it. So be honest.”

“I…” you start, “I really can’t accept that.”

His eyes are level with yours, and something about your persistence in your refusal just makes him want to buy it for you even more. But he’s not gonna push it anymore. He’ll just try to work towards a day where you’ll accept it from him. Where it won’t even be a question to want to decorate you in something as pretty as you are.

“Alright. Then give it back, it’s probably only worth a couple hundred now.”

a/n. hope you enjoyed!! this was fun to write. it was supposed to be longer but i cut it short so maybe part two lol?? i also wanna write versions for choso & suguru in this au lol maybe like a multi in one verse kinda thing haha i like the idea of a hot watch salesman trio. thank you for reading 💕

taglist: @ohsehuniiee @lost-resonance @whereflowerswenttodie @horisdope @therealestpussyeater @satorminniett @tobaccosunbxrst @alekssashka7 @ritsatoru @angrychinchillanoises @shleepyking @crimsonmarabou @mxlktae @bloopsstuff @slut-4-gojo @lil-cinn @wateronlyhaha @strawberiicreme @wintertoru @mo0nforme @whispersofbeskar @who-can-touch-my-boob @quinnyundertow @ramluvr @anthastudios @sabokunsmalia @ninjaturtletoes @rylierev @dvarlinggg @heyitsmirae @sleepyyammy @lofasofabread @lolthatsnice @tetsuski @bakuhoethotski @sureconfused

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