#Shoulder mandala tattoo

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Dazzling Shoulder Mandala Tattoo Designs With Meaning

The shoulder is a popular location for mandala tattoos, as it offers a large canvas for intricate designs and allows for easy visibility. Whether you're looking for a traditional mandala or a more modern interpretation, there are countless designs to choose from.

Here are 10 shoulder mandala tattoo designs to inspire you:

Blooming Beauty: A vibrant floral mandala bursts from the shoulder, its petals showcasing a rainbow of colors and intricate details. This design is perfect for those seeking a feminine touch and a sense of growth and transformation.

Black & White Elegance: A mesmerizing black and white mandala unfurls on the shoulder, showcasing intricate patterns and geometric shapes. This sophisticated design speaks of balance, strength, and timelessness.

Watercolor Wonder: Soft, fluid watercolors create a dreamy mandala on the shoulder. This design evokes a sense of tranquility and peace, perfect for those seeking a touch of whimsy.

Animal Spirit: A majestic tiger or a fierce wolf forms the focal point of a shoulder mandala, representing strength, courage, and connection to nature. This design is for those who embrace their inner wildness.

Sacred Geometry: Precise lines and geometric shapes come together in a stunning shoulder mandala. This design symbolizes order, harmony, and the interconnectedness of the universe, perfect for those with a scientific or philosophical mind.

Minimalist Chic: A simple, yet impactful mandala adorns the shoulder, featuring delicate linework and a single, vibrant color. This design is perfect for those who appreciate subtle beauty and elegance.

Cosmic Connection: A celestial mandala graces the shoulder, depicting stars, planets, and galaxies. This design represents the vastness of the universe and our connection to something greater than ourselves.

Personal Journey: A shoulder mandala incorporates unique symbols and motifs that hold personal significance for the wearer. This design is a powerful reminder of individual experiences and cherished values.

Combined Creation: A breathtaking mandala intertwines with another design, such as a floral motif or a portrait. This unique approach allows for personalized expression and deeper meaning.

3D Illusion: A mesmerizing 3D mandala appears to pop out from the shoulder, creating depth and visual intrigue. This design is perfect for those who want to make a bold statement and embrace an illusionary aesthetic.

[tamaraleedot]

Wee shoulder mandala

[naeverse]

The Black Rose

🖤 staring: Tattoo Artist Miguel O’Hara x female reader

      ◽preview: 

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

🖤 summary: 

At The Bloody Inks, the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, you meet the skilled, stone-cold and attractive tattoo artist, Miguel O’Hara. Seeking a tantalizing tattoo for your rear end, Miguel isn’t hesitant to get what he wants, especially if it’s a doll like you.

◽tw/cw:  Butt Tattoo, Cunninglingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Lip piercings Miguel,  Needles mentioned, Oral sex, Semi-public, Tattooed Miguel, etc…

🖤  Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Muñeca (Doll), Bebé (Baby)

     ◽Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🖤 Word Count: Around 9.6K 

(I do not own any of the fanart or photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

You were used to getting tattoos, so what made this time any different?

You found yourself pondering that very question repeatedly, as you approached the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, 'Bloody Inks.' 

Since the age of 18, you've adorned your body with small pieces of inked art, from your ankles to your shoulders. Despite your familiarity with tattoos, today marked a departure from the norm as you contemplated getting a substantial artwork for the first time.

But that wasn't what made you nervous…

It was where you were getting it. 

You had a little bet with your friends about your next tattoo, and to your dismay, the idea of a butt tattoo became the central topic.

Secretly desiring one, you were always hesitant due to fears of pain and discomfort on such elastic tissue, the thought of undressing completely from the waist down only added to the nerves. 

Yet, here you were, opening the door to the notorious shop…

A bell rang at your arrival along with the crackle of a searing guitar and thunderous drumbeats playing from a speaker. The music’s furious tempo of punk music overwhelmed your senses as you were hit with the smell of ink and antiseptic, and a hint of sandalwood. You stepped inside, your black tennis shoes, on wooden scuffed floors as your eyes roamed the dimly lit lobby before you. 

A black leather sofa sat in one corner, a front desk before you, and a few sculptures and decorations covered the worn wooden floors. Despite everything inside, your attention was instantly captured by the gallery of designs that covered the black-brick walls of the tattoo parlor. 

There were many sketches and finished pieces that were put on display, an assortment of vibrant colors and intricate details bringing life to the lobby. Mythical creatures, mandalas, floral designs, phrases, and abstract patterns decorated the walls, each one telling a different story and waiting to be chosen and etched onto willing skin. 

The counter was empty when you arrived, a soft, dim glow of light hanging from chains on the ceiling cast an amber hue throughout the lobby. You stood patiently at the black desk, fiddling nervously with the bottom of your white t-shirt and pondering if you should go through with this tattoo…

“Oy! We have a customer!” 

The loud outburst from a male with a British accent cut through the rather quiet lobby, making you jump. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest whilst you overheard the small conversation between the British male and who sounded like a female coming from further in the tattoo parlor. 

“Gwendy, love, I’ve been dealing with the past few customers for a while now. Why not deal with this one, hmm?” The girl responded with a scoff. 

“Hobie, you know you haven’t done shit.” 

“Ah…you got me there love.” The British guy said with a chuckle. “Well, stop playing around and help the customer.” The girl laughed as you soon heard the sound of heavy footfalls becoming louder and louder. It wasn’t long before the identity of the British male was revealed to you. 

The black curtains that separated the lobby from the back of the tattoo parlor opened to unveil an ebony guy with thick black hair and piercings. His hair was styled chaotically on his head, but you had a feeling it was purposeful with the way he carried himself. He had unmistakable confidence and not a care in the world for anyone. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, a black t-shirt covering his lean body as his combat boots thudded against the wooden floors. 

He came behind the counter, turning his dark brown eyes upon you, instantly making you a little intimidated. “Aye, name’s Hobie, and welcome to the Bloody Inks. Are you here for a piercing or a tattoo, love?” He asked, his slender fingers locating a pen and notepad from his side of the desk. 

You chewed your inner cheek, drumming your thumb against the handle of your small bag. 

This was your last chance to back out…

To decide to go on with life without the tattoo on your rear or to face your fears and get the beautiful inking. 

It wasn’t long before you already had your answer, giving the male before you a small smile. “I’m here for a tattoo.” You said bringing a smile to Hobie’s pierced lips. He glanced down at the notepad, his pen gliding across the page. “Can I see some ID?” 

You were used to this question and already had your ID in hand, placing it into the ebony male’s palm. He barely glanced at it before returning it to you. “Nice, have you been to Bloody Ink’s before?” He asked, causing you to bite your lip nervously. 

“No, this is my first time.” He looked up at you, his pierced lips pulled back into a smirk. “Ah, great! I’ll make sure the big boss does your tattoo then.” He said with a smile, but you couldn’t help becoming a little more anxious. The boss was going to be the one giving you your tattoo. 

The tattoo on your bottom…

You gulped, hoping the male wasn’t scary-looking or a perv. 

“O-kay!” Hobie exclaimed, pulling you from your thoughts as he finished writing. “Now, I’ll give you a book to look over the designs whilst the boss finishes up in the back,” Hobie said, pulling a black, hardcover album from under the desk, placing it into your hand, then motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa. 

You followed along to his instructions, taking the black book in your hands and moving over to the leather couch where you sat down. Hobie then left, going behind the black curtains and drawing them close once more. 

To pass the time and decide upon your tattoo, you look over the many designs inside the book. Each was skillfully sketched by hand and each held their own, unique form of beauty. Your eyes glazed over blazing skulls, graceful elephants, motivating quotes, to lastly land upon a beautiful flower. 

You gasped, instinctively reaching out to trace a finger along the intricate lines of the sketch. You could already imagine the rose’s petals on your bottom, sprouting out in full bloom across your right, no… left cheek.

The circular pistil was visible and drawn so full of detail that it felt like it was jumping out at you. A few leaves could be seen peeking out the top of the rose as you felt like this design was for you.

Like it was drawing you in…

…

..

.

“Have you decided?”

A deep, husky voice asked inside of the quiet lobby. You jumped in your seat, eyes snapping up to see someone was occupying the counter…

But it wasn’t Hobie…

A tanned male with a muscular, large build was now present. Standing tall and broad, his physique showed proof of his dedication to the wellbeing of his body due to his swell and bulging muscles. His chiseled features were framed by a strong, defined jawline, a sharp nose, and dark smoldering eyes. 

His bronze skin held tattoos that were intricately etched on his skin, each design holding a mysterious story across the backs of his hands, on his arms, and even along his chest and neck. They accentuated the contours of his muscles and added even more allure to his already magnetic presence. He placed his hands on the desk, his eyes still trained on you, his taut body dressed in a mere black t-shirt, jeans, and boots, but he made such simple clothes look like it was woven by the gods. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been gawking at him in utter shock and disbelief at the magnificence before you. It wasn't until he moved once more, beckoning to you with two inked fingers that you snapped out of your trance. 

You gulped, gathered up your bag and the black album, and made your way to the counter. 

The closer you got, the more attractive and intimidating he became. His bushy eyebrows were drawn low over his amber eyes and his mouth, holding two ringed piercings on the opposite ends of his lower lip, were pulled into a scowl. 

He looked stern, but you pondered if that was just his usual look. 

“So have you decided on what piece you wanted?” He asked again, but you were still baffled by how drop-dead gorgeous he was that you almost misheard him once more. “Y-yes.” You stammered, gulping thickly, your finger still holding the page of your desired sketch. He hummed, holding his large hand out to you, motioning to the black book. You complied, placing it open into his palm, the hardcover open to the page of your tattoo choice. 

It felt relieving to not have his stern eyes on you anymore, his amber orbs looking at the sketch you’ve chosen in the book. You bit your lip nervously, eyes trained on him whilst he looked over the design before he turned his gaze back up at you. “You know that’s an ass tat, right?” He bluntly asked which made heat rise in the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes, I know.” You replied, causing his eyebrows to rise for a brief second in surprise. “Well…Okay then.” He said, closing the book and holding the page with his thumb. “I’m Miguel, I’ll be your tattoo artist for today.”

Your heart dropped at his words. 

You didn’t know to feel excited or nervous as hell, knowing he’d be the one touching you so intimately. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” You replied, giving him a small smile. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long as he gave you a curt nod, a gesture that hopefully meant, 'You too.'

He motioned with his head to the back of the tattoo parlor, the entrance that was covered in black curtains. “Follow me.” He commanded in a gravelly tone. You gulped, following behind him through the black drapes to venture further into the tattoo parlor. 

Instantly when you entered, the smell of ink and antiseptic became more potent, the sounds of the buzzing of the tattoo guns filled your ears along with the playful banter between the two artists from before. 

“So Gwendy, you still believe just because you're in your twenties now that you can order me around?” Hobie asked the girl from across the room. She chuckled, looking away from her male client who was getting a skull tattooed onto his leg to over at Hobie. The girl had blonde, wavy hair and black piercings that covered her face. Two studs styled her eyebrow and a hooped one could be seen on her nose. 

She smirked at the ebony male. “I didn’t say anything of the sort and stop calling me that. You know my name.” She laughed, eliciting a snort from Hobie. “Aye, but I like Gwendy better than Gwen.”  

Miguel groaned in annoyance, looking between the two young artists. “Stop this nonsense and get to work.” He barked at Gwen and Hobie which surprised you, every muscle in his backside tensing up after his outburst. The conversation ceased to be replaced with just Miguel and your footsteps and the buzzing of the tattoo needles, but Miguel’s previous words didn’t seem to affect the two artists’ since after you both left, their conversation started up again. 

Miguel grumbled under his breath, his grip on the black album tightening. You walked behind him down the hallway, his tall and broad being completely blocking your view around him. Every time you looked up, you came face to face with his muscular backside that was covered in his black T-shirt that looked to be straining against his musculature. 

You clutched your purse while walking down the hallway to watch him enter a room. When you looked over, you saw a name tag on the door that read 'Miguel O'Hara.'

‘This must be his own personal tattoo room.’ 

You thought, your stomach clenching on cue as you followed him into the room. Your eyes instantly took in the attractive strangers’ workspace, the room you would also be spending the next hour or so in.

The tattoo room seemed to be more grand, more important than the one the two artists’ Gwen and Hobie were in. The walls were decorated, once more, with black and gray masterpieces of artwork, but these were more sci-fi and futuristic than the ones displayed in the lobby.

Spotlights hung from the ceiling carefully positioned to cast a focused radiance upon the vintage leather chair in the center of the room. The space smelled strongly of ink, antiseptic, men's cologne, and…

Smoke.

But not the typical smoke from a fire, more like from tobacco.

You couldn't help but wonder if the fine male smoked. You didn't want to assume or stereotype, but he looked like he would…

Your eyes soon graced over the main attraction of the room, the tattoo chair and station beside it. The seat had a black leather cushion that looked soft and very comfortable. It appeared, overall, brand new as if no one had hardly sat in it. A steel workstation was positioned beside the hot seat, the surface covered in an assortment of tools like a painter’s palette. The main one catching your eye was the needles and the gun. 

You gulped, stepping more into the room as Miguel was rummaging through a nearby closet, the sound of metal and items clattering inside. He glanced momentarily over at the flower sketch inside of the black album before returning to get the items he needed. 

You’ve learned, so far, that your tattoo artist was a rather quiet man. He barely spoke, and merely did things without providing a reason or explanation. He rummaged through the closet, next to the cabinets of a few counters and then a small chest in the room, trying to find all of the items he needed to, what you can infer, tattoo your desired choice onto your skin.

Your eyes never left him, watching his massive build transverse around the room, moving things, picking things up, putting them to the side all whilst holding an aura of unshakable coldness that dripped from his very being. 

It was intimidating, yet alluring, nonetheless. 

Once Miguel found the items he needed, he placed them onto the steel workstation. 

With the way he was going about things, you would have thought he'd forgotten about your presence; as he was completely engrossed in what he was doing, placing a piece of stencil paper that held the floral design you wanted onto the workstation, along with black ink tubes, napkins, bottles of creams and other things.

However, you couldn’t focus…

You were highly nervous. 

You stood nearby, clutching your purse whilst Miguel covered the tattoo chair with a few gray towels, before returning to organizing his workstation, and handling his tattoo gun. His thick, inked gingers deftly glided across the metal tools and inks when he finally looked up at you. You noticed his dark brown eyes roam your figure, meeting your eyes once more as he fiddled with the needles and tattoo gun. 

“Which side?” He asked suddenly, placing the gun down on the workstation. You were baffled, confused about what he meant. “W-what?” You stammered, watching him take a seat on a black rolling stool. “You want your tattoo on your bottom, correct?” He asked, causing you to nod at his question. “Then which side?” He inquired once more. 

You gulped, biting your lip. You pondered, remembering the artwork of the black rose from the album book and how beautiful it was, briefly deciding with yourself on which side. “O-On the left.” You replied after considering. 

He hummed, nodding whilst placing a pair of black latex gloves onto his table. 

“Okay, I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down and lay on your stomach.” He directed, pressing a button under the chair with his foot, causing the backing to lean back. 

Your heart quickened and your stomach clenched. This was what you were worried about… 

The undressing part.

It wasn’t that you had an unattractive body or weren’t familiar with the acts of intimacy, it was the thought of him, a handsome stranger having his stern gaze on your sensitive area. 

How he’ll have to be studying your flesh, taking in every curve and dot whilst he worked in etching the beautiful tattoo onto your rear that made you a little reluctant. 

You hesitated, clutching your purse once more. Your nervousness started to become palpable as you noticed Miguel looking up at you. He took in your tentativeness, his stern face softening at the sight. He sighed heavily, clenching his jaw as his lip piercings caught in the ceiling light.

“Are you sure about this?” His deep and rough voice filled the quiet room, his movements coming to a halt. You chewed your inner cheek, pondering his question. “Yes…I’m sure.” You replied, causing him to click his tongue. “Then what are all these nerves coming from?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement seems to make his pecs more defined against the black fabric. 

“I’ve seen you aren’t new to tattoos.” He said, his amber orbs probably taking in the small, tattooed quotes and patterns covering your body in minor spots before meeting your eyes once again. “So what’s the problem?”

You sighed, meeting his eyes. 

Strangely, you felt like pouring your heart out to him.

Despite his coldness, you had a feeling whatever you told him would stay in this room…

“I’ve never got a huge piece done before.” You told him, which was partly the truth. Miguel hummed, his gaze on you intense. “That’s it?” You bit your lip anxiously once more, fiddling with the zipper of your purse. “N-No…I guess I’m nervous about…

Undressing.” 

You uttered, biting your lip. However, Miguel seemed unfazed, only nodding in understanding. 

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly which made your eyebrows furrow. “Y-Y/N.” You hesitantly replied, bringing a tight-lipped smile to Miguel’s lips. “As you can see. Y/N, for the tattoo you’ve chosen, it’s required that you undress from the waist down.” He said, his amber eyes searching the room before landing on a decoration that sat on a counter.

He stood up, picking up the small porcelain sculpture of a gray woman’s naked body. The piece looked rather small in his massive hands. 

“You see here.” He turned the female around, pointing to the left side of the gray sculpture’s plump rear end. “This entire side will need to be revealed for me to work.” He explained, lowering his finger to point underneath the left cheek. “And the tattoo would end underneath the left buttock.” He said, setting the sculpture to the side, and turning his eyes back onto you. 

“For other tattoos, I wouldn’t have asked for such things and simply allowed you to keep your undergarments on and work from there.” His tone was gravelly and rough as he spoke to you. “But I'd like to be cautious, so I ask you to remove everything.” He informed you, which made you feel better about the process, but still wary. 

Miguel, looked you up and down, tapping his finger against his thick thigh, noticing that you were still hesitant. “How about this,” He began, his words instantly piquing your interest. “I can turn around and allow you to undress and get into a comfortable position on the chair.” He said. “I’ll even give you a towel to cover yourself with.” He proposed with a straight face. “How does that sound?” His demeanor and gravelly tone contrasted greatly with his kind and understanding words. 

You thought it over for a while before nodding at his suggestion. He rose from his seat, retrieving a black towel from the closet, and placing it onto the tattoo chair that was already covered in gray towels. He then returned to his rolling stool and turned around to face the wall. “Let me know when you are done.” He said, his voice, husky and deep.

“O-Okay.” You told him, the uncertainty, evident in your voice. Your eyes took in his muscular backside that was straining against his black t-shirt. Every bulging muscle was visible through the fabric.

You bit your lip, feeling rather odd but proceeding on. 

You closed the door of his tattoo room and set your purse down on the floor. You exhaled deeply, calming yourself down before looping your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts, slowly drawing them down, your eyes trained on him. 

Miguel was completely solid and unmoving. His arms crossed over his chest and his back still facing you. He was so quiet, that you could almost forget he was there.

Well, almost…

When the black fabric of your shorts was nothing but a puddle around your ankles, you stepped out of them, tossing them to the side. You gulped, standing in just your white shirt, black tennis shoes, and panties. You heaved a quiet sigh, chewing your inner cheek.

This was the hard part…

You were about to undress completely…

You exhaled deeply, reluctantly slipping your thumbs into the elastic band of your black panties, pulling them down, and exposing your sex to the tattoo room. You hissed, feeling the cool air against your core. Hastily, you removed them from your being, tossing them to the side along with your shorts. 

It felt so weird standing in a foreign place with your rear completely unveiled.

You wanted nothing more than to cover up…

Your eyes shifted over to Miguels’ broad backside, still in its same position. 

“Everything alright?” 

You jumped at his sudden question, his voice was thunderous compared to the total quietness that had once filled the room. “Y-y-yes.” You squeaked, swiftly moving to climb onto the tattoo chair, laying on your stomach, and placing the black towel over your bare rear to conceal yourself. 

After Miguel’s abrupt question, he didn’t say anything else, and neither did you, despite being ready. It took a while for you to tell the sexy, and rather intimidating tattoo artist that you were all set. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest every time you thought you were prepared to do so. 

You rested your chin upon the backs of your hands, laying flat on your stomach. You heaved a sigh, feeling rather ridiculous at how scared you were. 

You chose to come here, just like you chose to get this tattoo. 

‘No reason to back out now.’ You thought, wetting your lips before getting the artist’s attention. “I-I’m ready.” You muttered, causing an instant creak from Miguel’s stool to be heard.

“Good.” He uttered, the sound of the wheels from his seat gliding across the black marble flooring filling the room. You soon felt his presence to your right, seeing him in your peripherals, sitting tall and large on his stool next to you on the tattoo chair. His dark brown eyes continuously glanced over at you before roaming your body, his facial features unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was checking you out, or was merely looking at you to see if you hadn’t fainted on his chair. 

“You seem…tense.” He commented in his usual dead tone. You looked over your shoulder at him to see his large hands attaching a black ink tube to his tattoo gun. His black tattoo arm sleeve was visible under the projecting light of the ceiling as his amber eyes were trained more on what he was doing rather than you. 

“Y-yes. I’m still a little nervous.” You confessed, feeling your hands begin to tremble slightly. Miguel looked up at you, the light bouncing off his two lip piercings on his lower lip. “If I start and your body is not relaxed it’s going to hurt like a bitch.” He said bluntly, setting his tattoo gun onto his workstation. His words didn’t help, only causing your heart to quicken in pace and freak you out even more.

Because how could you possibly calm down? 

It felt utterly impossible… 

You weren’t nervous about the needle, or getting tattooed to begin with. You were experienced when it came to the inking process. What was working the nerves was the thought of his stern gaze and calloused hands feeling up your bare bottom. His gloved thumbs pressed into your rear, his amber eyes trained on every piece of you from the waist down which was making you nervous as hell. 

Miguel eyed you, taking in your troubled expression as you lay upon his tattoo chair. Your bare bottom, covered in a black towel and your chin resting on your hands. 

“Let me relax you.” 

He abruptly said in almost a commanding voice rather than as a proposition. His suggestion made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help the naughty thoughts that came to your mind at the thought of him ‘relaxing’ you. 

"And h-how would you do that?" You asked, watching him rise from his stool, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. 

"I'm going to give you a massage." 

He declared. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected proposal, your entire body suddenly heating up. "I've never heard of a tattoo parlor doing something like that." You admitted, feeling him adjust the chair's height to match his towering 7-foot frame, bringing the seat up to his waist.

"That's because you've never been to the Bloody Inks before," he said, a hint of amusement found in a usual cold voice. "There's a reason we're notorious in Nueva York, Y/N " he explained. "If we did what every other parlor did, we'd be just like any other tattoo shop…

Isn’t that right?”

He whispered, his voice sending shivers down your back. “I-I guess so.” You replied as without warning you began to feel his thick fingers on your shoulders, caressing small patterns into your blades. You gasped, the feeling instantly making you melt into the chair. 

“You okay?” He asked, every touch of his thick fingers against your tensed muscles making you shudder. “Mhm.” The hum being pulled from your very being and coming out more forceful than you attended whilst Miguel continued his massage.

Miguel’s tattooed hands were large and strong, tracing the contours of your muscles and pressing gently into them. Suddenly, you winced slightly, the tension resisting his skilled touch. “Relax,” He uttered, his voice a low rumble that reverberated from the depth of his broad chest. You shakingly nodded, eyes fluttering closed at the wonderful sensations. “O-Okay. I’ll try.” You replied, trying to calm yourself. 

You shakingly exhaled, feeling Miguel’s hands move down your back, his soothing caresses focusing on the crease that began the arch of your ass. 

“Damn, there's a lot of tension here.” He commented, adding more pressure into his fingers and kneading the soft tissue in that area. You let out a contented sigh, his large hands enclosing around the sides of your waist. His thumbs pressed into your skin through the fabric of your white t-shirt, rubbing small patterns into your lower back. You groaned softly, the sensations he was bringing to you felt so good. 

His touch, mysteriousness, voice, coldness, everything about him was so hot. 

His fingers soothing places in your back that you didn’t even know existed, bringing you closer to tranquility. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing and running his palm along the center of your back, making you shiver. You exhaled deeply, your limbs feeling heavy and relaxed. “Mmm, good. It feels good.” You replied with closed eyes. 

“That’s good to hear.” He said, his hands leaving your body. 

“But I can’t help but notice you are still tense.” 

Miguel said, making your eyebrows furrow as a sense of emptiness filled your being without his touch.

“W-what do you mean?” You inquired, entirely puzzled. You didn’t feel a single bit of tension in your backside. A feeling of pure relaxation filled your being, leaving you confused about what he meant by such things. 

But it wasn’t like you were skilled as a masseuse yourself, so you could be mistaken. 

“Yes, you are still tensed.” He uttered, running his fingers along the center of your backside, over the curve of your ass to rest a hand on your rear that was covered in the black towel.

 “Here, it needs my attention.” 

You were shocked and in disbelief, instantly becoming speechless; but despite your bewilderment, Miguel continued talking. “It’ll only make sense to massage where I'll be working. It’ll help loosen the muscles of your rear, making tattooing it less painful.” He explained, but it still didn’t stop the huge blush that spread across your face. You didn’t know how to respond, stuck between your own uncertainties and desires. 

“T-this will be… beneficial?” You asked shakingly, trying to push past the naughty and erotic things that were filling your head. Miguel hummed. “Yes, I’ll be tattooing your left buttock, so it’ll help make the tattoo process smoother…

For you, I mean.”

You bit your lip. The butterflies, going rampant in your stomach. You didn’t know what to do or what to say, but then the realization that he was going to have to see and touch your bottom anyway when the actual inking process began led you to put your worries to the side and agree.

“No. I don’t mind.” You said, thankful that Miguel couldn’t see how red you were due to your face being away from him. Miguel hummed, his previous touch seeming to linger upon your skin. 

“I’ll have to remove the towel. You okay with that?” He asked, which made your heart skip a beat. You shakingly exhaled, nodding. “Yes.” 

You felt him lift the black towel from your bottom, the cool air rushing over your bare rear. You sucked in a breath as before, Miguel didn’t warn you, his warm hands groping your cheeks and instantly beginning to knead the fat of your ass.

This time, the sensations were different.

On your backside, the massage was more relaxing and tranquil, but on your rear, it felt more personal, more…

Intimate. 

His touch made you feel pleasure beyond anything…

You bit your bottom lip harshly, trying to muffle the erotic cries that wished to escape whilst Miguel’s calloused hands worked wonders on your rear. His fingers pressed firmly into your left cheek, squeezing the fat before moving along the sides. It was a process that you pondered if it was professional or not, but it wasn’t like you cared.

His fingers knead into your soft flesh, like dough, making you see stars every single time. You were slowly becoming wet, your arousal spilling from your exposed sex to gradually coat your thighs and drench the gray towels underneath you.

The massage was good. 

Dangerously too good…

A sudden moan broke free, filling the tattoo room when he roughly groped both of your cheeks in his large hands, spreading them apart. You instantly blushed horribly, embarrassed beyond anything. 

“O-Oh my gosh, I-I’m so sorry.” You briskly replied, wanting nothing more than to hide. You didn’t know how the hell Miguel would react. 

Would he cease his wonderful massage?

Tell you to leave?

Would things get hella awkward now?

You felt like a complete idiot, mentally facepalming yourself for giving into the pleasure of a total stranger. 

But to your surprise, Miguel did something you weren’t expecting. 

He chuckled. 

For the first time since you met the menacing and large Latino artist, he showed an emotion that didn’t make you feel so freaking intimidated. The sound of the small, deep laughter that passed his lips was honestly breathtaking, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. 

“No need to apologize.” He replied, drawing your attention back to him and his wonderful massage. His touch on your rear became more soft and gentle like he was taking his time with you. 

“It just shows I’m providing you what your body needs.” He replied, moving his hands onto your thighs, caressing them with his thumbs before running his hands up to fully cup your asscheeks into his hands. You moaned softly, your body instinctively arching up into his waiting palms. Miguel snickered, giving your ass another squeeze when everything stopped. 

His movement on your rear ceased, his small laughs, movement, everything! 

You lay there, waiting for anything to happen when you suddenly felt his pierced lips against your ear. 

“Let’s drop the act, Cariño.” 

He whispered, his breath warm on your face and his piercings, cold against your skin. Your heart dropped, and your body instantly became hot.

 You tried to speak, to deny what he was saying, but your quivering lips wouldn’t form the words. 

He snickered at your speechlessness and how flustered you were, the sound sending tingles throughout your entire being and going straight to your throbbing core. 

“Let me relax you how we both desire, Y/N.” 

He hummed, resuming his touch on your rear, but this time it was different. It was purposefully more erotic. He gave your bottom a sensual squeeze with one hand, his other moving up to stroke your hair. 

You couldn’t believe this was happening. 

It felt surreal. 

Something you'll fantasize about your sexy tattooist…

But Miguel’s fingers running through your hair, massaging your scalp whilst continuing to tease and knead your right asscheek with his fingers made you think otherwise. 

You were speechless yet again. You didn’t know how to respond, but your body was doing the speaking for you. 

Your juices dripping down your thighs and soaking the gray towels under you, spoke volumes on its own. You shakingly exhaled, trying to calm your excitement.

Miguel chuckled, his fingers continuing their tantalizing play on your rear, tempting and taunting you to give in to the sexy artist. 

You bit your lip harshly, eyes fluttering as he, teasingly, brushed his thumb across your slick folds. You gasped at his attempt to entice you more.

“Mmm, you are soaking, Muneca.” He growled against your ear, his lip rings brushing your lobe and making you shudder. He sucked in a breath, running his fingers up and down your slick folds, coating his digits in your never-ending arousal. He groaned at your wetness, cupping your mound, to circle his two fingers around your sensitive bud. You moaned helplessly, trembling with pleasure.

“Muneca, you want this, just as much as I do.” He uttered, pressing his fingers more against your throbbing bud, eliciting a cry to escape your lips and making you wetter. 

“Let me relax you.” He whispered, his deep voice filled with desire as he removed his hands to place them on your hips, caressing gentle circles against your sides.

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

He proposed once again. His words alone made your stomach clench in want. The gray towels underneath you completely soak with your arousal. 

You couldn't stop yourself. The desire blinded you as your head slowly nods at his erotic proposition. 

“P-Please.” You practically begged; voice tainted with desperation for more of him. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk against your ear.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He praised, nipping softly at your ear before pulling away. His touch left you cold and empty.

“On your knees. Ass up.”

He commanded, his coldness resurfacing right before your eyes. His sternness was even more attractive and made your core throb in anticipation.

You bit your lip, lust blinding your every action, thought, and word as you rose on the tattoo chair. As he instructed, you stood up on your knees and forearms with your ass thrust up into the air. 

The cool air continuously brushed along your heated core, making your breathing hitch every time. The position gave him a full display of your wet folds and the gradual drip of your arousal down your thighs. The sight alone revealed your evident desire for him which made you excited, but also ashamed. 

This sexy stranger was intimidating, scary, and someone you would, normally, never align yourself with. 

So what was different about him that had you practically soaking his chair? 

In your peripherals, you saw Miguel move. The mere motion snapped you out of your thoughts as his massive being disappeared from view. Instantly, you became anxious, oblivious to his next actions.

A sexy groan escaped his lips, feeling his amber eyes trained on your exposed sensitive area. “That's a pretty pussy you got that.” He purred, making you blush horribly. You buried your face into your inner elbow, embarrassed for liking the compliment from someone as sexy as him.

Miguel chuckled. “Does someone like my praises? You are a naughty one, Cariño.” 

He snickered. Your face, reddening even more. His fingers continued their dance along the skin of your ass, your breathing becoming more shaky and your body burning hot. 

His words and touch alone were enough to make you lose control. Beads of your essence running down your thighs. 

“Cariño, I've only known you for about 30 minutes, yet, there is something about you that fascinates me. Something that I love so very fucking much….

Want to know what that is?”

He asked, his voice deep and husky, yet sending a shiver down your spine; his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Y-Yes.” You shakingly inquired, curious about his answer, but also anxious for him to cease his teasing and touch you.

He chuckled at your cluelessness, running his nails along your bare rear making you shiver. 

“I love that despite your obvious hesitance and, dare I say, fear, you give into your wants, Muñeca 

Your desires.”  

He uttered, the pads of his fingers barely touching you, but forming goosebumps, everywhere along your skin. 

“I-I don't understand.” You breathlessly and honestly replied, trying your hardest to look over your shoulder at the large male but failing every time. 

“You don't understand, bebé?” He purred, his fingers leaving your bottom. “Then let me turn those gears in that sexy head of yours.” He whispered, his heavy footfalls slowly walking to stand in front of you. You gulped, glancing up to see him right before you, the growing bulge in his black jeans being the main attraction. 

“You come into my shop for an ass tat, yet you were nervous as hell to get it.” He acknowledged. “But despite your nerves, here you are on my chair with that sexy ass all ready for me." He said with a smirk. His hand moved to run through your hair, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers once more. 

Your eyes fluttered, sinking more into the soft leather, your rear rising. “And even now, I intimidate you, don't I, Cariño?” He asked, his male cologne and the faint scent of cigarette smoke filling your nose, increasing your desire for him.

Regardless of your lust, Miguel did intimidate you. His massive body, bulging muscles, stern-drawn face, tattoos, lip rings, and cold aura made you nervous around him. 

That you couldn't lie about... 

“Y-yes. You do.” You confessed, eliciting a deep hum from Miguel. “Yet, you are giving yourself to me.” He whispered, moving his hand from your hair to take your chin into his calloused fingers. He turned you to look up at him, your eyes darting to take in his chiseled cheeks, massive neck tattoo, enticing rings on his plush lips, smoldering amber eyes, and dark brown hair that loomed over his eyes.  

He smirked, his canines peeking out from his lips. “You are delivering yourself to me on a silver platter, Y/N.” He rasped, caressing your chin and holding your stunned gaze before pulling away. You were left breathless, gasping for air, you didn't know you were holding. 

You tried to track him, his huge, menacing form returning behind you and out of your sight. “So love, despite your worries, reluctance, and inner thoughts telling you to stop and turn back. 

If you desire something, you go through with it...” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. You wondered if Miguel's observation of you was correct. 

Were you the type to follow your desires, even though everything in you was telling you otherwise? 

You pondered, if the sexy stranger was right, despite only knowing you for a short time. 

But that thought soon became nothing but mush in your brain when his sudden grip on your asscheeks made your entire mind go blank. As if dipped in warmth, your body instantly melted like chocolate under his fingertips, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Miguel hummed, his breath brushing along your heated core, only making you wetter. 

“And I love a woman that knows what she wants,” He uttered, pressing a kiss to your left ass cheek, making you gasp, 

“What she needs…” He whispered, pressing another kiss to your other eliciting another soft moan from you.

“I can tell you are going to be tasty…” 

He rasped before finally giving you what you desired and swiping his tongue along your folds. 

You cried out, slumping against the tattoo chair whilst Miguel licked at your rear. He groaned, squeezing your ass and pressing his face more into your bottom, licking, sucking and completely devouring you. 

You moaned uncontrollably, gripping the leather seat tightly. “O-Oh gosh.” You whimpered as Miguel continued his pleasurable assault, running his skillful hands up and down your spine, brushing your shirt up to feel more of your skin. You were becoming hot and increasingly wet, your love juices spilling from your entrance to be swallowed by Miguel’s eager mouth. 

With every suction of his lips and the swipe of his tongue, it made your mind complete mush, time and space becoming non-existent. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He groaned, sloppily ravaging your core, and fucking you with his tongue. 

The tattoo room was filled with your whines and whimpers, Miguel’s low groans, and the squelching of your wet pussy. Your entire body was clenching and squirming the closer you got to that sweet end. 

Like his hands, Miguel’s mouth worked wonders on you. His tongue moved rapidly across your pussy, seeming to be everywhere at once. Swirling your throbbing bud, thrusting into your entrance, and lapping your delicate pussy lips. a

When it came too much to bear, Miguel held you close, preventing you from moving away from him. It only made you tremble, the pleasure consuming your entire being.

“M-Miguel, I-I’m close.” You cried out, pressing your face into the tattoo chair. He hummed, the vibrations rumbling through you and making your stomach tighten even more. “You want to cum, pretty girl?” He chuckled, moving from your desired spot to kiss along the skin of your bottom. His hooped, lip rings brushed along the skin of your ass and made you even more wetter. 

You moaned softly, frantically nodding. “Yes, yes. Please, Miguel.” You whined, wanting him to bring you to your release. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk. He pressed a kiss to your right cheek before returning his skilled mouth to your puffy pussy lips once more. 

You gasped loudly, his tongue darting erratically along your dripping folds. The feeling was more extreme than ever before as he continued, tugging and lapping at your sweet pussy. 

You were so wet, your thighs dripping with your arousal like a relentless rain, its non-stop downpour completely soaking your legs and the gray towels underneath you. You gritted your teeth, the burning in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear, begging for a release. 

Everything felt so good, you wanted to hold on, to feel more of Miguel’s tongue and hands that roamed your body, caressing you in ways that increased the pleasure by 10-fold; 

But you just couldn’t…

With a loud cry, you climaxed hard onto his waiting mouth. Your vision saw white, eyes rolling as your sticky juices covered his pierced lips and ran down your legs. Miguel groaned in pleasure, gripping your cheeks harshly, widening you and licking you clean, whispering, 'So good. Such a good girl for me,’ over and over again. 

It was like music to your ears. 

Your eyes fluttered as he finished; tugging away from your pussy lips with a wet plop. You were dazed, falling flat against the tattoo chair, and trying to calm your breathing and come down from your epic high. 

Faintly, you could hear Miguel’s boots against the black marble flooring, moving around to stand beside you, coming into view once more. 

With glazed eyes, you looked over at him, breathing heavily. His chin and pierced lips were completely covered in your arousal. Like a king who had just feasted on a buffet fit for royalty, he used his fingers to wipe it off in satisfaction. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He praised again with a smirk. Your entire body and face flushed at his erotic compliment. You were speechless, not at all knowing how to respond.

For a moment you just stared up at him, still trying to figure out if what just happened, happened. 

His amber eyes roamed over your form once more, lingering on your bare rear longer than anything else. He growled, stepping closer once more. “But don’t think we’re done here, Muñeca.”

“I want more. 

Just one more taste” 

He uttered, the words surprising you, but not as surprising as what he did next… 

Everything was a blur, his large being moved so quickly it was hard to follow, especially in your dazed state. 

You soon found him underneath you on the tattoo chair, his massive body laying under you and your puffy pussy lips right over his waiting mouth. His large hands roughly groping your rear, and holding you tightly in place.

Certainly, you wouldn't be able to get out of his hold, even if you tried. 

You gulped, staring down at him between your thighs in shock. Your mind, not keeping up fast enough. “M-Miguel, w-what-” 

“Let me relax you, chica.” 

He cut you off, gripping your ass in his large, inked hands and pushing you down onto his mouth once more. You cried out, his mouth even more intense than ever. 

Your eyes fluttered and rolled as his tongue circled your clit, teasingly applying more pressure and making you whine. Your fingers, instinctively, found his dark brown hair, gripping and tugging at the chocolate strands and making Miguel groan. 

He caressed your bottom with his large, calloused hands, sucking at your sensitive bud with his hot, wet mouth, expertly flicking it. You moaned helplessly. “M-Miguel, g-gosh. It feels so good.” You cried out, instinctively, grinding your hips against his mouth, chasing another steady rising climax. Miguel's eyes fluttered close, savoring your taste on his tongue as he lapped and sucked at your sticky folds.

Your breathing quickened, his piercings grazing against your sensitive skin with every lap of his tongue against your entrance. You were slowly losing it, feeling him gradually ease his tongue inside of you before thrusting you repeatedly with the wet muscle.

You moaned loudly, rutting your hips and continuously brushing his nose into your clit, his tongue continuing its torment. A strangled moan erupted from your throat, the pleasure becoming too much. You shook uncontrollably, gripping his hair tightly and squirming on his mouth.

“A-Ahh, Miguel, I-I can’t-” You tried moving off, but Miguel firmly held you down on his mouth, his tongue, darting in and out of your entrance, fucking you with his warm, wet muscle. 

The familiar feeling of scorching heat began to rise in your stomach. You gritted your teeth, his metal ringed, lip piercings brushing against your pussy lips with each suckle. He reached around, parting your lips and sticking his tongue deeply into your opening, messily lapping and sucking you.

Your love juices soaked his lips and chin to be sloppily devoured by Miguel. The room was filled with the erotic sounds of your pussy’s squelches. Silent moans passed your lips, as your head limply fell back to be caught by Miguel’s large hand. 

He took your chin in his tattooed finger, pulling you back down towards him. He moved his mouth from your heated core as his intense dark eyes met yours. “I want your eyes on me.” He said, his breathing rather stable, despite almost drowning in your pussy for what felt like an hour. His tattooed hand caressed your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want to see you cum, Muñeca .” He whispered, pressing kisses along your inner thighs and nipping softly. You bit your lip, a soft moan passing your lips at his pecks. You weakly nodded, almost completely dazed. 

He smirked, pressing a long searing kiss to your thigh. “Hmm, good girl.” He uttered parting your pussy lips with two thick fingers and attacking your swollen clit once more. It took everything in you to keep his intense gaze. His dark brown eyes stared intently back at you whilst his tongue and lips moved in a frenzy along your pussy. 

Your body trembled horribly, fingers gripping his hair tightly to stabilize yourself. 

“M-Miguel.” You whined his name over and over again. The desire to tell him of your reached peak was on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure was too overwhelming; leaving you unable to say such a thing as your release unexpectedly slammed into you. 

With a loud strangled moan, you orgasmed for the second time. 

Your body shook uncontrollably as your thighs squeezed around Miguel tightly. Your juices gushed out onto his eager mouth whilst a sensation of pure bliss sprouted throughout your being.  

Your eyes rolled as silent and breathy moans busted from the depth of your chest. Miguel didn’t cease his torment, continuing to suckle on your puffy pussy lips, swallowing all of your sweet nectar. His lips and chin were completely drenched in a mixture of saliva and your love juices, but it didn’t seem as if the massive tattooist cared.

Until he was satisfied, Miguel continued to slurp messily at you. You were highly sensitive, squirming on his mouth and whimpering uncontrollably as he held you down with a firm grip on your thighs. When his thirst was satiated, you were relieved to hear a deep hum of delight escape his glistening lips and soon feel him effortlessly lift you from his mouth to rest your bare bottom on his clothed chest. 

You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you finally came down from your high, you glanced up to see his dark eyes peering back at you. His gaze was intense and stern as always, but your attention instantly went down to his mouth and the mess you’ve made upon it.

His tanned lips and piercings glistened with your arousal. Your essence dripping down to coat the entirety of his chin. Your entire face burned up at the sight.

“Oh my gosh, I’m s-so sorry.” You hastily apologized, still a little jittery from your explosive orgasm. You reached over to grab the black towel that was left discarded on his stool to try to clean him up.

“Don’t.” 

He simply stated, capturing your wrist in his large hand to halt your movement. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching him take the towel from you and toss it to the side.

You were confused, your eyes taking in his mouth and chin that was still covered in your juices. His pierced lips pulled into a smirk, his hands moving to caress your bare ass.

“I want to taste all of it, Muñeca. I'm not letting none of you go to waste…”

For the next hour or so, the room was filled with the buzzing of a tattoo gun and Miguel’s deep voice occasionally trying to soothe you.

“Beautiful Muñeca. You are doing well.” 

“I promise you, this rose will look good on you when I’m done.” 

“Just a little longer, I’m almost finished.”

He whispered, his gloved fingers pressing into your flesh as he applied the last finishing strokes of black ink onto the rose on your rear. You bit your lip harshly, gripping the leather cushion when finally, the buzzing of the tattoo gun ceased. The needle, no longer, harshly pricking of your sensitive skin.

“I’m finished, Muñeca.” He said, placing the gun to the side and soothingly, caressing your waist. You exhaled a sigh of relief, your eyes a little teary. 

“You did well, Cariño.” He praised once more, proceeding to clean the tattoo, applying an antiseptic ointment and covering it, all whilst speaking to you.

“Although, you’ve surprised me.” He said with a chuckle. “I thought you’d become a crying little mess on my chair.” He teased, making the two of you laugh. “I won’t lie, I thought so too.” You confessed, feeling him finish up putting a protective sterile bandage over your freshly inked tattoo. 

“I wouldn’t have let that happen on my watch.” He said with a smirk, motioning to you with a finger for you to stand up. “Carefully.” He sternly said, giving you a pointed look. His voice had its usual coldness but also held a hint of affection in his tone. 

That maybe the sexy tattooist might actually care about you.

You gave him a small smile, watching him begin to pack up his tattoo items and place them back into his closet. You followed Miguel’s words, cautiously rising up and off of the chair. You winced softly, your left cheek a little sore. 

You walked over to the body mirror in Miguel’s tattoo room, turning around to admire the fresh inking on your rear through its sterile bandage.

It was beautiful…

Just like you thought.

The black rose was wonderfully sketched and etched onto your rear end. Its petals, pistils, and leaves, were all defined perfectly and coated the entirety of your left cheek. 

You couldn’t stop looking at it, finding something else about it that you loved. 

Large hands settled on your waist, snapping your attention from your tattooed bottom to up at the hot male through the mirror. He smirked, meeting your gaze through the glass. “It’s sexy, isn’t it?” He asked, caressing your sides as you smiled, nodding. 

“You did really well, Miguel.” You complimented, both of your eyes, taking in the intricate linings of the rose on your rear. “I’m happy you like it.” He said, cupping your chin in his fingers to turn you to look up at him.

“But make sure you properly treat it every day. I’ll send you a list of aftercare instructions.” He said, his amber eyes taking in your face whilst he spoke. You bit your lip, nodding. “I will.” You replied. He smirked, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes once more. 

“Good, now kiss me.” He said in his cold tone, but his amber eyes held a look of fondness in them. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands and leaning in to press your lips against his.

You moaned softly upon the impact, his metal lip rings, smooth and cold, only making the kiss even hotter. You passionately kissed his lips, savoring the feeling of his lip rings and the taste of his plush lips against your own. 

When the two of you pulled away, breathing heavily from the heated exchange, he smirked, squeezing your waist before stepping back. “I hate to tell you this, but I have a client in the next 10 minutes.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll see you next time, Muñeca, for your check-up.” He smirked, handing you a business card with his contacts and the address of the Bloody Inks on it. 

You smiled, taking the card from him, your hands touching during the small interaction that sent a spark straight through your being. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if Miguel felt it too…

There was an unmistakable pull that was drawing you towards him. You didn’t want to leave him, despite only meeting him that day. 

The desire to snuggle up in his muscular arms, to feel his touch on you once more was overwhelming, but he was right. 

It was time for you to depart…

So after carefully getting dressed back into your panties and black shorts, you pressed one final kiss upon the sexy tattooist’s pierced lips. The kiss oddly felt unending, but not long enough when you finally pulled away from each other, leaving you, even more, hungrier for him than before.

You exited out of his room, walking through the tattoo space of the shared artists of Gwen and Hobie who thanked you for coming, to then leave the tattoo parlor altogether. 

You walked down the sidewalk, feeling like a completely different person. You twirled the business card that Miguel gave you in between your fingers. A feeling of bursting adoration for the beautiful inking that adorned your left cheek, knowing it was created by the sexy tattooist. 

To you, the stunning piece of art wasn’t just a tattoo. 

No…

It was the marking of a memory of a day when a serious, cold, sexy, and dedicated artist came into your life, revealing a different side of yourself- a daring, more confident side that would forever be engraved in your mind. 

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel excited to see the sexy tattooist again, anxious for all the fun you and Miguel would get up to on your next visit to the Bloody Inks…

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed 'The Black Rose.' Make sure to like, comment, follow, and reblog!! Love you guys!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[aestheticaltcow]

The Playdate

Richie Jerimovich x Reader

Single parent meet cute? I had this idea a couple of days ago, and it came out almost as good as I wanted.

The Bear Masterlist

“Hey. Everything okay?” Richie asked as he answered Tiffany’s call that afternoon. She was frazzled as she explained being held up at work, Frank was out of town, and Eva needed to get picked up from a sleepover… or something like that. She’d been talking so quickly that Richie could barely keep up, “Can you please pick her up and watch her for a couple of hours? I’d really appreciate it, Richie.” 

Richie agreed and quickly pulled on his jacket before walking out of his apartment and to his car. Tiffany had sent him an address on the other side of the city right before the afternoon rush hour; what should have been a 25-minute drive turned into 45. Richie was annoyed when he approached a light yellow house with large flower bushes encapsulating a small front yard decorated with lawn gnomes and large, colorful pinwheels. He rolled his eyes at the sheer asshole-ary of the entire aesthetic. 

He walked up to the front porch and rang the doorbell. He waited a few moments before you answered with a quizzical look. Richie felt himself square his shoulders as he took in your appearance; you weren’t dressed up by any means. Your hair was tied up in a messy bun. Glasses perched on your nose. Funky patterned pants that were practically painted across your thick thighs. A slightly cropped sweatshirt that showed a sliver of skin. Richie noticed the intricate mandala tattoo on your left hand and fingers. He didn’t want to come off as creepy, but it was hard not to check you out.

“Hi, can I help you?” you asked as you leaned against the doorframe. Richie swallowed softly before answering, “Yeah- I’m Richie, Eva’s Dad… here to pick her up. Tiff got held up at work.” 

You nodded, “Come on in, the girls are in the backyard.” 

Richie followed as you walked down a short hallway decorated with family pictures and memorabilia. You opened the backdoor and allowed Richie to walk through before you. He smiled when he saw Eva and your daughter playing on a swing set, happily singing along to the music playing from a portable speaker on the back deck. “Hi baby,” he called, getting Eva’s attention. She waved before looking at your daughter. The two girls nodded before flinging themselves off the swing set. They erupted into laughter when they landed in a patch of grass. You shook your head, “Those girls are gonna be the death of me.” 

Richie chuckled in agreement as you checked your phone for the time. “Hi, Dad!” Eva yelled as she came running up to you and Richie. You smiled as he bent down to scoop up the girl. You didn’t know much about him, just that he and Tiffany divorced a couple of years ago and he worked in the restaurant industry. “Momma, can Eva come play again this week?” your daughter, Violet, questioned as she joined the three of you on the deck. You checked your phone for the date, “I need to talk to your Dad about it, but I think we can figure something out.” 

You watched Richie put Eva back on the ground. “Get your stuff, Eva. We gotta go.” Eva frowned at Richie’s request, but when Violet grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house, the two were back to laughing. You smiled and pushed your glasses up, “Did they drive you crazy?” Richie asked as the two of you walked back into the house. You shook your head, “She’s a good kid, and Violet loves her.”

Richie nodded as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his track pants. “Is she with you or her Mom this weekend?” you asked out of curiosity. Richie thought momentarily before answering that she was with him that weekend but would be back with Tiff on Wednesday. You nodded, “I think Violet’s Dad is coming into town next week, but I can figure something out with Tiffany.”

“You could also just figure it out with me.” Richie rebutted flirtatiously. It made you blush. Richie bit the inside of his cheek as you ducked your head to the side to prevent him from seeing it. “We could just do that.” you laughed as you pulled your phone from your pocket, “What’s your number Richie?” 

The two of you exchanged numbers as the girls bounced down the stairs, laughing about something. “Ready?” Richie questioned, looking down at Eva with a goofy grin. She nodded and looked at you. “Thank you, Y/N!”

“Of course, sweetheart. You’re always welcome at the house, okay?” you responded as the four of you walked back to the front porch. Eva nodded and hugged Violet tightly before she and Richie walked down the walkway to his car. You stood in the doorway and watched him help Eva into the car before walking around to the driver’s side. He waved in your direction with a grin before getting into the car. You bit your lip and quickly scurried back inside. Would it make you a horrible person to ask your daughter’s best friend’s Dad out on a date sometime?

[tealottie]

Supa Late to my own art event, and also Supa Out of Order with how I'm getting these pieces done!

I believe Pinups Please was for Day 6, Saturday <3

below the cut is an explanation of Dewey's tattoos:

scrooge's cane, donalds hat, webbys bow, and others that arent pictured for LP, Beakley, and Della are just little items representing his family around his wrist. the biggest mandala at his shoulder is a mix of m for mom and m for melissa cause he loves them both layered on top of a capricorn sign for melissa. the red mandala is for huey - it has arrows on it cause huey's a guiding force in his life and the fire is because of huey's passion. on top is meant to be the same bandages della has around her prosthetic (again he loves his momma). the third mandala is for louie - it has layers because of his brothers complexity and is laced and edged in gold. the water and sky beneath those layers are representative of donald and della - his parental figures growing up. donald parents the first half of his life (lower) where della parented the second half (higher). and then the buckles have his and his brother's colors as accents (and also all throughout his sleeve there are motifs of three because he loves being a triplet)

[iridescentprose]

Try again - Luca x reader insert [The Bear]

summary; in which you catch the chef smiling at you.

author's note; short but sweet fic about Luca. Just fluff. Please enjoy!

"Worse. Try again."

"Yes, chef."

It was 5:36am.

The numbers of the digital clock above you weren't moving any faster. You had been here for less than an hour and already you were being critiqued on how to properly layer strawberries on top of a crème brûlée custard.

Whatever plans you had of pleasing the chef next to you were slowly diminishing. Your hands shook with self doubt as you pricked at the red fruit, angling it so the mandala spirals could continue. You stepped back, overall pleased with what you had done.

"Better."

It was all you were going to get for now, you knew. But you took his response with pride. After all, you had made significant progress in the past week. Your shoulders relaxed, though your victory was short-lived.

"But."

You lifted a brow. "But?"

He shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm brushing up against yours, making butterflies flutter in your stomach. Your eyes remained downward, concentrated on the different doodles that littered his skin. You wondered what each stroke of ink meant and if they were drawn with intent or if they happened to be the result of a reckless decision.

Or decisions.

"You lack confidence," he said. Even though his eyes were focused on the custard, you could tell he was doing this on purpose—teasing you. The furrowed brow, the slightly scrunched up nose, and the craned neck. What gave away his concentrated act was the corner of his lips, tugged in a meaningful, if not, arrogant fashion.

Despite the heat spreading across your cheeks, you didn't take his criticism to heart. It was true. After all, Carmy set this all up for a reason. You needed the extra practice to hone in on your skill before the upcoming opening. But opening day was weeks away and you already felt too far behind to make a good impression.

"I'm exhausted," You said without thinking. It wasn't the best excuse for your lack of confidence or skill, but it was all you could muster in response. You dropped the miniature metal tongs and braced your hands on the edge of the silver cooking island.

You could hear him chuckle but you didn't bother lifting your gaze to defend yourself. A week of private training wasn't enough to increase your knowledge as quickly as you had hoped. You wanted to be good—better than good. You wanted to be the best version of yourself and you wanted others to experience that through your desserts.

"Good," he said, as you kept your gaze downwards, fixed on his shoes that were inching closer to yours. "For a second I was worried you weren't." He smirked. "Here, try again."

You lifted your head and straightened your posture as he reached across the table for the metal tongs. He handed them to you and you took them into your hand automatically, prying a strawberry that happened to be cut in half, from a small bowl.

Slowly you guided it towards the custard, though it didn't make it's final destination without a little help. In a ghostly fashion, Luca's hand loomed over yours. His rough palm settled over your knuckles — which happened to be stained with flour and vanilla extract.

He did most of the heavy lifting, using a method of confident concentration that you had been trying to master all week. Your hand shook as the strawberry reached its destination, overlaying the endless spiral masterfully.

"Slow and steady wins the race," he mumbled, his breath fanning your cheek. He gently squeezed your fingers prompting the metal tongs let go of the red fruit. "Consistency is key."

The pads of his fingertips brushed over your knuckles as he let go of your shaking hand. Smudges of strawberry paste lingered on your skin as he pulled away.

"Understand?"

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his. He looked relaxed, if not intrigued by your bravery. A glimmer of a smile came to his lips, though it vanished before you could capture it in your mind. You shook your head free from whatever trance you were under.

"Yes, chef."

With a nod, he swiftly reached for the towel that hung off his shoulder and tossed it to you. You took it, swiping the remnants of sweet ingredients he left on your fingers from his demonstration.

You turned to look over your shoulder, finding him leaning against the metal cabinent, arms crossed and muscles tight.

He met your gaze quickly, almost as if he had been caught watching you. His slight smile diminished, and you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement.

"Again, chef?" You asked.

Testing his reflexes, you tossed the towel and he flinched, but caught it with ease as it hit his chest. A shade of red - the same pigment that stained the towel you had used to wipe your hands - was visible in his cheeks. His lips flickered upwards as he fought the playful smirk flirting with his mouth.

"Yes, chef," he mumbled, tossing the towel over his shoulder and taking his spot next to you. Naturally, his arm brushed up against yours again as he began cutting up more strawberries. "Again."

[panickedpenguin]

A harringrove soulmate mark au where Billy goes into a tattoo shop to get the mark on his shoulder covered. He wants a grayscale skull smoking a cigarette. Tattoo artist Steve says sure, lemme see the mark. Billy takes off his jacket to reveal a sleeveless shirt, built shoulders and pink swirl of a mark. It could be a flower or strawberry ice cream or maybe a woman's vulva. Steve knows this because he's thought about it a thousand times, looking at his own mark on his own shoulder.

Steve sees the mark and begins to break down, biting his lip and clutching his arm and trying desperately in that moment to keep it in, he is a professional! But no, Steve can't help it, can't stop it, and absolutely explodes with a roar of laughter! He laughs and laughs and cackles and snickers into his hands until he can compose himself once more, only to look Billy in the eye and start all over again.

Billy scowled at the reaction. Frowned until he huffed and turned around to leave. Steve called wait wait wait, wait!

Billy only fully turns around when he realizes Steve is taking off his button down, revealing tattoos across his chest and arms and something winding down his hip and into his pants. Steve turns sideways and lifts his arm a bit, indicating where to look, and once Billy sees he really can't look anywhere else. For right there, on Steve's shoulder, opposite arm to Billy's own, is his matching mark.

The match to Billy's mark is on this guy's shoulder, circled in a bright sun, spiraling out in a gorgeous mandala effect to highlight the pink mark itself. Billy stared and stared until he looks up to meet Steve's eyes. Billy is roiling in emotion all at once, overrun with fear and finding himself shifting minutely into a defensive stance.

But Steve is just smiling. Smiling and smiling and saying I'll give you the tattoo for free if you have dinner with me.

[ohmenai]

The Game of the Jungle

I'm a hunter of forbidden moments, those split-seconds that make one's pulse race and cause you to forget to breathe. On my last trip, I ventured deep into the Amazon jungle with my OhMenFlex, slipping through the foliage, trying to capture the raw essence of desire. Just when I was about to give up, in front of me appeared an Amazonian Adonis, one I did not expect to fit into my visual frame for today.

His long hair tied in braids that suggested a wild delicacy. Tauro's gaze was a challenge, a blaze of assertive passion that pierced straight into my libido. The beard and mustache, perfectly unkempt, framed lips that, I swear, were the epitome of perfection in this imperfect world.

His trapezius muscles stood out like mountains on a map of pleasure, and every spiral tattoo that adorned his shoulders seemed like a mandala that took you to erotic meditation. His nipples, hairless and brown, promised a taste of pure masculinity. The man's arms, veiny and strong, could hold the world or pin you against the wall; frankly, at that moment, I preferred the latter. The prominent belly, adorned with a hairy navel, spoke of the strength of a man without worries, while his forearms showed tattoos that told stories of courage and passion.

I was ready to capture in detail every sensation of this encounter. His cock, a fat and powerful column, with dark veins that coursed its length like rivers of life topped with a juicy and swollen bud, promised an explosion of flavor just thinking about it. And the foreskin, that muscular ring that guarded the most intimate treasure, suggested a game of discovery and surrender. His balls, heavy and full, were a pair of fruits ready to crush my sense of decorum with their mere presence. The touch of his skin, rough and at the same time soft, was a canvas of sensations that were etched in memory forever. The manly scent emanating from his crotch was a call of nature, a reminder that there lay what any ambitious ass would dream of devouring.

Among grunts and hot glances, Tauro redefined the concept of male. In the end, with a brazen gesture, he lifted his cock and winked at me, as if inviting me to the oldest game in the world. Here, the heat was more than tropical; it was a feast of pheromones screaming for a moment of eternity.

Now at Fanvue and Patreon

[kiki-shortsnout]

Premise: What if Stephen and Tony were in an established relationship before the Battle of New York, and when Tony took the nuke into the wormhole he never came back? Then, years later after Stephen becomes a Master of the Mystic Arts, he's about to go off on a mission, and as he opens a portal, Tony falls out.

Current story for @the-elle-kat​

*** 

Stephen frowned at the dark shadow beyond in the portal, the destination different than what he’d conjured the portal for. Taking a step closer, he allowed his fingers to weave through the tendrils of green magic twisting around the portal, transforming his spell, manipulating the endpoint.

‘What is happening?’ Wong demanded, mouth agape as they stared into what looked like this inside of the spaceship. Stephen’s arm shook from the backlash of energy, his sling ring burning on his fingers as the hijacker drew on more energy, locking Stephen into place. Wong steadied him with hands on his shoulders, gritting his teeth as he felt the vibrations from Stephen’s hands shake his arms.

‘I don’t know. I can’t break the spell, the portal is unstable.’

‘Someone is coming through,’ Wong muttered, stepping aside to summon Tao Mandalas, ready to face the threat attempting to break through into their interdimensional plane.

Whatever it was didn’t stumble through by itself, it was flung headfirst through the portal, the shimmering image of a metallic corridor the only indication of where the threat had come from, leaving the disgusting heap of rags and stench between Wong and Stephen.

Stephen gasped through clenched teeth at the recoil of magic forcing him back, the portal closing with a sharp snap. That was Asgardian magic, Stephen realized, rushing forward to check the empty air, the scorch marks on the Sanctum floor, ensuring nothing nefarious had been etched into the fabric of their world.

‘That wasn’t Thor’s energy,’ Stephen told Wong, only giving a cursory glance back as his friend crouched down to examine the body. ‘This feels like Loki,’ he hissed, trying to get his trembles under control. ‘Thor’s been searching for him for years, and the green energy fits with his profile…careful,’ he barked out a warning as Wong shuffled closer to the wheezing creature on the floor.

‘Stephen,’ he breathed out in wonder, energy dissipating from his hands as he crouched beside their unwanted guest, hand prying back the rags. ‘This isn’t Loki.’

‘It was definitely his magic that-’ his words caught in his throat as he saw the azure light spilling over the floorboards, recognizing it as a memory from long ago. Stephen flung himself to his knees on the hardwood floor, turning the figure cautiously onto his back, letting out a low wounded sound.

‘Careful, Stephen, it might be a trick, an illusion to gain your trust,’ Wong cautioned, magic lighting his fingers as he trailed them over the body, probing gently as Stephen shoved the heel of his hand into his mouth. He couldn’t stuff the emotions back down his throat, trying not to hope, unable to breathe as Wong checked.

It can’t be.

‘It’s him,’ Wong whispered after he’d performed all of the spells he could, sitting back on his ass with a heavy thump, looking between them both in bewilderment, unbelieving what he was seeing. ‘We should summon the Avengers-’

‘No!’ Stephen shouted, flinging his hand out over the body as if that would do anything. ‘Just…please, give me a minute,’ he gasped out. ‘Let me just, please,’ he begged, bringing his trembling hands to the figure’s face, cradling it in his.

His fiancé. His fiancé who had died four years ago.

He looked awful, his face gaunt from malnourishment, purple smudges tattooed under his eyes and prominent collarbones jutting out from ashen-hued skin. Even returned from the tortures of Afghanistan he hadn’t looked like this, his scars more mental than physical, but Stephen could see them now, painted upon his skin beyond the tattered rags of the undersuit he used to wear beneath the armor.

A ragged moan exhaled through chapped lips and eyelids peeled back, revealing confused brown eyes.

‘Tony?’

[themarginalthinker]

Scarification

“The only lasting mark a vampire can get, aside from a stake, is from other vamps’ teeth,” Marko explains.

Michael discovers a new and interesting way he can adorn his vampiric, immortal body. Marko enjoys making his art in various forms.

(Coauthored with @berd-alert . We had no idea we'd love Marko and Michael as a ship as much as we would until several little drabbles later and suddenly boom, they're living in our heads rent free. Cross-posted to ao3 as well.)

-

It was a phenomena that Michael had noticed in his time with the pack, that vampires expressed their love in blood. 

It was hard to put to exact words, the feeling, the expression. Michael had tried to explain the sentiment as it solidified into a cohesive thought in his head to his journal - multiple times. But none of his human words seemed fitting. They never quite managed to encompass what he was actually trying to say. 

How did he explain what it was like to know that inch-long teeth that could break bone could be set to your neck and know it means devotion in the rawest form? It wasn’t sharing a meal, it was feeding. It was life and connection and. And blood. 

Blood for anger, and pain, and sorrow and joy. Blood passed through lips or across the tips of claws. 

Hunters said that vampires were violent creatures. They weren’t wrong. 

But they were also not on this side of things. 

Michael doesn’t mean to stare like he is, but he can’t help it. Standing in the doorway, knowing his face must be showing the shock at the very least. 

Paul is sitting up from the nest, slowly. He’s shirtless, wearing only loose sweatpants. His long arms hold him up like pillars keeping a great weight suspended, and in the bond, Michael can feel the odd heaviness and lightheadedness of his packmate. Dizzy in the pain and the pleasure. 

“Marko’s a hell of an artist, huh?” Paul murmurs.

The design takes up most of Paul’s back. A mandala, the circle stretching from the base of his neck to the middle of his back under his shoulders. Circles within circles, leaf-like shapes fanning out from the center, like a flower unfolding itself on his back. 

All of it carved into Paul’s skin. 

The design glared out from pale skin, the red flesh underneath having been exposed through expert use of blades and maybe claws - Michael wasn’t sure how Marko had made it. The skin and meat wept blood, filling the space left behind and shining darkly in the low light. 

Michael opens his mouth to…maybe say something, try to break the hesitation in his own head, but Paul’s blood is on the air. Pack blood, the sweetest of all. It makes him pause even longer. 

Paul picks up on it. He smiles, a tug to Michael’s mind like a hand taking his, beckoning him in. 

 "It's okay," he says. "It's nice, isn't it?" 

The way he says it, with a soft reverence.  

Michael steps into the room properly, coming to the bedside, and crawling up. Paul’s face is so relaxed, Michael thinks he might go to sleep sitting up. It’s…a heady feeling, even from across the bond. 

He can only imagine how Paul himself must feel.

This close, Michael can see more detail. The tiny pin-pricks dotted into the skin at mathematically exact points, how the lines were of differing depths - in between some, how whole sections of skin peeled away to fill in a space. 

Michael’s hands drift almost without his say so, to the unmarred skin near Paul’s ribs. Fingers near, but not touching. He doesn’t want to actually hurt him. 

Paul for his part lets out a little noise at Michael’s warm hands on his cool skin, leaning back into it. Michael feels his face redden a little. 

Michael’s feeling a lot. A jumble of emotions and sudden new experiences he can’t quite hold steady in his mind. Burning their way into his memory in a way he won’t forget any time soon. 

Carved with an exacting hand. 

-

Scarification, Michael learns, is about the only kind of adornment that stays on their skin.

Piercings have to be left in, or redone night after night. Tattoos with ink don't last more than a week. This will stay, though. Slowly healing and lingering for a year or so, the skin and flesh itself changed in shape.

Marko had apparently learned this little skill from David, who had learned it from some other vampires out there in the world in passing. 

Idle hands making idle marks, and realizing something beautiful could come of it. 

It sits in the back of Michael’s mind, for weeks, months since he’d seen Paul’s. Whenever he catches sight of Paul without a shirt on, whenever those (now pink and white, slowly sinking back into his supernatural body) lovingly sliced lines in his back were visible, Michael’s thoughts hitched. Latched onto the feeling he only got deeply second-hand. 

Imagining what it would be like, to be under Marko as he made something bloody and beautiful of his love. 

His thoughts can’t be kept wholey to himself - woe the condition of being in a vampire pack. And this recurring pattern catches the attention of their resident artist.

Marko corners him one night, when they’re alone.

"You want me to do one for you?" 

It's a question that takes Michael by surprise. It’s asked so casually, lightly, even. Like offering a smoke or a handful of candy shared. 

But it’s a question, that demands answering, finally. 

…Michael's gotten used to the biting. It was just how vampires did things. The rough playing, blood as their boundaries at the edges of their territory, delineating what is theirs for all the rest of the supernatural world to heed or risk becoming a meal. 

A vampire’s world was blood. 

Michael has accepted a lot so far. This is. New. A little frightening. 

He's used to that too, though. 

"...Yeah," he says, like an admission. 

Marko's face splits into a grin, eyebrows shooting up in surprise at such an immediate, candid answer. "Wait shit, for real? Oh man, I have had so many ideas I've been dying to try out." 

He had? The thought that Marko has considered this before - thought about Michael…

Suddenly he’s come closer, a lot closer, and is looking over Michael like he's a canvas. His deep blue, analytical eyes taking in every shape and plane of body. 

It's hard not to squirm under that gaze.

Michael can practically see the artistic machinations of Marko's mind. What he does with needle and thread and trinketry will now be applied to skin with knife and claw. Marko reaches out, fingers tracing Michae's collarbone. Michael’s teeth itch.

 "Could do vines here, those would be cool. Flowers." 

He grabs Michael's wrist. "Bangles, or bracelets. I'd be gentle, there." 

He slips around to Michael's back, but doesn't let Michael turn to keep his eyes on him. He can feel Marko there all the same, hovering so close he can feel the air move with his breathing. His hands spread across Michael's shoulders, down, to the center of his back.

 "Wings, here. Right here."

Michael cocks his head, glancing back to Marko. "Like, Angel wings? Seems a little cliche, don't you think?" 

Marko hums, tracing a shape over Michael's shoulders. "Nah. That's too easy, and not you.” 

 He draws a single finger in long, curved lines under  Michael’s scapula, down to where the muscles of his back just meet his ribs. 

“Maybe insect wings. You'd look good with a dragonfly’s."

Michael suddenly thinks of someone who would like something like that. The intricacies of a gossamer wing and shiny, iridescent body of chitin. Who would run cold fingers over the lines in red, down Michael's back. Icy eyes that would appraise the artwork and find it everything he may want that evening…

"That would be cool," Michael says, only a tiny bit breathless. He can tell Marko is smirking at him, but he’s learned never to blink first. 

"It really would be. That sound like something you want?"

 "...Yeah." 

"Sweet." Marko leans forward and nips at Michael's ear, excitement and his own anticipation in his bite. "Lemme know when you wanna do it."

Michael lets him draw away before letting out his breath. 

-

It’s not long after that Michael comes to Marko. Determination in his heart and assuredness in his mind. 

He wants this. 

Marko has them in the nest, stripped of most of the blankets and pillows and various other soft things that the pack likes to sleep on when not roosting. (Michael had wondered where that hoodie of his had gone. The white hair all over it indicated he’d have to have some strong words with Thorn.)

All that was left was the plain sheets and a pillow for Michael to hold or bite. He currently had that in his arms. 

Michael is still sitting up, hearing Marko puttering around in the other room. The lights in the nest were low, just a couple candles scattered around the couple of ledges where windows used to be. This was one of the lowest levels in the haven, the vampires making sure there was no chance of sunlight coming through. 

It felt closed. Protected on all sides. 

Marko comes back to the nest. He smells like soap and clean water, flesh clothing. Unlike Michael, he wore a shirt. 

In his hands, a small wooden box. 

He sees Michael’s eyes drawn to that, and quirks an eyebrow. He climbs onto the bed, and sits cross legged beside him. 

“You wanna know why scars last so long on us?” Marko asks, flicking open the latch on the box. 

“It’s taking parts of us away, without the skin to like. Close on itself and heal?” Michael guesses, watching him. 

Marko shakes his head, though. “Sorta, but no. If I used a kitchen knife or something, I could do exactly the same things, but it would heal up in a day. It’s not that.” 

The lid is lifted, and from it, Marko pulls a tool. A wooden handle, hand-carved into angular, geometric designs. Metal and small leather strap secures the blade to the end. 

Shining white bone. Long, an inch and some long, elegantly curved, the natural groove down the middle to allow fluid to flow upwards and into a mouth made more prominent and turning it into a gouge. 

A vampire’s fang. 

Marko lets Michael take it, run a finger down the length of it. 

“That one’s Dwayne’s,” he says, setting the box aside. There are other tools in there, all of similar make. All teeth. One long, thin, a needle to make art in pointillism, and another almost straight with the edge on the other side of the curve. A slicing razor’s edge. 

“The only lasting mark a vampire can get, aside from a stake, is from other vamps’ teeth,” Marko explains. 

Michael swallows, and hands him back the tool. There’s that feeling again, building up in his head. Humming, warm and dark, like the candle light around them but rushing through him like a pulse. 

Marko moves closer, the hand not holding the gouge coming up to find Michael’s chest. Pushing just so. 

“Ready?”

Michael nods. 

-

Marko makes his sketch first. 

Michael is on his front, resting his chest on the pillow, holding it to him while Marko straddles his legs, to get the best angle. (Marko had assured him of such, to which Michael correctly zeroed in on the secondary intentions of the smallest vampire, who didn’t deny the seat was a good one…) 

Claws run over Michael’s skin, barely not breaking skin. They raise red welts in their wake, stinging. The lines Marko will follow. 

Michael has felt worse, far worse, from just roughhousing with the pack before. But never with this intention. 

Marko’s hands follow paths Michael can see in his mind’s eye all too well. Intricate connections and details too small to be outlined this way. Saved for the real work. 

Finally, Marko draws back. 

"Do you bruise easy, Michael?"

Michael glances back at him, over his shoulder. "Not that I'm aware of? Is that a problem?"

"Nah, just changes how I do it. Like, David bruises like a peach so I gotta be careful if I work on him. That should take care of the sketch..." 

Marko reaches out of his line of sight, and Michael hears the click of Marko picking up one of the blades.

He turns back around. Watching the shadows and light flicker across the walls. 

Marko’s free hand finds the small of his back, keeping him still.

 "You tell me if it hurts too much, okay?"

Michael wraps his arms more securely around the pillow. He nods. "Okay." 

Marko hums, and sets knife to skin. 

-

It's bright. 

It’s like a glow as it happens. 

It's almost cold in how it sears into him, the first break of skin. The edge of the tooth parting him like water, a long line through the layers of his back.

Michael feels his jaw open, flex, show his own teeth as it rolls up his back like a wave. Marko pauses, for only a moment, but then completes the stroke. The scent of vampiric blood stats to fill the air - Michael’s blood. 

Marko flicks the blade, and moves back to the beginning.

He makes the same cut, imperceptibly further to the left. The outline of a wing, carved with the precision of a sculptor. It burns, but a small part of Michael's brain is singing. 

So much care, so much attention in one gesture. Marking him, making something beautiful. Something that he will carry for as long as it lasts. 

Something made by the teeth and hands of his pack. It's so much it makes him feel a little drunk.

It goes on. Line after line. The blood seeps up, filling the open wounds like dry creek beds bursting with sudden rains. Michael occasionally feels a small rivulet give way, down the curve of his shoulder, or towards the dip of the small of his back. 

Marko chases it. His tongue flicking out to catch the ruby drops. Michael shudders when he does. He knows Marko is smiling. 

Michael's head is in another world. ‘Somewhere between here and frith’, as his mother would say. His eyes have slipped closed, but he still hears, still feels. 

It's a long process, to do it right. But they have all night.

By the time they finish, The sun is starting to peak its head above the horizon. Marko wipes the last of the blood off his tools, and gently applies a bandage to Michael's back. 

"I wouldn't normally do this, but we are about to go to sleep and I don't want to wake up with blood on the sheets. We'll see how it looks in the evening?"

Michael's arms feel like some impossible combination of lead and cooked noodles, but he raises himself up. The carving twinges with every move, and Michael breathes against the bandages. 

"Yeah," he agrees. 

He pull of the late (early?) hour is in his head too, but before they do, he feels like he can't go another moment without it. He turns, and catches Marko as he's starting to slide off the nest, to put his things away. 

He draws Marko in close, and sets his teeth to his neck. All the feeling behind it that he can possible impart. For this. 

For everything.

Marko turns a pretty shade of pink under his teeth, and Michael feels a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. Michael nips, just once, not even hard enough to draw blood.

Marko's hand comes up to Michael's jaw. Thumb stroking over his skin. 

"Soft mouth, babyteeth," he murmurs. 

Michael stays on the bed while Marko cleans up, and he's almost asleep by the time the others filter in. They want to see, to touch. He can feel them in the back of his mind curious and excited, but they're stayed by firm hands, and a body physically coming between them and him. 

Marko settles in beside Michael, letting the day come, a night well-spent.

The taste stays in Michael’s mouth, his head as he sinks into sleep. His own and Marko’s. 

Love, and blood. 

[svt-yexi]

Moment: Doodles

Yexi was sitting in the HYBE Artist lounge with a marker cap between her lips swatting at her best friend's arm to get him to stop moving. She spat the cap out and glared at him, "Look you said I could doodle on your arm and you're making it impossible. Sit still you heathen." Jungkook glanced at her and chuckled a bit before relaxing his arm and moving his phone to his free hand.

"Such a moody artist."

Yexi glanced up at him and stuck her tongue out before going back to her doodle on his elbow. The two had run into each other in the building after not seeing each other for awhile. They decided to take a break together and catch up before going back to their schedules, "And you're sure Bang PD isn't gonna fire me or something over me drawing on you? I don't need your team coming after me." She laughed.

"Nah, permanent marker can still wash off." He shrugged causing his arm to move and mess up her line.

She glared at him and flicked his ear, "Stop moving!"

She'd only been joking when she asked Jungkook when he'd let her add to his ongoing tattoo sleeve. It only took a few minutes for him to find a Sharpie and come back to her telling her to take creative freedom. She'd thought about drawing something inappropriate but decided to play it safe and just draw a mandala on his elbow. "Are you going to fill out your whole arm?"

Jungkook hummed, "Most likely. I haven't really decided yet. I'll probably get a bunch during this break so I don't have to worry about healing time."

"I think i'll get one eventually. If we ever get a break like you did."

"If you do you should let me design it." he grinned at her.

She smiled at him, "Possibly." She glanced back down at the marker and finished off a few more lines before leaning back with a proud smile, "Done!"

"I wanna see. Take a picture." Jungkook handed his phone off to Yexi and held the pose she put him in so he would be able to see as much of it as possible.

"It's not the best thing, don't judge me." She snapped a few pictures from different angles before handing it back to him.

He swiped through them with a smile on his face, "Yex this is pretty good. I like it."

Yexi preened at his compliment, "Maybe if this Idol thing doesn't work out I can just be an artist." she laughed at her comment knowing that the both of them knew she was far from talented with drawing. She wasn't awful but compared to Jungkook she was a three year old with crayons.

"Yexiiiii." Minghao's voice carried down the hall causing Yexi to look towards the door.

"I guess break time is over." She pouted after seeing Minghao poke his head into the lounge.

"Aye man!" Jungkook called out to him. He pushed himself off the couch to give Minghao a pat on the back in greeting.

"Dude, it's been a minute." Minghao chuckled.

"Yeah, we should get all of us together while i'm on this break."

Minghao nodded, "Oh, Yex, Woozi hyung needs you."

Yexi popped up from the couch and gave Jungkook a quick hug and called out over her shoulder while leaving, "I'll text you later."

"I should probably head out too."

"Where you headed to?" Minghao asked curiously.

"Tattoo appointment," Jungkook answered with a smile while pointing at the new addition to his elbow before leaving with a promise to get together soon.

Taglist: @multiplums @giverosespls @sunflower-0180 @smoooore @kimhyejin3108

[trendingtattoo]

Stunning Half Sleeve Tattoo Ideas for Women in 2024

Half sleeve tattoos are a perfect choice for women who want to make a bold statement while still keeping part of their arm uninked. Covering from the shoulder to the elbow, they allow for creativity and intricate designs.

Amazing Half Sleeve Tattoo for Women

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Portrait Half Sleeve

Whether it’s a family member, a beloved pet, or a cultural icon, portrait tattoos make for stunning half sleeve designs. Portrait tattoos require high levels of detail and realism, so they’re best suited to highly skilled artists.

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Abstract tattoos allow for free-flowing, unconventional designs that are both eye-catching and unique. With the use of colors, lines, and shapes, abstract art tattoos are a great way to express individuality and creativity.

A half sleeve tattoo offers endless possibilities for women to showcase personal style and meaning.

[scratchandplaster]

Markings

CW: recapture, gore, tattoo/skin removal, intimate Whumper, body modification

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The scalpel blade dug deep, making its way through the first thin layers of skin. The cut continued to grow, angled slices here and there let their whole body quiver, signed with memories of its past life. They hoped to never meet them again, to leave the ghost of their captor behind. Fate at other plans, clearly.

"Hideous, sweetheart. That doesn't suit you at all," the shadow behind them muttered, lost in thoughts and always careful to avoid any crucial areas.

Laying face down on the mattress, covered by plastic sheets to avoid any pesky stains, Whumpee knew that bleeding out on the spot would be the merciful option. Their host chose another, more tedious one.

Finishing with a quick slice, the blade emerged from the inked piece of flesh, accompanied by drops of blood now welling from the exit point. 

The numbing cream they were granted beforehand was an unexpected mercy, and they were thankful, truly, because in secret they knew Whumper to be far more resentful. The horrified expression that shadowed their reunion was proof enough. Before Whumpee was brought here, before they gave up fighting again and again.

Even though the tearing pain was hidden deep, the fizzy sensation of Whumper's gloved fingers against their skin still brought shivers up their neck. Not even thinking clearly, Whumpee pulled on their restraints again, tightly wrapped around the headboard, at least acting like there was any fight left in them.

To no avail, Whumper got a hold of the incision and with a quick pull the colorful mandala across the shoulder blade of their beloved just gave way.

Whumpee was glad they didn't have to look this time, but the nauseating tear of skin and tissue made their head spin nonetheless. They had seen the process before, thigh and forearms already covered with the stitches they got immediately after the procedure. Whumper made them watch, loudly complaining about the tattoos on their body.

How could you? I nearly didn't recognize you anymore... Was it Caretaker, did they force you to disfigure yourself like this?

They froze as the scalpel carved the first line, pleading and begging their captor to leave it be. Whumper was caught in a toxic mixture of joy and shock, not able to process how the sweet person who just slipped out of their reach was reunited with them. Changed but still, here at last and ready to learn from their mistakes.

The crow on their thigh was first to go, a beautiful composition with fine lines to cover up the scars they were given in the first place. Whumpee remembered the sting of the needle, the color shifting in the gun while their artist was so focused on the delicate sweeps of the plumage. It was the first one they got, Caretaker holding their hand every second of the way.

Now, the only color on them came from thousands of crimson pinpricks, left behind by the dead chunk of sweaty skin Whumper had tossed carelessly to the side. As they merged together into a never-ending stream of blood that trickled down their legs, Whumpee had once again begged for a break.

With the protective layer above now gone, the exposed tissue just a breath above the muscle twitched and burned in the most agonizing way. Like a deep itch just waiting to flare up and spread all over their remaining body, yet their pleas fell on deaf ears. They were left too drained, too exhausted from blood loss and anxiety. It didn't matter anymore.

Whumper knew better than to leave their most prized possession to writhe and cry in misery. Pinching the borders of already burning skin together, they carefully bridged the gash with thick strips of surgical tape, securing their work. They would be mindful to avoid building infections or abscesses, even though the thin bond between the weeping flesh threatened to rip with every breath.

All that was left were the tear tracks along Whumpee's cheeks and a bloody line where once had been a piece of art, a shared memory with Caretaker now forever undone by oh-so gentle hands stroking their back; cutting away the freedom they fought for not long ago.

Piece by piece, Whumpee felt themself dissolving.

The mandala was a tipsy thought born out of the special offer of a small shop, old and stuffy; but for ten dollars there was no room to complain.

Whumpee remembered that day at the pier so vividly, carefree bliss dulling the needles that pressed pigment into them. The swirled pattern didn't mean anything special to them, but it was still theirs; their choice to be made and to regret later.

"We'll be done soon, love," the voice above slithered between their thoughts, hot against their ear and already searching for the next patch of detested ink, "A fresh start for both of us."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

[mommalosthermind]

Get to know me tag game!

tagged by @hawkstincan and I just saw it so oops

Do you make your bed? Mostly, yes. Defensive bed sheets mean I am significantly less likely to have to deal with legos, pencils, crumbs or whatever other random shit The Youngest Monster had in hand while hiding in my room.

Favorite number? uhhh. I don’t really have one? I tend to pick either 13 or 14 for number things bc 13 made people mad as a kid and it was funny, and 14 is part of my birthday.

What’s your job? parent. Using the educational degree to be backup teacher for my three monsters.

if you could go back to school, would you? I mean. The funny thing about school is there’s a lot of shit I want to learn and very little of it is taught in a typical classroom. I still wish we’d lived in an area with a proper vocational school while I was in high school ngl. Anyway things like carpentry and sewing should still be in schools and i want to collect trades like Pokémon.

Can you parallel park? probably not? I have literally never bothered to try after getting the damn license.

Do you think aliens are real? I think it’s arrogant to assume humans are the only ‘intelligent�� anything, even on earth. But realistically, it’s entirely possible the universe is too young to have a lot of life floating around in it. Little green men that made the pyramids and steal cows, though? That’s… silly.

Can you drive a manual? No. I have been in exactly two cars with stick shift, and I would really like to be in none of them ever again. That’s mostly due to the driver being a twat, but like. No. I’m good.

What’s your guilty pleasure? Mmm that’s an interesting one since ‘guilty pleasure’ usually just means ‘this is something that I try to hide’ and I’ve spent a lot of time trying to uncouple my embarrassment with existing from y'know. Existing. So. Probably the thing I get a kick out of that makes me go “i should maybe not enjoy this so much” is listening in on gossip or drama that’s Not Mine ngl. Tell me aaaall about how your auntie X started a fight. If it’s not my family, it’s just story time.

tattoos? Four! I’ve got a mandala-inspired piece on the left arm, a tiger lily +dog tags on my right shoulder, a blue rose + witch’s claw on the left leg, and an anklet that looks like leather with a heart pendant on the right leg. If I had spending money I would have… so many more. So many. My partner thinks it’s funny that I accidentally split things up so the left half is in color and the right side is black and white.

Favorite color? Black, silver, blue, green….

Favorite type of music? The kind that doesn’t annoy me? I tend toward the rock spectrum, unless I’ve got instrumental on. The kids are all into nightcore so there’s a hilarious amount of that in my brain at any given time. They did not enjoy when I made them listen to Dune’s Can’t Stop Raving. Rude.

Do you like puzzles? Putting together a picture? I’m going to sort the pieces into inside vs outside and maybe even color and then get very bored very quickly and wander off. Riddles? I’m going to feel like an idiot and wander off. Numbers? I have spaced out before even completing the question.

Any phobias? Oh that’s a hell of a question. Spiders. I have worked very hard to get to a point where I am mostly nonchalant about it but. Haaa not a fan. I have woken up to Big Fucking Spider In The Bed or On The Window too many times.

Favorite childhood sport? I was forced into a couple different sports as a kid and I did not enjoy any of them really. I was, and remain, the person who’s got five books and even more notebooks in a bag and I am sitting under a tree and ignoring everyone else. I did not do well in any form of a team-setting. Literally ever. I think the one that bothered me the least was track, and that’s because it felt like I could turn off my entire brain and just move from point A to point B and then be done.

Do you talk to yourself? Constantly. It’s almost never complete thoughts though, it’s a bunch of disjointed outbursts that probably make me sound bonkers bc half of the conversation I’m having with myself is in my head. Complete with hand movements.

What movies do you adore? I don’t really watching things these days? So probably things I liked as a kid, like the labyrinth or the goonies or the dark crystal. There’s a theme there, don’t worry about it.

Coffee or tea? Tea. The only time I’ve managed coffee is when it’s vaguely coffee flavored milk and sugar lmao. Or chocolate coffee ice cream.

First thing you wanted to be growing up? you know, I feel like it shouldn’t be this hard to answer objectively innocent questions in a way that won’t make people uncomfortable? but I don’t have an answer to this. So. I wanted to be somewhere else. I wanted to be someone else. Things like dreaming about jobs and being an adult were not things I had the space to do.

I’m not going to tag anyone specifically today, but if you join in please feel free to and @ me so I can see! <3

[negative-speedforce]

8, 15, 23, 24 for the get-to-know you ask game

8: Favorite Movie

Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Stardust, or Jennifer's Body. I can never choose.

15: Your Lucky Number:

It actually is 15. I don't necessarily believe in lucky numbers as a concept, but I consider 15 to be my lucky number, since that was the age I left the church.

23: Favorite body feature:

My hair is actually super thick and healthy, and I love it. When it's long enough to pull back, the ponytail is like, almost 2 inches in diameter. I haven't used heat or styling products on it in almost 3 years so it's super healthy.

24: Tattoos you want:

I want to get a great blue heron tattooed on my back, a full sleeve on my arm of roses with a snake slithering up through them, a mandala on my other shoulder, a rainbow bleeding out from the biggest of the SH scars on my leg, and a pair of daggers slotted through the scars when I eventually get top surgery. If tattoos are a little more normalized over the years, or I go into an industry where this is acceptable, I want to get a few stars over my eyebrows. This isn't all of them, just the ones I can think of off the top of my head.

[wanderingsongbird]

i.   ⸻   general.

name.   Kate Denson alias⁽es⁾.  The Hopeful Songbird gender.   cisfemale. age.   31 [born 1983] spoken language⁽s⁾.   English, German, and a smattering of Spanish and Japanese that she picked up on tours sexual preference.   bisexual occupation⁽s⁾.  Country music singer

ii.   ⸻   appearance.

eye color.   blue hair color.   Bottled blonde [natural hair is brown] height.  5'1" major scars.  Her first mori from the Trapper left a mark [middle of her back there is a massive scar]. There are scars left over from her corruption -- there is one under the mandala on her shoulder, another under the lotus on her leg, two on her arm, and one very faint one across her left cheek. Then there are the scars from out of trials death. Those include a scar from Freddy on her chest from all the blades stabbing through. Another from her heart literally getting ripped out, just below her rib cage. A scar low on her abdomen from that is from a Ghostface. Her right leg has an odd scar on the lower part of it, and that is from the leg getting ripped off by an oc killer. Then there are the scars from a legion mori, from where one killed her during the corruptions arc. The final scar is a thin one across her neck that faintly pulses orange from the Blight.

iii.   ⸻   favorite.

color.  yellow song.   Shady Grove food.  german potato salad drink. Dr. Pepper

iv.   ⸻   have they   ...

passed university.  Yes -- music theory had sex.   yes. had sex in public.   Yes >_> gotten pregnant/someone else pregnant.   No kissed a boy.   Yes. kissed a girl.   Yes. gotten tattoos.   Yes -- she has several gotten piercings.  yes [also several] been in love.   Yes... but he is gone now, so she is hesitant to do it again in the Fog stayed up for more than 24 hours.  Given how things work in the fog? Yes.

v.   ⸻   are they   ...

a virgin.   no. a cuddler.   yes! a kisser.   yes scared easily.   no. jealous easily.   no trustworthy.  Yes. dominant.   Yes submissive.   Yes. in love.   It... is a possibility, but she is not ready to admit that to herself yet. single.  yes.

vi.   ⸻   random questions.

have they harmed themselves.   no thought of suicide.   no. attempted suicide.   no. wanted to kill someone.   Yes, during the corrupted arc. Outside of it? No. have any fears.  Never getting out, losing hope. Submitting to Bass

vii.   ⸻   family.

sibling⁽s⁾.   None parent⁽s⁾.   Allison and Tommy Denson significant other.  none. pet⁽s⁾.  none.

Tagged by: @manufactoredxbyxdesign Tagging: @hiddenferocity @ask-organized-chaos @surviving-in-the-fog @insidious-journalist @facesofthefog