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drchucktingle · 5 months

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THE TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION TELLS CHUCK TINGLE TO STAY HOME BUT WE PROVE LOVE ANYWAY

just when you buckaroos thought 2024 would be a break from book drama, here comes chuck tingle in the mix. recently i was asked to be a featured speaker at the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION annual conference. a few days ago they rescinded my invitation. here is what happened.

(EDITED TO ADD THIS LINK. if you have a hard time reading this on way of tumblr you can also read for free on chucks patreon)

i would like to start off by saying it is not my intent to start a fight, and all those reading this should know that the actions of a few misguided folks do not speak for the whole TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION. i am sure there are many involved who will be very upset to learn what others at TLA have done in their name. there are many individuals here, so please do not paint them all as villains in your mind. besides, chuck loves the dang library everyone knows that.

the point of writing this is not to vilify. i am writing this is because MOMENTS OF DARKNESS are the best places to SHINE A LIGHT AND PROVE LOVE IS REAL. this is a perfect time for learning and growing and for us talk on some very important things that queer buckaroos and neurodivergent buckaroos face every day. this is an unfortunate moment that WE can turn around and use to prove love is real.

i am also writing this to understand some of my own personal feelings on the matter. for something that seems very simple on the surface, the trot is complex, and i am still working out my emotions on the whole dang thing. i am learning in this way.

PART ONE: BAG OF LOVE

a few months ago chuck was asked to be a featured speaker at the 2024 TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION ANNUAL CONFERENCE. i have been asked to do things like the before and it is ALWAYS a fun time to meet bookseller and librarian buds. trotting around face to face and talking about my story of conquering chronic pain and overcoming my mental hurdles is VERY IMPORTANT to me. i say YES to these things whenever i can. (here i am with authors at CALIFORNIA INDEPENDENT BOOKSELLERS ALLIANCE conference. they are a WONDERFUL group and they proved love with their OWN invitation to chuck. this was such a moving event with so many amazing authors and stories. got very teared up during this photo)

ANYWAY BUCKAROOS i get the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION invite and say 'YES BUD LETS TROT'. we are then confirmed.

months pass. a few weeks ago i get a call from my manager and agent and publisher saying ‘the TLA have rescinded their invitation.’

turns out some things had been going on behind the scenes

at some point the TLA asked chucks INCREDIBLE HEROIC BAD ASS PUBLISHER if chuck would be okay with not wearing the mask, to which tor/nightfire/macmillan said ‘what the heck are you talking about of course chuck is going to wear his mask. this is how chuck presents himself’ (NOT EXACT QUOTE)

as you all know, my pink bag way is a VERY IMPORTANT SPACE. as an autistic buckaroo it is a boundary that allows me to express myself freely and relieve my chronic pain from neurotypically masking all day. i have talked about this for years, and it is why i consider my private identity a SACRED THING. it is literally a health issue.

fortunately THE PINK BAG is never really a problem when making appearances. i have spent years going on television shows, doing interviews, speaking at other conferences and conventions, hosting book events on tour, and even MEETING WITH LAWYERS in my pink face covering. it is always respected and that is very validating to my way.

when arriving anywhere i always take precautions. i always warn buckaroos ahead of time that there is a masked man coming. i always have someone go in ahead of me JUST IN CASE. again, there has never been an issue. at a big conference where i am a special guest there is ESPECIALLY not an issue because my face and bio are printed IN THE DANG PROGRAM

SOME FUN TIMES AT BIG EVENTS BELOW:

CHUCK ON TV SHOW NAME OF 'AT MIDNIGHT' BACK BEFORE I WROTE LOVE IS REAL ON MY HEAD:

well, there has never been an issue.... UNTIL NOW.

PART TWO: RESCINDED

a few days ago TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION suddenly messaged my publishers and said that chuck tingle is no longer invited. my invitation was rescinded. the reason given was that people could possibly be uncomfortable with my mask

right out of the gate i would like to say this: it is absolutely the right of the texas library association to disinvite someone from their conference. it is their event, after all, and they can ban anyone they would like, for any reason.

of course, that doesnt mean other folks HEARING THIS NEWS wont have their own opinions the TLA choices. if the TLA disinvites someone, their reasoning for doing this can be discussed and analyzed. whether or not they follow their own guidelines can be questioned, and certainly their kindness and tact can be considered

there are a few BIG POINTS to make regarding this choice from the TLA

first and foremost, i just gotta say buckaroos, it is incredibly rude to invite someone to be a guest speaker at your event, have them confirm and mark off their calendar and turn down other offers, then rescind their invitation. this is maybe the simplest of the points, but it is an important one.

second, (DEEP BREATH HERE WE GO BUCKAROOS) i personally do not think of my autism as a disability very often, but i also KNOW that despite these feelings it ABSOLUTELY IS. autism is important to be listed as a recognized disability because of the help some autistic buckaroos need regarding government programs and things like that. ALSO just because my neurodivergence has helped me in some ways (hyperfocus and a unique artistic sensibility for example). i personally need to step back and remember my battle with stress and chronic pain from having to neurotypically mask all the time. for as much as i love being autistic it has made some things very difficult.

in other words, i am perfectly capable of speaking and interacting with folks without this pink bag on my head BUT WHEN I AM IN THE CHUCK TINGLE SPACE I REQUIRE IT. i can ONLY use this space while covering my face. is not a want. it is a need. holding this boundary is more important than i can ever say. i will not, and can not, let these spaces cross.

TLA not letting an autistic author wear the face cover theyve set up to express their neurodivergence in a safe, healthy way is--for lack of a better term--NOT A GOOD LOOK.

i cannot fathom them disinviting another author for using a disability aid. i cannot fathom them saying that a buckaroo who hears better with a hearing device cannot use it during their panel because it would make others 'uncomfortable'.

but here we are.

PART THREE: WHAT DOES A BUCKAROO GOTTA DO TO GET BANNED AROUND HERE?

this is the TLAs official stance on disability issues according to their website:

when poking around on the TLA website i noticed a few other things. i noticed a previous guest speaker wearing a niqab, and i was left wondering if the religious significance is what make that okay but chuck tingle banned. that made sense until i looked deeper and saw mascot buckaroos dressed up on the exhibition floor, and saw some kind of spiderbud in a costume contest. nobody around them seemed to be all that scared. their invitations REMAINED INTACT.

it should be mentioned here that AT ONE POINT during the discussions an email was sent from TLA saying chuck is allowed to come and wear his mask in the exhibition halls and smaller panels, just not at any of the big PAID PANELS i was once supposed to participate on. this was a confusing offer, but their explanation was that people who paid for something should have the option to not see chucks 'scary neurodivergence aid'. i tried to wrap my head around WHY they would make a distinction. maybe the exchange of money (rather than time) causes some kind of philosophical adjustment that i just cant grasp?

i wonder, would the author who wears a niqab ALSO be banned from the paid panels? i hope not

my answers trotted up short until i investigated deeper and found this quick moment from one of the TLA help videos. while some events DO require additional buckaroo cash, it actually appears that THE ENTIRE CONFERENCE IS TICKETED AND COSTS MONEY.

at this point i realized there is clearly no actual official policy about not covering your face (other than one from a few years ago saying that you HAVE to cover your face), and the addition of 'money' is a red herring. these excuses make no sense

PART FOUR: CLOSE THOSE GATES

it appears that my neurodivergence is 'scary' enough to get me uninvited, REGARDLESS what their disability and mask policies may say

BUT WHY? why is chucks preferred physical presentation valued SO little by the TLA that a THEORETICAL complaint is worth more? is my neurodivergent expression so awful? is my own safety as a queer activist such an afterthought?

is a pink bag with the words 'love is real' scrawled across the front REALLY going to frighten someone when the posters and pamphlets on the way into in panel would have a photo of my masked face saying THIS IS LITERALLY WHO IS ABOUT TO APPEAR BEFORE YOU.

if THAT accommodation is too much, would it really be so difficult to have someone trot out beforehand and make an announcement? to say 'there is someone on this upcoming panel who needs a mask to express this part of himself, if this makes you uncomfortable then this panel might not be for you'.

and really, i have to heckin ask, is this physical expression of my raw inner truth really so hideous and frightening that fear of making someone uncomfortable is a REAL problem?

(a terrifying display of autism. apparently)

i cannot imagine what kind of precautions they need to take before a stage play featuring costumes and masks.

you MIGHT think chucks queerness and left leaning politics could be the issue with this organization, but they have had drag queens as past speakers (also featuring some GLORIOUS makeup and hair that covers almost all of their faces. VERY CURIOUS). regardless, the TLA do not seem like a conservative bunch.

if you are bisexual or an autistic person who is good at 'passing' you probably already know where this is headed, your dang spiderbuckaroo senses are tingling at FULL ALERT. i will say i do not KNOW the real reason why i was uninvited, and i do not have enough information to make any concrete statement of the real answer. there is only evidence that masks have been fine at TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION events in the past, but not much else to go on.

so the FACTS part of our discussion ends there, but i think it opens us up to talk about some very important feelings that bisexual and autistic buckaroos know well.

THIS is where we take a unfortunate, hurtful moment and turn it into a discussion. this is where we prove love is real.

as someone who is constantly doubted and put through purity tests because of my unique way, we are pushing up against a subject i know well. thats right buckaroos: we are talking GATEKEEPING

AGAIN, i do not know if this is the answer, but someone in my position might be VERY STRONGLY INCLINED TO THINK that a few well-meaning left leaning buckaroos think i am a joke and that this is a character, and that there is something problematic about my work because i am not really a real person.

any upstanding left leaning organization would OF COURSE allow a mask for a neurodivergent buckaroo with an unusual visual presentation, an autistic buckaroo who conquered his chronic pain ONLY by creating this important space... but what about a FAKE autistic buckaroo?

any upstanding left leaning organization would OF COURSE allow a mask for a queer LGBTQ activist standing up for gay and trans rights against a torrent of scoundrels hunting for his legal identity. its a matter of safety... but what about a FAKE queer activist?

let me be very clear for the 100th time: i am a real person. this is not a joke. i am not playing a character. i am really autistic and bisexual. tinglers are sincere and they are not ‘so bad theyre good��. they are just good. camp damascus is not ‘my first serious book’ because my queer erotica is serious. my art is important and real.

when people tell me to unmask they often do not know WHY they want it, and of course one very good reason is innocent curiosity. but there are SOME cases where i start to get THAT feeling--that tingle all of us ‘passing’ buckaroos get when we can sense the real intent behind the poking and prodding. that is the feeling of stumbling into a gatekeepers crosshairs.

if i was to take off my pink bag, what about my face would you analyze to tell if i was REALLY queer. my eye color? my ear shape? if you learned my legal name, would you see if it sounded autistic? is my voice neurodivergent enough?

or is all of that utterly absurd? i am curious what the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION thinks.

PART FIVE: GENDERED

this will be the shortest of parts, but it has to be said. i have a very complex relationship with gender, as written about at length here and here. i understand these things can be difficult to parse for some, but i ask that you trust me when i say that the ONLY reason i have been able to talk about my gender and sexuality and learn these things about myself is because of this pink bag. this outward appearance is a direct expression and reflection of my gender journey.

if the texas library association does not care about my appearance as an expression of my autism, then i cant imagine them giving a dang about it as an expression of my gender and queerness. that being said, it is personally very important to me and i think it should be mentioned

PART SIX: SO YOU WANT TO REMOVE AN AUTISTIC QUEER AUTHOR FROM YOUR EVENT BECAUSE PEOPLE MIGHT FIND THEIR DIFFERENCES SCARY

there is a question to be asked here: how could the TLA have done this correctly?

i have one very big piece of advice i would like to shout from the rooftops. please, for the love of sweet barbara, DO ENOUGH RESEARCH to know if this appearance will be a problem and, IF SO, dont extend an invitation in the first place. unique buckaroos with different presentations are constantly left in this place of limbo because we are bombarded with careless actions like those of the TLA. before you consider extending a branch to an artist who might need more accommodations than usual, think to yourself 'CAN WE MAKE THESE ACCOMMODATIONS?'

putting all of this on the shoulders of a single 'buckaroo with a difference' is exhausting. as the TLA has shown, we currently live on a timeline where a buckaroo like myself never really knows if an invite is SOLID without doing a deep dive history lesson on how often a group discriminates and against who.

i did not want to spend my whole family holiday worrying whether or not i should say something publicly or just lie down and shut my dang mouth. i had to consider HOW i should say it. i had to worry whether or not its worth standing up for myself in the face of the largest state library association in the country. i think buckaroos with differences are with me when i say: WE ARE SICK OF HAVING TO DO THIS WORK TO COVER FOR THE POOR BEHAVIOR OF LARGE ORGANIZATIONS WHO TREAT US BADLY

another option would just be to use kindness and common sense and happily accommodate artists with unique presentations to your conventions

PART SEVEN: LOVE IS STILL REAL

i would like to close by saying THANK YOU to my publisher nightfire and editor kelly for standing up for me. they immediately stood firm and had my back. they are the real dang deal. THANK YOU to my management and agent buds dongwon and gino for trotting along beside me. THANK YOU to the folks at the texas library association who initially invited chuck with goodness in their heart and then likely got bowled over by someone else, and maybe even got knocked to the side by a big closing gate.

i hope there are librarians in texas who are still interested in carrying BURY YOUR GAYS when it comes out (which is ironically about someone who creates a space through art to express their queerness where they cant otherwise). libraries prove love is real and what they do IS SO IMPORTANT. it was SO IMPORTANT TO ME as a young buckaroo and i cannot thank you enough. i am not sure if me writing all of this will hurt my sales in some way, but this opportunity to speak about the reality of disability awareness and queer gatekeeping is too important to stay silent. (if you have not already preordered BURY YOUR GAYS then give it a preorder to make up for some texas library losses i guess.)

which leads me to my final thank you. THANK YOU to the buckaroos reading this. yes YOU. i am in the position to stand up and speak my mind against scoundrel forces ONLY because i have the might of you buckaroos by my side. the buckaroo trot is ALL OF OUR TROT and we are ALL HERE TO PROVE LOVE. i cannot tell you how much i appreciate the way you have created a space for me to express these important parts of myself. you have seen this pink mask over my face and saying YES, I ACCEPT YOU, you have literally saved my life. for that i am so thankful.

if you are UPSET by what youve read here, then turn it into something positive. you can support autistic creators, or make a donation to the AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK

and besides WHO IS REALLY MISSING OUT? this is what it looks like when you invite the worlds greatest author chuck tingle to your event and treat their identity as valid. WE HAVE A DANG GOOD TIME

youtube

KEEP TROTTING INTO THE FUTURE. KEEP KICKING DOWN GATES WHEREVER THEY MAY BE. KEEP PROVING LOVE IS REAL AND PROVING IT TOGETHER. lets go buckaroos - chuck

UPDATE AN HOUR AFTER POSTING:

true buckaroo TJ KLUNE was set to be another author on panel chuck was removed from and has informed me he has now chosen to decline his invitation in support and solidarity with chuck. i am so deeply moved by this. thank you from bottom of heart buckaroo

to be very clear TJ has a huge platform and DOES NOT NEED TO DO THIS. these conferences are great for book sales and he is taking a hit out of pure solidarity. this is queer buckaroos standing up for eachother. i am floored by this kindness and love

please consider checking out his books if they are not already covering your dang bookshelf. chuck blurbed IN THE LIVES OF PUPPETS and i was blown away i heckin loved it

MOST RECENT UPDATE:

here is more

#love is real #chuck tingle #tingleverse #texas library association #actually autistic #lgtbqia #Youtube

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bwere · 7 days

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HOW THEY E4T YOU OUT !

choso, nanami, gojo, geto, sukuna, toji

3.3k+ wc — pssy eatin, spnking, degradation, sqrting [request are always open] mdni + not proofread

CHOSO KAMO

Devours you every chance he gets as if he’s going to die if he doesn't.

His eyes were tired and his back was slumped when he arrived home like usual. On the days when he needs to leave for work and return once more, his muscle memory always searches for you before anything else.

He came in, forgot to take off his shoes, his phone in hand and an exhausted look on his face.

“Bad day Cho’?” you asked.

“M’just tired.” He hummed out.

“Aww i’m sorry Cho’ how can I make you feel better?”

“Can I see her?”

୨୧

“Mmngh can never get enough of your pretty pussy, baby— please.. she’s sho’ mghn delicious..”

Choso is a man who makes you tremble while he cries as he proceeds to eat your soul out. A man who cums in his pants just by looking at your pussy as if it were his first time seeing it. Because he doesn’t want to do anything but eat your pussy and make you feel good.

It was over the moment you allowed this man to taste you. His only desire now—was to have his face permanently pressed into your folds.

Choso keeps his face inside your pussy as if he were scuba diving, fuck the goggles. He thinks eating you out only ended successfully based on how messy he was when he finished.

With both palms keeping you spread open nice and wide for him. Like there’s a reward beyond the coma inducing orgasm destined to be achieved for the both of you when he’s done. He wants to see your cunt in full view, and access to every nook and cranny possible.

He’s needy and messy, he’ll stuff his face like he lost his house keys in your cervix. And doesn’t see himself done until, your juices are soaking more than just the bedsheets. He aims to see the mixed cum and saliva dripping down his chin and far past his stomach.

He just can’t help it, he wants to make you feel so good he's a pussy pleaser.

“F-fuck baby mmnghm, am i doin’ ghud p-pretty?..” he whines, his eyes hazy and lusted as his tongue makes rounds on your clit. Sucking and mumbling with his mouth full.

“y-yes jus’ like that cho’ so good f’me mmm…” you struggle, your palms ruffling through his hair for support.

“S-so good..thank you–mnuh thank you..” He slobbers sweet nothings to himself as the thousands of taste buds on his tongue individually roam in and out of your folds. Leaving no bare of your skin un-sampled. Tasting everything there is to taste without fail.

“Uhng, cho’ r-right there m’so close..!”

Abusing your clit with ease as he promptly twists and prods his fingers out and back in. “you gonna come? n-not yet, m’ not done—keep going just a little more..baby pleashh~”

NANAMI KENTO

Caresses you with one goal in mind, that is the satisfaction that comes with making you finish.

When you knocked on his door and made your way inside, he was in a virtual conference.

The mere sight of him making your pussy excruciatingly wet.

His arms were visibly exposed, and his sleeves were rolled up. His clothing appeared tighter, especially with the veins on his skin throbbing. The buttons on his shirt could have easily burst from the way they were begging to be undone.

He glanced at you and motioned silently for you to come sit on his knee while he muted his call.

"baby, what's wrong?" he asks, sliding a hand to your waist to hold you in place on his thigh.

“Nothinnn’ just miss you is all,” you lie, leaning down to give him a quick kiss to his temple.

“Is that so?” he questions, his glasses slipping down just enough to reveal his content eyes.

“Mhmm I reaaally missed you ken’”

"I can feel you rocking your weight on my thigh, so don't lie to me."

୨୧

“Sit on my face baby—let me take care of you”

Although Kento Nanami is always pent-up, he is able to maintain his composure. He can, has, and will keep going for hours. He will drop to his knees and encircle your thighs with his huge arms the moment you ask him to. With his face burying deeper into your cunt as if he were employed on a graveyard shift from 9 to 5.

After all, he's a gentleman, which means that he's hooked on seeing your body shake just by making out with your cunt. The boulder in his pants twitching with every lustful movement the scene in front of him causes.

He’d never stop until you finish, making sure you emptied all you had on his tongue, before he makes you do it again on his dick.

“Umngh– that feel good sweetheart?” He goes on, your shaky legs being forced apart by his grasp so they are unable to get in the way of his view.

“Mhmm–keep going ken’ feels soo good..” you moan.

Kentos a clit lover. He never concludes these sessions until your clit is puffy and your pussy is gaping from his fingers.

And every time you are at a loss for words, frantically seeking for something to cling onto, he leaves a mental note that makes you whimper when he does it again.

He stones both his middle and ring fingers inside of you despite never once letting go of that puffy clit he deems so tasty. He sucks, strokes, and makes out with your pussy like a natural.

He’s the type to have an area 51 lockdown on your thighs, the type to let you grab a fistful of his hair and let you ride his face at any tempo your little heart desires. His palms rubbing circles on the inside of your thighs—leading you to your final destination.

“You’re doing so good—that's it, make me taste how good im doing love...”

GOJO SATORU

Loves the way you give up under his touch, fighting against the orgasm he’s gonna take from you.

“Satoru Gojo, knock it off..!” you huffed out. you had enough of him toying with you all day.

He asked to go with you on your errands and promised not to get in the way.

Yet he’s been teasing you all day, telling you how good he’s gonna fuck your brains out. Putting his hand on your thigh in the car, just to play coy and ‘accidentally’ slip a finger through the hems of your panties.

Even as you were trying to reach an agreement on a new game for you and him to play, he made attempts to grind your ass against him.

"Huuh? Satoru Gojo? Who’s that? M’names toru," he chuckles.

"We’re in public, Satoru. You’re being so annoying." you groan rolling your eyes at him, before moving on to the next row.

"Whattt, a man can’t love on his girlfriend nowadays?” he exaggerates, following immediately behind you, copying your steps.

୨୧

“P-Put it in already toru’…!” you whined.

“You weren't this eager for me earlier…” he gasped dramatically, kissing up your thigh, pulling your panties down in the opposite direction.

“Quit teasing Toru’ jus’ need you in me...”

“If you wan’ it inside, gotta show me how eager you are to cum on my face baby...”

You won't believe how sloppy and vulgar this man is when he's eating you out.

Your eyes will be drawn to the back of your head by him. He'll put his blindfold over your eyes and make you only able to see stars.

His thick and lengthy fingers have enough ability to take the wind right out of your lungs and reach farther than any toy could alone.

“Hah..c-can’t toru’,” struggling to catch your breath, you try to push his face away.

He’s a man who makes sure to pleasure you first. And makes you cum no less than twice on his tongue. He swallows everything he can, and makes you cum again if he didn’t get it all the first time.

"C'monnn baby—mmnm, know your pussy got another one in her, tell her to give it to me.." he laughs.

Satoru loves to watch your body unfold under him. He adores the way your throat reaches the highest octave you can afford to give. The way he pulls countless moans out of your throat, causing your voice to crack. He loves to hear how much your ‘can't take it toru’” fuel his ego just so he can get ready to show you just how much he’ll make you take it.

He finger fucks you like crazy. Maintaining the pad of his thumb on your clit while stuffing your cunt onto his fingers in a rhythmic motion. He never wastes time to put his mouth to work.

“Too much toru’ gonna squ—nghmm..!” you yelp, getting cut off by the way he scoots your ass closer to his face—allowing him to focus on the deep areas within your pussy, causing you to squirt then and there without the ability to stop.

“Good fuckin’ job baby–wouldve mmhp- brought an umbrella if I knew it was gonna rain today,”

“...”

GETO SUGURU

He takes his time eating you out, he just wants to see how desperate you can get for him.

"You were moving so much, love. What's the matter? Had a nightmare?" Geto asks out to you.

Gaining consciousness slowly, you watch the strands of his hair fall, concealing his half open eyes, before he pushes them back over his head.

Initially he turned away from you in an attempt to cool down your side of the bed since he believed you could have been feeling too hot. But when you kept shuffling under the blankets, he decided to wake you up.

"Mmm, no, it was more like auhh..." you pause, pondering on what you’re going to say, sitting up to rest against the headboard of the bed.

"Like what?" he inquires, positioning himself to align with your stance.

"You know..." You feel a little ashamed at the thought, but you avoid his gaze until you hear his laugh fill the room.

“Aw my pretty girl havin’ wet dreams about me?”

Throwing a pillow at his face as you huff out, “It’s not funny Sugu’, I genuinely couldn’t sleep…!”

“Why don’t you show me what I did in your dream then, hm?”

୨୧

“Go on uhmngh, let’s make your dream come true–as much as your pretty mmh.. pussy desires,”

Geto wants to see how horny you really are for him. He adores nothing but to see how desperate you really are to get off.

“uhhuhnn r-right there baby..” your breath hitching, while you ride up and down his mouth.

He watches you mindlessly use him like you’re the one in control. He’ll let you fuck his fingers—your nails clenching the strands of his hair, undoing the bun he wrapped up prior.

He feels the way the heels of your feet are snug deep in his broad shoulders. And he doesn’t care, because all Geto can care about is the way you’re haphazardly slamming your pussy in his face without loss.

He’ll agree when you say you need a moment, only to slam you back down on his face when your movement starts to slow. He’ll latch around your waist with the fore of his arms, and shove himself deep between your thighs.

“Sugu’ mnghn—slow down p-please..!” Playing dumb on how your vindications for him slow down fall on stone-deaf ears.

“Mmmnghm you said faster? sure thing baby..” Smirking into your clit while he devours you—his grip only gets tighter, mocking the same way your fingers begin to tighten against his scalp.

“Mmmn sugu’…don’t stop…c-cummin’ nghh-guh!”

Geto damn near inhales your cunt at this point, giving himself no air as he breathes and digests everything that comes out of your pussy, emphasising the slurping noises his lips bring as they're mingled in your folds while you squirt in his mouth.

“Atta girl..Can’t sleep now though, might as well keep goin’ till sunrise.”

SUKUNA RYOMEN

He wants to drain the thoughts from your mind and watch you falter under him.

“Why are you ignoring me?” you press, but get an annoyed sigh in response.

You’ve asked him to let you accompany him multiple times so you could watch him box-train, and while usually he says no–today he said yes as an excuse to show off his pretty fiancé. Yet, he was pissed when he watched a group of shirtless scumbags surrounding you with brags about their meager accomplishments.

He saw you giggling up a storm but you weren’t laughing because of him and that thought alone made his blood boil.

"I was just bein’ nice Kuna’, so I'm not sure why you have an attitude."

"Maybe it's caus' you wanna go around flirtin' with every guy in the damn gym." Sukuna scolds, pulling his duffel bag out to put away his gloves—rolling his eyes in advance as he slams his locker door.

"I did not try to flirt! They came up to me, asked about you and then the talk continued. A cordial discussion some might say," you joke.

“Oh yeah? What were they sayin’ then?” he scoffs, raising an eyebrow at your remark, leaning against the locker doors, an action forbidding you to walk away.

୨୧

“T-They we’re just sayingnn t-that you..—you mghn!”

Sukuna either goes all out or doesn’t, and when it comes to you, going all out is just the tip of the iceberg.

He’s a man who hates getting dirty, but when it’s your cunt? You know it’s ate right when your mattress is stained through like a sponge.

“I-I what brat? Spit it out." he spites, making fun of your efforts to speak—his fingers breaking and entering you with ease.

Sukuna's cruel and wicked, if you will. He has your pussy leaking and accessible to him completely. Eating and finger fucking you enduringly.

The filthy squelches and slurps fill both your ears whilst he fingers you till your internal juices coats his fingertips.

“That you–hah…w-win lots mphm…K-kuna pleash..!..can’t breathe..please..” you begin to writhe beneath his lips, swallowing in shock at his ruthless touch.

You can tell him to let you breathe and that you can no longer cum, all you want, but he doesn't bother to listen.

The palms of his hand repeatedly make contact with your ass, torturing the skin below them and causing acute pain on your cheeks, leaving no place for pity.

“Yeah? s’that why you were gigglin’ and given fuck me eyes?”

He makes it his mission every time to eat you so good no matter what you do it’ll never be enough. He’ll make sure those half assed attempts to get off alone don’t result in a happy ending without him.

“Mmgnh n-no! I wasn’t–ah..promise–I p-promise k-kuna’ please it hurts..!”

“You wanna play bimbo while I’m trainin’, but actin’ all innocent when we’re alone?” he hisses.

With his tongue stretching deeper than any man could ever hope to, he gives himself the advantage to tongue-fuck you all over by moving his palms under your lower back, titling your pussy deeper on his face.

“N-no!...g– mmm g-gonna’ cum..! so—close kuna..”

He finds it amusing how sensitive you are. “mnnguh …cum brat—since that's all y’wanna be good for.”

“K-Kuna m-mmmngh—!...”

Only allowing you a few moments to return to consciousness before he's prepared to fold you again like an expert origami master at work.

“Who said I was done? Open your legs n’ give me another one whore.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

Wants to humiliate you as you squirm and watch him violate your folds.

Toji didn’t play when it came to his gym routine and to have you with him every night as his gym partner was even better. He said he would take care of it for you, when you looked into what to wear to the gym, and he did just that.

He got you a matching colored windbreaker and Nike biker shorts. He wasn't giving it any consideration at first, merely noting that it'd be more breathable.

Up until the moment he realised he was staring at your ass each time you got on the treadmill. Addicted to the way the material made your ass appear, as you passed by his station.

His cock tensed because of the way the dark velvety material flaunted every curve of your pussy when you moved.

Sensing you approaching him as he was finishing up a set on the weighted arm raises—he dwelled more on the way your ass seemed to converse with him while he watched you slip into his line of sight.

"Hmm?" he hums, completing his final rep. He goes to get a complimentary wipe from the cleaning station and walks back to wipe down the machine. Leaving it sanitised and ready for it’s next use.

“Toji baby, sorry to interrupt but can you spot me next?”

"Oh, I see," a sneer lifted on his scarred lips as he continues; "finally doin' it today huh?"

You put on a smile and take over his former position. “indeed, I decided to give some new workouts a go today! I’m pretty excited y’know?”

He nods, "there's no rush, jus’ go slow, lemme know if it's too much."

“Yeah yeah yeah…I got this [...] wait Toji, aren’t you supposed to be by my arms?”

୨୧

“Thought you were excited a minute ago, all that energy go to your pussy?”

Toji Fushiguro, experienced and tongue-talented. You'll be cruising to the finish line like a race car thanks to him. He takes good care of your pussy—forcing you to understand how much he will always know your pussy far more than you and anyone else could.

Especially how the tiniest of friction from him that causes your walls to spasm on his taste buds—confirmation in itself.

He’ll force you to keep your eyes open and watch—as he makes love with your cunt.

“Keep your eyes open doll— m’ tryna see them turn white”

“Hmmph! T-Toji…What if someone comes in?...ngh, ah—“

“The only one cummin’ is you,” he retaliates.

With his left hand, he pulls back both of your legs as he utilises his right. Your whole-body quivering amid him from his constant clit assaults.

He finger fucks you swifter than previously, and immediately senses your insides clenching around his fingers, forcing you with no choice but to be filled to the brim, and disoriented due to his tongue.

“The thought of you bein’ caught spread open on a weight bench got ya’ pussy pulsatin’ huh?”

“Mmngh a-absolutleey..not…!”

Studying as a wave of humiliation passes over your expression, he puts a couple harsh palms to your ass with a SMACK. Making the area sting over and over, as the air creeps to irritate the burn.

“Denyin’ with a straight face as if I can’t feel you smotherin’ my fingers? Fuckin’ slut,”

“M’ not a slu-ngh–! Toji’...mmmh”, whimpering—you reach for the edges of the weight bench looking desperate for support.

“Wan’..mmm wanna cum Toji…please,”

“You wanna cum?”

“Mmhm!—” you cry out, your voice wavering in response.

“Only sluts get to cum—mmmh, ptuih—but yer not one of em’ are ya’?” he tests you, spitting on your clit as though your sopping pussy hasn't already caused enough fluids to run down his throat.

“Mm–m’ n-not–nnmugh!"

“You know what I wanna hear ma’ say it.” he demands, adding another finger to the two, fucking you fuller.

“I-Im a s-slut toji…mgnhm a slut—a slut for you, please let me cummmngh!—” you babble out, not even sure if it's for him anymore; the words bring nothing but a warning to anyone who hears—unable to stop. Feeling yourself reach your limit against his tongue.

“So needy—mmngh cum like a good lil’ slut then,”

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lunaekalenda · 2 months

Text

biker!suguru who looks pretty intimidating with that big helmet that covers his face, but will take advantage of red lights to make the children in the cars around him laugh. moving his hands, changing his seat, lying on the motorcycle; anything works when he sees them smiling and waving at him when the traffic starts again.

biker!suguru who's full of tattoos under all the riding clothes. they're tiny, like fine stickers on his body, but you could spend whole afternoons finding each one of them, and he'll gladly tell you what do they mean.

biker!suguru who refuses to let you get off the bike by yourself. if he opens the car door for you and offers a hand so you can comfortably get off, why wouldn't he do the same on the bike?

biker!suguru who accompanies you to buy clothes and equipment for riding. he has been on it for years and he knows the best brands, the best options and the more secure ones. he'll make sure to pay for them, even if they're expensive, as long as you're comfortable and protected from any injury.

biker!suguru who takes you everywhere. you have a meeting? he takes the bike. you're craving your favorite ice cream at night? you'll go quicker in the bike. why would you go walking if he loves to take you anywhere?

biker!suguru who's not bothered by the rain at all. he would ride anyway, with drops falling on his visor and sticking to his exposed neck. he would even unzip his riding jacket and let the rain wet his t-shirt. it makes him feel alive. (and later, sick.)

biker!suguru who doesn't like you sitting by yourself so makes it impossible for you, moving the bike and going back and forth, laughing and receiving your little slaps on his shoulders until you let him sit you (or he lets you sit)

biker!suguru who holds your hand when driving straight, taking it between his gloved fingers, cutely caressing and taking it to his helmet as if he was kissing it.

biker!suguru who helps you to put and take off the helmet the first times you ride, being his smile the last thing you see when closing your eyes to put it on and being his lips pressed on yours the first thing you feel when taking it off.

biker!suguru who doesn't doubt to show you how to ride when you ask him. he takes you on a couple lessons outside, quietly and calmly ordering you what to do. he trusts you enough to backpack you (but you don't trust your freshly aquired habilities with such a man behind)

biker!suguru who never arrives from a ride late. he'll always find you awake, and he doesn't want to let you go to sleep alone. he'll always make it safely on time.

biker!suguru who loves to mess with you, while riding and once done. he'll take your visor up, he'll put your hands inside his t-shirt, he'll give little taps on top of your helmet.

biker!suguru who craves shoulder massages on sunday afternoons after all the week riding and working. you'll gladly give him some, and he'll make sure to payback with cuddles (or rides.)

biker!suguru who lets all the kids try his helmet while he waits for you to exit work/uni. you'll just find the most random situations while getting closer to your boyfriend, such as a kid having trouble with the helmet's weight or another one unable to see due to puting it wrong.

biker!suguru who looks so good unzipping his riding suit and taking off the helmet you can only think of seein that exact image every evening of your life

part one here ✨

#suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #suguru x reader #suguru x you #geto suguru fluff #suguru fluff #geto fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #biker!suguru #biker!geto

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msgexymunson · 2 months

Text

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

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