#There was also someone a while back who asked about a tattoo design and I was *so* enthusiastic but I just got too busy to commit.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hello! I was wondering if you’d be willing to take commissions someday 👀. No pressure tho! I just love your art so much

The short answer: "not at the moment, but it is very possible in the future'!

The slightly longer answer: I would have to figure out a good pricing and payment system! PD-MDZS is also where most of my free time goes, so until my life settles down a bit, I would be on the slow side to complete them.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

what's a little ink?

pairing: han jisung x reader

word count: 7.3k

summary: you wanted the upper hand. you came for a tattoo. you also came for him. and somehow you ended up in his hoodie, eating his eggs, and wondering how a bet turned into this stupid, soft thing you just can’t resist wanting

tags: tattoo artist au, friends to lovers, fluff and smut. porn with plot. sweet, sappy, and gross romance. enjoy

requested by @burlesquerade hope u like it honey

It all started with a simple, completely ridiculous bet. You and Han had been hanging out for hours, as you often did, swapping old stories and making fun of each other’s quirky habits. Laughter echoed around the cozy living room, the kind of laughter that was easy and natural, the way it always was when the two of you were together.

"Okay," Han said, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leaned forward, eyes glinting with that playful spark you knew all too well. "If you can beat me at this stupid game one more time, I will get you whatever you want as a prize."

You raised an eyebrow, already suspecting he might be setting you up for something ridiculous. "Whatever I want? Really?"

"Yep. No holds barred. You name it, and it’s yours," Han assured you, his tone full of confident mischief. "But if I win…" He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. “You have to let me tattoo you.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Tattoo me? Really? That’s your big gamble?”

Han’s smile grew wider. “I’m a tattoo artist, remember? It's a fair trade. I think you’re too scared to let me do it.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, your fingers tapping idly on your cup. “Scared? Please. I’m not scared of a tattoo.”

His eyes narrowed, a challenge sparking in their depths. “Oh, so now you’re saying you can handle it? Alright then. You’re on. But we both know I’m going to win.”

You gave him a playful smirk. “Big talk for someone who has no idea what they’re up against.”

The game you were playing—a mix of cards, trivia, and guessing games—was silly, and it didn’t take long for the competition to become heated. But, much to your surprise, you did win. By a narrow margin, of course, but a win was a win.

Han’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from gloating too much. You had been expecting him to be smug, but now, as the reality of the situation sank in, you saw a flicker of something else cross his features.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, trying to hide his grin. “You won. So what do you want?”

You leaned back in the chair, considering your options. There were so many things you could ask for—something extravagant, maybe—but you had been thinking about this for a while. Han had been inking people for years now, and you had always wondered what it would feel like to have him work on you.

So, you decided to go for it.

“I want a tattoo,” you said with a straight face, barely able to hide the excitement in your voice.

He blinked at you. ��Wait… you’re serious?”

“Totally,” you answered, your grin impossible to hide. “You’re going to ink me, Han. And you can’t back out.”

He stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to make sure you weren’t joking, but then the challenge returned in his eyes.

“Well, if I have to do this, I get to choose where,” he said, his tone slightly mischievous. “No complaints, okay?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Fine. As long as I get to decide what the design is, I’ll leave the location to you.”

Han smirked and held out his hand. “Deal.”

The text from Han came just before noon.

“Hope you’re not chickening out. Studio at 3. Wear something loose. ;)”

You stared at your phone longer than you meant to, heat crawling up your neck. Chickening out? Hardly. But that stupid winking face was another story. He always knew how to push just the right buttons—just enough to make your pulse quicken, just enough to stir things that should probably stay buried.

Still, you showed up. Of course you did.

His studio was tucked into a quiet side street downtown, its glass windows fogged slightly from the early spring chill. You had been here before—countless times, really—but never like this. Never with your skin on the line. Never with your heart threatening to beat out of your chest for reasons that had very little to do with ink or needles.

The soft chime above the door rang as you stepped in. Han was already inside, hunched over a sketchpad, his brows knitted in concentration. A pencil twirled between his fingers as he tapped it against his lower lip, eyes flicking to you the moment you walked in.

And just like that, the air shifted.

He smiled, slow and crooked. “You came. I’m impressed.”

“You told me to. I don’t exactly think that counts as bravery,” you replied, trying to play it cool, even though you were already peeling off your jacket, already catching the way his eyes flicked to your collarbone with something unreadable.

Han rose from his chair, brushing his fingers through his soft brown hair. “I sketched some ideas. Wanna see?”

You nodded, joining him by the desk where several sheets were spread out. The designs were delicate—subtle, intricate things, clearly drawn with you in mind. One of them caught your eye: a minimalist crescent moon nestled inside a trail of tiny stars, the lines fine and whisper-soft.

“I like this one,” you murmured, fingers brushing the paper.

“I thought you might.” His voice had dropped a bit. He was watching you closely, as if your reaction meant something more than approval. “It’s gentle. Quiet. But it lingers.”

You swallowed.

“I’ve decided where to put it,” he added after a beat, stepping closer.

“Oh?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Do I get a hint?”

Han smiled, tilting his head just slightly as his eyes traveled—unapologetically—over your exposed shoulder, down the dip of your neck. “Upper shoulder. Right where it curves into your neck. Here.” He reached out, fingers grazing the exact spot, the barest ghost of a touch. “It’s a place you never see, but everyone else does. Intimate. Subtle. Kind of like the moon.”

You froze. It was a good idea—too good, actually. Because now, your body was responding to more than just nerves. The closeness. The delicacy in his voice. The way his fingertips lingered, resting there a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“I trust you,” you whispered, hoping it would ground you.

Han met your gaze. For once, he looked serious. “Then lie down for me.”

The chair was cold at first, the studio quiet but for the low murmur of music and the faint clatter of his tools. You lay on your side, hair pulled up and shirt slightly off one shoulder, baring the space where he would work. The air kissed your skin, but it was Han’s presence—his warmth—that you felt most acutely.

He cleaned the area with methodical care, the scent of alcohol and antiseptic somehow comforting. But it was the way his hand curved around your shoulder, the way his thumb brushed the nape of your neck, that made you hyper aware of every inch of yourself.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Mhmm.”

“Tell me if it hurts too much.”

You chose not to tell him that it already did—but not because of the needle.

As the machine buzzed to life, the first kiss of ink stung. You flinched, just slightly, and felt his other hand firm on your back in response. Steadying. Anchoring.

He worked in slow, precise strokes, the pressure rhythmic, hypnotic. But each time his fingers brushed your skin, each time his breath tickled your shoulder from how close he leaned—it lit something warm and aching inside you.

His voice broke through the quiet after a while, low and slightly hoarse. “You’re really still. Most people twitch like hell when it’s here.”

You exhaled, barely moving. “I think I just… don’t want to mess you up.”

“You couldn’t,” he murmured. And for a second, the machine paused. His hand stayed, resting lightly over the fresh lines. “You’re kind of perfect like this.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare ask what he meant. But in the pause between one stroke and the next, the silence pulsed—thick with something fragile, something not quite spoken yet.

He resumed working, but something had changed. His touches had always been skilled, steady, but now there was a new kind of deliberateness in the way his fingers slid across your skin—slower, more lingering, more aware. The buzz of the machine became background noise to the static dancing along your spine.

Your breath came shallow and controlled, each exhale purposeful, but no amount of focus could erase the way heat pooled low in your belly each time he adjusted your position, each time he leaned in just close enough that his breath grazed the shell of your ear.

"You’re warm," he said suddenly, voice barely audible over the low thrum of music.

You tilted your head, cheek brushing the leather of the chair. “Is that your way of saying I’m sweating too much?”

A quiet laugh. "No." He wiped the spot gently, fingers spread wide against your upper back. “Just saying... your skin feels alive.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to shiver.

He paused to dip the needle again, but his other hand stayed pressed against you—thumb dragging absently along the edge of your spine. And then, as though the words slipped free without permission, he added, “It’s kind of driving me crazy.”

The machine stilled. Your eyes snapped open.

“What?”

Han blinked, as if he had not meant to say it aloud. But the corner of his mouth lifted anyway, a half-smile that was equal parts sheepish and satisfied. “Nothing. Just... hard to stay focused when you’re under my hands like this.”

Your pulse spiked. “You’re the one who insisted on choosing the placement.”

“Maybe I wanted an excuse to touch you like this. To drive you crazy”

The air between you crackled. He was close now—too close. His hand still rested against your skin, fingers slightly curled as if resisting the urge to grip tighter. You felt it in your bones: the shift from friendly banter to something heavier. Something hungry.

The tattoo needle remained idle, forgotten for the moment.

Your voice came soft, but steady. “Are you always this... handsy when you’re working?”

He leaned in slowly, slowly, until his mouth hovered just behind your ear. “Only when the canvas makes it impossible not to be.”

Your breath caught. You could feel the heat of him, the deliberate pause before he moved again—not toward his tools, but toward you. His hand slid from your shoulder, knuckles brushing the side of your throat in a line so featherlight it made your skin pebble.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You said you wanted to drive me crazy, too.”

“Is it working?” he murmured.

You closed your eyes, exhaling. “I think you already know the answer.”

Han chuckled under his breath, but there was a tightness in it—like restraint stretched thin. Still, he didn’t kiss you. Didn’t push further. Instead, he pressed a hand to your waist and guided you gently back into place, the spell not broken, only deferred.

“I should finish,” he said, almost hoarse.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Finish.”

But every second after that was charged. Every brush of his hand, every hum of the machine, every stolen glance when you dared to peek up at him—all of it thrummed with the knowledge that something had shifted. And neither of you could pretend it hadn’t.

You lost track of time. Moments bled into minutes, drawn out by the quiet rhythm of his work and the unspoken weight between you.

By the time he shut off the machine, your body felt like it had become a tuning fork—tight with tension, humming with everything unsaid.

“That’s it, you're done,” Han said quietly, voice thick.

He reached for a clean cloth, gently dabbing the inked area. The sting had dulled into a soft ache, but the way his hand moved over your skin—slow, deliberate, reverent—was what left you breathless.

He lingered there, thumb brushing just above the fresh lines. “You did good. Barely moved.”

You shifted onto your elbows slightly, twisting to catch his face. “Is that praise, or are you just surprised I didn’t faint?”

His gaze met yours. For a second, he said nothing. Then, a smile tugged at his lips—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re a lot tougher than you let on.”

You sat up, pulling the collar of your shirt gently over one shoulder. “Maybe you just bring it out of me.”

Han stood there, still holding the cloth, still watching you with that unreadable expression. The tension between you was no longer subtle. It stretched between your bodies like a wire, thin and tight, vibrating with things neither of you had said out loud.

You looked away first.

“Let me pay you,” you said, reaching for your bag.

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “This wasn’t about that.”

Your fingers froze on the strap. You turned slowly. “Then what was it about?”

He hesitated, jaw tight. The weight in his gaze softened for a beat—something bare flickering through, like he wanted to say everything but chose instead to say:

“I wanted something of mine on you.”

The words landed in your chest like a drop of ink in water—sinking, blooming.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence folded around you again, but it was thick, pulsing, the air saturated with all the ways you almost touched.

Finally, you smiled, small but real. “Well... now you’ve got it.”

He laughed under his breath, but it was quieter this time. A little more careful. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

You moved toward the mirror, pulling your shirt slightly aside to see the finished piece that now lay protected by second skin. The crescent moon curved delicately against your skin, soft as a secret, sharp as a wish you hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

It was beautiful. It was everything you could have asked for.

You caught Han watching your reflection—eyes fixed not just on the ink, but the shape of you, the moment of you. Like he had never really allowed himself to look until now.

And still... he did nothing. And neither did you.

Just two bodies, standing too close, tied together by a single piece of ink and a silence that spoke louder than anything else.

You turned from the mirror, fingers brushing down the edge of your collar one last time. The skin was still tender beneath your touch, but not as tender as the weight in your chest.

“I should go,” you said, voice a little too light. A little too careful.

Han nodded once, but he did not move from where he stood. “Right. It’s late.”

You moved toward the door, bag slung over your shoulder, shoes forgotten under the bench. The silence followed you like smoke—slow and curling and hard to breathe through. You could feel his eyes on your back.

But just as your hand touched the knob, you paused.

“…I’m not usually like this.”

The words escaped before you could catch them.

Han’s voice came from behind you, lower now. “Like what?”

You didn’t turn to face him. “This affected.”

A beat.

Then: “Me neither.”

You turned then. Slowly. He was closer than he’d been a moment ago. Still not touching. Still not reaching.

But close.

The streetlights from outside filtered through the frosted windows, casting soft shadows over his face—his expression was unreadable again, but his eyes were not. They were dark and warm and searching. Like he wanted to speak with his hands instead of his mouth.

“I should walk you out,” he offered.

“I don’t need—”

“I know.” A pause. Then, his voice was gentler, “Let me anyway.”

You nodded.

He opened the door, and the cool air of the hallway hit your skin like a shock—like stepping out of a dream. The clack of your shoes echoed softly as you both walked, side by side, neither of you speaking.

You reached the door to the street. The city breathed on the other side. Stillness clung to the space between you like fog.

“Hey,” Han called, just as you stepped onto the threshold. His voice pulled you back. “Wait.”

You turned, heart stuttering.

He was standing close again. Too close. The kind of close that felt deliberate. His hand hovered near your waist, fingers flexing once, like he was debating whether to touch you again.

He didn’t.

Instead, his voice dropped. “If I kiss you right now… would that mess things up?”

Your breath hitched.

The world held its breath with you.

You let the silence stretch. Let the ache of it crawl up your spine. And then you said—quietly, honestly:

“I think not kissing me might mess things up more.”

And still—still—he did not kiss you. He only looked at you like he wanted to memorize the moment, the space between your mouths, the way you had just told him everything without saying it outright.

He smiled, slow and heavy with intent. “Then maybe I’ll wait until it really ruins me.”

Your throat went dry.

“Night,” he murmured, stepping back.

And just like that, the door closed between you.

But your heart stayed in his hands.

It was past midnight when your phone lit up.

"You still awake?"

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering, heart already answering before you could.

"i never really went to sleep"

Three dots appeared, then vanished. Then again.

"Me neither"

A beat of no incoming messages passed, then:

"I'm keeping myself up thinking about earlier''

Your breath caught.

"the tattoo?"

"Not exactly.."

You didn't respond right away. You didn’t have to. The air in your room had changed—thicker, tighter, like his voice might pour from the cracks in the wall's paint if you leaned in close enough.

And then the screen lit up again—this time, a call, to which you answered—not after panicking for a few seconds, of course.

“…Hey.” You whispered into the microphone.

His voice was low, rough from too many unsent words. “You looked good tonight.”

You swallowed the simmering embarrassment down. “You saw a lot of skin.”

“Not the part I meant.”

A silence stretched. Not awkward—intimate. It curled through the receiver like warm breath against your neck.

“Come by tomorrow,” he said finally. “I need to check your tattoo.”

“You just want to touch me again.”

“I'm not gonna sit here and lie to you by saying I didn't love every second of touching you. Come by tomorrow, please?”

Your skin flared at the bluntness. There was no smirk in his tone. No teasing this time. Just heat. Quiet and real.

You whispered, “Okay.”

The next day, you were back at his studio.

You told yourself it was just for aftercare, but the second you walked in, saw the way he looked up at you—eyes dark and steady—you knew you were both done pretending.

“Shirt,” he said softly, gesturing to the seat.

You sat. You peeled the fabric from your shoulder, the same stretch of skin that had sparked the night before and haunted his thoughts since. His hands were gloved, but his touch still felt like bare electricity.

He leaned in, inspecting the ink, but the space between you crackled. “Looks good,” he murmured. “You’ll heal fast.”

“So I can go?” you teased, voice thinner than usual.

He gave you no answer. Just peeled off the gloves, tossed them aside, and placed his bare hand against your back—palm flat, warm. Possessive.

“You came back,” he said. “That’s what I wanted.”

You turned your head, letting your cheek rest against your shoulder, watching him. “I did as I was told, Han. So what now?”

Han stepped around to face you. He reached up and touched your chin, tilting your face to his. The air between you shrank to nothing.

“Now I kiss you.”

And this time, he did.

His mouth was warm, unhurried, like he was tasting something he had waited weeks to touch. His fingers cradled your jaw, and you melted into it, into him, into the truth that had been aching beneath your skin for days.

He pulled back, just an inch.

“Still messing things up?” he asked, breath brushing your lips.

You smiled. “Only in the best way.”

The kiss tasted like every moment that came before it—charged, aching, sweet with restraint. His mouth moved against yours like a secret unraveling, like he had memorized the shape of your lips before ever daring to touch them.

You leaned into him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer like instinct. Like gravity. Han followed the movement without hesitation, one hand sliding around your waist, the other brushing the side of your neck—soft, reverent, as if you might vanish if he held you too tightly.

When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, your foreheads touched. Your eyes stayed closed.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes. “Then show me.”

The words cracked something open between you. Quickly, he sat beside you on the tattoo bed and pulled you onto his lap.

He kissed you again—deeper now, his hands no longer tentative. One slid under your shirt, fingers warm against the small of your back, the other braced at your hip like he needed the anchor. You shifted in his lap, and before you realized you had even moved, he groaned low in his throat at the feel of you straddling him, bodies pressed with no space between.

Still, he slowed. Just for a breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded, nose brushing his. “More than.”

His lips returned to the bare side of your throat—soft at first, then with the scrape of teeth. Your hands threaded into his hair as you tilted your head for him, shivering when he dragged his mouth down the slope of your shoulder.

“Han,” you breathed.

He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed against your skin.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said. “But not just this.”

You stilled, heart thudding.

“I want every version of you,” he continued. “The fire, the softness, the silence. I want the way you look at me when I'm not looking. I want the way you talk like you are not afraid but touch like you’re terrified.”

You exhaled, chest caving. “You noticed everything?"

“I tried not to.”

He leaned back to meet your gaze. His hands moved with more intent now, but still gentle—still you-first. His thumbs traced the curve of your hips beneath your shirt, and you shivered under the slow build of it.

And then, still holding your waist, he laid you back against the padded bench—carefully, gracefully—like you were something rare. Like he had dreamed of this exact moment in the quiet between days.

Your shirt came off slowly, inch by inch. His hands explored like a map he was finally allowed to touch. Every kiss was a promise: I will not rush this. I will learn you inch by inch. I will memorize every sigh.

When his mouth found yours again, the kiss burned hotter—teeth clashing gently, breath shared. You tugged at his shirt, and he pulled it over his head in one clean motion, your hands already seeking skin, already desperate to feel.

Still, even in the heat, he slowed now and then—traced your ribs with a single finger, kissed the inside of your wrist. Whispers scattered between kisses.

“I want you,” he said. “But I also want you.”

You arched into him, fingertips splayed across his back, heart wide open. “You have me.”

The second his shirt hit the floor, your hands were on him—tracing the taut muscle beneath warm skin, nails catching just enough to make him hiss. His mouth was back on yours before you could take your next breath, more forceful now, more needy. Tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your spine arch and your legs tighten around his hips.

Han groaned when he felt it—your thighs drawing him in like a vice, like you already knew exactly how this would end.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth. “You feel too good.”

“You haven’t even felt me yet,” you whispered back.

His eyes darkened.

He pulled you up in one fluid motion, strong hands gripping your thighs as he laid you down atop the workbench, your back pressed against cool wood, your skin burning beneath his palms.

He kissed down your throat, not slow anymore. Messy, greedy, open-mouthed kisses that left your pulse stuttering. He bit lightly at the curve where your shoulder met your neck, and you gasped—head tipping back, legs spreading instinctively, begging for more contact, more friction, more.

His hands slipped beneath the band of your pants, thumbs dragging over the sensitive skin at your hips.

“These need to come off,” he growled, voice thick with want. “Right fucking now.”

You lifted your hips to help, letting him tug them down along with your underwear in one swift motion. The heat in his gaze when he looked at you—all of you—bare on his table, flushed and panting, legs spread for him like it was the most natural thing in the world—

It made your stomach flip, made your core throb.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, like he was angry about it. “So fucking pretty and wet already, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“Then do it,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

And he did.

One hand pressed your thigh open, the other sliding between your legs, fingers stroking through your slick folds in a rhythm that was maddeningly light. He teased your clit with the pad of his thumb, watching the way your hips jerked, your mouth parted around soft gasps.

“You gonna let me make you come with just my fingers first?” he murmured, leaning close, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna feel you grip them before I fuck you. Want you so messy I can’t think straight.”

You whimpered, back arching. “Yes—please, Han—”

He slid one finger in, slow, letting you feel the stretch. Then two. Then a curl of his knuckles that had you crying out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the edge of the table.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Grind on my fingers. Let me see how desperate you are.”

You did—hips rocking, thighs trembling, your core clenching around him as he worked you open with deliberate pressure, circling your clit with his thumb until the pressure built fast and dizzying.

“I can feel you getting close,” he said against your throat. “You gonna come for me, baby? Right here on the table where I ink people’s skin?”

“Fuck—Han—yes—”

You shattered with a cry, legs shaking, body arching against his mouth as he kissed you through it—murmuring things you could barely process, words lost in the white-hot rush.

And when you finally came down, breath heaving, he leaned back and licked his fingers clean with a satisfied smirk.

“Think you’re ready for my cock now?”

You nodded, dazed. “Please.”

He undid his belt with one hand, gaze locked to yours as he stroked himself—slow, thick, already slick from the sight of you. Then he lined up, ran the head through your folds once, twice, teasing your oversensitive clit just to watch you twitch—

And then he pushed in.

You both groaned—deep, guttural—like relief and hunger all at once. He filled you in one slow, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You were soaked. Sore. Already wrecked.

But he did not stop.

He fucked you—hard, deep, each thrust lifting your hips from the table, your hands clawing at his back, your moans turning to whimpers, then cries. His name over and over.

Your moans spilled out in sobs as your second climax hit you like a dam bursting. It was hot—blinding—your release painting his cock in pulsing waves, your entire body locking up beneath him. All the hunger, the want, the times of aching tension you had swallowed back whenever he so much as looked at you with those dark, unreadable eyes—it all came out in that moment. You clenched tight around him, and he groaned loud and low, his head dropping to your shoulder.

“God—look at you,” he rasped, voice wrecked, pride and awe tangled in every word. “So good for me. So perfect when you come.”

But then, his hips stopped to a jarring halt. He was still buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. You could feel the tension in his body—every muscle taut, his hips stuttering in that way that told you he was right on the edge, right there—

But holding back. Just for you.

You cupped his jaw, breathless but steadying. “You didn’t come.”

He shook his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanted to feel you first. Wanted to see—fuck—how tight you get when you come around me.”

Your body gave a little twitch at the memory, still oversensitive, still full. But a flicker of something else lit behind your eyes.

You kissed him—slow and deep—and then, with a sly smile, clenched around him deliberately.

He choked on a moan, arms trembling where they braced beside your head.

“Baby—don’t—”

“You always so in control?” you whispered, brushing your lips along his jaw, down his throat. “Or are you just that good at hiding when you want to break?”

He groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “Please—fuck—”

You rolled your hips beneath him, just a little. Just enough.

“You’re still so hard,” you murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Still deep inside me like you need to be. You want to come? Want to fill me up?”

“God—yes.”

“Then allow me.”

You pushed him gently, and he let you—collapsing back into the chair beside the bench, cock glistening and flushed as it slipped free, twitching with the aftershocks of restraint. He barely had time to breathe before you dropped to your knees between his legs and wrapped your hand around him—tight, slow strokes from base to tip that had him gasping and clenching the arms of the chair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmured, kissing the head of his cock, licking the slit just to taste the salt of him.

His hips bucked and he cursed—head thrown back, abs tensing.

“Sensitive already, aren’t you?” you purred.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

You took him into your mouth before he could finish the sentence—deep and warm, tongue swirling as you bobbed your head, one hand cupping his balls, the other pressing down gently on his hip to keep him from thrusting.

He was loud now, whimpering, begging, gasping your name like prayer.

And when he came—god—

It was with a broken moan, back arching, thighs shaking under your palms. You swallowed everything, licked your lips, and looked up at him through your lashes as he tried to remember how to breathe.

His eyes were glassy, hair clinging to his forehead, chest rising in jagged waves.

You smiled. “Still in control?”

He laughed—wrecked, breathless. “Fuck no.”

You climbed into his lap again, your bare skin still warm, flushed and tingling, and curled against him with a quiet little hum.

He wrapped his arms around you like instinct. And then, softly:

“…Round two’s gonna ruin us both.”

You grinned against his neck. “Good.”

The studio held comfortable silence for a moment.

Only your breathing filled the space—shallow and warm, mingling with his where you straddled him on the tattoo bed again, skin flushed and shining in the low amber glow of the work light. The air smelled like sweat and sex, care, and ink—hot, heavy, and honest.

Han was still beneath you, arms slack, mouth parted. His chest heaved, his cock softening between your thighs.

You dragged your fingers along the lines of his jaw, smug and satisfied. “Speechless?”

He blinked once. Then again. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he rasped. “Just… trying not to fuck you so hard this bed breaks.”

You laughed softly—until his hands shot to your hips and slammed you down onto his thigh.

You gasped, the sudden friction making your oversensitive body jolt.

“I let you ruin me once,” he growled, voice low and wrecked. “Your turn now.”

You barely had time to react before he stood, arms beneath your thighs, lifting you like nothing. Your back hit the nearest wall—your bare skin flush to cool concrete, legs wrapped around his waist, his cock already hardening between you again.

“What—Han—”

“You think you can just look at me like that,” he snarled against your neck, grinding up between your soaked folds. “Touch me like you own me. And then walk out of here? Nah.”

You shivered. His cock pressed right against your entrance.

“Han—”

“Look at me.”

You did.

He didn't give you a warning. Just a brutal promise, growled against your skin; “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name—but still remember mine when your hands are between your legs for weeks after.”

Then he was inside you again—deep—in one smooth, merciless thrust, hips snapping forward so hard your back hit the wall with a dull thud.

You gasped—high and breathless—arms clinging to his shoulders, nails biting into skin.

“Han—fuck—”

He caught your cry in a kiss that was anything but sweet. All tongue, teeth, and desperation, lips crushed to yours like he needed your breath to survive.

Your walls fluttered around him already—sensitive from the first round, still dripping wet and raw, but ready despite the ache. He filled you so completely, so perfectly, it stole the air from your lungs.

“I felt this pussy clench around my fingers,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to slam into you again. “But it’s nothing—nothing—compared to how you grip my cock. So fucking tight. So wet.”

You moaned—helpless—every part of your body trembling as he started to move.

Hard. Fast. Focused.

Your back scraped against the wall with every thrust, the studio echoing with the filthy slap of skin on skin, the sound of your choked gasps and his rough groans.

“You want control?” he hissed, fingers digging into the underside of your thighs, forcing them open wider. “Then take it.”

He pulled out.

You nearly cried from the loss.

Then he moved you back to the table, your knees hitting the workbench edge as he turned you, bent you forward, pressed your chest flat to the table.

You barely had time to breathe before he plunged back inside from behind, the new angle making you cry out, high and broken.

“Louder!” he commanded. “Let the whole damn building know how good I fuck you.”

And louder you were when he found that spot inside you—over and over again, the pace brutal and relentless.

He gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet every thrust, the obscene sound of your slick arousal growing louder with every stroke. Your legs started to buckle—nerves frayed, every inch of your skin alight.

“F-fuck—Han—I can’t—too much—”

“You can. You’re taking it like a fucking dream,” he rasped, reaching down, rubbing your clit in tight, wet circles that made your vision blur.

Your whole body tightened—shaking, clenching, desperate to come again, and again—

He leaned over you, lips to your ear, voice hoarse:

“Come on my cock again, baby. Milk it. Let me feel that pretty pussy worship me.”

And you did.

You shattered—body convulsing, mouth open in a silent scream as you came hard, squeezing him so tight he cursed and slammed into you with one final, brutal thrust.

He came with a shout—loud, raw, high—hips jerking as he spilled inside you, his hands fisting in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

You stayed like that for a moment.

Ruined. One tangled, sweaty, aching mess.

Then his hands softened—smoothed up your back, traced the curves of your hips like reverence.

He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades.

“…Still remember your name?”

You laughed, wrecked and breathless.

“Remind me?" you whispered.

You did not remember collapsing—just that one moment he was still inside you, and the next, you were draped across the tattoo bed like laundry left out to dry. Your skin tingled, nerves alight, thighs sticky and trembling, your mind still floating somewhere just above your body.

And Han?

Han was slumped in the chair again, legs spread, one arm thrown dramatically over his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered into the crook of his elbow. “I think I blacked out. You short-circuited me.”

You snorted, face still pressed to the cool surface of the bench. “You short-circuited me. I’m literally leaking.”

He scooted the chair to get a full view of what you were talking about, eyes glassy but mischievous. “Good. I want it dripping down your thighs next time you show up in those little skirts you wear.”

You blinked. “Next time?”

Han grinned, wicked and lazy. “Oh, baby. This is so not a one-time thing. I’m gonna put a stamp on you like a repeat customer loyalty card.”

You rolled onto your side, raising a brow. “You’re gonna fuck me five times and give me a discount on a flash piece?”

He laughed—loudly. Like you caught him off guard. “God, you’re a menace.”

“You’re the menace. Who says that shit mid-stroke?” you shot back, mimicking his earlier line with mock dramatics: “‘Forget your own name but still remember mine?’ Who writes you?”

He leaned forward, dragging his fingers up your bare spine. “No one writes me. I just improvise.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So… you freestyled your way into making me cum thrice and see stars?”

He winked. “What can I say? I’ve got bars and stamina.”

You smacked him with a rolled-up paper towel, but he caught your wrist and pulled you into his lap, arms curling around your waist like he never wanted to let you go.

Then—softer, like he almost did not mean to say it aloud:

“…I really like you.”

You stilled, looked over to him and kissed him gently, pouring every single ounce of reciprocation your being had to offer him. Because maybe he was a cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man—but he was your cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man.

Even when he was a little bit of a menace.

The silence after pulling away was heavy—not the uncomfortable kind, more like an exhale. A shared, serene stillness, your heartbeat slowing while his lips ghosted along your jaw, your collarbone, the tender edge of your throat.

He had not moved far.

Still close. Still inside your gravity.

Then Han shifted, propping his head on one elbow which rested on the arm of the chair, eyes sweeping your face like he was memorizing something. His fingers moved before his mouth did—brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb dragging down your cheek.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him, still dazed. “Hey.”

He hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but because this, somehow, felt bigger than everything you both had already done.

“You don’t have to go home tonight.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His voice stayed soft, careful, “I mean… you could stay. With me.”

You stared.

He rushed to fill the silence, eyes darting between yours.

“Not just for more of this—though God, don’t get me wrong, I want more of this—but like. We could crash at my place. Order food. You could steal my hoodie. Wake up and make terrible coffee together. You could see what I’m like in the morning. Spoiler: not sexy. Kind of grumpy. But you’re good with chaos, right?”

You laughed—but something in your chest ached, cracked just a little.

Because he meant it—this wasn’t just about lust anymore. Not even about proximity or chemistry.

It was a choice.

He was asking you to stay, to see him past the high, into the quiet.

You leaned up, kissed him once—slow and certain.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered.

And the way he looked at you then—hopeful and smug and so unmistakably fond—made you feel warmer than anything else that night.

Sunlight crept in like it was in on a secret, painting lazy gold across your bare shoulder.

You stirred, slowly, blinking awake to the smell of coffee and something warm—eggs?—cooking in the kitchen nook. Your body ached, in all the right places. Inner thighs sore. Lips swollen. A fingerprint or five pressed like stamps into your hips. You stretched, wincing slightly, and smiled.

And Han—God, Han—was nowhere in the bed, but his hoodie had been draped over your legs like a blanket, his scent wrapped around you like a sigh.

You slipped it on, oversized and soft, sleeves swallowing your hands, and padded barefoot across the polished concrete toward the sound of gentle humming and the clatter of a pan.

Han stood with his back to you—shirtless, hair wild and sticking up in twenty-seven different directions, tattoos flexing as he flipped something in a pan. There were two mugs of coffee already out. One black. The other just the way you liked it.

You leaned on the doorway, biting your smile.

He sensed you, because of course he did.

“You’re up,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder. And then, softer, like he couldn’t help himself: “Fuck, you look good in my hoodie.”

You padded up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face on his nape.

“You’re feeding me. You really trying to make me fall in love with you?”

He chuckled, flipping the egg once again with a practiced hand. “That was the plan, yeah. Ruin your body, then win your heart with food.”

You laughed against his skin. “Tactical.”

He turned the stove off and turned in your arms, resting his hands low on your hips, looking down at you with sleepy warmth in his eyes. You felt it then—not just the physical closeness, but the easiness of it. The comfort. The pull.

“You staying the whole day?” he asked, voice quiet now, vulnerable in that way he rarely let show.

You nodded, brushing your lips over his collarbone.

“Only if you kiss me like that again,” you teased.

He grinned.

And did just that—slow, sweet, a kiss with no agenda other than to keep you there.

Later, with your stomach full, your limbs loose and drowsy from the best kind of indulgence, you found yourself curled up on the couch—Han’s head in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the messy strands of his hair.

Some terrible movie was playing on his television. Neither of you was really watching it. The remote lay forgotten on the floor. His fingers traced idle patterns on the bare skin beneath your borrowed hoodie, the both of you half-clothed, half-tangled, fully comfortable.

“This is dangerous,” you murmured.

Han cracked one eye open. “What is?”

“This. Us. You looking at me like I hung the stars and made your coffee.”

He smirked without moving. “You did, though. Kind of. That coffee was perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed anyway.

His expression softened, gaze dropping to where his hand rested just beneath your ribs. “You should let me tattoo you again,” he said after a long beat.

You looked down at him. “Now?”

“No,” he smiled, “not now. But someday. Something small. Just for me. Somewhere only I get to see.”

Your stomach flipped at the idea. You tried to play it off. “That’s a lot of trust, letting you draw on me permanently.”

His fingers slid a little lower, dangerously close to a place that still pulsed with the memory of last night.

“You already let me ruin you once,” he said with a grin. “What’s a little ink?”

You snorted, swatting at him half-heartedly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re still here,” he countered easily, nuzzling into your thigh like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You sighed contently as you carded your fingers through his hair again.

“Yeah,” you whispered, half to him, half to yourself.

“And I'm here to stay.”

drops this in your hands and runs off into the sunset

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

Little thing I wrote while procrastinating writing part 5 of Hide Your Heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve Harrington who knows his kid brother is obsessed with some niche, up and coming metal band. Steve Harrington who groans and grumbles and carries on about having to drive him around to shows and listen to him nerding out but does it anyway. Steve Harrington who doesn’t really pay attention because the lights on the stage are too bright and drown out whoever’s playing. Steve Harrington who is currently wading through a crowd making their way to the door, going against the current and stumbling as he searches for the mop of hair he promised to get home.

“Henderson!” He cups his hands around his mouth, “Where is that kid?” 

He finds himself pushed to the outskirts of the mass of bodies, plastered to a wall but he still pitches forward when a particularly rowdy young woman rams into him. He thinks he’s going to go all the way to the floor when a hand snags his elbow, holding him up. He turns to rush out an apology, a few thanks for the save, but stops before he can get the words out because holy shit the guy is gorgeous.

And Steve—well Steve has been doing some thinking about himself. About how most guys don’t have to mentally prepare themselves to go into the locker room after pe class. About how most guys don’t let their friends paint their nails pretty colors. Robin told him that there was this thing called being bisexual and he thought some things were clicking into place. So he’s gotten used to going out and noticing more than just girls, it’s not uncommon, but this guy is hot, like really hot. 

He’s dressed in leather pants and a cut off tank top that hangs around his sides. Tattoos, more doodles than actual designs, on full display for the world to see, running up his arms and peeking out from his ribs. His hair is in curly tangles, sweat sticking it to his forehead but he’s grinning. He has a jacket, leather, in his other hand. 

He’s also still holding on to Steve’s arm. Warm rings press into the inside of his elbow as he rights himself.

“First time?” The man asks.

“Y-yeah.” Steve gets out, “I’m supposed to be here with my brother, he’s a huge fan of some band playing here. Molded Coffin or something.”

The guy’s face breaks out into a full on smile, humor sparking in his eyes but Steve doesn’t know if what he said was that funny.

“Yeah? Where’s he at?” The guy still hasn’t let go, leading Steve away from the crowd and further into the room where there were less people.

“I’m actually looking for him now. Left him alone for five minutes to get a drink and he disappears.”

“You need help? These things can get a little crazy.” The man offers.

“You do this a lot?” Steve asks, immediately mentally face palming. He practically asked the guy if he came here often, he was going to think he was flirting. Was he?

The man just smiled, “You could say that. Eddie.” He finally released Steve’s arm in favor of holding out his hand. They shook hands and Steve told the man—Eddie—his name.

They talked for a while, Eddie got them drinks and Steve told himself that Dustin was old enough to behave himself for 15 minutes. Eddie kept an arm around his shoulders the whole time, shielding him from the chaos of the dwindling crowd was his excuse. Steve would have told him he didn’t need an excuse if that didn’t seem too forward.

 Eddie was just asking for his number when someone behind them called, “Ed! Quite flirting and get your ass over here! You’re helping us tear down this time!”

Eddie sighed, “Duty calls.” He scribbled something on to a napkin, patting it against Steve’s chest and backing away, “I’ll be waiting for yours, sweetheart.”

And Steve was either drunk or insane because he actually laughed at that. Laughed again when he looked at the napkin and saw numbers almost unreadable, a winking face below them.

“Steve! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you—What’s that?” Dustin’s tone went from annoyed to prying as soon as he saw the napkin.

“None of your business.” He stuffed the napkin in his pocket, “Are you ready to go or what, kid, I’ve been waiting forever.” He poked Dustin’s shoulder until he got moving and then he poked it again when Dustin scowled at him.

In the car he was once again subjected to Dustin’s after show rant about how cool it was. The guitarist apparently broke two strings and flipped the crowd off with his bloody fingers—which they went wild for, which Dustin screeched along with them for. They played a new song, but it all sounded the same to Steve. That was as much as he heard, though, his mind kept wandering back to the man after the show. To the number in his pocket. He debated putting it to use, was the next day too soon? How long was too long until Eddie forgot about him? A guy like that probably had a mountain of napkins with numbers thrown at him every day. He decided to get over himself and call late the next day. 

“Hi, this is Steve.” He suddenly felt very silly for calling but it was too late now.

“Steve, pretty boy from the show last night Steve?” And just like that he forgot why he hesitated to call.

“That would be me.” He cringed, “No, wait, that sounds so self centered.”

“Not self centered if it’s a compliment.” Eddie argued.

“If you say so.”

They talked, got 10 whole minutes of random conversations Steve never wanted to end before Eddie cursed.

“I’m sorry, I promised my uncle I’d help at the shop.” He muttered, “I’m gonna be late.”

“That’s fine, you should go help him.”

“I’ll call you later?” Eddie asked, and if Steve didn’t know any better he’d say it sounded hopeful.

“I’ll be here later.” He responded. 

They called all the time after that, whenever they were both free. They even met up in person, it was just to the park because Eddie found out Steve had never fed ducks before, but it ended with another day scheduled to spend together and then another and then a month had passed and he could say they were officially dating. It was the best time Steve had had in a long time and he really didn’t want it to end. The realization came to him one night, after another day with Eddie, and it wasn’t as shocking as he thought it would be. It was a Friday night, Eddie was busy most Saturdays—something about going to shows with the guys—so a lot of their slow nights were Fridays. They were watching TV on the couch in Eddie’s trailer, which was quickly becoming Steve’s favorite place, when he found himself watching the way Eddie laughed and even jumped at whatever horror movie was on more than he was watching the movie itself. 

“I love you.” He whispered. 

Eddie’s head whipped around, eyes wide, movie forgotten, “I love you too!” And then Steve couldn’t be blamed for not watching the movie anymore when he was practically tackled to the couch, laughing the whole way down.

It was a month after that night that he was steeling himself outside of his front door.

“It’ll be fine.” He said to himself, “They’re going to love you.” He said to Eddie who was gripping his hand.

“It’ll be fine.” Eddie agreed and he almost sounded convinced.

Today was the one day that everyone could gather at Steve’s. The whole party had shown up, everyone he had folded into his makeshift family was in his living room waiting for him to get back with the new partner he told them he was introducing. Today was the day they decided to tell people about them.

Steve pushed the door open, taking a deep breath before leading Eddie to the living room. All of his friends sat scattered around the room. On the couch and floor and coffee table. He could do this.

“Uh. Hey.” He cleared his throat, “I’m back.” All eyes snapped to him, eager to know who this mystery person was.

Eddie tried for an awkward wave but their hands were still connected so they just shook between them.

The silence was getting unbearable until finally Robin shot up from the floor and tackled him in a hug, subsequently dragging Eddie along into it.

“I’m so happy for you, dingus.” She laughed as she pulled away, “Robin.” She stuck her hand out to Eddie who visibly relaxed, “Best friend, platonic soulmate, hurt him and I swear to god you’ll wake up with no kneecaps.”

“Eddie.” Eddie squeaked, shaking her hand hastily.

“Bobbin.” Steve only called her that when she was being particularly over the top because it annoyed her to no end and she knew this, “Tone it down, would you?”

The rest of the group chorused their hellos and introductions and a weight lifted off of Steve’s shoulders at the sight of all of his friends accepting the news without comment. Until he realized there was only one person who hadn’t spoken a word, standing in the middle of the room with a strange look on his face.

“Dustin?” Steve prompted, voice strained.

“Oh my God.” Dustin mumbles in disbelief.

“Dustin…” Steve shot him a warning glance, “If you’ve got a problem with it—”

But Dustin ignores him, he’s staring at Eddie in shock, “Oh my God!” He practically shouts, coming to life to jump and screech, “That’s—! You’re—! You’re Eddie Munson!” 

Eddie grins, seemingly unfazed by this bizarre reaction to meeting your brother’s boyfriend, “I take it you’re a fan?”

“A fan of what?” Steve asks, pulling his hand out of Eddie’s to turn to him face to face.

At the same time, Dustin starts babbling hysterically, “A fan? Only the biggest CC fan in all of Hawkins! I have every song on vinyl, like three posters and—oh my god this is so embarrassing. Eddie Munson is in my house and I’m telling him I have his face on my wall.” 

He keeps talking but it’s more to himself than anyone else in the room so Steve raises an eyebrow at Eddie, “What’s he talking about? Why are you on posters and why does he have them?”

Eddie, for the first time since Steve has known him, looks almost sheepish, “Oh…I guess I’m kind of, maybe the frontman of Corroded Coffin.” He might be blushing.

“You’re that nerd Dustin’s always going on about?!” Steve exclaims.

[reysdriver]

Keeping It Quiet | E.M.

Eddie comes to visit you when everyone is sleeping... or so you thought — eddie x fem!hopper!reader fluff

warnings: suggestive content, making out, fear of getting caught, jokes about guns/getting shot

words: 1.7k

a/n: idgaf about timeline or continuity with the show when I do this series of oneshots, it's just kind of an alternate version of the show where Hopper is still here around the events of season 4 ig (also I LOVE this gif of joseph omg)

It was late at night, but you weren’t sleeping. You were taking advantage of the quiet house and catching up on some reading that finally wasn’t for school. You laid with the book at the foot of your bed, and your feet dangling over your pile of stuffed animals right by your pillows. 

It was so comfortable, you forgot about the world around you. 

And you were only brought back by the terrifying sound of someone knocking on your window. It scared you right out of your haze, at least until you looked outside and realised who it was. 

Eddie was standing right outside your bedroom wall with a stupid grin on his face, and he was pointing to the windowsill, wordlessly asking you to let him in. 

After rolling your eyes and marking your spot in the book, you got up and opened the window for your boyfriend. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, leaning over the separation to peck his lips quickly. 

“Not quite the warm welcome I was expecting.” He grunted, using the log you had placed under your window to climb in your room. “You’re not happy to see me?”

“You scared the hell out of me ‘cause you didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

“I didn’t know I was coming over until I was already in my van. I haven’t seen you in forever, plus I had something I wanted to show you.”

The last part was intriguing, but you still wanted to correct his dramatics. You’ve learned that if you didn’t act as the voice of reason sometimes, he would start believing his own exaggerations.

“It’s been two days since you last saw me.” And it didn’t take long for you to give in to whatever he was hiding. “But what is it that I have to see?” 

He let out an exaggerated sigh as he flopped down on the end of your bed. He looked up at you with fake sadness. “I should have known you would only like me for material things, Madonna.” 

“So what if I was a material girl? You’d still love me anyways.” 

He started speaking like he was in the school play, which he would never do. “It’s just sad—”

You jumped towards him to cover his mouth with your hand. As much as you loved his antics and would encourage it at any other time, it was all quiet in your house and you were petrified of waking your family. 

“Are you crazy?” You asked him in a hushed scold. 

He just nodded happily since he couldn’t speak with your hand still over his mouth. 

“If my dad hears you, he’ll burst into the room with a gun in his hand. You might be able to charm the pants off of me effortlessly, but I think you’d get shot if you tried to test your charisma on the chief of police.” 

You cautiously took your hand away from Eddie’s face while he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Stop looking at me like that and show me what you wanted me to see in the first place.” You told him, sternly but lovingly. 

“Wow, you really are the chief’s daughter.” He joked as he stood up and took off his leather jacket. 

You figured he was just making himself comfortable, but when he started taking off the t-shirt he was wearing underneath the coat, you wondered what was really going on. 

Then you saw it. 

On his right side, where his rib cage ends, there was a new tattoo. A flaming sword that you knew was based on his current—and favourite—Dungeons and Dragons campaign of his. 

He pointed to the pommel of the weapon, which was a heart shaped gemstone. 

“Did you see the end? It doesn’t have anything to do with the game, but I designed it while thinking of you.” He smiled at you, and you smiled back. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, Eds.” You answered sincerely. “When did you get it done?”

“Friday. Right after your dad picked you up from the mall.”

“Did it hurt?”

He shook his head as he gently pushed you back against your pillows, then positioned himself on top of you.

“Not as much as it hurts to be away from you.”

You had to stifle your own laugh at his corniness. As stupid as it was, you did feel kind of flattered by him at that moment. And that’s exactly why you let him kiss you, despite you being just a few decibels away from your sleeping father waking up and grounding you permanently for sneaking a boy in. 

But you pushed all your worries aside and let him press his luscious lips against yours. God, how you couldn’t get enough of that sensation. 

You loved how he kissed you just because he likes to kiss you, how he used flavoured chapstick so he could heal his chapped lips, and how he always tasted faintly of cigarettes and the lemon candies you got him hooked on. 

You loved all that almost as much as what came next. 

When he moved his lips from your mouth to your jaw, and then your neck. He nipped the skin just lightly and then continued to work his magic. You had both noted another time just like this that your bodies must be made for each other, and this exact moment was perfect proof for that claim. 

“Oh, god, Eddie. You’re so good at this.” You praised, trying to keep your voice down. 

He mumbled an ‘mhm?’ against your throat. He was such a sucker for your affirmations. 

“Yeah. Just be careful not to leave a bruise.”

Eddie lifted his head up, causing your face to morph into a frown from the expression of pleasure just a second ago. 

“You don’t want little reminders of my love?” He asked, lips exaggeratedly pouted. 

“Not when my family can see them, loverboy.”

He seemed satisfied with that response, returning his attention to you and practically attacking your neck with his kisses. The way his mouth was worshipping your neck damn near put you in a trance. It was so good that you didn’t even notice the soft knock at your door, nor the opening that followed it. 

When your younger sister called out your name softly, that’s when you realised the importance of not letting your guard down. You tried to push Eddie off of you as he hadn’t seen Eleven there yet, but he got up quickly once he did notice. 

You urged him to sit down and stay silent while you pulled El away from your bedroom and into the bathroom, all while your sister stared at you with a wide-eyed expression. 

Eleven was the first one to speak between you two. “Who was that in your room?”

“That was my friend.” You said, partially honest. He was your friend, he was just also more. “His name is Eddie.”

“What were you and Eddie doing?”

You racked your brain, trying to think of something believable to say that would get your sister off your back. You really should have prepared a lie before this, because it was proving to be more difficult than you would have thought; of course, you never really thought about your sister catching you making out with your shirtless boyfriend.

“We were playing.” You answered as confidently as possible. 

“Playing?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, you know when you and I play-fight, like wrestling? When Dad sometimes thinks we’re hurting each other but we’re really just having fun?”

“So you and Eddie were just having fun?”

“Mhm.” You ran a hand through her hair, feeling somewhat guilty about your lie. “Why? Were you worried about me?”

She didn’t seem fazed at all by your fingers combing through her hair, but her cheeks flooded with pink when you asked if she knocked on your door out of concern for you. 

“I heard you were awake and I wanted to know what you were doing.” Eleven told you. 

It really was nothing embarrassing, she’s just a shy girl. And now you felt less guilty about lying since you know she was just curious rather than upset. 

“Well, I was just playing with my friend. But, don’t tell Dad about Eddie, okay?”

“Why not?”

Another question you didn’t quite have an answer for. Luckily, you were quick enough on your toes that your little sister wouldn’t notice the nonsense spilling from your mouth. 

“You know Dad can be a fun sponge sometimes. Like when he spends an hour questioning your friends before you can hang out, or when he won’t let us turn the couch into a pillow fort. If he hears about Eddie, he won’t let us have fun together anymore, and I would be really sad if I couldn’t see my friend.”

She seemed to be eating your excuse up, knowing exactly what you meant.

“Okay. I won’t tell him.” She agreed. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

“And I don’t want you to be tired, little lady. So, now that you know what you wanted to learn, how about you go back to sleep, okay?”

“Okay, goodnight.”

She opened the slightly creaky bathroom door and headed back to her bedroom, hopefully to fall back asleep soon. 

“Goodnight, El. Sleep tight.” You called in a volume just above the whisper you were using just seconds before.

You stood in the bathroom alone after you heard your sister’s bedroom door close. For a minute, you just listened to everything around your house. The quiet wind blowing outside, the sounds of Eddie flipping through your books as he waited for you to come back, and best of all, not a peep from your father’s room. 

It was safe to return to Eddie in your bedroom and resume the fooling around from before. 

Once you silently pushed open your door, closed it again, and sat down next to your boyfriend on the corner of your bed, he pulled you onto his lap. 

“So, we’re in the clear now?” Eddie asked you. 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can be any less careful than usual. That just proves my family can hear us, so let’s not be stupid.”

A flirty grin spread across Eddie’s face as he trailed his fingers under your shirt and up your sides. “Baby, I can’t promise anything. Stupid is my middle name.”

[makeitmingi]

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 8]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.2K

"You can add a layer of natural compost to provide the plant with the nutrients its missing. Then add a layer of this mulch right at the top, it'll help keep the moisture in. Your plant should be fine right after." You smiled, handing the bag of mulch and natural compost to the customer after she paid.

"Okay, I'll go home and repot it properly. Do I stick to my regular watering schedule?" She asked.

"Water it every alternate day instead. Since we're retaining moisture, there's no need to water it every day now. Or it might drown the plant." You informed.

"Ah, I don't want that to happen." She giggled and you nodded with a laugh.

"Come back if you need any other help." You told her, walking her to the door. She bowed her head and left your store.

Once she left, you went back to working on online order pick ups. You recently received a big order for a huge event so you were trying to clear orders and you were not able to take in anymore new orders.

"Excuse me. Are you open?" The door opened.

"Yes, I am. How can I help you?" You wiped your hands and went out to greet the customer.

"I need a bouquet for a friend in the hospital. Do you do that? Maybe a small teddy bear, I don't know..." She smiled in embarrassment. But you knew what she meant and what she wanted so you waved her further into the store.

"Do you know the person's favourite flower? If not, there are sunflower bouquets, those are popular because of how bright they are." You chuckled.

"She doesn't have a favourite flower... Let's just go with the sunflowers. I know she likes blue, can that be added?" She asked.

"Of course. I'll wrap the flowers in baby blue tissue, there'll make it really pretty." You smiled.

"Thanks." She sighed and sat down to wait. You hummed softly to yourself as you picked out the sunflowers and began to trim the stems, remove the excess leaves and arrange them.

"I'll add some extra flowers on the side if that's okay, just to bulk up the bouquet." You checked with the customer.

"Sure." You nodded.

She watched as you laid everything out in a bouquet arrangement and tied the stems together with a rubber band first. Then you wrapped the bottoms with wet tissues and began to wrap the whole thing in decorative tissues. The girl watched you as you worked, securing the bouquet together with a ribbon.

"These are the designs of small animal plushes we have. You can pick one and I'll add it to the bouquet. Also, you can write the card." You placed the box on the counter for her to pick.

"This one. She likes cats." The girl explained. You placed a holder and positioned the flowers while she wrote the card.

"All done. Is there anything else I can do for you?" You asked as you walked her to the counter.

"No, that's all. Thanks for all your help, the bouquet is beautiful. I don't know anything about flowers. I just know you get it for people when they're sick." She shrugged.

"Of course, happy to help." You showed her the bill and processed the payment on her card.

"Thanks again." She bowed and walked out of your store.

"Now, where were we?" You continued to work on your online orders. Suddenly, someone tapped you on the shoulder, making you flinch and jump, letting out a small yelp in surprise.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, I forgot to ask for a name card." The girl from earlier asked.

"Sure, sorry about that. I overreacted." You tried your best to maintain composure as you went to retrieve a name card for her before she left again. Your heart was racing, you didn't know why you reacted so badly to someone touching your shoulder.

Who were you kidding? Of course you knew. Because it was like the guy that was at the club. You shivered as a flash of what happened passed in your head.

And at the same time, you wondered if the guy would come back and sought revenge against you. Or was he even alive?

"Don't think about that." You scolded yourself with a frown. You didn't know the state Hongjoong left the guy in, he could be dead or alive.

"Focus on work." You let out a long, shaky exhale and proceeded to throw yourself back into your work. Hopefully, that will be the last that you encounter Hongjoong.

You didn't know what he did and what he was but at this point, you'd rather not find out.

"Hi. I'm here to pick up order #2140?" A male came in.

"Yes, sure. Let me help you get that. Can I see the order confirmation? Just to be sure." You wiped your hands against your apron. He nodded and showed you in email.

"That's great. Here it is, order #2140. You can check that everything is to your liking. Then you can pay." You told the customer. He scanned the bouquet and nodded in approval, going to settle the payment. It was a standard bouquet that you had on the website, an anniversary bouquet that was quite popular.

"Have a nice day." You wished as he left. Since there was a little bit of lull time, you stopped working on orders and worked on your botany.

"Tincture." You opened your botany book. Tinctures were made of dried and/or fresh plants and herbs, steeped in either vinegar or alcohol to extract their properties.

"This, this and this." You sought through your collection to find what you needed.

Following the recipe, you picked out the herbs that you needed and placed them into a glass jar then added concentrated alcohol.

"Ready in 4 weeks? Wow." You wrote the date and type of tincture on a piece of tape and taped it to the jar. Then you placed the jar on the shelf to let it mature.

"Hi (y/n). Here for today's pick ups." The delivery man came through the back door like always.

"Hey, Mr Kim. Let me see which orders are for delivery." You went to the area where all the prepared flower orders were.

"Looks like it's all these here." You gestured. He nodded and began to bring the flower boxes out to where his truck was parked in the alley. You helped him carry the bouquets while he picked up more of the wreaths and flower boxes.

"You've got the addresses already right?" You confirmed. He hummed and scanned all the barcodes on the order invoices against his checklist to make sure everything was there.

"There's a bouquet missing it seems. Order #418?" He showed you the screen.

"Hmm. Let me check, it could be mixed up with the pick up orders." You went back into the store and looked for it.

"Roses bouquet with black and grey tissue." You checked the description on your order list. Maybe you had missed out on the order while wrapping the flowers.

"Sorry, Mr Kim. Let me quickly put that bouquet together." You bowed and apologised.

"No worries. It happens." He waved you off.

"Feel free to have some tea while you wait." You gestured to the pot of tea that you always brewed in the shop, it's usually for yourself or familiar visitors like delivery men. You quickly picked out the flowers that you needed and made the bouquet. It was a standard rose bouquet with baby's breath surrounding the red roses.

"There, sorry again for delaying you." You handed him the bouquet once it was done, all wrapped in the layered tissue and secured with a thick, silver ribbon.

"No need to apologise, (y/n). Thanks for the tea. Have a nice day." He patted your shoulder and left to make the deliveries.

"You too!" You waved as the truck drove off. After that, you went back to getting orders sorted.

Finally when you sat down, you winced as you lifted your leg. It was a sprained ankle, nothing too major but you've been hiding the bandage under pants and the pain with a smile.

"Hello~" Jihoon entered through the back door and you quickly put your leg down, making sure your pant leg covered the bandage.

"Jihoon, what are you doing here?" You blinked in surprise.

"Well, hello to you too, neighbour. I'm here to deliver you a warm lunch! You're welcome." He held up the paper bag and the iced drink that he was holding.

"Thanks, Jihoon. Let me know how much everything is and I'll wire it over." You smiled gratefully as you stood up. At your words, Jihoon shot you a flat look. He knew you would insist on paying but he didn't want you too.

"Hush, just eat. Don't worry about paying." He sat you back down and cleared your table so he could put the sandwich and drink down.

"Hmm..." You shot him a look but sighed in defeat and patted the seat beside you. Before sitting down, Jihoon poured himself a cup of tea from your warmed tea pot.

"This is nice. What is this?" He pointed, taking a sip.

"Mixed dried berries with raspberry leaf." You replied, taking a bite of the warm sandwich.

"Isn't that what pregnant women drink?" He raised an eyebrow. You shot him a surprised look but nodded in confirmation.

"Yeah, my mom gave a lot to my cousin when she was pregnant with my nephew. Supposed to make birth easy or something. I swear she even bathed in it once." Jihoon scoffed.

"It'll help with muscle cramps too, it's an anti inflammatory and anti oxidant." You explained.

"Hopefully it'll get rid of my calf muscle pain then." Jihoon chuckled and took another sip. You laughed and continued to eat your sandwich, enjoying your chat with Jihoon. Mrs Kim was always your lunch time companion, Jihoon must know that you would feel the absence of her presence and come.

"Do you miss her?" Jihoon asked. Your hands stopped and you paused your chewing before nodding your head with a hum, knowing he was referring to Mrs Kim.

"You know that she was the closest thing to a mother figure that I have ever had." You replied.

"Mhmm. I also know you didn't even give yourself a break." Jihoon stated.

"I don't need a break, Jihoon. Continuing and distracting myself with work is what helps me, not sitting at home and crying." You shrugged, standing up and going to toss the trash.

"Don't you have a cafe that needs running?" You chuckled, changing the subject so you wouldn't harp on that topic for too long.

"They'll survive without me." Jihoon waved you off. You laughed and shook your head.

You and Jihoon continued to chat until your lunch break was over and you chased him out. No doubt his workers were good but you didn't want to be the reason why their boss slacks. So after giving him a bouquet of flowers to decorate his shop with, he left.

"Welc- Hongjoong sshi." You blinked, stopping in your tracks. Having heard the bell, you thought that there was a new customer. You didn't expect Hongjoong to come in.

"Good afternoon." Hongjoong bowed his head as he entered your shop.

"W-What can I help you with?" You blinked.

"I... wanted to make sure you got your ankle looked at." Hongjoong cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Oh! I'm fine, it's just a sprain. Nothing big. Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable." You forced a small smile and gestured to the seats by your work table.

"I'm glad. Thanks." He unbuttoned his jacket and sat down on the stool. You poured him a cup of tea and offered it to him.

"Please, don't let me stop you from your work." He gestured to the materials that were scattered around.

"So, how have you been Hongjoong sshi?" You asked to try and prevent an awkward silence from falling down on the both of you. You kept your head down, focusing on the bouquets you were preparing to put in the display and fridges for walk in customers. Hongjoong watched you, sipping his tea.

"Same as always. What about you?" He asked back. You had stated clearly the last time you met that you didn't want the incident to be brought up again but Hongjoong couldn't help it.

"Fine. Same as always, too. Just here, running the shop, fixing orders, you know..." You shrugged.

"Hongjoong sshi, I don't mean this in any way at all but what's the real reason you came here?" You finally asked him.

"(y/n) sshi, I feel like I owe you yet another apology." He confessed with an honest look on his face. The way he looked at you, it just reminded you of Mrs Kim.

"If it's about what happened last week-"

"No, I mean, yes. Partly. I... I know we're practically strangers but I've been treating you unfairly." Hongjoong sighed

"Okay, now you've lost me." You chuckled. Hongjoong was relieved that you laughed, making this conversation a whole more lighthearted than he thought it would be.

"Like I said when we first met here... Whatever my relationship with my mother was shouldn't have clouded my view or attitude towards you. It's just... I don't know... It seems like we knew her as a different person entirely." He rubbed his temples.

"I get it..." You nodded your head with a hum.

"But that shouldn't excuse how I've been towards you. I have to deal with my demons myself." He confessed.

"It's okay, Hongjoong sshi. I know it can't be easy with everything that's been happening. And honestly, it's conflicting to me too." You empathised with him.

"So I'm not crazy." He cracked a smile.

"Far from." You giggled, fixing up the bouquet. You momentarily left the conversation to put the bouquets in the fridge.

"But still, I apologise." He insisted.

"There's no need to but if you insist, apology accepted. And I think at this point, we can drop the formalities." You turned your head to say to him as you arranged the bouquets.

"I'd like that." He smiled kindly as you returned to the work bench. You noticed his ears turning a light shade of pink. Dropping formalities didn't immediately mean a friendship but at least you two were no longer just strangers. Whether you liked it or not, the universe keeps making your paths cross.

"(y/n), I have another request, if it's okay with you." Hongjoon gulped as he mentioned. You nodded.

"I'm not ready to talk about my mother. My relationship with her, your relationship with her. I'm not ready... But when I am, I hope you'll help me." He looked at you with desperate eyes.

"Of course, Hongjoong. Any time. Whenever you're ready." You smiled softly.

RINGGGG

"Ah, hang on." Hongjoong clicked his tongue, annoyed that his phone broke that moment you were having. He looked at his phone to see Yunho calling.

"What?" He hissed, turning away slightly. You weren't gonna eavesdrop so you just continued your work.

"Look, Yunho. Just... hire another gardener, you don't need to tell me this! You make decisions too, all 8 of us do. If you need some sort of approval, ask Hwa." Hongjoong threw his head back with a groan.

"Fine, fine... Yeah, sure. I'm not sure why you want to add to my workload with this but I'll look when I get home later... Yeah, whatever. Goodbye." Hongjoong hung up with a grumble, glaring at his phone as he did.

"Everything okay?" You stifled a laugh.

"Oh, yeah. It's nothing. One of my brothers can't seem to hire a gardener himself all of a sudden." Hongjoong clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.

"Well, if it's not too much. If you're too busy to find a gardener now, I could help you in the mean time." You offered.

"What? Really? I don't want to make you busier, I'm sure you have a lot to do with the shop." Hongjoong shook his head.

"I wouldn't have offered if I couldn't. My shop is closed Sundays and Thursdays anyway, I could go once a week on those days to tend to the plants." You shrugged.

"Just until I have the time to find a gardener." Hongjoong said.

"Sure, whatever you're comfortable with. Do you have a picture of your backyard?" You asked.

"Oh, let me see. Although, I don't know what plants we have." Hongjoong took his phone out and scrolled through his pictures, trying to find the last time he took a picture of the backyard garden. When he finally found one, he showed it to you. Your eyes widened at the huge backyard. The fenced garden only took a portion of it.

"Wow... That's a big garden..." You couldn't help but be in awe.

"It is. But you'll just need to tend to the fenced area. The rest of the field behind it is not necessary." Hongjoong informed. That was where they killed or practiced weapons sometimes.

"Sure, I'll be there on Monday." You smiled, excited to be working in such a big garden space.

"Here's the address." Hongjoong took the small piece of paper from the table and scribbled it down for you.

"Thank you." You took the paper and tucked it into your pocket.

"When I came in here, I didn't think I would leave after having offered you a job." Hongjoong admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. You nodded in agreement.

"You never know what the universe has in store for you." You chuckled and cleared your work table.

"Thank you, (y/n). I have to return to work now but I'll see you soon." Hongjoong slid off the stool.

"You're welcome, Hongjoong. Thank you for stopping by. I'll see you Monday." You walked him to the door. He nodded and bowed politely before exiting the shop. You watched as a chauffeur opened the door for him to enter a luxury car before returning to drive off.

"What just happened?" You asked yourself in disbelief as you walked back to your shop counter. You told yourself you should steer clear but here you were, offering to work for him.

But it was too late to regret now, what's done is done. You knew you couldn't go back on your word.

You'll just go, tend to plants and leave. Simple.

"I'm not ready to talk about my mother. My relationship with her, your relationship with her. I'm not ready... But when I am, I hope you'll help me."

Hongjoong's words from earlier replayed in your head. It was so different, he looked and sounded so involuntarily vulnerable.

To be frank, you were not ready too. You were fond of Mrs Kim, she took care of you, cared for you.

But were you ready to hear how sour Hongjoong's relationship with her was? No, you were not ready to hear any of that. Especially since that wound still felt so fresh.

"I hope I don't regret this." You muttered to yourself.

~

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[nishayuro]

I don’t know if you still take requests (especially for Stanley) but I’m a very thirsty girl and I miss my men (and I really like your writing) so I ask anyway!

So, if possible, can I have the fluffiest of fluff ? Like the more tooth rotting stuff you can think about that men ? I’ve been having specially hard days and I’d love to have some comfort.

Thanks a lot even for just reading this ! <3

Dr. Stone Stanley Snyder Fluff Headcanons

A/N: Hii! I’m so sorry this took so long T.T I saw this request back then and just started daydreaming but didn’t have energy to write. But here it is!!! I too, miss my man sooooo much

Genre: FLUFF AS FUCK

Warning: You’ll get cavities

GN!Reader

Stanley is an extremely loyal boyfriend. He’s in the military, he knows loyalty by heart. 

During his downtime in the military, he comes home to you and takes you on lots of dates

Be it indoors or outdoors, he’s got you covered

I feel like Stan is the type to bring you to a laser tag arena or an airsoft arena. He wants you to experience what a “battlefield” feels like. (He will let you win because the smile and laugh you make is enough of a win for him) 

He’s paid GOOD money, being a marine commander for an elite force, he’s the type to spoil you rotten. You want a new wardrobe? Go use his card. Want a new gadget, you already know his pin. Want to go dine at an expensive restaurant, you know where his card is. He will give you everything you want. 

I think Stanley LOVES cuddles, he’s away a lot and is rarely with you, so for the times that he is, he will just lay in bed with you in his arms as you both talk about everything you two wanna talk about.

Stanley is someone who will listen to everything you say, his attention to detail and memory is so good. You mentioned this one thing in passing and you’re shocked when he brings it up months later. 

If you’re not comfortable with his smoking, he won’t smoke when with you. He’s addicted to it, sure, but he won’t risk getting you sick. If he really needs to, he might use chewing tobacco instead. 

I think you both would get a matching tattoo together. It would be something you both designed and is meaningful to you both. 

Whenever he’s on his break, he will take you travelling for vacation. 

He’ll take you to beaches, resorts, tourist spots, and to other perfect vacation places. 

You have definitely met Xeno, Stanley introduced you to his childhood friend when he was sure that he was serious with your relationship. You would get along really well with Xeno and you both tease Stanley a lot.

Stanley would be down to wear matching outfits! You both slay so much.

We all know how attractive Stanley is, and he knows it as well. 

There will be times when someone would come up to him and flirt, he will tell them that he is in a committed relationship or will just straight up ignore them.

One time someone was getting really annoying with their flirting while you and Stanley were on a date and you went to use the bathroom. 

As soon as you arrived, he wasted no time to pull you into a deep kiss in front of the other person, making them go away from embarrassment. 

Speaking of kissing, Stanley loves kissing you! 

Be it small pecks or straight out make out sessions

Stanley also really likes skinship, mostly in private. But he doesn’t have a problem with some PDA.

Whenever he’s deployed overseas, he regularly messages and calls or video calls you whenever he has time or has access to his phone. 

He loves when you fall asleep on call with one another

Or when he’s getting ready while you fall asleep and vice versa

Overall, Stanley knows that he’s not present a lot and he wishes he could be with you more. But he loves you so much and he’s dead set to prove that to you in anyway he can. 

“C’mon babe, the movie is gonna start!” You pulled him towards the cinema, popcorn in hand and his hand in the other. “Alright love, chill. You might trip.” He replies, slowing you down. You both got in your seats and waited for the advertisements to end. You would both whisper to each other during the movie, commenting about the scenes quiet enough to not disturb the others. When the movie ended and the lights turned on, Stanley turned towards you. “You have something there” He said, pointing near your lip. “Huh?” you asked, wiping at said place. “Let me.” he said, surprising you as he leaned in and gave you a kiss on the lips while holding your chin, pulling back with a smirk on his face as he got up. “Oi! Stann, what was that for?!” you exclaimed, blood pooling to your cheeks from being flustered. “Nothin’, you were just being cute.” he answered with a smile. He took your hand in his and led you both out of the cinema. As you were walking back to the parking lot, you decided to surprise him yourself. “I love you, Stanley.” You said, looking at him and squeezing your intertwined hands. His eyes widened, ears and cheeks a light shade of pink, “heh, I love you more, y/n.” He answered back with a smile.

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[strippedtights]

Fluff Nagumo (sakamoto days) x GN reader!! It could be about anything Idc as long as it’s fluff!! Include nsfw in the end if you would like too I don’t mind 🫶

✧ nagumo as your boyfriend

◜ ⟣𓂃 hey anonn :3 sorry for the hold up i've been suffering writer's block for like months and shit & i decided it’s the best for me to do like a little headcanon thing cuz like tbh i don’t think i could write a full fic tho 🫡 also the nsfw part is lacking at best because i genuinely still do not KNOW how to WRITE for NAGUMO!!! WHY OH WHY!!!! anyway i hope it caters to you. xoxo (。・∀・)ノ

warnings ✎ : nsfw content, gender neutral reader (genitalia is not mentioned only your chest and your butt KEK) obsessive behavior mayhaps? ➜ ┊ pairings: nagumo x reader

♯┆SFW .ᐟ ★

he's such a wonderful bf *sigh*

he's also quite a teaser ngl, i think he blows on your neck a lot and when you flinch and glare at him he always has a shit-eating grin.

quite overprotective of you, even if you're literally extremely muscular and can literally bodyslam someone, he cannot BEAR the sight of you getting a small scratch on your face. or you getting into a fight

he's also a drama king

"oh hey nagumo...uhh what're you doing...?"

"applying rubbing alcohol on your face duh, who did this to you?? >:("

"what're you talking about...oh."

"oh?"

"heh...um that was me. i did that. i was...ripping a candy bag open. with my teeth. and the sharp part...cut my face." *insert mlp squee sound*

"..."

he's still going to thoroughly disinfect it and check on it everyday until it's gone. what a king!

he's very handsy, so you will find his hand SOMEWHERE on your part of your body.

you get so used to it you don't even notice.

if you ever sleep together, he always has both of his arms wrapped around you and whenever you wake up in the morning, you feel a puddle of drool in your hair. like always.

when he's sitting down next to you he always has the habit of grabbing your nearest hand and massaging your phalanges. or just intertwining and detangling your fingers with his.

also has the habit of just staring at you for no reason

it's like when you accidentally hold eye contact or stare at a person while your zoning out

except for his case he does it intentionally.

quite possessive of you, in some cases it can be unhealthy. also a bit jealous. (i might go on with this in a ramble if i could)

always offers his frumpy looking jackets and hawaiian shirts for you to wear

and you do because...who tf wouldnt lol

and when you do wear them he melts a little

trace his tattoos with your fingers!!! he finds that gesture slightly intimate

also you two have a game where every year for his birthday you pick out the dumbest tattoo design and make him get it

last year it was a badly drawn dick with two circles and a long oval lol

♯┆NSFW .ᐟ ★

i think he's personally an ass/thigh man

he's always finding a way to sneakily grope them in public settings

speaking of that he probably likes public risky sex (what a freak literally)

the thought of you and him getting off in the back of some janitor's closet or something like that with the door unlocked will get him hard ngl

he also probably has a size kink

AND this might be an unpopular opinion BUT i personally think that he would want to explore pegging

but you didn't hear that from me........................

he would think about asking you about it time to time but he won't personally act on it because it's not something he wants to experience it yet

(sorry)

dick size is kind of around 5 or 6 inches when hard probably and it's not very girthy i will not lie 🙅but it hits all the right spots i guess so yass?

he likes bondage, but wants to see you tied up most of the time :3

⋆｡𖦹 °✩ 04.12.24, do not repost or translate my content :^)

[logysworld]

Ouch! | Vi x Reader

You're a tattoo artist and Vi wants a tattoo.

Fluff?, suggestive, kissing, flirty, casual! F!reader.

-

Music played on the radio beside your table, balancing on the plethora of papers and pens that you had scattered around your table. A sketch was finally coming together, just a little something that popped into your mind after months of an artist's block that kept your sketchbooks dry. It was a small yet profound design, depicting two hands just shy of touch. One hand robotic and slender, ripples of metal flowing around each curve that were shaded perfectly in depth. The other appeared normal at first, but upon closer inspection revealed a tension, fingers taut and desperate, scared, as if the other hand was impossible to reach. You sketched a galaxy around the hands, streaks of the sky and swirling stars surrounding them, like the universe itself was gently forcing the hands apart.

The familiar twinkle of your door chimes echoed as someone entered the shop and you peered over your shoulder briefly, not long enough to see who came in.

"Hey, you got an appointment?" You called out, twisting the dial of the radio to lower the volume of the music with one hand while the other continued sketching.

"Do I need one? You don't look very busy in here." She said mockingly, the thump of her boots echoing around the empty room. She was right, the shop had been really really slow lately, it was just a habit to ask each time someone came in.

"Yeah you're right, have a seat on that leather chair. Could you give me a minute- sorry- what's your name?" You looked over at her as she settled into the seat, a pale and bruised (also muscular) hand running through her dark pink hair.

"Vi. And you? What's your name gorgeous?" she asked, turning sideways on the chair to manspread.

"Y/n." you replied, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. Her ice blue eyes scanned your figure when you stood up, following the sway of your hips as you walked towards her.

"Cute name. You're real cute." She tilted her head at you, a curiosity flashing in her expression.

You laughed. "How can I help you, Vi?"

"I want a tattoo. a small one, right here on my finger." She spoke low, lifting the red sleeve of her jacket and tracing the side of her left pointer finger. You noticed a tattoo on her forearm, which seemed to lead all the way up. You leaned in closer, nodding as you took in her request.

"and," her voice went quieter, almost a whisper.

"and I want it to say 'POW!', with the mark thingy on the end?" You nodded and scribbled in your sketchbook for a minute or two. Her hand dropped while you sketched and her shoulders hung slightly. You looked up at her, feeling somewhat sad at the sudden change in demeanor, leaning in even closer instinctively.

"Okay, I can do that. What's the occasion? Or... would you rather not talk about it?" You had already drawn three versions of the design in your book, facing the page towards her for approval.

"That," she said pointing at the second design, "..and its not much. Just for somethin' important to me. I'd actually rather talk about you, gorgeous." she sat forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees while she watched you turn away from her. You playfully scoffed at the quick switch in attitude, brushing off her previous show of vulnerability as to not make her uncomfortable. You started tracing the design on paper using the tray behind you.

"Is that so? What exactly do you want to talk about?" You span back around in your seat, now scooting closer to her and grabbing her hand. She bit on the inside of her cheek at your touch, letting her hand rest in yours as you pressed the stencil into her finger.

"With that pretty voice? And that face? I could talk about anything with you, babe."

"You use that corny line on every girl?" you cringed, smiling, eyes glued to her hand as you applied the design.

You heard a laugh, and her chest dropped further towards you.

"Mmm.. no? I only see one girl infront of me right now, and she's just. So. Fucking. Gorgeous. What else am I supposed to say?" she came closer with each word, warmth emitting from her mouth as she spoke.

"Are you gonna keep calling me that?" you rasped, not realising you were holding onto your breath. You tried to appear unfazed, but the red flush on the tips of your ears already gave Vi the sense of satisfaction she was craving.

"Yeah I might. Why? You like it?" she tucked a stray hair behind your ear, her hand lingering on the skin of your neck just below your jawline. You felt chills. she was so close, whispering as if it was sinful for anyone to hear.

You coughed and shrugged it off, pressing the design hard into her finger, causing her to sit up slightly. Her hand was calloused and rough, scarred, knuckles red and blue from fighting you presumed. A dirty bandage wrapped around her palm and ended at the wrist, frayed at the edges.

"What? Pretty girl doesn't wanna talk now? Did I get you all nervous?" her stenciled hand turned to stroke yours and she looked at you with a pout.

You pulled your hand away. She's a troublemaker for sure.

"Vi, please. I work better when im not under pressure, okay?" you sighed, turning to grab the needle and dipping it into the black ink.

"Alright, so you are nervous. Got it." So cocky, you thought. She winked at you, putting her hand in yours before you could grab it from her.

You couldn't help but laugh. "God."

"Damn, gorgeous. I know I'm all great and that, but you don't have to call me God."

"Please shut up, Vi."

"Whatever you say, pretty."

You brought the needle to her skin and started drawing over the stencil. You licked your lips and she sucked in a breath, despite her having such detailed, and definitely more painful, tattoos already painted across her arms.

Her gaze was like a heat wave, so hot and so harsh you felt like you were about to start sweating. She watched you carefully, not your hands but everything and anything else. She watched how you tilted your head back and forth to see how the tattoo looked from afar, and how your legs squeezed together everytime you did so. You bit and squeezed your lips as you pressed the needle into her. God your lips. She let her gaze lower further down, admiring the perfect tone of your skin. You really were gorgeous. She didn't even realize how long she was staring at you until she felt the sting of antiseptic being wiped across her finger.

"All done!" you beamed, standing up and walking away to clean off your needle.

She inspected the fresh tattoo.

You heard her swallow harshly, and turned to see her sad smile.

Her smile morphed quickly into mischief and she looked up at you. "Someone has fast hands."

"It comes from practice, Vi." you smiled feeling proud, turning back around to put away your equipment into their designated sections.

"Oh yeah?"

She stood up from the chair, taking a few steps forward until the space behind you felt nearly gone.

"I'm sure you practice a lot, huh?" she teased.

She raised her arm, allowing her fingers to dance on your shoulder, falling lower and lower, drawing lines on your bare skin. your breath hitched and you looked at her hand. She dropped it to rest on your hip, gripping at the skin free from your cropped tee.

"You're so pretty. Let me look at you." Her voice tickled your ear, sending a shiver through your entire body.

"Vi." Your heart rate picked up.

"Turn around, gorgeous. Please."

It sounded like a command, desperate, but soft, all at the same time. You turned to face her and she smiled, now placing both hands on your hips and squeezing gently at the start of the bone.

"Look at that pretty face."

She forced you backwards as she stepped closer, letting your lower back hit the table with a pang. Your hands came up through hers and you shyly let them lay on her chest, not daring to look into her eyes. Then, her hands left your hips and came around the backs of your thighs, wrapping and bringing you upwards onto the metal table without struggle, spreading your legs around her as she did so.

"Hmm. So pretty." she cooed. The cool of the metal felt like ice on your skin and you shivered, leaning into her. She caged her arms around you on the table and leaned forward, brushing her nose against yours.

"Can I kiss you, gorgeous?" She asked, barely audible. You looked into her eyes and she stared back at you, so so sweetly. You let yourself lean in closer, your lips touching but not together just yet. She sighed into your mouth, the tension so strong you could feel it on your tongue. When you licked your lips she pushed herself onto you and kissed you, hands now holding your jaw. The kiss was soft at first, her lips caressing yours so gently it sent a wave flutters to your chest and stomach. But, when you wrapped your hands around her neck and moaned into the kiss, she couldn't hold back a grunt. She licked into your mouth, hands on your ass as she pulled you impossibly close. You stayed just like that for a while, but a growing frustration played out in her kisses, eventually taking over her hands which were squeezing so hard you swore they could leave marks. Your back arched in response, letting Vi push you further onto the table until you had to support yourself with one hand, the other tangled in her hair.

The twinkle of your door chimes interrupted the kiss and you hesitantly pulled back, but Vi was determined, lowering her kisses to suck on your jaw and neck. You peered over her shoulder, fighting the hands which pushed you back down.

"Vi, just- one sec-"

A nice looking man stepped inside, looking at the designs on the walls before landing his eyes on you, or Vi covering you more so.

"Vi-, shit," you swore under your breath, her teeth nipping on your collarbone.

"Hey! I have an appointm- oh, SHIT, hey, it's fine! It's fine it's fine I'll come back later, tomorrow! Im so so sorry! Shit!

The door chimes clinked against eachother as he ran out and you cursed to yourself. Vi finally paused on the marking of your skin when you threw your head back in guilt.

"Hey, don't worry gorgeous. Atleast you have me."

"Shut up Vi." You rolled your eyes, bringing your hand up to flick your nail on her ear.

"Ouch!"

Any requests send in the inbox 😛 this is my first ever fic so I hope my fellow arcane family approves ♡ rizz #vi forever

[michuga]

kaleidoscope

summary: supposedly, when you turn 19, sometime within that year, you meet a guy who turns your whole life upside down. your first love, your first heartbreak. one year. 365 days, 5 hours, 49 minutes.

pairing: jeongguk x reader

content: lowercase intended, artist reader, tattoo artist jk, use of korean name, overuse of the word 'lover', fluff, their favorite hobby is admiring eachother, angst, angst, then more angst, shared trauma, basically just life happening

warnings: cursing, pregnancy & childbirth, abortion, miscarriage

wc: 6.5k

a/n: bare with me as i try to figure out my writing style ㅠㅠ i almost cried while writing this. or maybe i got some chappell in my eyes, idk. enjoy!

.ılılılllıılılıllllıılılllıllı.

kaleidoscope - chappell Roan

0:24 ─●──────── 3:42 ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

it's funny, isn’t it? for someone who had it all figured out at 18, standing here at 23 and watching him pack his bags for the last time, you can’t help but let your mind wander. somewhere between 18 and 23, you tumbled (on a rock, a jeongguk shaped rock) and you’ll never be the same.

you had heard stories about “the boy you meet at 19”. friends, family members, hell, even online communities complained about it. supposedly, when you turn 19, sometime within that year, you meet a guy who turns your whole life upside down. your first love, your first heartbreak. one year. 365 days, 5 hours, 49 minutes.

that was all bullshit of course.

jeongguk was not your first love, nor your first heartbreak. nevertheless, you know what he was? he was your first clash. your first storm, the first rain after a long hard year of drought. there’s no other way to explain it. he didn’t sweep you off my feet or visit your house with a boombox on his shoulder begging for you back, but it all turned out just the same.

"this seat taken? all the others are." you hear a voice call out, snapping you out of your creative flow.

you look up to see the most beautiful pair of mahogany orbs you've ever seen.

you look around, most of the seats empty.

confused, you answer, "sure?"

he pulls out the chair in front of you, with a huge grin.

"i'm jeongguk," he says, extending a hand for you to shake.

his t-shirt sleeves strain against his biceps, and you finally notice his inked arms. what you don't notice is holding onto his hand for a few seconds too long, entranced by the stunning artwork.

letting go with an awkward clear of your throat, you pull your hand back to rest on your laptop's trackpad.

"you are breathtakingly beautiful, and i would've beat myself up for the next two months if i didn't talk to you."

arriving at the jazz bar jimin invited you to, you scan the room to find him.

locking eyes with him, you make your way across the room to where he's sitting.

you loved being friends with jimin.

jimin was charismatic, chic. always dressed to the nines with his leather jackets and designer boots. he carried around this sense of subtle dominance, deep down he knew he controlled every room he walked in. but most importantly, he was also the gentlest friend you could ask for.

if you ever needed a shoulder to cry on or a pair of hands to hold your hair back when you throw up, jimin made sure you knew he was always one call away. as were you, when it came to him.

"you made it! hello, hello, hello!" jimin chirps, extending his arms out only to engulf you in a bear hug.

"i can't wait to see tae on stage!" you say, coming out from the hug.

the main event of the night; taehyung, jimin's boyfriend, was to perform a song with his band tonight.

"come! sit with us." jimin says, leading you back to his table.

you notice five men already seated. upon first glance, you didn't notice anything unusual, all of you exchanging greetings. that was until your eyes land on the last man on the far end.

"you again?" you blurt out of surprise.

"me again. hi beautiful." the familiar man says with that cheeky grin of his, his eyes having been already fixated on you the minute you walked through the door.

"wait. you two know each other?" jimin asks confused, looking back and forth between the two of you.

"you can say that.." you answer meekly, looking away.

looking back at jeongguk, jimin waits for an explanation.

he only gets a shrug from the younger man and another grin from him in response as you move to sit next to him.

"no, you're gonna tell me! i want to know." jimin complains as he sits down.

as the night went on, you and jeongguk got to know each other more. you had always longed for the organic in relationships. an organic meeting, organic conversation, and most importantly; organic chemistry. it seemed like the man in front of you checked all your boxes.

it turns out you and jeongguk were way more similar than either of you initially thought.

you both had this sense of freedom, like no matter what anyone told you. if you had your mind set on something, you'll make it happen, simply because you willed it so.

you carried this sense of carelessness-- no, that's not the right word. lightness? ease? navigating the world. like in the end, nothing really matters. both of you live life on a whim. you joked about hoping it wouldn't be your downfall, then laughed it off.

"do you ever look at the stars?" you say, laying on your back, looking up to the sky.

"do i ever look at the stars?" he slowly repeats, laying on his stomach, admiring the freckles on your face. "hmm.."

“i don’t need the stars. i have your eyes to look at.” he answers after a few seconds of fake pondering.

“that’s so sappy oh my gooooddd”

“what can i say? you make me sappy baby.” he says with a stupid grin, brushing strands of hair away from your face.

you and jeongguk had been dating for a month and a few weeks now. initially scared shitless to open your heart up again, you're glad you've made that decision. you can confidently say you've never been happier.

you continue, "you don't ever like, count them? you know they're actually dead, right?"

"dead? whaaat? that's crazy," he says, smiling like a lovestruck idiot.

finally shifting your focus to the man next to you, you glance sideways, “god, i love you. you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

it's your 1-year anniversary with jeongguk. both of you were inseparable at this point, where one of you went the other followed. from that point onwards, both your lifestyles tangoed and merged into one. his friend group became yours, your favorite spots became his, and everything else that could be shared, was. it was the most delicate display of intimacy; domesticity.

after taking you out to a nice romantic dinner, both of you ended up at your apartment. one of the many things shared within your relationship was your homes. this, being his second one, wasn't unfamiliar to him.

gently tracing your curves, jeongguk lay sideways. his head propped up on his elbow, admiring you. opposite him, you lay on your side, reading your book.

"watcha' readin'?" he asks in a silly tone, the very one you'd use to talk to a kid.

with a sly smirk and a brief glance at your lover, you answer him.

"smut. steamy, filthy smut. but after the passionate romance, of course."

"oh? anything in particular you'd like to recreate?" he takes on a challenging tone, slightly amused.

"maybe."

"can i see?"

"nope. you'll have to figure it out yourself."

"not even if i ask politely?"

"nnnnope!"

and just like that, the calm before the storm ended. you had dug your grave and laid in it. all that was left now, was to await your fate-

"you cheeky little minx, come here," he says with a renewed vigor, swiftly getting on top of you and getting straight to work tickling your sides.

"nooooo, please, please," you say breathlessly in between tickles.

you're not sure if it's physically possible to laugh your way to a six-pack, but it seemed to you that in those 30 seconds it had been made possible.

"alright, baby please!" you yell, desperately gasping for air.

finally freeing you from this relentless torture, jeongguk stops. as the laughter dies down, both of you pant with stupid smiles plastered across your faces. with jeongguk still on top of you; his weight balanced on both his arms, you stare into each others eyes.

"y'make me feel so loved, y'know.. you're my person, gguk." you coo, affectionately brushing his hair away from his face with one of your hands.

"thank you for trusting me enough to be that for you, baby. you make me the happiest man on this damn planet. i mean it."

"move in with me." you blurt out.

"okay."

"you spend most of your time here anyway, my apartment can fit both of us, you have clothes everywh- what?"

with a giggle, he repeats, "okay. i'll move in with you"

"that easy?!" you scoff.

"who told you it was hard?" scrunching his nose at you, he continues, "i'd carry the sun aflame; scorching hot and all, with my bare hands for you should you ask. are you really surprised?"

"jesus, shakespeare. you trying to get into my pants or something?"

"maybe. is it working?" flashing you a bunny smile, he leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips.

you roll your eyes, but without an ounce of annoyance.

"for the last fucking time jeongguk, stop leaving your clothes all over the place!" you let out, irritated.

ignoring you, he keeps scrolling through his phone.

"hey! did you hear me?" you continue, waving your hands in front of his face.

"why are you yelling right now? that's really unnecessary."

"so your answer is to ignore me?"

"you know i don't like being yelled at. speak to me like a normal human being."

"i would, if you were behaving like one."

"whatever," he says with a tsk.

jeongguk isn't usually unreasonable, it was just one of those days. both of you have those days sometimes. now, more than usual though.

"i asked you to move in with me because i love you. now stop being a child and pick your damn clothes up." you spit, tossing his shirt that was once sprawled out on the floor, in his face.

a few hours later, both of you head out to meet your friends.

arriving at the hangout spot, you and jeongguk take your seats next to your friends.

"there you are, lovebirds!" hoseok yells out excitedly, standing up to greet you.

the drinks kept coming. you could handle your liquor, but you knew jeongguk couldn't exactly do the same.

a steady stream of alcohol was maintained. one drink, two drinks, then the next, and the next.. he gulped them down with ease one after the other, until he was slurring his words.

"and then i told him; that can't possibly be right, you're not exactly the brightest" jimin says, the entire table bursting into laughter at his story.

"how are you guys? enjoying the domestic life together? tae asks, slowly sipping his drink next to jimin.

silently glancing over to jeongguk, you brace yourself as you watch him prepare to speak.

"loooooove this one," he blurts with a lopsided smile, throwing his free arm around your shoulder. "always has to keep the house all neat and tidy,"

"baby, you've had a bit too much to drink, yeah? i think we'll head out now guys."

noticing the awkward shift in the air, the guys agree with you and tell you it's fine, gesturing for you to get up.

"it's not like y-you always pay attention t'me. w-why do you only pay attention when you're- scolding me?" jeongguk continues, in between hiccups.

"c'mon. up you go," you say ignoring him, wrapping your hands around his torso to get him up.

with taehyung's help, you finally manage to lay jeongguk's (very heavy) body across the backseat of his car.

"thanks, tae. god knows i would've ruptured a disc had i attempted that alone."

"it's really no problem, cupcake. make sure to text us when you get home safe, alright?"

with a sigh and a nod, you get into the driver's seat.

"why are you being like this?" you murmur, starting the car.

one of your favorite past times with jeongguk is spending time together doing your own thing. it's the best and most efficient way to get things done while silently supporting the other. it also tells you a lot about how comfortable and safe you make each other feel. you have nurtured this relationship so carefully, and watched it blossom into what you have now. jeongguk knows this, he knows how at ease you feel during these simple, mundane times.

what you haven't told him though, is you have something you enjoy more.

secretly admiring him as he works.

sometimes when he's fully immersed in the task at hand, you secretly stop what you're doing and just stare at him. there were times you even pretended to do something, just so he can get busy and fail to notice your piercing gaze.

you can't help it. in your eyes, he's perfection itself.

so this time, as he was typing up an essay, you grabbed your sketchbook and got to work.

spilling ink to fill the blacks of his eyes, carving out the beautiful slant of his nose, the little mole under his lip.. his sweet honeyed features come together to breathe life into your drawing.

this isn't the first time you draw him. time and time again, you've tried to mimic his essence on paper. you're not one to brag, but you'd like to think you're a good artist. great even, from what your professors have told you; but try as you may, you have never once been successful. no amount of charcoal or white highlights on the canvas in your hands could capture a glimmer of your lover's warmth.

"is that.. is that me?" you hear a voice say, snapping you from your thoughts.

whoops.. guess you got careless and accidentally drowned in his eyes for real this time.

your cheeks turn a rich shade of crimson as you shyly nod.

sliding his laptop off his lap and taking his glasses off, he asks, "can i see?"

reluctantly, you hand him the sketchbook.

"it's not finished.. i was gonna shade some more and add highlights-"

he flips through the pages, looking at the earlier pages.

"wait!" leaning over, you try to grab the sketchbook from his hands. however, he manages to swiftly move his body, lifting the sketchbook out of your reach.

nevermind that he caught you drawing him, that entire sketchbook was filled with sketches of him.

finally reaching the first page, his eyes scan the page to read the words written in cursive,

"୨୧ jeongguk sketchbook ୨୧"

he stayed silent for a few minutes.

"baby.. are you mad at me?" you ask, concerned. with a bite of your lip, you anxiously wait for him to say something.

"i'm gonna marry you one day," he says, looking into your eyes in awe.

"i wish my professors reacted that enthusiastically upon seeing my work," you giggle, relieved. "also, is that a threat?"

"it's a promise," he says with a roll of his eyes, fighting a grin.

settling into his accustomed place between your thighs, he gets on top you.

"you have an essay to write. no funny business, mister." you jokingly scold, patting his butt with your foot.

"okay mom," he says with a smile as he starts kissing all over your face.

"nooo, why'd you have to say that before kissing meee" you whine, turning your head left and right to avoid his kisses.

scrolling through your phone, you wait at the tattoo parlor jeongguk works at for him to be done with his client.

handing you a bottle of water, yoongi takes a seat next to you.

"he'll be out in a few. just wrapping the client's tattoo." he informs you.

"can i see that?" you gesture to the tattoo book on the table, "jeongguk" written on the cover.

handing you the book, he starts, "quite the talented one, your boyfriend. we have lots of artists, but his work really is a sight for sore eyes. clients usually go for him."

with a giddy smile, you open the book, "you know when i first met him, his tattoos were the first thing that caught my eye. not to brag but, i don't doubt any of that for a second."

chuckling, yoongi gets up. "i'll be in my office if you need anything."

with an appreciative nod, you thank him.

feeling the couch take a dip, you smell him before you can see him.

"hi baby," he takes a seat next to you.

"hi my love," you lean in to kiss him. "i knew you were talented but holy shit, your hands were kissed by angels."

"the only angel that's ever kissed them is sitting next to me. so you're right, i guess." he says, nodding in agreement.

tracing the lines in the book, you stare in awe. it seems your lover renders you speechless most of the time you're with him.

"soo… i did a thing," jeongguk says as he enters your shared apartment, taking off his shoes.

"uh-oh."

"no uh-oh. c'mere," he beckons with his hand, buzzing with anticipation.

turning off the stove, you make your way over to him.

"close your eyes,"

"okay, now i'm scared."

"hurry uuupppp."

placing your palms over your eyes, you reluctantly obey.

"no, not your hands. give them to me."

suspicious, you keep your eyes shut and reach out your hands for him to take.

you hear the sound of fabric shuffling, then feel your fingers touch warm skin.

warm.. engraved skin?

"you can open them now."

your jaw hangs open.

"oh baby, that's beautiful.." you say, your eyes welling up with tears.

staring back at you is your birth flower, tattooed on jeongguk's side below his ribs.

"since you were so in love with my designs, i thought i'd make you one your own."

chuckling, you reply, "shouldn't it be on my body then?"

"you make a good point, but my body is yours, so by extension, this tattoo is also yours."

"okay smarty pants." you say with a smile, wiping away the tears rolling down your face. "let's go watch a movie."

one kiss. two kisses.

"baby.." he says, turning his head away.

"let me make you feel good. just relax." you graze your hand along his chest.

with a sigh, he sits up, letting your hands fall.

frustrated, you get up.

"how much rejection can i take?" finally fed up, you burst. "how many times are you gonna shut me out?" this hadn't been the first time jeongguk denied you. he's been mentally withdrawn from you for a few weeks, coming up with one excuse or another.

he rubs at his temples.

"i try and i try and i try. you don't talk to me about what bothers you, you barely touch me anymore.. what am i supposed to do, jeongguk? you're with me but you're not even here." desperate for an answer, you plead.

"i already told you. i'm taking more courses this semester, and yoongi wants me to work extra shifts at the parlor. not exactly an aphrodisiac for me."

"baby, stress will always be a part of our lives. you have to lean on me when it gets hard, that's what relationships are for. we're a team now, you can't keep shutting me out like this."

you had always been upfront with jeongguk about the importance of communication within your relationship. you could handle just about anything, but not this.

crackle. pop.

it was new year's eve, you heard fireworks go off outside your home.

at almost midnight, you were waiting for your boyfriend to come back.

sitting under your skylight, you admire the show in the sky. the light illuminates your face as you gaze up.

you feel your phone vibrate in your lap.

j<3: "working late."

j<3: "don't wait up."

life had a funny yet cruel sense of irony. everyone was out celebrating, while over here, it seemed like your whole life was coming to an end.

after what feels like hours of dreary silence, you hear the front door open. he's home.

nervously pacing back and forth in your shared bathroom, you wait for him to come into the bedroom.

god, it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

you hear footsteps. turning around, you meet his eyes.

"i'm pregnant." you say abruptly, with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

at 21, this is the last thing you expected to happen. it seems you had gotten careless. young and in love.

after a few moments of utter silence, both of you sit side by side on your bathroom floor.

"fuck. fuck, okay. fuck."

you burst into tears for the third time that night.

"i'm not ready.. we're not ready.. can't believe this is really happening.. ggukie, what are we gonna do? m' so scared"

"hey, hey, hey.. it's okay. we'll get through this. you hear me, baby? we're gonna be alright. it's okay. i've got you. as long as we both have each other, nothing else matters." he reassures, pulling you both into the bathtub, cradling you into his chest.

"sure it's happening sooner than we thought, but this was the plan all along angel, wasn't it? hm?" he says softly, wiping away your tears. "we'll get married, once you pop out this little one we can get a house in the suburbs.. my parents can help us out financially.. my love, look at me. deep breaths."

you calm down, finally catching your breath. you had forgotten you weren't gonna be alone in this. you felt as long as you had jeongguk, you were ready to face anything.

"what about school?" you ask.

"you can take a gap year. i'll drop some classes and make sure i'm by your side."

"i'm gonna be a dad." he says after a long silence. you feel tears wetting your shirt, unsure whose they were.

and maybe it was going to be alright. because you were in his arms. carrying his child, you were going to have your own family. with the man you love.

you finally allow yourself to feel excitement. the joy of becoming a mother. you allow yourself to feel hope, the kind that comes with the promise of a seedling sprouting from the dirt.

one thing you admired about him was his humility. perhaps one of the most powerful things he does is; at his best and most successful, my baby comes back home and kneels before me. looking up at me, i see in his eyes everything i ever prayed, could pray, and would ever pray for.

my lover never once forgot me. no matter what it was, he always shared it with me. not once has he ever treated me as less than.

"baby! guess what i gooot!" you hear the front door shut.

truthfully, things had gotten better after your big news. remarkably better. jeongguk had been paying extra attention to you, making sure you’re well tended to, fed, comfortable.. it was almost like how you two were in the beginning. when it was still fresh.

running into your room excitedly like a little kid, jeongguk holds up a pair of baby socks.

"look how adorable!" he exclaims, eye twinkling.

smiling fondly, you entertain him as you rub your already swollen belly.

"i can't believe they make socks that tiny." you reply with a soft chuckle.

"i know, right? i didn't even know someone's feet can be this tiny!"

at 3 months pregnant, things weren't as bad as you had initially expected. you had taken a gap year, like jeongguk suggested, and both of you were doing just fine.

having him by your side made everything so much easier, and you wondered why you ever thought you couldn't do this. being his lover and the mother of his child was the easiest and most natural thing for you.

unrequited

/ʌnrɪˈkwʌɪtɪd/

adjective

(of a feeling, especially love) not returned.

can love be one sided?

a question i'm sure has been passed around for centuries past. after all, i'm sure you're familiar with the term "unrequited love".

so can it be?

well, i don't think so.

i believe people who claim it, mislabel infatuation. love can never be one sided. as far as i'm concerned, in order to fall in love, both sides have to have experienced their fair share of vulnerable moments. human moments. for the word "love" to be spoken and for it to be real, it has to exist tangibly, undeniably, between two people. love does not shy away and hide, love stands tall and proud; like the biggest elephant any room has seen.

if there really is love on one side, it's mirrored on the other side as well.

some may argue, the term "unrequited" still stands, because the other person may feel love, but not the romantic kind intended; i beg to differ. love, no matter its form, will warm you from the inside out. to deny its existence on the other side merely because you don't like how it takes shape and presents itself, is a selfish act of fraud.

as usual, good things don't last.

you like to think the love was there. it really, irrefutably, was. and most days, that's what get helps you get by. after all, the life growing inside you was proof of it. or was, anyway.

looking at your bathroom mirror, you see a woman you don't recognize.

you have the same eyes, but hers are weighed down with dark rings. where you once saw a bright curious girl, stands a woman foreign, burdened with tribulations; the aftermath of adolescence.

turning to the side, you lift your shirt up to reveal your stomach. you lightly ghost your hand over your abdomen. pang in your chest, sting in your eyes. breathe, 1, 2, 3.

you walk into your shared bedroom to find jeongguk seated on the bed with his phone in hand.

your steps coming to a halt, you look up at him. with dead eyes, you mumble quietly, "i lost the baby."

"what was that?" he asks, unable to quite make out what you were saying.

"i lost the baby," you repeat, loud enough for him to hear this time.

frozen in shock, he stares at you with wide eyes.

"..what?" he says with a whisper, tears instantly flooding his eyes.

you stay silent.

"are you- are you sure??" he asks with urgency, immediately springing up from the bed to stand infront of you.

with a slow and apprehensive nod you reply, "just got back from a checkup."

jeongguk raises his hand to rub his face. you flinch.

mortified, jeongguk looks at you with wide eyes.

"did- baby did you just flinch? what the fuck?" he says, hurt written all over his face.

you slide down the wall behind you, needing anything to stabilize you. of course you weren't expecting him to hit you. were you? you don't know anymore. your body has become foreign to you, and you curse it for always betraying you throughout your years. this time, it had been the biggest betrayal of all.

jeongguk immediately reaches to grab your weak body, kneeling on the ground with you.

he takes you in his embrace once more, and a cruel, ironic sense of déjà vu washes over you. once more, you lie in each others arms. only last time marked a beginning, this time marked the end.

but the love was there. right?

if jeongguk hadn't been touching you as much before, now he really didn't, at all. it's not that he didn't try, he has, a few times. but you really, really can't bring yourself to let him touch you right now. when you shared that with him, he understood, he really did. but after all, how long can someone be understanding, until they finally realize, they've had enough?

"it's been months.. i understand how you feel, and it's no easy thing what we just went through. what you went through. you're so strong, mama. so strong."

mama. you could almost hear the crack in your heart.

"i don't wanna sound like an asshole, and i'll never, ever force you; so long as i draw breath.. but baby i long for you. i just want to connect with you like we used to.. i ache for your touch. i know it's not easy, but can you please try?"

"i know, i know. i'm sorry, baby. i'm sorry," you whisper, averting your gaze to the floor with tears in your eyes.

"i think we should take a break." you blurt out, breaking the silence.

"what?"

"i need a break."

"from me?" he asks, voice coming out more fragile than intended. jeongguk knew your relationship has become rocky to say the least, but what he wasn't expecting was this.

you stay silent.

"okay.. if that's what you need." he lets out, defeated.

getting up, you grab a suitcase and start packing clothes.

"where are you going?" alarmed, he instinctively gets up to follow you.

"to jimin's."

agonizing silence.

"do you have to do this?"

"yes."

you feel suffocated. you've heard of post-miscarriage hormones, and you don't know if that was what was causing your recent irritability, but it seemed like everything and everyone around you annoyed you. never in your life would you have imagined that would include jeongguk. you hated yourself for it. you tell your lover everything, but this one secret you were prepared to take to the grave.

"you're welcome to sleep with other people, if you'd like."

"you really need to stop making these decisions all on your own." he says, sounding fed up. "i don't fucking want to be with anyone else. do you really think it's about the sex for me?"

angrily stomping over to you, he gently grabs your face, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"do you really think, all i want is a fucking nut?" laughing in disbelief, he lets go of your face, ruffling his hair in frustration. "i want you. you."

biting your lip, you grab your suitcase and make your way to the front door and text jimin to let him know.

you hear a sigh and footsteps behind you. "here, let me." jeongguk says, taking ahold of your suitcase before you can argue.

with a small smile, you follow behind him. even when he's hurt, he takes care of you.

you get in your car. adjusting the mirror, you see jeongguk looking back at you in the reflection. forcing yourself to look away, you start driving.

making your way inside jimin's apartment, both of you take a seat on his couch, setting your suitcase beside you.

"what happened?" jimin asks hesitatingly, scared to set you off. he knows of everything that happened the past few months, upset with you after realizing you had hid it from him for a while. he wasn't upset with you, but rather the fact that you had endured it alone all this time. but he understood. he could never blame you.

"we had a fight. well, sort of," you explain with a sigh. "i told him i needed a break."

"is it okay if i hug you?"

upon your immediate approval, jimin leaps into your embrace.

"i don't know where to begin," he starts, voice muffled by your clothes. slowly pulling away, he catches your eyes.

"you've had it so hard. so hard." tearing up, he continues, "if a break is what you need, i'll gladly support it. i may not always fully understand what you're going through, but know you always always have my full support regardless."

seeing your angel of a friend cry, tears are brought to your eyes as well.

"why are you crying? aren't i supposed to be the one doing that?" you say, chuckling.

"so i can't cry now? let me cry, woman!" matching your energy, he replies.

you would never admit it to the man waiting for you at home, but within the confinements of your best friend's living room, you finally allow yourself to speak it aloud.

"looking at him reminds me of what happened. he reminds me of her."

with a knowing nod, jimin takes your hand in his.

"our baby. god, jimin, i couldn't stand to be in that room a minute longer."

you're glad you had your best friend alongside you all these years. seeing you in all your states, he's the one person you can truly call family. love like this, you were sure of. love like this, you could never let go of. love like this, you've learned to truly cherish.

you spent a little over a week at jimin's.

you and jeongguk hadn't been talking, and you noticed he was spending longer and longer hours away at night. tonight you decided, enough is enough.

"where the fuck have you been?" you spit out like venom, spotting the messy haired man at the front door. after waiting all night for jeongguk to finally come back home, your voice had gained an edge.

"does it fucking matter?" he answers, matching your vulgarity. a habit both of you, unfortunately, picked up.

"it's 4 am. you left without a word and now you smell like an entire fucking candy shop. think i don't know what you get up to?" because like any human being, despite making it clear you were okay with him sleeping with other people, the very idea broke whatever was left of your heart into tinier fragments.

you continue, "you think the loss of our babygirl hasn't impacted me? it hurt me the most. as i was sitting here, grieving your fucking child, you were out fucking whores. instead of being with me and helping us get through it, you fucking bailed on me. you abandoned our relationship. you abandoned me."

"watch your mouth. that's not fair. that is not fair. i have never unfaithful to you. we haven't been fine for a damn long time and you know it."

you knew you weren't being fair. you knew he wouldn't cheat on you, either. but you couldn't stop. you couldn't bring yourself to stop. you had reached the point of no return, and all your anger had come up to the surface to breathe. claws, sharp edges and all, 'i am here. i am here.' it screamed.

“that doesn’t mean you stay out all night every single day and pretend i don’t fucking exist! if you want to break up, grow a pair and fucking say it to my face.”

"frankly, that's none of your concern. you lost the right to what i did a long time ago."

if it weren't for the four years you've known this man, you would've missed the slight stutter in his words. you've memorized every freckle, every curve, every dimple.

"are you drunk?" you ask slowly. your anger dialing up to 100.

ignoring you, he makes a beeline for the spare bedroom door. where he had been sleeping for the past- you can’t even remember how long it’s been.

you don't know when you reached this point. it was all sunshine and rainbows, then it all went downhill. well, you can't say it was sudden. to tell the truth, you and jeongguk's relationship has been strained for a long time.

upon asking him to move in with you, you had thought being in close proximity with your lover would make you grow closer. on the contrary, within the same four walls and under the same roof, you had never felt further from the person you were supposed to love for the rest of your life.

"iseul."

he stops in his tracks.

"that's the name i had picked out for her. iseul."

turning around, jeongguk looks at you as if you had just slapped him.

"that's a beautiful name," he murmurs.

"she would've been ours. would've looked just like you, to a t. i bet she would've had your beautiful big eyes."

"she would've had your laugh.." he chokes out, tears flooding.

"we were supposed to get married and grow old together. what has become of us? since when were we like this?

"shit baby, i don't know. i don't know." slowly walking over to you, he pulls your head in his chest. he holds you with the same frailty he used to. back when you were younger. back when he loved you. when you loved each other. it seems like nowadays all you do is fight.

your communication has gone to shit. it was like both of you were speaking a language the other couldn't understand.

"we had something didn't we?" you whisper into his chest, your tears staining his shirt. "we loved each other, at some point, right?"

“of course we did, baby. of course we did. what we had, though humble, was real and i would never change it. the love was there."

he continues, "you’re gonna find so much better. you’re gonna have so much greater. we’re not meant for each other. god knows what we went through wasn’t easy. it was fucking hell. we fought tooth and nail to get here, i know your pain. i’ve seen your pain, it is mine too. maybe it isn't fair to say this, but we need to get out of this bubble. long as we keep coming back here, we’ll always be reminded of all the hurt and the pain. we both need fresh starts. we deserve it."

"is this really happening? this is really happening. oh god. oh my god." feeling a panic attack coming on, you try to take deep breaths.

jeongguk hugs you tighter, gently stroking your back.

"that's it baby, breathe. breathe, lover, breathe. nice and slow, just like that. there we go, my love."

it passes, but the heartache doesn't, so you settle for keeping your face nestled into his chest, crying your heart out.

you love him. oh god, you love him like you breathe air. but he's right, neither of you can live like this.

"i wish i hated you. you asshole, i wish you made me hate you." weakly punching his chest repeatedly, you sob into his chest. "would've made things so much easier."

gently stroking your hair, he softly hums.

"thank you for making this decision for both of us. god knows i'm not strong enough to leave."

"it's because i love you so much, i can't bare to see you like this. it kills me every waking fucking day."

stepping away from your embrace, jeongguk retreats to your bedroom.

looking at him confused, you sniffle.

"lovesong" by adele blares through your apartment.

stepping back out, he approaches you again.

"come here, love."

extending a hand out to you, he invites you to dance.

and so you did.

i hope my lover never forgets me.

bonus

silence.

you were once a teenager with loud thoughts. loud, angry, vengeful. you were so, so angry. now there's just silence.

listening to the ocean waves crash against the rocks, you admire the scenery in front of you. even in their violence, it seems to you that those very waves kiss the surface of the rocks, only to retreat in shyness. how romantic.

was the ocean always this beautiful?

a/n: please let me know what you think! truthfully, i think i could've added more of my writing (beyond narration, i mean), but i didn't want to leave this rotting in my drafts for too long. if there's one thing i learned about being a creative, hiding your creativity, refusing to share it with the world, or putting it off is not only a waste; but you're denying beautiful, alike souls the pleasure of enjoying your work ♡

[kathlare]

inked in love

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: After a successful qualifying session in Montreal, Lando Norris finds himself in a tattoo shop with his boss, Zak Brown, who’s getting a commemorative tattoo. Inspired by their playful banter, Lando decides to make a bold, sentimental gesture for Amelie, marking a small piece of himself with a tribute to her.

Wordcount: 1.1 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

June 6th, 2024 - Montreal, Canada

The streets of Montreal were buzzing with fans and excitement as Lando Norris walked out of the McLaren motorhome after a solid qualifying session. He had bagged P3, and while it wasn’t pole, it was still a prime spot to fight for the podium—and maybe even a win. Zak Brown, his boss and occasional partner-in-crime, clapped him on the back with a wide grin.

—Good job today, kid,— Zak said. —You earned yourself a night off. What do you say we head to that tattoo shop I mentioned?—

Lando smirked. Zak had been talking about this tattoo ever since his Miami win last month. He wanted to commemorate the team’s victory with a track outline on his forearm.

—Sure,— Lando said with a shrug. —Why not? Let’s get you inked up, boss.—

As they walked into the tattoo shop, the smell of antiseptic and ink greeted them. The place was modern, with sleek black furniture and walls adorned with framed artwork. Zak looked around like a kid in a candy store, while Lando leaned casually against the counter, texting Amelie.

Lan🧡: Guess where I am. Ames💛: Considering the time? A bar or a bad decision. Lan🧡: Close. Tattoo shop with Zak. Ames💛: OMG, no way. Is Zak actually doing it? Lan🧡: Yep. Miami track. Says it’s “team spirit.” 😂 Ames💛: Love that for him. Are YOU getting one? 👀 Lan🧡: Tempted. What should I get? Ames💛: Hmm… a tribute to your incredible girlfriend? Maybe my face on your arm. Lan🧡: Bold choice. What about your name? Ames💛: Nah, too basic. Do an “A” or something cute. Lan🧡: Bet. Ames💛: You wouldn’t. Lan🧡: Watch me.

Lando chuckled at their banter, but as he looked around the shop, an idea sparked in his mind. It was reckless, maybe even stupid, but it was also... perfect.

When Zak got called to the chair, Lando casually approached one of the artists, a young woman with bright purple hair.

—Hey,— he said, lowering his voice. —Think you could fit me in for something small?—

The artist raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Zak, who was laughing as he showed the artist his design.

—What are we talking about?— she asked.

Lando tapped his shoulder, just below the edge of his shirt sleeve. —A small ‘A’ here. Simple, clean, nothing fancy.—

The artist nodded. —Easy enough. You sure about this?—

Lando grinned. —Completely.—

While Zak was busy wincing through his session, Lando slipped into the second chair. The artist prepped his shoulder, and as the needle buzzed to life, he felt a mixture of excitement and nerves.

—This your first tattoo?— she asked as she worked.

—Yeah,— Lando admitted. —But it’s for someone special, so I think it’s worth it.—

The tattoo didn’t take long—just a few minutes of sharp pressure before the artist leaned back with a satisfied nod.

—All done,— she said, handing him a mirror.

Lando craned his neck to look at the tiny ‘A’ etched onto his skin. It was subtle, just a couple of centimeters tall, but it was perfect.

—Looks great,— he said, his smile widening.

Back at the hotel, Lando called Amelie.

—What’s up, troublemaker?— she teased as she answered, her face lighting up on the screen.

—Oh, nothing much,— he said casually. —Just wanted to show you something.—

He angled the camera to his shoulder, pulling his shirt slightly aside to reveal the fresh tattoo.

Amelie froze.

—Lando,— she said, her voice a mix of disbelief and awe. —You didn’t.—

—I did,— he replied, grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with something naughty.

She stared at the screen, her fingers covering her mouth. —You seriously got an ‘A’ for me?—

—For you,— he confirmed, his tone softer now. —It’s where you usually kiss me, so... felt right.—

Her heart felt like it might burst. —Lando... that’s the sweetest, and dumbest, thing you’ve ever done.—

—You love it,— he said confidently.

—I do,— she admitted, shaking her head with a laugh. —But if you ever regret it....—

—Not a chance,— he interrupted. —I love you, Amelie. And this? It’s just ink. You’re what matters.—

She smiled, her eyes glistening. —You’re such a sap, Norris.—

—Only for you,— he shot back, winking.

As they continued talking, teasing, and laughing, Amelie couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by how much he cared. Lando Norris, reckless and endearing as ever, had a piece of her etched onto his skin—and onto her heart.

-------------

liked by lanmelieupdates, f1gossipgirl, and others

zbrownceo: Yep, I did it again! 😂 Another tattoo, this time for our win in Miami, and Lando’s first in F1. I have to say, it was just as painful as the first time. Thankfully, Lando was there to give me all the encouragement I needed… not!

View all 13,914 comments

landonorris: don’t lie Zak, I held your hand the whole time 😌 → zbrownceo: @landonorris you were laughing the whole time → landonorris: @zbrownceo emotional support looks different for everyone

lanfan420: i’m crying he really said “anything for my boy” 😭 → mclovinitbaby: @lanfan420 team principal of the year tbh

tightturns4tea: someone check Lando’s arm i feel like he left with a matching one → ameliesleftboot: @tightturns4tea if he didn’t he’s getting one before the wedding that’s for sure

georgerussell63: you better leave room on that arm, Zak. Canada’s next. 😏 → landonorris: @gerogerussell63 chill mate

ameliedayman: that’s my winner 🥹 you’re lucky he didn’t actually tattoo you himself lol → zbrownceo: @ameliedayman If he had, I’d be walking around with a stick figure instead of Miami circuit 😂

charles_leclerc: Tattoo budget at McLaren is going wild this year → landonorris: @charles_leclerc worth every penny → ameliedayman: @landonorris pls tell him about yours → landonorris: @ameliedayman you told me not to 😇 → charles_leclerc: @landonorris oh we NEED to know now → ameliedayman: @charles_leclerc he’ll crack after two texts and a pout, just wait.

f1wifelando: wait hold on… why is everyone talking about Lando getting a tattoo too?? DID I MISS SOMETHING??? → gridtea: @f1wifelando apparently he got it at the same time as Zak 😭 → paddocksource: @f1wifelando confirmed by literally NO ONE but Amelie is acting suspicious sooo 👀 → dayman_army: @f1wifelando I saw him scratch his shoulder on the walk back to the motorhome 👀

landoafterdark: what if it’s not a big thing and it’s just like... an F1 thing?? → sapphics4nova: @landoafterdark don’t kill the romance pls → maxliveshere: @landoafterdark it’s def for Amelie. you think he’d get something boring after teasing us like that?? be serious

mclarensmut: okay hear me out. Amelie kisses his shoulder all the time in candids. he def got something there. → quadrantsource: @mclarensmut no because now I’m sobbing. a tattoo WHERE she kisses him?? → landokisses: @mclarensmut pls. it’s giving 'this is where she lives' energy 😭😭

[sanjisboyfie]

rockstar ! trafalgar law headcanons

trafalgar law x male reader ; he might seem ooc but he isn't, trust me. this is how law is supposed to be perceived, i talked to oda himself and sorted this all out with him before publishing.

-> listened to brooklyn baby by lana while writing this...hehehehheheehhehehehehe ps. i think that is my favorite photo of manga law ever oh my fuking godhes so hot.

rockstar ! law . . . did not get famous overnight, but also did not get famous on purpose...if that makes sense. like his ass was up posting his guitar covers on youtube for years before someone reached out to him on joining a proper band. but also he wasn't posting those guitar covers with the intent of getting noticed. he just wanted people to see how SICK he was on guitar (he's a not-so-secret narcisst). but also another reason he posted them was because of you, his boyfriend who he had been in a relationship for a year at that point, was encouraging him to do so. your support for him and his talent was really assuring and fuelled him to be confident enough to post them online. (he was kind of against the idea at first, probably saying romantic shit like, "i want only you to hear the songs i play," but eventually was swayed when you spent many minutes convincing him to)

rockstar ! law . . . when he finally goes on tour with his band, he is pretty insistent and headstrong in allowing you to come with. he doesn't care if he needs to pay out of pocket money to fund your stay with him and his bandmates, he will if he has to. because he's not leaving you for months on end, pursuing the dream that was only possible because of how you supported him through it. there's absolutely no way he's going on tour without his boyfriend.

law's tattooed arms were crossed over his wide chest as he listened to their manager and a team of people tell him and his band about their upcoming plan for their first ever tour.

after the end, when it was about time for everything to wrap up, law calmly asked, "what about bringing significant others?" this makes the executives share looks with one another before apologetically smiling at him.

"sorry, another person added onto the travel, boarding, and all that will not be able to fit into out budg-"

"then i'm not going," law says simply, already getting ready to storm out of the room. but the manager stops him by his wrist.

"n-now, let's not get hasty! this was not something we accounted for-"

"well you should've, i'm not going anywhere without him. i'm not gonna leave him." law states stubbornly, glaring down at the man that was much shorter than him, "he's either coming with us or i'm not going at all."

a silence passed over the room and his bandmates were internally praising law for having the balls to stand up to these powerful guys so carefree like that.

maybe that's what had made him such a good rockstar.

his passions that he was not willing to back down for, he'd settle for his desires being fulfilled or nothing at all.

what they didn't know was that all of those passions were singlehandedly fuelled by his immense love for you.

"a portion of it will have to come out of your pocket, then. we really don't have the funds to bring on another person. so if you can't-"

"i can manage. if that's all, and we're all good. me and [name] will be ready by the designated time and meet you all at the location with all of our things," law easily says, walking out of the room with his broad shoulders being the last thing the executives saw.

"wow, law is so cool!" a memeber, stage-named penguin, said with stars in his eyes.

"don't get any ideas." the manager immediately cuts them off before they can gush further.

rockstar ! law . . . is very openly gay for you <3 doesn't really care that people are expecting him to act a certain way because he is a rockstar, he could care less. he's said time and time again that the only reason these fans of his have the oppurtunity to appreciate him to such an extent is because of you. had it not been you encouraging him to post his covers, he would not be standing on that stage for them to admire. so he can be as shameless as he wants in displaying his affection for you. naturally, law isn't the most into pda, but when he hears annoying people batter him for being so into you, his boyfriend, he feels the need to piss them off even further.

law's calloused fingers were playing with the flesh of your waist as he held you close. it was dark in the after party room so he made sure to keep you secure to his side so that he wouldn't lose you in the crowd.

there were a bunch of celebrities that attended their recent show scattered around the room, but he didn't care for them. not when he had you on his arm. plus, he didn't really like these after parties that much - he'd much prefer to be on the tour bus cuddling with you.

feeling unimpressed with the party, he turned to you to feel some comfort. when he saw how you were just taking in the view of everyone, he leaned down to kiss you, surprising you at the sudden affection. but soon, the both of you were just pressed against the wall of the room and blatantly making out with each other. his raven hair was messy by the time you two pulled away from each other and that knowing smirk of his was proudly plastered on his face.

the next morning, the internet were ripping law into pieces for still being in a relationship with you despite having access to as many beautiful women, handsome men, and alluring people that he could have wanted. he was a talented, well-known name in the scene with a handsome face and charming demeanor. he could have had anyone. and some were frustrated, for some reason, that he was still with you.

five years going strong in your relationship wasn't enough for the press to believe he was satisfied and completely settled down with you, for some reason...

he groans the moment he sees the headlines, throwing his phone to the mattress and turning into your side to be comforted by you once again. the only person capable of calming him down still remains to be only you.

"love you," he says against your skin, making you laugh at the sleepy confession.

"love you, too, law. you know i don't care about the stupid shit they say," you comment, making note of how tight his arms were around your waist.

he doesn't acknowledge what you say, only peppering more kisses to your bare skin.

rockstar ! law . . . kinda perfectly fits the rockstar bf aesthetic to a T. he's wearing the leather jackets and the other staple fashion pieces that scream "rockstar boyfriend." it doesn't help the way the clothes so perfectly fall into place on his body. he enjoys matching with you too, even if your aesthetics may not match. if he's wearing a heavy jewlery piece, like a necklace, ring, or bracelet, he buys a matching one that you would like and would be able to style. he doesn't mind discarding his iconic leather jacket for you if you are feeling cold. and of course, he's attentive, protective, and caring for you (and only you) - perfectly fuelling the fantasies many people have of that "rockstar boyfriend persona"

law was not known for being hot-headed. there were never any stories of him giving customer service people a hardtime, or of him trashing hotel rooms like many others in the same genre as him were guilty of doing. his overall attitude was off standish, but polite.

with a slight difference whenever he was seen with you. still off standish and polite, but specially doting and careful when he is with you.

his arm is always slithered around your waist or shoulders and he is always seen attentively listening to whatever it is you're rambling about. his eyes focused in on you, and only you, show that he is blocking out the rest of the world and listening to you intently.

the way he almost, kind of, definitely glares at people that interrupt your time together before he softens his gaze the moment you catch him making faces and scold him. he's completely wrapped around your finger, despite his seemingly intimidating and threatening persona, he's complete mush with you.

his leather jacket was thrown over your shoulders as he protectively stood behind you. tonight, the two of you were at the bar and watching the live performance of the local band of the town you were in. due to your begging, he agreed to get off of the counter stool and dance and sway to the music with you.

his arms are resting in front of you as he holds your hands in his, completely engulfing them with the size difference. the jacket around you is practically drowning you as well.

he's rocking you back and forth, occasionally leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek and whispering sweet nothings to you. your cute moment unfortunately comes to an end though. some drunkard knocks into the two of you and spills their entire pint of beer on you and your clothing.

your first reaction is to take off law's jacket to spare it from reeking of the beverage, but law's first reaction is to push you behind him and size up the guy that knocked into you.

"the hell is your problem, man?! it was an accident!" the man defends himself when he feels threatened by your boyfriend.

law's one hand is holding your own, wanting to make sure you stay close to him some way, while the other is clenched at his side to form a fist. noticing how he was very close to landing a hit on the idiot's face, you pull him back by his shirt, "c'mon, people are staring,"

"don't care, this guy has got his head so far up his ass," law simply says, genuinely not caring at all that people were looking at him as if he were crazy.

"law, let's just go," he turns his head to you, his gaze softening as he turns.

he waits a couple seconds before speaking in whispers, "do you really want to go? i can just take care of him-"

"i do, really. let's just go, babe, it's alright, it was an accident," you continued trying to convince him.

"he could've done it on purpose, he could be a complete, total asshole,"

you laughed at his reasoning of giving the guy a lesson, shaking your head, "let's just go and get out of here."

law doesn't seem satisfied with having to let the guy go without any reprecussions, but if law is anything: he's a boyfriend that listens to his boyfriend.

so he walks away with you close by, tight grip on your hand, and silently cursing the asshole the entire ride home.

rockstar ! law . . . very casually dedicates the most romantic, sensual, loving, etc. songs to you when he is on stage.

"this one is for the man standing at side stage, waiting for me,"

"i've been with the same idiot for 5 years now and this song is for him,"

"this is [name]'s favorite, by the way. so if you don't like it, you can fuck off,"

rockstar ! law . . . who doesn't understand the way some fans really idolize your relationship. he loves you a lot and he's glad that they're accepting of that fact, but why are people on the internet asking him and you to adopt them...? or why are they calling the both of you their "daddies"? he's confused. he at least pieces together that they're being supportive, but he doesn't truly understand what they mean when they say stuff like "i wanna go to paris" underneath his posts of you and him on his instagram.

rockstar ! law . . . whose favorite audience is still you. he loves playing his guitar for you, just in the quiet of your room (when you're finally home for tour) and with you on the bed with his strumming as background noise to your reading, or whatever hobby you commit to.

his fingers move with such familiarity he can easily take his eyes off of the neck of the guitar. he looks at you with such love and care that it would make any onlookers vomit at how sweet he was being.

the song that he was playing was faintly resembling "can't help falling in love" by elvis, with his own personal twist. the moment you recognize the chords and notes, though, you look at him with a deadpan expression on your face.

he smirks, tilting his head, "what?" he'll ask with that annoying knowing look on his face.

"you're so cheesy," you comment with an eye roll.

"oh, don't be an asshole now,"

"not being an asshole, just being honest!"

law puts down the acoustic guitar, walking over to where you were and planting a kiss to the top of your head. clearing his throat, he begins to mimic the singer with exaggeration. it spurs you into laughter at his impression, which he only grins wider at. your laugh still remains his favorite sound in the whole world.

this soft side was only shown behind closed doors with you. and you liked it that way. no one else got to see your usually intimidating boyfriend with his walls completely down. how sweet and doting he actually was. polar opposite to that persona he put on whenever he walked onto those grand stages.

he was just yours right now.

and as he leans down to press a passionate kiss to your lips, you can smile against his with comfortability. and warmness spreads throughout both of your chests as he smiles back.

and finally, rockstar ! law who definitely gets your name tattooed somewhere on his body. probably on his hands or arms tbh because that is the most visible body part of his that gets photographed and noticed due to how he plays the guitar. that way if anyone wants to take photos of him in his element, they'll see a small part of you that he carries with him everywhere.

[deadhands69]

Tattoo Headcanons

My Hero Academia

I almost did a tattoo artist reader AU but decided to do these instead (maybe I still will, we'll see) tw: mentions of blood, needles, etc Characters: Dabi, Tomura Shigaraki, Himiko Toga, Katsuki Bakugo, Izuku Midoriya, Shoto Todoroki, Denki Kaminari, Kyoka Jiro part 2 here

Dabi/Touya Todoroki 

What he gets: 

Flames (jk) Dark Japanese trad or heavy black work, something that covers a lot. 

What he's like while getting tattooed: 

“Okay, are you ready to start?”

“Yeah.”

*5 minutes later*

“Have you started yet?”

Dude could seriously fall asleep during a rib/foot/back of the knee tattoo. Instead of sleeping, he watches you very intently. It's a little unnerving, if you weren't already nervous.

After: 

In spite of his scattered living situation, I feel like Dabi would take really good care of tattoos. He already has the experience keeping his burns from getting infected so it's not new to him. However, the moment he overuses his quirk he gets more scars. So we'll see how long the tattoos look good for.

Tomura Shigaraki 

What he gets: 

Something nerdy, probably video game related. But also imagine if he got his family/hands tattooed on him. I could also see him doing a massive cyber sigilism type tattoo covering an arm, leg, back something like that. Maybe Mon??

What he's like while getting tattooed: 

You show him the design and he brushes it off, ready to start. I think Shigaraki would be a little irritable but overall sit well. He can deal with pain. 

He might get bored after a while and start playing his switch so you'd have to make sure he wasn't moving too much. He also seems like the type of client who would completely forget to eat or drink water that day. 

After: 

He’s definitely allergic to second skin/saniderm and maybe not great at keeping up with the aftercare on his own. Kurogiri would probably chase him around with soap to keep the tattoo clean a few times a day. Would also scratch the shit out of his tattoos while they're healing. 

Himiko Toga

What she gets: 

Something cute, like Sanrio type stuff. I could also see her getting someone's name. Or a coverup of someone's name and adding a different name.

What she's like while getting tattooed: 

Weirdly intrigued by the process. At first, you thought she was super interested in tattooing. But, with her fascination with the needles and the amount of questions she has about bleeding in the process you think it might be something else. She just asked you where the biohazard trash is taken and now you're actually worried. 

After: 

You don't even remember if you told her about aftercare, you were more concerned with making sure she doesn't go through the sharps container. She figures it out though and it doesn't get infected.

Katsuki Bakugo 

What he gets: 

Something that flows around his scars. He might cover them, if he gets too annoyed with people staring or asking questions but otherwise he'd probably do something that blends around them. Seems like the type to want something massive or nothing at all.

What he's like while getting tattooed: 

He'd start off quiet and complaining about everything but the pain. By the end of the tattoo, he's opened up and you now know everything about his job, his feelings on every single ranked hero, and all of his childhood trauma. 

After: 

Cleans neurotically. Wears sunscreen. Goes to work and gets the whole thing sweaty and beat up. Repeat.

Izuku Midoriya 

What he gets: 

All Might. Bronze Age? No, silver? And can you add script too? Changes his idea and keeps adding more until the morning of the appointment. 

What he's like while getting tattooed: 

Talks nonstop. It would be fun and a generally enjoyable conversation if he didn't gesture and move the whole time. Not really phased by pain though. By the time he leaves, you know everything about All Might.

After: 

He had second skin/saniderm on it but after playing with it too much (ewwww) he poked a hole in it and Bakugo yelled that it's gross and he needs take it off before it gets infected. After that, Izuku had to ask for aftercare instructions again because he didn't remember.

Shoto Todoroki 

What he gets: 

Something small. He didn't even want anything in specific, he's just getting one to piss off his dad who hates tattoos. So he gets something minimalistic and simple in a really obvious place. Like a set of lines or a circle on his hand or wrist. When asked, it means absolutely nothing ‘fuck Endeavor.’

(ooh maybe ‘FUCK ENDEAVOR’ in Morse code around his wrist. Something like that.) 

What he's like while getting tattooed: 

Completely stoic. He hasn't moved. Is he even breathing?? It's concerning. 

After: 

Takes decent care of it and stares at it for days. Oddly intrigued by the different phases of healing.

Denki Kaminari 

What he gets: 

Pikachu. Cool flash. He also seems like the type to get a ‘lost a bet’ type tattoo (or three.) 

What he's like while getting tattooed: 

“Ready to start?”

“Bring it!”

… 

“OUCH.”

There's absolutely no way Denki is holding still for more than half an hour so he'd probably be pretty wiggly and need a lot of breaks. It might be best if you have him overdo it with his quirk so he's loopy and just lays there the whole time. Either way, he'd probably have some really interesting things to say and keep everyone entertained the whole time he's there. 

After: 

Walks out the door of the shop and 100% forgets he even got a tattoo. Goes in a hot spring the next day before Bakugo yanks him out (why is he the mom of the friend group in this??)

Kyoka Jiro 

What she gets: 

Song lyrics or cool art. Like a dark watercolor tattoo. The type of tattoos you see on someone and wish you were cool enough to pull that style off.

What she's like while getting tattooed: 

Pretty chill, sits well and makes some small conversation. Mostly just listens to music the whole time. Overall, super easy client. 

After: 

Takes the healing process seriously enough, keeps it clean. The moment she leaves, half the bakusquad accidentally (or not) grab it. Still heals fine, it just sucks.

pt 2 - masterlist

[haykawas]

✩•̩̩͙*˚ MONDAY – GETO SUGURU.

summary : you have five days to ask your hot tattooed boss out. better make it count.

word count : 1.3K tags : tattoo shop owner!suguru, modern au, pining, workplace AU, fem!reader, smoking.

MONDAY – TUESDAY

You nervously bit your lip as you considered going out the threshold, your right hand hovering over the doorknob as your thoughts went haywire. You knew what was behind – or rather, who was –, you knew you had to do something about it because you’d been having a stupid crush on the hot owner of your new workplace for a few months now and you just couldn’t seem to get him out of your system – and yes, it didn’t help that you literally saw him every day. 

But honestly, who could blame you? Heavily tattooed – logical, seeing as he literally owned a tattoo parlor –, pierced, with long black hair and sparkling brown eyes, he surely was everyone’s dream man come true.

You wanted to do it right, go right to him, act cool and mysterious, and subtly ask him out while he smiled sheepishly, cheeks red at your forwardness. 

But you knew you couldn’t, that all of this was in your head. For one, he was absolutely not the type to blush. He was the type to make people blush. Second, Suguru was the most popular one at the shop, and considering you also worked with certified heartbreakers like Satoru and Toji, it was something to say. But how couldn’t he be? He was sweet and charming, a smooth talker. He always had the right words and had to be the most patient man you’d ever met.

And of course, he was also smoking hot. It also didn’t help that all you managed to do when you came in less than a three-meter radius from him was act clumsy and stutter like a newborn learning how to speak. You were definitely aware of the situation. The fact that he was way way out of your league. And you’d have discarded the thought of asking him out if Satoru hadn’t infiltrated your mind and set your heart racing when he’d whispered to you that someone he knew was planning on asking his best friend out this Friday.

“I mean, have you seen the guy?” He’d said, a knowing smirk on his lips, “You have ‘till Friday to make a move, or you’re fucked.”

Today was Monday. 

It was Monday, and of course, you still hadn’t said a single word to him. Sure, you two often found yourselves talking about work, new designs you’d come up with, and you had made sure to come to him every time you needed some advice, – and surprisingly, he’d also started doing so, setting your heart on fire every time he came to you –, but that was it. You two had never hung out together outside of work, even though you often had nights out with the others.

You shook your head and turned the doorknob, deciding you were going to stop acting like a schoolgirl with a stupid crush because it was honestly embarrassing. But then you saw him and immediately went back on your words.

God, he was just so effortlessly perfect. Who were you kidding? You could never stop acting this stupid when he looked like this.

He looked engrossed in a conversation, slender hands busy taping against the screen of his phone, a small grin on his lips, and you immediately considered going back inside. You were cringing inside, wondering what you were thinking coming back there when he was clearly busy.

But superior forces must’ve had other plans for you, because before you could make a hasty retreat inside the shop, your foot caught on a loose cobblestone, causing you to stumble and knock off a stack of empty crates.

You froze, the crates clattering and crashing to the ground. If he hadn’t heard you before, he sure had now. You sighed, lifting your eyes to see him, a cigarette casually hanging from his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he beckoned you over with a nod and an amused smile. You looked left and right to see if he was calling someone else over, but quickly realized there was no one else outside. Your head turned to him, cheeks burning from embarrassment as he chuckled at your action. “Care to join me?” He added with a smile, before taking a long drag out of his burning stick.

You bit your lip and complied, leaning against the wall right next to him, as you tried holding in violent coughs, the smoke hurting your lungs. You were silent and must have been staring at the cigarette he was gracefully holding too intently, because he suddenly held it out to you, “You smoke?”

You melted at the sound of his voice, rich and gentle. And, no. No, you didn’t smoke. You absolutely didn’t and you’d never even wanted to try it.

So you couldn’t understand why the hell you were telling him that yes, you did, that you were an expert at rolling blunts at that, like you’d done this your entire life, when even the fruity smokes from fairs made you sick to your stomach. But… you didn’t want to tell him that no, that you found it repulsive at best. Besides… you kind of wanted to try it, now. See why he loved it so much. It couldn’t be that bad if he did, right?

You weren’t sure about that. But honestly, you didn’t even care if it gave you the chance to stand that close to him and share a moment, as short and insignificant as it may have been, with the man you’d been pining after for a while now.

You accepted the cigarette when he handed it to you, clumsily gripping it between two fingers as you stared at it hesitantly. You didn’t know how you looked right now, but you hoped you came across as at least a quarter as confident as he did. You know you didn’t, because as soon as you took your first drag, you started coughing uncontrollably, the smoke burning your throat as you gasped for fresh air.

“Definitely an expert at this, are you?” He teased, his focused gaze not leaving your form one bit as he took the stick back from your hand to place it between his plush lips. He took a long drag before exhaling the smoke in your direction, and his eyes crinkled with amusement as he watched you try not to cough it all out. His lips curled into a playful smile, tongue coming out to swipe at his bottom lip as he watched your flustered form. You were just so damn cute.

“Don’t worry,” he said, voice lower, “smoking’s not for everyone. I’m sure you must be an… expert, at something else.” He winked, his gaze lingering longer than necessary as he took you in from head to toe before he met your eyes once again.

Your breath caught in your throat at the implication of his words, heart racing as you tried to decipher what he must’ve meant by that. Surely it was innocent.

…Right?

The man suddenly straightened up, his playful demeanor shifting as he glanced at his watch. “Well,” he sighed, “break time’s over for me.” He casually tossed the half-smoked cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his Doc Martens boot.

You nodded at him with a smile, but couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at the prospect of the conversation coming to an end so soon. This was the longest you’d ever found yourself alone with him, and you hadn’t even come close to asking him out. But before you could say a word, he met your eyes with a knowing smile. 

“If you ever want to experience new things, though…” he dragged out, hawk eyes not leaving yours, “you know where to find me.” The suggestion hung in the air long after the door swung shut behind him, and you let yourself slide against the wall of the alley, lightheaded. A few words from his soft lips had been all it took to make you lose your cool.

Oh, you were so fucked.

…And you still hadn’t confessed. Damn you, Suguru Geto.

AN : ok soo i actually haven't posted a fic about any fandom since like 2016/2017 so i'm back to stage 1 lmao. english is not my first language so i may update my posts sometimes to correct things a little too!! plus it hasn't been proofread yet bc it's 1am where i live rn so yeah. this os is actually meant to have followups, so if people like it i'll work on more parts for this (idk if this'll show up in searches since it's a new blog tho but oh weLL) (it was actually meant to be a drabble but i went overboard) (i still had to force myself to stop writing more)

[ask-outside-stars]

Heyo, writer of my absolute favorite fic of all time (and characters)! Now that I've regained some sanity after the events of last night (reading chapter 51), I've got a few questions for everyone! Will- what do you happened to Bill? You're him and he's you, but is he, like, a voice in your head? Part of yourself that you can't escape? Does he ever come out? Does he offer his own thoughts in response to yours? Or does he stay silent, watching from the inside, wondering if he could've been you? Ford- I'd ask what kind of devious things you have planned for Will once you have time to yourselves again, but I doubt any Tumblr user randomly scrolling wants to hear about what happens behind the door-that-used-to-be-a-vending-machine-but-that-got-destroyed-so-now-the-basement-is-a-lot-less-soundproof, so I'll ask something else instead- when will you and Will have a wedding? A better question would be- since you're already married, do you plan on having a wedding, or would you want to... remarry Will Cipher? Since, you know, you married an amnesiac (no offense, Will, I love you so much lol) who had no idea he was actually the literal willpower of your manipulative, toxic ex. Stan- Someone already asked if you like-like McGucket, and I'm here to berate you on the fact that your answer was less than satisfactory. Since I will obviously get just as evasive of an answer if I ask (Mabel, here's your cue, girly, gotta get that answer outta your grunkle), I will ask something else out of respect for you. What do you think of designing tattoos (with the help of the household arts-and-crafts master, of course) for all of us William si-- fans? Dipper- I'm just as awkward and sweaty as you, man, but I don't evade answers like you. So I will ask you a simple, straightforward question- if Mabel begged on her hands and knees for you to ask Pacifica out (MABEL, THIS IS YOUR CUE x2), would you do it? And if so, would you be doing it for her or because you actually like Pacifica? Mabel- My favorite, fluffy teenager, I've got a bajillion questions for you, but currently I feel the need to only ask two. One, do you have any current crushes? And two- DID YOU GET MY CUES? Love ya, girlie. Shermie- How did you feel stealing that bus? Can you PLEASE describe how you did it a little more? Also, do you plan on paying for the repairs of Stan's totem pole? And finally, McGucket- DO YOU LIKE STAN DO YOU LIKE STAN DO YOU LIKE STAN- ahem. Do you plan on asking anyone out anytime soon, considering you're basically a lonely old man who lives in, like, the biggest mansion ever, just constructing robots and mind-blowing tech all day? No offense. ANYWAYS I LOVE ALL YALL AND I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU GUYS SOON

After checking his Tumblr inbox, Will leans back in his chair to call out to the rest of the family.

Will: "Hey, guys! We got another ask from @cryptidwolfie! It's addressed to all of us."

The rest of the family trickles in and leans on the table and against Will's chair to reply. (SPOILERS BELOW CUT)

Will: "That's a good question, and one I don't really have a concrete answer to. It's kind of like asking someone in their 40's if their inner 12-year-old ever comes out or if said 12-year-old exists in their mind. I guess I would say he's still there, but if he's conscious or just fused with me, he hasn't made himself known... yet."

Will slides the laptop over to Ford, who quickly scans the ask before replying.

Ford: "It's funny that you ask that, because William and I are indeed planning to have a second wedding, this one a bit more 'official' than our previous one. We're still working out the logistics, but we'd like to either have a beachside wedding or one aboard the Stan O' War, depending on the size of the guest list."

Ford gallantly kisses the back of Will's hand while Stan snatches the laptop.

Stan: "Tattoos, huh. And of WILL? THAT loser? You'd be better off tattooing a butt right in the middle of your forehead. OW!"

Will is reaching across Ford to swat at Stan.

Stan: "Okay, yeesh! OW, kid! Quit it with the slaps! This is elder abuse! FINE! If it gets Will to stop treating my face like a pair of bongos, I think it'd be pretty neat to flex my art muscles again."

Will sits back in his chair, pleased with the response as Stan turn the laptop to Dipper, who has gone beet-red.

Dipper: "I- I- well, Mabel wouldn't have to beg or anything, b- because Pacifica is really pretty and- and nicer than she seems, but she's so rich, what could I even offer her that she can't already find for herself?"

Dipper forlornly slides the laptop to Mabel who gives it a cursory glance before tending to her brother's mood.

Mabel: "No crushes right now. I've been too busy planning Grunkle Will and Grunkle Ford's second wedding. We're going for a star theme this time!"

While Mabel excitedly babbles about silver garlands and star-shaped glitter, Shermie leans over her and plucks the laptop from her gesturing hands before she can drop it on the floor.

Shermie: "Well, wouldn't YOU like to know? But I just saw the bus driver left the keys in the ignition and I floored that bad boy. And don't listen to Stan being a big baby, the totem pole is fine. A little duct tape and that beauty will be good as new."

Stan: "YOU SNAPPED IT IN HALF!"

Shermie: "Then use a LOT of duct tape!"

Finally McGucket, drawn by the sounds of Pines bickering, enters the room to see what all the fuss is about. He sees his name on the ask and chuckles modestly.

McGucket: "Well, I've been meanin' to invite someone to Pioneer Day, but he don't really like the event, so maybe it'll be safer if'n I skip it."

Stan perks up at the mention of McGucket wanting to ask "someone" on a date, but before he can inquire further, he's dragged into a headlock by Shermie and the kitchen descends into chaos trying to separate the two.

[yannaryartside]

Sydney is also trapped in the freeze response.

She is permanently on the brakes. Like Rooster in Top Gun

Let me explain. (Spoilers for top gun maverick)

The character arc of Rooster in the movie revolves around the fact that he is always stuck on “defensive, preventive flying” in the sense that he lacks the initiative to make the risky decisions that are necessary in combat scenarios. The root of this issue is obviously fear, because his father died on someone else’s choices, and he doesn’t want to make a decision that could cost someone’s life.

I am starting to think Syd may have the same issue. I was reading a post about Sydney’s inability to make a decision on the partnership agreement (I can’t remember now I will tag it if I find it).

But the op expressed very well how Sydney has basically been offered the opportunity she has always dreamed of (Shapiro's offer was better but came in later). Still, she postponed the decision while she played the resistance game the whole season against Carmy’s antics. It's like a boxer trying to fight the distance. The conversation she had with Luca in the last episode about “a friend you went through a battle with” seems to connect with this idea. Then, in the end, she has a panic attack and thinks about the people she cares for at the Bear, how they have grown, and the battles they have endured.

I am going to say something that may be controversial: I think Syd has not grown significantly since she came to the Bear. Or, to put it in another way, she has not reached the version of herself that can make it in this industry on her own. The version that could conquer the obstacles of the plot that are designed to change her. There is a reason we don’t see a new version of her in comparison to when she came to the Bear for her first day.

She has taken on new responsibilities and has conquered them. But I believe she has not shown us anything that was not already inside her. She did not change like Richie (that went from unreliable to indispensable and caring, specially with her) or Nat that accepted the restaurant being a good thing for her family and herself, or even Fak, Marcus and Tina, that once thought of themselves incapable of the things they have accomplished.

Whatever beliefs Sydney has about herself that pull the ultimate brakes for redefining herself, she still has them.

She is and has been for a long while a patient, honest person that extends grace to others. And because they were given accountability, support and understanding, people around her were able to grow. That is what the flashback is about. She made a difference. She built something, and yet, nothing seems to feel solid for her.

I wonder what all of this could mean

The brakes analogy

There is plenty of analogies about driving in the show. We have Donna crashing her car on her family’s home, the dream of Cicero about driving out of control and crashing with Carmy’s dad in it (there is something there). Claire's reckless driving, the mentions of her being an adrenaline junkie in some aspects (she used to shoplifting, her job). Like a comparison to people that live life like reckless driving (addiction and other issues).

Meanwhile, Syd was a professional driver. She has a tattoo of her mothers car in her back. She described what “crashed” her business as “going too far, too fast” She even drives Richie because he got his license suspended (reckless behavior). Sydney is perceived as reasonable, mesaaured and reliablee. A good driver (metaphoricaly), but…

Is the show trying to tell us that she is a person who may have a hand in the brakes too often, in the sense that she may freeze in a moment when acceleration is required? In creative careers, you often have to take risks, and you will fail most of them, but what is she a fraud to lose this time? What has she been afraid to lose this whole time?

She even acts like “the brakes” of the plot in moments of chaos. She asked Tina to slow down and completed her task on Doors, and does her own, putting the pace of the kitchen in a “under the speed limit”

She makes Carmy slow down and stop his spiraling thoughts. Yeah, she is the brakes if the car, but she applies them too much on herself. Hope that makes sense.

[bluenerdtastemaker]

The Dare Might Be Not Bad ²²¹⁰

Tattoo Artist! Yuki Tsunoda + F1 Driver Pierre Gasly | 1.5K

"Maybe tourists weren’t so bad after all."

Yuki Tsunoda didn’t like tourists.

Sure, they were one of the reasons tattoo artists like him could make a decent living income. Besides his loyal clients who kept coming back for his creativity and unique designs, tourists filled in the gaps, requesting quick tattoos to commemorate their trips. But tourists never gave him much creative freedom—always asking for tiny symbols, names, or meaningless quotes. The worst were the ones getting tattoos on a dare; oh, those were nightmares waiting to happen. They’d show up weeks later, regret written all over their faces, demanding refunds or crying about a decision made in a drunken haze.

Today’s clients seemed no different, yet there was something unusual about them that made Yuki hesitate. He stared at the two men standing at the counter. Both had an unmistakably European look, with one of them sporting a face Yuki had seen splashed across sports headlines: Charles Leclerc. Beside him was another strikingly handsome man, Pierre Gasly, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Yuki sighed inwardly, mentally preparing himself for whatever nonsense was about to unfold.

“Hello, welcome to Matsui Studio,”

---

Matsui Studio was a hidden gem tucked away in one of Tokyo’s lesser-known streets, a place where people came for more than just ink. The shop was a visual spectacle—a far cry from the typical sterile, white-walled tattoo studios most tourists expected. Instead, the studio was bathed in a moody atmosphere dominated by dark turquoise neon lights, casting a dim but inviting glow that gave the space an otherworldly aura.

The walls were a rich matte black, adorned with eclectic artwork framed in shadow boxes, showcasing intricate tattoo designs and traditional Japanese motifs. In one corner, a softly humming water feature added a calming background noise, blending seamlessly with the low thrum of lo-fi beats playing from hidden speakers. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood incense mixed with the sterile tang of antiseptic—a scent Yuki found oddly comforting.

Long, sleek shelves lined with tattoo inks, neatly arranged in gradient order, sparkled under the neon glow, while the leather chairs were deep black, their surfaces gleaming. Dark green plants in geometric pots were scattered strategically, bringing a touch of life to the otherwise shadowy interior.

—

“Hello, welcome to Matsui Studio, what can I help you?” The asian man greeted them in accented-fluent English, his customer-service mask firmly in place to the two white clients in front of him with a distinct English accent knowing these people are not well versed in his mother tongue, glad that he does well in linguistic related studies, cause at least he has no problem communicating with foreigners.

Charles, who the asian quickly recognised, flashing his characteristic charming smile, clapped Pierre, who also quickly recognised, on the shoulder. “We’d like him to get a tattoo,” he announced, practically beaming with mischief. Pierre winced, clearly regretting whatever bet had landed him here. “This guy doesn’t have any ink yet, so we thought, why not fix that tonight? It's something small. It’s a dare, after all.”

‘Of fucking course it’s a dare,’ The asian tattooist thought, barely managing to hide his annoyance. He kept his face impassive as he glanced at Pierre, who was glaring daggers at his friend.

Pierre finally stepped forward, meeting Yuki’s gaze. There was a flicker of something there—something that made Yuki pause. Pierre’s eyes were deep, a stormy blue, filled not with the bravado he was used to seeing from people dragged in for a dare, but with genuine discomfort. Yuki had to admit it was refreshing to see someone taking this seriously, even if they were here under pressure.

“Alright,” Yuki said with a sigh, pulling his sleeves up, uncovering his tattooed forearm, leaning on the counter with crossed arms, his tattoo-covered forearms on display.

“So, what do you want? The classic ‘dare’ stuff? Hearts, initials, or something equally meaningless? If you’re serious about this, I don’t do bullshit. You’re getting something that looks good, or you’re walking out of here with nothing. Your choice.”

Charles raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning, letting his best friend on the front line, who nodded slowly, stepping up to the challenge. “No letters or initials,” Pierre said, voice steady but soft. “I want something small, but... meaningful. Something I won’t regret.”

Yuki’s eyebrow arched in surprise. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. Most people in Pierre’s position would have caved and gone with whatever easy option got them out of the chair fastest. But Pierre... Well, he seemed to actually care about what ended up on his skin.

“Alright,” Yuki said, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Come on back. Let’s see if we can figure something out.”

‐--

The tattooing room was a continuation of the main studio’s vibe but with an even deeper, more intimate ambiance. Dark turquoise neon tubes bordered the ceiling, reflecting off black lacquered walls. A long window provided a peek into the bustling Tokyo streets outside, where city lights blurred like a kaleidoscope of colors in the late-night drizzle. The room’s centerpiece was Yuki’s tattoo chair, made of sleek black leather with turquoise stitching that matched the shop’s color scheme.

Pierre gingerly took a seat, trying to calm his nerves. Charles leaned against the doorframe, scrolling through his phone while occasionally glancing over with an amused smirk. The lighting cast soft shadows across Pierre’s sharp features, making him look even more ethereal. Yuki noticed how the neon light caught in Pierre’s eyes, giving them an almost electric blue hue.

“So,” Yuki began, snapping on a pair of black gloves, “you mentioned wanting something meaningful. Any specific ideas, or are you leaving it up to me?”

Pierre hesitated, shooting a quick glance at Charles, who was now busy taking pictures against the neon-lit walls. Yuki rolled his eyes—celebrities. But something about Pierre made him linger a little longer. There was a softness to his expression, an earnestness Yuki wasn’t used to seeing in his usual clientele.

“I was thinking... maybe something related to my career,” Pierre finally said. “Or... something to do with traveling. I spend so much of my life on the road.”

Yuki’s eyes flicked up to meet Pierre’s, and he nodded thoughtfully. “How about a compass?” Yuki suggested, quickly sketching out a design in his notebook. “Simple, elegant, and it can symbolize your journey. Racing is all about navigating through life’s challenges, right?”

Pierre’s eyes widened, looking at the tattoo artist; ‘Oh, so he knew.’ The French man thought as he slowly looked at the sketch. The lines were clean, the design understated but powerful. “Yeah,” he said softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “That’s perfect.”

Yuki’s lips twitched into a rare, genuine smile. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

---

Pierre’s hands were clenched into fists as Yuki prepared the tattoo gun, cleaning the area on his inner wrist where they’d decided to place the design. Yuki could feel the nervous energy radiating off Pierre, and for some reason, he found himself wanting to ease the guy’s nerves. Usually, he didn’t care if clients were uncomfortable. They were the ones who chose to be here, after all.

But Pierre... something about him was different.

“You alright?” Yuki asked, his tone softer than before. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

Pierre let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Yeah, just... not a fan of needles,” he admitted, cheeks flushing slightly.

Yuki’s smirk widened. “I’ve had grown men cry in this chair,” he teased lightly, “and they weren’t even as pretty as you.” The words slipped out before Yuki could think better of it, but he didn’t regret them when he saw the way Pierre’s eyes widened, then softened, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Pretty, huh? That’s a new one,” Pierre replied, a hint of playfulness in his tone despite his nerves.

Yuki chuckled, leaning in closer to finish the tattoo. “Stay still, pretty boy. Let’s see if you can handle this.”

—

The hum of the tattoo machine filled the room, blending with the soft music and the occasional rumble of traffic outside. The first buzz of the needle made Pierre flinch, but he gritted his teeth, determined to see this through. Yuki worked with a deft hand, the design slowly coming to life on Pierre’s wrist. The concentration in Yuki’s eyes, the way his brows furrowed in focus, it was mesmerizing. Pierre found himself watching Yuki more than worrying about the pain, actually the pain is not bad at all now the French man thinks about it.

Feeling like it was forever, when Yuki was done, he leaned back to admire his work. The compass tattoo was clean and precise, perfectly aligned on Pierre’s wrist, the delicate lines catching the soft neon glow.

Pierre stared at it, awe in his eyes. “It’s... incredible,” he whispered, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

“Glad you like it,” Yuki said, peeling off his gloves. "Before you go, I need to protect this to heal." Proceeding to explain the healing process and how he should take care of it, briefly mention this is important to maintain the hard earned tattoo and to avoid infection.

“Now go show your friend before he whines about how long it took.”

Pierre stood, but he hesitated, slipping Yuki a generous tip. As their eyes met again, there was a moment of silence, a spark that neither could deny.

“Maybe... I’ll come back for another one,” Pierre said, a hint of mischief in his smile.

Yuki shrugged, though his heart skipped a beat. “You know where to find me.”

As Pierre left the studio, Charles teasing him mercilessly, Yuki found himself smiling.

Maybe tourists weren’t so bad after all.