#found out my tattoo artist who did an hour long flash piece for me a year ago is divorcing his husband. yum | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bestiesenpai · 4 years ago

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tattoo artist sukuna

I am way overdo to get my sleeve finished and I’m already itching to get a full back piece, so this is right up my alley. Gender neutral reader, and if you’d like to see the tattoo style i reference please go to @/novchild.jpg on instagram :)

It was a spur of the moment decision that led you to drive downtown with your friends at nearly midnight, drunk off each other's energy and eager to do something reckless. Speeding down the motorway, you scrolled through Instagram in search of a tattoo artist.

“Are you guys sure about this?” Your nerves had finally caught up to you as the car was parked in front of the studio you all chose. It was a typical brick and mortar building with a large skull painted on the only window to the outside world. There were a few bald men smoking cigarettes right outside the door, scrawling ink covering their exposed hands and faces.

“Yeah, c’mon!” No one waited for you, everyone climbing out of the car in excitement. Slowly, you got out of the car as well, head down as you walked past the men and into the shop.

Loud, blaring metal music met your ears, jarring you upright and tense. There wasn’t anyone you could see at the front desk, the only workers were huddled in a back corner leaning over something and laughing.

“Which one should I get?” Your attention was drawn away from the men in the corner and to the art hanging on the wall, all different flash sheets from various artists. Some were more gory, clearly drawing inspiration from horror movies while other pieces were bright and colorful, like bubblegum pop come to life.

“Hey.” A gruff voice cut through the loud music, and a man was now leaning against the front desk, spiky black hair in a ponytail with a bored look on his face and several piercings in both ears. He was clearly sizing you up, the black bar going across his nose moving as he did.

Unprepared to speak to him, you were happy when someone else stepped in and started chatting about prices. The man at the counter had on a hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, exposing one full arm and hand that was completely blacked out.

“Choso, any customers?” Another shouted, a man wide in stature with long hair. He sauntered up to the counter, tight black t-shirt showing off the traditional Japanese work covering every inch of skin.

“Getou, can’t you see?” Choso rolled his eyes and gestured to your little group.

“I can’t make conversation?” Pulling a face at Choso, Getou leaned his elbows on the counter and flashed a wide grin at all of you. “So, who’s the first to get some ink?” His narrowed eyes looked over your bare skin and you could see the wheels turning in his head.

“I am! I want that one!” One of your friends pointed at the wall, making Getou hum and nod.

“That’s Gojo’s work, he loves to draw the cute shit. I’ll call him over.” As a white haired man walked over at Geto’s call, one by one your friends made their decisions and were paired with artists.

“What did you choose, (Y/N)?” A friend asked, seeing you still stuck staring at the wall.

“I don’t know!” Throwing your head back, you were beginning to regret even tagging along. There were simply too many options and the task of picking something was daunting.

“Having a hard time choosing?” A flash of white crosses your vision and soon Gojo is leaning down into your field of vision, piercing blue eyes staring at you curiously.

“U-uh yeah.” Stumbling back from how close his face is, you realize how tall he is when he stands up straight, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Me and another guy just got done making a new flash sheet, lemme show you.” It takes him only a couple seconds to go back to his station and come back with a piece of thick paper with drawings on it.

Taking the paper, the drawings were unexpectedly cute. A lot of them looked like rough sketches or crayon drawings, simple in concept but intricate in detail.

“I’ll take this one.” Pointing at a mid-sized crayon drawing, your mouth ticked up in a smile as Gojo took the paper from you with sparkling eyes.

“That one is so cute, good choice! One sec!” Tossing the paper down, he dashes away shouting nonsensical words towards the back of the shop where they’d all been huddled up. “Sukuna! Someones here for ya!”

Rising straight up from a chair with a loud groan, a shirtless pink haired man glared sharply at Gojo. Even from a distance you can see the sharp black lines tattooed across his face and down his body, circles on each shoulder, dashed lines across his chest down his stomach and around his wrists as well.

“Geez you can really yell, you know that?” Running a hand through his hair roughly, Sukuna stands up, flexing his muscles and unknowingly giving the whole shop a show of his chiseled physique.

“There’s a client here to get a piece we made together earlier.” Shoving the paper in his face, Gojo points to the piece you selected. Sukuna mumbles a few words and sets his eyes on you, walking over with a swagger that makes you nervous.

“Alright, where do you want it?” Leaning close to you, Sukuna quirks a brow.

“I don’t know.” You sigh softly, looking down at your arms and legs. “I don’t-”

“Your arm, right here.” Grabbing onto your arm, Sukuna turns it outward to expose the flesh of your inner arm. “It would look good right here, about the size of my palm.”

“O-oh okay.” Nodding quickly, your face is burning when he lets go. His touch still lingered on your skin, the edge of his black painted fingernails digging in briefly as they squeezed you.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes, go sign the paperwork.” Sukuna speaks with his back to you, already walking to the station he had been sleeping at and setting up. Rushing to fill in the proper papers, you wait nervously at the front of the shop for your turn.

The rest of your friends are already getting started, the whir of the tattoo machines adding to the ambience of the shop. With a wave Sukuna calls you over to his corner, still shirtless with a pair of gloves on.

“Hold out your arm.” Grabbing you once again, Sukuna angles your arm in front of a mirror by the table. Rubbing ointment on your skin, he sticks the stencil on and rubs firmly, making you squirm from the tickle of his hand getting close to your armpit.

“What do you think?” Stepping to the side, he looks at you in the mirror. “Little to the left? Right?”

“No, it’s perfect.” The longer you look at it, the longer you love it. Giving you a pat on the shoulder, Sukuna led you to the table, having you lay down and stick your arm out.

“This your first one, I can tell.” He said, adjusting your body how he seemed fit and rubbing more ointment on you.

“It’s that obvious?”

“Oh yeah, only a first timer would get something like this from me.” A cocky grin spread across his face and he gestured to the wall behind your head, covered in realistic black and white portraits. “This is normally my speciality.”

“You drew yourself?” Pointing up at one of the pictures that looked exactly like him minus the face tattoos, you chuckled.

“Nah, that’s my twin.” Your brows rose in surprise and you looked between Sukuna and the picture.

“Does he have-?” You waved over your face and body.

“He’s too scared to get a tattoo, says he’ll get ink poisoning and die.” Sukuna laughed, pouring out the various colored ink into little cups. “Won’t even let me do a tiny dot on him!”

“Safe to say you two are pretty different then.” You found yourself laughing a little as well, eased at Sukunas laid back nature.

“Mhmm, he’s busy going on the straight and narrow while I’m here ‘ruining my body’ as our grandpa likes to say.” Flashing quick air quotes, Sukuna revs up the machine and fiddles with the buttons. “Alright, you ready for this? Won’t have virgin skin anymore after this.”

“Yes!” Clenching and unclenching your fist, you pushed a deep breath through your mouth.

“If you start to cry, I won’t stop. And if you pass out, I’ll just wake you up.” That was his final warning before he leaned forward, using one large gloved hand to spread the skin of your arm taut.

The first prick of the needle against your skin made you jolt, sucking in a sharp breath and making your eyes fly open. Sukuna snorted, wiped your arm with a towel and kept going. Honing in on the marks and exposed pipes in the ceiling, you tried not to twitch from the needle anymore.

“You’re doing pretty well.” Sukuna mumbled, briefly sitting up and dipping in for more ink.

“Really?” Taking a look at the tattoo, you were surprised to see only one line had been done. It felt like at least three were placed into you.

“Yeah, don’t screw it up.” Sticking his tongue out at you, Sukuna went back to work. Transfixed on watching him, you saw the lines go into your skin, overflowing with ink and being wiped away repeatedly. You were also watching the way Sukuna’s arms flexed, the muscles in his body all on display right in front of you.

“Tell me about yourself while you stare at me.” Sukuna said, not looking up from your arm. Immediately, your head whipped away from him and a deep burn ran over your face. Sukuna laughed at your embarrassment, patting your arm with the paper towel a few times.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’re not the first one to do it.” That didn’t make it any better. Slapping a hand over your face, you let out an unintelligible noise from the back of your throat.

“Just great.”

“It’s okay to say you have a crush on me, a lot of people that come to the shop do.”

“Sukuna!” Laughing through the shame, you glanced over at him.

“Hey, it’s the truth.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Well can you blame them when you’re built like that?” Feeling emboldened by the late night hour, you took a rather obvious look at Sukuna’s body. With only a pair of sweatpants on, you could see nearly all the tattoos he had.

“Aw thanks doll, I work out.” Sukuna shot a wink at you, briefly flexing both arms and making you blush again. “But enough about me, what about you? What made you come here so late at night?”

“My friends and I wanted to do something spontaneous.” Returning your gaze to the ceiling, the ache from the tattoo gun was beginning to settle into your skin. “And what better way to be spontaneous than to get a tattoo?”

“Ha, I hear that.”

“Why’d you get the ones on your face and stuff?”

“Thought they’d make me look cool, and I was right.” Giggling at his honesty, you quickly nodded in agreement.

“The ones on your face, did they hurt really bad?”

“The ones near my eyes yeah, those hurt the most. But thankfully Choso has a steady hand, so it didn’t last too long.”

Absentmindedly, you ran your fingers over your own face, drawing along the edge of your jaw and eye socket. There was no way you could get your face tattooed as heavily as Sukuna had, if at all ever. You had only just now gotten used to the pain of the needle on your arm and you were still twitching every so often.

“How’re you holding up so far?” Sukuna whispers close to your ear ten quiet minutes later. He’s completely focused on tattooing you yet his face is close enough that if you leaned up a little, you could graze his hair with your nose.

“Fine.” You whisper back, suddenly feeling awkward with the low tone of his voice.

“That’s good doll, real good.” His voice dropped even lower, overcompensating for the song ending over the stereo speakers. Trying not to stare at his serious expression, you look over at the other stations. Gojo is chatting up your friend excitedly, and there’s a number of colorful inks laid out before him. Choso and Geto are hard at work as well, with Choso pointedly not speaking, and a blonde man you’d noticed drinking a large mug of black coffee earlier with his button up sleeve rolled up to reveal two dragons on his forearms.

Just as the pain in your arm was starting to truly burn, the tattoo was over. Sukuna washed it down gently, patting your arm and humming to the song playing. Sitting up with a short grunt, he flicked his head to the mirror.

“Go ahead and take a look.”

Sliding slowly off the table, you held your arm out awkwardly and stood in front of the mirror. Your arm was slightly swollen and stinging, shoulder stiff from being in the same position for so long, but a smile spread on your cheeks.

“I love it.” It looked exactly like the picture: a crayon style drawing of a brown haired girl in a giant green frog, a big pout on her lips while the frog sat on a lily pad.

“Lemme snap a couple quick photos before I wrap you up.” Already with his phone out, Sukuna was quick at taking pictures, posing you like when he’d put the stencil on. “I’ll run down the aftercare stuff with you, also give you a card in case you forget any of it.”

You didn’t hear a thing he said about aftercare. Standing nearly chest to chest with Sukuna while he rubbed ointment on your skin and wrapped your tattoo up, the way his arms nearly wrapped around you to put the cover on, the gentle touch of his fingers pressing medical tape to your skin, even the way he was breathing softly and looking at you - it all had you distracted.

“Alright, you’re all done.” Sukuna patted your arm, breaking you from your trance.

“Thank you so much!” Looking down at your tightly bandaged arm, you could feel the intense heat radiating out of it. You quickly snapped your own picture of the bandage as Sukuna dug around in a drawer.

“And since I could tell you were zoning the fuck out just now, I wrote my number down on the aftercare sheet, so text me if you have any questions.” Holding the paper out to you, Sukuna had indeed scribbled his phone number on the paper in thick black marker.

“Can I really just text you?” Taking the paper hesitantly, you fiddled with it in your hands.

“Of course! I want your tattoo to heal well!” Sukuna nodded, throwing his arms out dramatically. Waiting for you to gather your stuff, he walked you to the front of the shop. “Text me anytime doll, I stay up late.” He whispered right before you got to the front counter, making your jaw drop and ears burn.

“(Y/N), you really got a girl in a frog?” A friend laughed, a bandage wrapped around their thigh.

“It’s cute!” You defended it, holding your arm close to your body.

“The cutest fucking one.” Sukuna added on, slapping the counter and pointing at everyone.

“Aren’t you cold without a shirt on?” Choso mumbled, typing away on his phone in the corner.

“No ‘cause I’m not anemic like you are.”

“It’s still cold outside.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s cold in here!” The two of them quickly devolved into petty squabble, giving each other light hearted shoves in the shoulder while Geto collected the money from everyone.

“Bye, thank you so much!” You all called out as you left, waving goodbye and shrugging your jackets back on.

“I’ll be waiting for that text, doll!” Sukuna shouted right as you stepped out, blowing you a kiss when you whipped your head over your shoulder in shock.

“Text? Were you flirting with him?” A slew of curious looks were thrown your way, making your shock even worse.

“N-no!” You stuttered and immediately grimaced at it, face getting warmer as you climbed into the car. “We were just talking while he tattooed me, he just wants to make sure it heals right.”

“Mhmm, whatever you say. Let’s go to the drive through now, Geto told me to eat something after getting tattooed!”

“Hey check Sukuna’s Instagram story, he already posted your tattoo (Y/N)!”

“Really?” Rushing to pull out your phone, it was indeed true. Sukuna had posted one of the pictures he took of your arm, a few silly frog gifs surrounding it, with the caption ‘painted a pretty doll with a pretty frog, hope they come back for more xx’.

“You two were definitely flirting!” Shouts resounded in the car, everyone giggling wildly at the caption. Giggling along with them, you quickly typed a message to Sukuna.

(Y/N): hey Sukuna this is (Y/N). Thanks again for the frog! And the picture you posted on your story looks really good :)

(Sukuna): no problem doll

(Sukuna): next time you want a tattoo, text me and i’ll draw up whatever you want

“Sukuna said he wanted to tattoo me again!” You announced to your friends, all of them oohing and crowding around your phone. “What should I say?”

“I’ll do it!” Someone snatched your phone before you could say anything, rapidly shooting off a message and tossing the device back to you.

(Y/N): are you free tomorrow?

“He’s not gonna-” Right as you were beginning to shake your head and type another message, he replied.

(Sukuna): for you? of course

#jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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twices-pup · 4 years ago

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Tattoos Together

title : tattoos together ( son chaeyoung x gn reader )

word count : 1,682 words

genre : fluff

warnings : mentions of needles

synopsis : [ requested ] you face a fear to remind your girlfriend, chaeyoung, that you love her for all that she is, including her tattoos.

side note : my first request finally done! i really hope the anon who requested and anyone else who reads this likes it! the request was a little vague so i had trouble making this fic long enough, and had to rewrite it a few times but since today is chaeyoung's birthday i was determined to finally get this out! happy strawberry princess day, everyone!! also, the title is definitely inspired by the song tattoos together by lauv because i suck at coming up with titles.

You were never one to be fond of the idea of getting a tattoo. It most probably stemmed from the fear of needles that you've had since you were a child and never quite grew out of. The mere thought of your skin being pierced and inked was enough to send a chill down your spine, which was why you vowed to yourself to never so much as step foot into a tattoo parlor.

Your girlfriend, on the other hand, loved getting tattoos. Her skin was like a canvas, and the tattoos she had gotten over the past couple of years were the works of art. You weren't surprised, Chaeyoung herself was nothing short of an artist, after all—if you handed her a pen and a piece of paper, she'd be able to conjure up a masterpiece out of thin air. Although you were still very much against getting a tattoo yourself, you've learned to love each and every one of the tattoos adorning her skin just as much as you loved the person herself.

Chaeyoung told you her intentions to get a couple more new tattoos shortly before TWICE began filming for the music video of their then newest title track, More & More, for the mini album of the same name. She was over at your place for a visit and the two of you were lazing on your couch together, television turned on and your eyes on the screen but neither of you really focusing on the program playing. You had an arm around her shoulders while she rested her head in the crook of your neck, the room pretty dark save for the light flashing from the TV screen and some sunlight that filtered in through your drawn-in curtains. "I've already looked up some designs I like," she had said. "I'll only pick one or two to get tattooed."

You didn't think much of it at first, the only thing that crossed your mind was "Ah, my girlfriend is getting another tattoo, cool." However, that was until you made an off-handed comment, with your eyes still glued on the TV. "You really like getting tattoos, huh? You have so many already, but you still want to get more."

Upon hearing your words, Chaeyoung suddenly became aware that you were subconsciously rubbing her upper arm gently, your fingers brushing right over the cherry tomatoes tattoo she had there. She didn't say anything at first, your living room back to being quiet other than the voices of the actors coming from the TV speaker. "Yeah, I really do," she suddenly answered you after you thought that the topic had been dropped. "I hope you don't have a problem with that."

Although she had muttered the last part under her breath, you were able to hear it clearly. You turned away from the TV to look at her, with a tiny crease between your eyebrows that were furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? Why would I have a problem with it?" you asked her softly.

Chaeyoung met your eyes and sighed. "Not everyone is a fan of girls with tattoos, you know?" she said, her gaze dropping from you to her lap. "So as the person I'm dating, I hope you're not one of those people. Those people who hold prejudice against tattoos or something like that."

Throughout the duration you had known Chaeyoung, you had always viewed her as someone who's free-spirited and jaunty, who doesn't let what other, insignificant people think of her get to her head, as long as she's able to do what she wants to do and be who she wants to be. So seeing her suddenly be so self-conscious about her tattoos, about something she'd usually feel so natural about, caught you by surprise. You realized that, perhaps, as her significant other, your opinion of her meant more to her than that of others did, and you immediately regretted letting your guard down and making such a careless remark.

"Hey," you called out softly, reaching for one of her hands to hold it in yours. "I do not and will never have any kind of problems with your tattoos. I know you love them, and that's completely okay," you assured her, offering her a gentle smile when she looked up at you. Her eyes searched your face for a moment, before she started chuckling.

"Thank you, y/n. Wow, that conversation got so serious all of a sudden. I feel a little embarrassed now, let's talk about something else."

You obliged with a nod, letting Chaeyoung shift the conversation to a different topic as you didn't want her to feel awkward or uncomfortable. Though you did make a mental note to remind her more frequently that you loved her, every single part of her.

On the day of her appointment at her regular tattoo parlor, you gave her a call. "Hey, y/n," she greeted you when she answered her phone. "What's up? I was just about to head to the tattoo place."

"Yeah, that's what I called you for," you said on your end of the call, feeling a little nervous but refusing to turn back on your decision. "Would it be okay if I tagged along with you?"

Your question was met with a moment of silence as Chaeyoung fully took in what you were asking her. "You want to come with me...to a tattoo parlor?" she asked for confirmation, and you nodded, although you were well aware that she wasn't able to see you. "Yes," you verbally answered. "I wanna accompany you as you get your new tattoos."

Knowing you, Chaeyoung surely hadn't expected you to willingly want to watch her get tattooed, in fact it came as a pretty big surprise to her, but if that was what you truly wanted then she had no reason to refuse. She texted you the address of the tattoo parlor and you met up with her there roughly half an hour later, swallowing down your nerves and telling yourself that you were doing it for you girlfriend all throughout your journey.

As the two of you entered the establishment, Chaeyoung noticed your shifty eyes looking all around the tattoo studio, and saw that you seemed more unsure of your decision to come by the passing second. "If you're having any regrets, you can leave at any time," she told you.

Despite the slight uneasiness you were feeling, you quickly shook your head. "It's okay, Chaengie. Like I said, I'm gonna be here for you."

"But why? y/n, you and I both know you're scared of needles, including tattoo needles."

"Because I know how much you love your tattoos. And I love you, so I wanna give you my support."

Your response was enough to put a wide smile on Chaeyoung's face, and seeing her smile was enough to make you smile too, in spite of your jitters. Chaeyoung's hand found yours and held it tightly as she led you deeper into the tattoo parlor. "Thank you," you heard her whisper. "I love you too."

The tattoo parlor was brighter than you had imagined it to be, but frankly that was because you had pictured the place to resemble a dark, soul-sucking torture chamber. Although the sufficient lighting managed to calm your nerves down a bit, the many scary-looking tattoo designs—skulls, snakes, demonic faces—hung up on the walls as decorations weren't helping. As you sat next to Chaeyoung at one of the tattooing stations, you did your best to not look at anything that, to you, were frightening, especially the tattoo machines.

You stayed quiet and only watched as Chaeyoung showed the tattoo artist the designs that she had chosen and told him where she wanted the tattoos to be. Your body tensed up and your breath hitched in your throat when the man took out a tattoo machine and started preparing to tattoo your girlfriend. Chaeyoung, noticing that you were as stiff as a board, gave you a reassuring smile. As much as you appreciated the gesture, you weren't able to smile back.

When the man finally started, you immediately diverted your eyes from your girlfriend to stare down at the floor. However, that did little to nothing to block out the whirring sound of the machine as it did its job. You gripped Chaeyoung's hand, the side that wasn't being tattooed, claiming that you were comforting her, though she had a feeling that it was the other way around instead.

"You're acting like you're the one getting a tattoo," she couldn't help but tease you.

When he was done with her tattoos after what felt like an eternity to you, you let out a heavy sigh of relief. You were finally able to turn back to Chaeyoung as she showed you her two new tattoos, one of a plant on her upper right arm and another of a butterfly by her right wrist.

"Woah, they look great," you complimented, genuinely impressed by the artist's handiwork. "I can't believe I made it through that, I guess watching people get tattooed isn't so bad after all."

Chaeyoung raised an eyebrow at you, amusement evident in her smile. "It isn't, but saying you watched me get tattooed is a bit of a stretch," she opined, and you pouted. "I was still here nonetheless," you argued.

"Alright, alright. Fair enough." Your girlfriend chuckled. "Then maybe next time you can take it a step further and get a tattoo yourself."

You playfully scrunched up your nose at her words and were about to oppose, until she continued. "Maybe we can even get matching ones!" she proposed, her eyes bright with excitement over the idea. Your expression softened in an instant, a wide smile making its way onto your face. Whenever she looked at you like that, with such innocent joy, it was near impossible for you to ever say no.

"Well, maybe one day," you told her, as you helped her up from her seat.

"Maybe one day, we can get tattoos together."

. . .

please do not repost my work, whether on tumblr or on any other site.

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nationalharryleague · 4 years ago

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Work of Art

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: AU, Artist!Harry, fluff, angst if you squint

Word count: 4K

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my entry for @hsogolden ’s AU writing challenge! Check out their blog they are incredibly talented!!! ALSO, a MASSIVE thank you and shoutout to the lovely Miss Lu, @harrysgucciloafers!!! I could have never done it without her!! Thank you so much for reading and remember, feedback is so so so appreciated!!! You can also send requests to my ask anytime!! I hope you enjoy :) More of my writing can be found in my masterlist :)

***

Sleep was fleeting and you remained staring at your popcorn ceiling in your shitty apartment for longer than you would have liked. It was later than you would have liked when your phone buzzed and lit up the ceiling of your bedroom. Knowing sleep was still far off, you rolled over and examined the text from an unknown number, the bright screen blinding you in the process.

Hi, I was thinking of you today. I thought I would show you this piece that I made of you. Hope you’re doing well. Hx, attached was a slightly blurry photo of a beautiful painting of a woman.

The woman in the painting was made up of beautiful bright colors, her skin a mix of green, blue, and purple tones. Her eyes were a bright and captivating cerulean, standing out behind wide framed glasses, and she wore an intriguing and knowing smirk on her lips. Her hair fell down in blunt bangs over her forehead and framed her heart shaped face. She was young, looking to be only a little bit older than you.

The painting was captivating. It was crafted with such bright tones, using color blocking that blended the abstract with some elements of realism. It felt like someone poured all of their emotion and adoration or hurt (you couldn’t decide which) into it. You couldn’t decide if the artist loved or hated this figure staring back at you. One thing you knew was that whoever texted you was incredibly talented and had obviously dedicated so much time to this piece. You felt awful that it hadn’t reached its intended destination.

Um… Wrong number, you typed out, feeling a pang of sympathy for whoever ‘H’ was.

Oh… okay. Sorry to bother you., your phone screen lit up again.

Your art is beautiful, you quickly sent back, attempting to offer some sort of consolation to the mystery artist. Sorry I’m not who you wanted to talk to.

Don’t worry about it. Just looking for someone from a lifetime ago.

That last part kept you up for most of the night. You couldn’t stop thinking about what that could mean. Old friend? Estranged relative? Another artist? You let your mind dream up Oscar-worthy scenarios until you finally fell asleep.

***

“Please come to Scott’s art show with me,” Grace whined from across the table at your favorite coffee shop. Grace was your best friend from college and hadn’t figured out to get rid of you yet.

“You know how I feel about your shitty boyfriend and his shitty art,” you fired back. Scott was a pretentious “artist” who made “ironic” misogynistic sculptures and frequently “forgot” to pay Grace back for his share of rent. You hated his guts.

“I promise I’m going to break up with him soon. I just need to get to the end of the month so I get my money’s worth for rent,” she assured you. “By the way, I’m going to need some help moving out at the end of the month,” she mentioned nonchalantly. You let out a chuckle at her and playfully rolled your eyes.

“I will go to the show with you on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You’ll hold my hand.”

A few hours later you walked into the modern and cold art show space, holding onto Grace’s hand for dear life, feeling unwelcome in this environment. Grace blended in easily, her bright blue hair and arms of tattoos suiting her well. The edgiest thing you had ever done was getting your nose pierced… until your grandma threw a fit and your mom made you take it out. You were not an artist and you did not feel welcome in the art community, or at least the type of artists that hang out with Scott. You worked in an office, you dressed plainly and simply, and you didn’t think there was anything special about yourself. You were strikingly ordinary, a sharp contrast from most other people in the gallery. You felt like an outsider because you were one.

Walking around the gallery, you hung onto Grace while examining and appreciating the artwork. You took careful steps, as if to not take attention away from the paintings on the walls and spent time examining each piece as you moved through the room. As you moved from wall to wall, your eyes fell on a strikingly familiar painting. The same girl with the bright blue eyes and the bangs stared back at you, the devilish smirk still playing upon her lips like she knew you had met before.

Releasing Grace’s hand, you all but ran up to the painting in question, trying to take in all the details that didn’t translate over the slightly grainy photo on your phone. The painting took on a life of its own up close. The paint itself was layered thick and thin across the canvas creating a rough texture that made the girl come alive. You were half waiting for her to make eye contact with her captivating baby blues and start staring back at you. You felt like you could reach inside the canvas and hold the beautiful woman’s face in your hands.

“Do you like it?” a deep British voice asked after clearing their throat behind you.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful,” you murmured, still staring at the green and purple woman. It took you a moment to rip yourself away from her piercing eyes and look towards the voice, only to turn around and find an even more captivating set.

They were bright green and belonged to a tall, dark haired man that was breathtaking. He had chocolate brown curls that seemed to be sticking in every direction, like a purposefully perfect bedhead, and stubble that moved up his jaw and down his neck. He had plushy pink lips framing his bright smile and his two front teeth came down the tiniest bit too far. He was wearing a white tshirt that was painted to his fit body as it was a size too small for him, showing off his arms of tattoos, and a pair of orange corduroy flares. His ensemble was topped off with a pearl necklace. He arched a brow when your mouth hung open slightly, trying to take all of him in.

“The painting is gorgeous,” you eventually were able to spit out. “I feel like I know her.”

“I’m glad that I was able to create something so captivating,” he smiled at you. So he was the one that painted it, meaning he was the one who had texted it to you. After getting over the initial shock, you gave yourself an internal high five for having this guy’s number. “Harry,” he introduced himself, reaching out a perfectly manicured hand to shake yours. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Y/N,” you smiled back, debating if you should tell him that you had kind of met before. It felt creepy to tell him, like you were some sort of voyer on an intimate part of his life. “I love her. Can you tell me a little bit more about it?” you asked. You had to figure out if it was worth being creepy about.

“So did I,” he said with a light chuckle. “She’s someone that I used to know,” he elaborated looking over your shoulder, surely making eye contact with the woman. Maybe you were reading into it too closely, but you thought a flash of hurt passed across his features.

“Do you always paint mysterious people from your past?” you teased, wanting to break the slightly awkward silence and also willing to do anything to talk to him further.

“Actually, I’m mainly a landscape painter,” he smiled at the ground, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Looking back at Harry’s wall of paintings you realized that the girl was the only person on the wall, flanked by beautiful landscape paintings depicting all different areas of the world. You quickly picked your favorite, a monochromatic green scene of the Eiffel tower.

After you asked if he traveled a lot to paint, the conversation began to flow. You strolled around the mainly empty studio space, footsteps falling in sync, him teaching you about his paintings and you asking questions, desperate to learn anything you could from him and just wanting to hear that beautiful accent. You learned he grew up in Cheshire and moved to New York for school and never left, but he travelled to Europe often to see his family and to paint. He told you about how his ultimate goals in life were to have one of his pieces in the Museum of Modern Art and to find his soulmate. He was a hopeless yet hopeful romantic. He also had two cats, Evie and Stevie (the latter was obviously named after Stevie Nicks).

He was so beautiful. He had this magical twinkle in his eye that you just couldn’t get over. He looked like he was one of the sculptors’ in the room’s life work. He was just as much of a piece of art as anything on display in the studio.

When the crowd started to thin, Grace came and found you, still rolling her eyes from something stupid Scott had said, him trailing not far behind. “Hi my love,” she greeted you, kissing your cheek casually as always. “We were getting ready to head out but I can see you’ve made a friend.”

“Harry is the artist behind all these amazing paintings,” gesturing to the long wall displaying his artwork. “This is my best friend Grace,” you said, turning back to him. “And that’s her soon to be ex-boyfriend, Scott,” you laughed and pointed to him staring at a blank white canvas in the corner that was obviously not part of the exhibition.

“Wait,” he began, shaking his head and laughing, pointing accusingly between the two of you. “You two aren’t together?”

“What? No!”

“It’s just that you were holding hands for a while when you came in and then she called you ‘love,’ and then kissed your cheek,” he continued laughing, his cheeks a bright red. It was adorable. You felt your cheeks heat up just as bright red as his.

“Oh my god, no.” You broke out into a fit of giggles of your own.

“Well, in that case, would you like to grab a drink or something sometime?”

***

You decided to order a martini when you got to the bar the next night. You thought it would make you look fancy and you hoped it would impress your worldly date. You had put on your favorite red dress (the one that hugged you in all the right spots and hid the wrong ones), praying he would dress up like you did, and slid carefully onto the barstool. Bouncing your knee nervously, you sipped your drink slowly until you saw his well dressed figure enter the bar, making your heart skip a beat.

He was dressed in high-waisted wide-legged tan pants and a bright red cardigan printed with small white hearts that was held together in the front by a single button, leaving his chest and signature pearl necklace on display. His chest tattoos were now slightly visible, the faces of two swallows looking back at you, as well as what you thought might be some sort of antennae peeking up from his stomach. He also wore an award winning smile and shot you a wink when he spotted you from the entrance of the bar. Once again, he took your breath away.

“Hello darling,” he greeted you as he made his way over. You began to panic when he started leaning into you, relieved when his lips found their way to your cheek and quickly moved to the other. When he kissed your cheeks, it sent sparks through your body. Oh my god, he is so British, you squealed inside your head, unable to suppress your American excitement. “I like your color choice,” he smirked looking between your outfits of almost the exact same red. You could only hope your cheeks didn’t match as well.

“Great minds dress alike,” you remarked, earning a laugh from the gorgeous man in front of you. Turns out, your joke was enough to break the ice. Soon the conversation began to flow freely, without anxiety or trepidation, like you were a pair of souls reunited after lifetimes apart. You were two martinis in when you decided to break the news that the art gallery was not the first time you had spoken.

“I think I have to break something to you,” you giggled, everything seeming a little funny after a few drinks, “the art show was not the first time we met.” His eyebrows knit together in slight confusion so you decided to elaborate. “The night before the show you sent a picture of that painting to a wrong number, and that wrong number was me. I promise it was all a coincidence and I am not stalking you.” You held your breath while you waited a moment with bated breath for a reaction from him, but released the stress that had found its way into your shoulders when his smile returned to his lips.

“I knew you had more interest in Amelia than most people,” he chuckled. Amelia, you repeated to yourself, now having a name for the face of your mystery woman.

“When Grace dragged me to that studio and I saw her again, I just had to know more. But then I met you and got a little distracted,” you flirted, “accidentally” nudging his leg with the point of your stiletto.

“I’m glad I’m just a distraction to you,” he feigned offense, clutching his pearl necklace with the hand that wasn’t hanging onto his neat tequila.

“Meeting you tonight was actually just an elaborate ruse to learn more about your Amelia,” you sarcastically confessed, sending him back one of the winks he had been shooting you all night. Your wink wasn’t met with his typical laugh, but a slightly pained smile that didn’t reach his eyes. You worried you had hit a nerve.

“She’s not my Amelia anymore. Actually, I don’t think she ever was,” he spoke gently, taking a sip of his drink and breaking eye contact for what felt like the first time tonight. Oh no oh no oh no, you began to panic in your head. What did this woman do to him?

“I once had an ex tell me they had cancer so I wouldn’t break up with them,” you offered, forcing a laugh and praying you could brighten up his mood again. Thankfully, it worked, bringing back the crinkles by his eyes that appeared whenever he smiled or laughed.

You breathed a sigh of relief when the rest of the night went smoothly. It was better than smooth actually, it felt easy and exciting. Harry made your heart sing and your stomach flutter. He was a perfect gentleman, walking you all the way home (even when he lived on the other side of the city) and even up to your apartment, insisting he needed to make sure you made it inside safe.

The pair of you were standing in front of your front door when he leaned in and pressed his blushed lips to yours. He tasted like the lime that sat on the rim of his drunk and smelled like shampoo and vanilla. Every hair on your body stood up on point and everywhere he touched you felt like your skin lit on fire; you never wanted this moment to end. He gently held your face and you could feel his lips turn into a smile as he pulled away, his beautiful green eyes meeting yours once again.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he breathed, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“I think we should do this again,” you said, still catching the breath that he took away.

“I promise you’ll be hearing from me soon. I already have your number,” he chuckled, still beaming. You watched as he walked down the hallway away from you, winking and blowing you a kiss before turning the corner. As soon as you entered the apartment, you slid down your front door, dizzy from the haze he had created in your head. You couldn’t wait to see him again.

***

After that night, you couldn’t believe someone like him kept coming back to someone like you. You insisted you were too boring for someone who had such an incredible personality and background. Yet three months later, he was yours and you were his.

You spent almost all your nights together, crammed into one of your small New York City apartments, wrapped in each other’s arms and hypothetically solving the world’s problems. You had learned in this time that Harry was incredibly intelligent and well spoken, no matter how long it took him to get his words out due to his slow cadence. In your conversations, you had come to the agreement that most of the world’s problems could be solved with a little empathy and that green was definitely the best color.

Tonight you laid naked in his bed, your head resting just above your favorite butterfly, and played with his fingers as you listened to him speak about postmodernism and how it rocked the art world. You didn’t understand a thing he was going on about but you loved to hear him speak, his voice vibrating through his chest and how he pulled on his bottom lip when he was thinking. You scanned the studio apartment from his bed, trying to pay attention but losing that battle. The floor was littered with finished and unfinished paintings leaning up against the walls and you noticed one familiar face you had grown fond of was missing.

“Where did your painting of Amelia go?” you asked when he took a second to breathe during his diatribe.

“I sold it,” he said curtly. You hadn’t talked much more about Amelia after that first night, the woman obviously being a sore spot, but you couldn’t help but wonder what happened.

“Oh, okay. I liked that painting a lot,” you spoke cautiously, trying not to hit whatever nerve you had previously.

“It was nice, but I think she should haunt someone else now,” he said with a sigh. Haunt?, you thought to yourself.

“H,” you began, rolling yourself off him to look him in the eye, “can I ask what happened with her?” You held your breath, afraid you might lose him to the heartbreak again.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s long gone.”

“Harry,” you lightly scolded him by using his full name which you rarely did, thinking back to when you agreed not to keep anything for each other. With a sigh, he began to speak.

“I was with her for a couple months last year and when I look back at it, it was really messy. We fought all the time and kept a lot from each other. But I had my rose colored glasses on and I would go as far as saying I was probably in love with her. I was even looking for engagement rings.” You felt a pang of jealousy within you at the idea of Harry loving anyone else. “That was until I found out that she already had a husband.”

Your heart broke for him after your initial shock, resting your hand on his warm cheek in an attempt to soothe him. He didn’t seem sad recounting the story or at the mention of her like he was before; he was now dealing with the remaining hurt of rejection.

“I painted her while I was still really mad,” he continued. “My original plan was to send it to her husband and tell him what had happened. But I decided that three lives didn’t need to be ruined instead of one. And then I was just kinda stuck with the painting. I thought selling it was a good way to get her out of my life and it’s more productive than lighting it on fire,” he finally said with a light chuckle.

A lot made sense all of a sudden. You now understood why Harry always got a little jealous when he saw other guys looking at you. He would loop an arm around your waist and press a kiss to your cheek while he stared them down. He thought you didn’t notice but you always did. You also understood why he was so open with you about how much he cared about you. It was a good thing you were equally as obsessed with him.

“I’m sorry, H. You didn’t deserve to go through all of that,” you said softly after a moment, unsure of what else you could offer.

“It’s okay. We grow from our past,” he shrugged. “And if I hadn’t painted her, I wouldn’t have found you,” he smiled sweetly, pulling you back into him and pressing his lips onto yours.

***

“Oh my goodness, what are you doing?” you giggled when Harry asked you to close your eyes.

“I have something to show you. Please close your eyes,” he asked again.

“What if I don’t want to close my eyes?” you teased, poking the dimple in his cheek caused by his cheeky grin. He rolled his eyes and began his plea again.

“Close your eyes, please. Do it.”

You gave in this time, closing your eyes and letting your heart flutter in anticipation. Harry knew you loved surprises and often took advantage of that fact. You felt him gently rest his cupped hands over your eyes, obviously not trusting you to not peak (he probably shouldn’t). He pressed himself to your back, urging you to make your way further into his apartment.

“Styles, if you let me walk into something, I swear to god,” you continued your giggling, overcome with excitement. Harry mumbled an ‘Oh, hush,’ in your ear before he stopped you both and lifted his hands away.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took it in. The painting was in Harry’s signature style, layered bright colors and varied textures across the canvas. Staring back was your own face, painted in a bright red monochrome with the exception of the color of your eyes that remained the same. You were posed with a bright smile that crinkled the skin by your eyes and you were wearing the red dress that you had worn that first night at the bar.

“Harry, oh my god. It’s so beautiful,” you managed to get out, still in shock.

“I know you don’t think you are, but are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t want anyone else in the world to be my muse.” You felt as if you could explode or melt with the amount of love you had for this man. You held him up on such a pedestal, and now you knew he did the same for you. “From the moment I saw you, I thought you were a work of art. So, I thought I’d actually make you into one.”

Your cheeks burned from the smile you couldn’t shake if you wanted to and you felt yourself get a little teary eyed. You felt as if you had spent the majority of your life thinking you were nothing special and just another person walking down the street. Harry made you feel like you were the center of the universe. You wanted to love yourself like Harry loved you; like you loved him.

“I love you,” you blurted, small tears rolling down your face, wiped away by Harry’s talented hands.

“I love you too,” he murmured softly, pulling your body to his. “I’ll always have your face hung up high in my gallery.”

There she is!! I hope you enjoyed it!! You can let me know what you think here!! :)

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #harry styles burb #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry fan fic #one direction #one direction fan fiction #harryandhockey

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blahkugo · 4 years ago

Text

Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment.

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot!

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time.

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood.

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth.

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus.

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!”

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies.

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips.

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart.

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought.

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and— Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly.

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here.

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner.

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later.

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress.

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self.

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous.

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood.

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else.

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm.

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin.

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.”

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera.

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow.

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales.

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless.

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder.

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer.

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell.

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?”

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least.

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.”

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love.

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.”

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.”

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?”

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even.

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck.

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you.

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before.

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong.

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.” He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move.

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss.

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.”

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip.

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.” The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you.

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks.

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip.

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly.

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd.

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more.

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you.

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge.

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs.

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?”

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat.

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control.

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs.

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it.

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him.

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt.

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member.

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole.

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat.

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much.

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself.

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness.

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction.

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper.

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips.

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close.

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him.

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you.

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with.

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?”

---------------

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years ago

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Day 1: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 1: Your soulmate’s name is on your wrist.

Content: Flower/Tattoo Shop AU, background character death (unspecified cause, none of the sides), that’s pretty much it, it’s just soft Logince.

Word count: 2.7k

A small ding from the store entrance pulled Roman out of his thoughts, and he groaned softly. It was nearing the end of his shift, almost closing time, and another customer at this time would probably mean he was staying after hours again. All he wanted to do was go home and watch cheap reality TV in his sweatpants while shoveling handfuls of hot cheetos into his mouth. So sue him, it had been a long day. But nooo. Someone else had just walked in, probably someone with a very specific style that was out of season and they would argue for half an hour, no matter how many times he explained that tulips aren’t blooming right now, Vanessa!

Sure, usually his customers were great. Nervous first anniversaries, eccentric brides, all that romance stuff. He loved it. And they were usually all too willing to give him a budget and a color scheme and let him go wild, which was the best part about his job. He was good at it, too. His boss had seen his eye for style and almost immediately gave him solo shifts, which meant decently good pay and hours alone to belt out songs amongst the flowers and daydream to his heart’s content. It was a small enough business that the only mandatory part of his outfit was a green apron, so he could wear whatever he wanted, and he didn’t need a pesky nametag. Those had always weirded him out just a bit. So yeah, he loved his job, but right now, he knew himself too well. He had awful luck.

With a forced customer service grin, he poked out of the backroom and began his usual spiel of, “Thanks for coming to The Rainbow Bouquet, what can I get started…”

His words died in his throat at the mere sight of the man before him. Never had he been so equally attracted and frightened at the same time.

He was tall, probably just taller than him, but he held himself in a way that made Roman feel miniscule. Both arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, the left one a flurried mix of black and white and color, beautiful strips of pink and blue galaxies blending with grayscale skulls and clocks. The other had more order; shadows of a forest growing from around his wrist, shimmering mist curling up over his bicep and ending with a full moon stamped on his shoulder like a crest. A corner of something peaked up around the collar of his torn vest, and if Roman had to guess, there were most likely plenty more tattoos that were covered by his ripped black jeans and blue Nasa shirt. Not that his mind was going there at all, no siree.

Once Roman’s brain had screeched to a halt back in his body, he spoke again.

“What can I get started for you today?”

The man swallowed with difficulty, taking in the rows and rows of flowers surrounding him. He definitely didn’t look in his element.

“I need an arrangement for my mother. She’s in the hospital.”

Ah, the part of the job that Roman didn’t enjoy. Probably half the orders that came in were for sick people or funerals, and those were always a lot harder to arrange. It was always hard to find joy in creating for something so dismal.

“I’m sorry to hear. Did you have anything specific in mind? Does she have a favorite flower?”

“Daisies. She likes Daisies,” He murmured, still admiring the space around him. Roman couldn’t help but smile at the man’s expression. It was just a little awe inspired, a little bit of childish wonder, under that rough exterior. It was a gorgeous shop, that’s one of the reasons Roman had started working there.

“That’s good, it makes it a little easier for me to design something when I have that to go off of. Do you have a budget, or…”

He shook his head weakly, finally turning to look at Roman. “Price isn’t an issue. This is one of the last things I’m going to be able to give her.”

“Oh,” Roman whispered, slowly putting down the pen he’d been writing with, “I’m so sorry.”

“It can’t be changed. There’s no point in losing sleep over it.”

“Just because it’s going to happen doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You’re allowed to be sad about it.”

The man narrowed his eyes, giving Roman a once over before lifting his chin slightly. “I don’t need advice from a stranger.”

“Of course you don’t,” Roman quickly corrected, remembering he was still at work, “My apologies. When did you want to pick it up?”

“I’m visiting her tomorrow at noon. Could it be ready by then?”

“You bet. Can I have a name for the pick up?”

“Logan.” Roman’s pen skittered over his notepad, almost falling through his fingers.

Having a common name on your wrist was a curse in and of itself. And poor him, the hopeless romantic that he was, had met countless “Logan’s” in his day, and consequently fallen for most of them at first introduction, only to figure out quickly that they weren’t destined for a “Roman”. As inconspicuously as possible, he tried to glance down at Logan’s wrist, only finding a mass of swirling tattoos covering his skin. Dammit. There were some people born without soulmates, or had their soulmark fade to nothingness when their person passed away, and he tried not to think too terribly hard on which one Logan was. He tampered his rush of excitement as quickly as it had arisen and turned back to his notes, ignoring Logan’s raised eyebrow at his sudden stop.

Roman scribbled down the name and phone number as it was given, setting down the notepad with a customer service smile. The man spent no time dawdling, immediately starting towards the door, only to hesitate before walking out.

“Her favorite color is yellow.”

Roman nodded, the fake smile slowly morphing into an authentic one. “I can work with that.”

It was now a week after Logan had picked up the bouquet, a somewhat awkward interaction filled with small compliments towards the arrangement and Roman nearly dropping the flowers as their fingers touched while passing it over. As he was ringing up the total, he’d been able to uphold a brief conversation where Logan revealed he was a tattoo artist (no shock, considering he showed more inked skin than plain), and Roman showed off his rose tattoo on his upper arm. It would have been fine if the conversation ended there, but no, Logan had to reach up tentatively to brush his finger along the edge of the piece, commenting off handedly about how the color had started to fade.

“How long ago did you get this done?”

“Probably ten years, give or take.”

“You’re what, mid twenties? There’s no way you were legal ten years ago.”

“Who said I was?” It was said with a small wink that made Logan pull his hand away, an action that immediately dampened Roman’s mood.

“If you ever want it touched up, come by the shop. It’s just down the road.”

Roman had promised to consider, pulling the collar of his long sleeve shirt back up over the rose and bidding the man a good visit to his mother. Even now, a full week later, he couldn’t help his thoughts that were so centered around the tattoo artist. So maybe that was why Logan walked back into the shop the following Wednesday. I simped so hard I summoned him, Roman thought weakly as the gorgeous man strode straight up to the counter, leaning on it like he owned it.

“I have a question.”

“What’s your question?

“A client asked me yesterday to design a tattoo for her. A bouquet, seen from the top, and all she specified was it should feature hydrangeas, and she asked me to, quote, ‘go nuts’.”

“This isn’t sounding like a question so far.”

Logan sighed apprehensively, adjusting his glasses, “I was hoping you could give me some ideas on how to start. All the tips I found online contradicted each other in some way or another, and the arrangement you created for my mother was so well done…”

He trailed off, giving Roman a look that clearly said I need your help but don’t make me ask for it. Chuckling slightly, he leaned onto the counter as well, his face inches away from Logan’s. For the first time, he could see the small piercing on the man’s tongue as he sighed again. God, that’s hot.

“I’ll help you. On one condition.”

“Being?”

“Help me design my next tattoo.” In full honesty, he hadn’t even considered a second tattoo until that second.

“Deal.” There was no hesitation in his answer, and he took Roman’s offered hand, barely shaking it in the small space between them.

“Alright!” Roman pulled back, satisfied but disappointed as their hands separated, “Let’s talk flowers!”

And talk they did. For hours, in fact. It started with Logan’s tattoo dilemma, and Roman’s skillful eye and creative mind solved that problem in a flash, crudely drawing out a bouquet idea that fit all the criteria. The tattoo artist took it from there, using the notepad paper and Roman’s sketch, along with a quick round of the shop to see what the recommended flowers, fillers, and greens would all look like, and drew out a detailed piece that put Roman’s own art talent to shame. After explaining that his shift was done at the parlor and he had the rest of the afternoon free, Roman invited Logan to stay for a while longer, seeing as his day had dragged on customer-less so far, and he was bored. Plus, now was as good a time as any to pay back the favor. Two mugs of breakroom coffee later, the two were huddled around the counter, Roman describing his ideas and Logan sketching them like there was no tomorrow. Maybe half way through the brainstorm, the conversation switched to Logan’s mother (which he talked about hesitantly), then to Roman’s family, slowly changing to the absurdity of satin couch cushions, then to their favorite foods, and finally ending with a loud debate on whether pineapple deserved to be on pizza.

“It’s a fruit, Logan! Why the hell would you put fruit on a pizza?!”

“All I’m saying is that the sweet flavor of the pineapple balances out the tanginess of the marinara sauce, and adds more to the plain crust!”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Logan had to go soon after that, wanting to visit his mom before visiting hours ended. He left with a begrudging smile on his face and a promise to come back another day, drawing an ear to ear grin from Roman. He’s just a friend, he reprimanded himself sternly, all the while sliding the drawing of his next possible tattoo into his phone case with startling reverence. No use getting attached to some who wasn’t his soulmate.

Yet, he still couldn’t help but feel saddened as a week passed again, then two, then a month. His job had returned to it’s boring normalcy, with only the flowers and no cute boy to keep him company. Even when he sat at his little desk next to the counter, hands working effortlessly to string together order after order, he couldn’t help the occasional glance at the door. The hope that his prince charming would waltz back in, piercings and ripped clothing galore, never faded.

A month and a half later, the little chime above the door dinged, and Roman glanced up from his handful of Baby’s Breath (seriously people, there are other fillers). Immediately a huge smile pulled at his lips and he dropped the half finished bouquet onto his table.

“Logan! What took you so… long…” His expression morphed into one of worry as he took in the other’s appearance. Gone was the usual grunge attire he was so prone to wearing, replaced with a black hoodie and beaten up Vans. His eyes no longer held that dangerous glimmer that had intimidated Roman so much when they first met. He just looked… small. Logan had never looked small before.

“My mom died last month,” He whispered.

Roman was over the desk in a second, pulling the man into his arms before he could protest. It took Logan a second, a long, awkward, stiff second, before he let his arms wrap around his waist, allowing his forehead to rest on the florist’s shoulder.

“I thought I’d be okay when she died… it was inevitable. It was her time… so why does it still hurt so bad?” The desperate whisper shattered Roman’s heart.

“You’re allowed to feel sad, Logan.” He felt him merely shake his head in response, but he said nothing to push the topic further.

Logan didn’t cry as they stood there, though he clung to Roman almost desperately. If he had to guess, the poor man was probably already cried out. He looked exhausted, and his unusually slumped posture only weakened more when Roman tightened his arms ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. You were probably waiting.”

“Hey, no apologizing.”

“I just… didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“So what changed your mind?”

Logan shrugged, still not pulling away, “I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it. And I needed someone who wouldn’t laugh at me. If our few interactions were anything to go by, you were that person.”

Roman decided to ignore the blatant implication that Logan didn’t have anyone except a practical stranger to go to. They could talk about that later, if he decided to stay for a while. Roman really hoped he did.

When the tattoo artist finally pulled out of the hug, many minutes later, he pushed his sweater paws under his glasses to scrub at his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t cried, but he sure was close to it.

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I don’t even know your name, and I-”

“It’s okay, stop-” Roman reeled back slightly, eyebrows shooting into his hairline, “Oh… sweet Zac Efron. I never told you my name! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“It felt too late to ask,” Logan smirked subtly despite himself, letting his hands fall back to his side.

“Oh, my sweet summer child.”

“I am none of those things.”

Roman sighed in soft exasperation, smiling at the barely perceivable glimmer in the other’s eyes. Ah, there it is. “My name’s Roman. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

He was instantly concerned with the way Logan’s face fell into one of total shock. Shit, what did he do wrong? The fear was quickly replaced with understanding, however, as the artist’s hand drifted to his right wrist.

“What are the chances that your wrist says my name on it?” Logan said it like he was scared to be hopeful, like a happy ending was just not imaginable for him. Roman couldn’t comprehend all the emotions he felt at one time; elation, shock, fear. He answered in a choked voice, smiling all the while.

“One hundred percent.”

The both upturned their arms in near harmony, Roman pulling his gardening glove down to reveal the name. He squinted at Logan’s wrist, finally noticing the small writing that just barely stood out underneath a grayscale (anatomically correct) heart. No wonder he missed it before, it almost blended in with the outline.

And then Logan did cry, but so did Roman, so it was a little more okay. He seemed more confused than anything as Roman pulled him back in, holding him even tighter than before.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m so unused to… well, feeling. I’m not usually like this, I believe I’m just sleep deprived and worn out from-”

“You never, ever need to be guilty for feeling, you absolute punk stereotype.” Roman pressed a long kiss to the other’s temple, letting him unwind in his arms. “We’ll work on that together. I promise.”

A muffled affirmative hum was all he got in response. He pressed another kiss to the top of Logan’s head as his crying slowed, breathing out heavily into the man’s hair. Together. That’s all that mattered.

Peep this gorgeous art piece for this fic

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #ts soulmate au

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

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Inspiration (Nathan Young x Reader)

A/N: I’ve been thinking more about my headcanon that Nathan has some sort of secret artistic talent. And then I had a flash of inspiration. Word Count: 1902 Content Warnings: drinking/alcohol, criminal activity, mention of animal abuse Cross-posted to AO3: here

“Hey,” Nathan said, waving his hand in front of your face, making you jump. “Earth to Y/N!”

“Sorry, what?” you said, slightly embarrassed that you had been zoning out.

“Am I borin’ ye?” he asked, pretending to pout.

“No of course not,” you were quick to assure him, before pausing a moment. “Well…”

He gasped.

“No! You’re not boring me. It’s just…we are just sitting around drinking stolen, bad, vodka,” you took a swig of the bottle in question and grimaced at its rubbing alcohol aftertaste.

“We could do somethin’ else,” he said, smirking and waggling his eyebrows before plucking the vodka out of your hands and chugging some.

You laughed and rolled your eyes, leaning over to punch him lightly in the shoulder.

“I was thinking more like...how do you feel about petty crime and vandalism?”

He gave you a curious look. “I’d say I’m a fan.”

“Good,” you said, taking out your phone to send a quick text to your friend to see if they could drop you some supplies. “Because I noticed a lovely barren expanse of walls on my walk over here that are just begging to be graffitied.”

“I’ve never done it,” he said with a shrug, “but I’m game.”

“Well,” you said, digging through the shopping bag you had found in the open boot of an abandoned car, right where you were expecting it, “El really came through with the supplies and the world is our canvas.”

You threw your hands in a broad gesture, before planting your fist on your hip. “And by that, I mean these two walls are our canvas.”

Nathan laughed, shaking his head wryly at you. “Lovely. So, what d’ we do?”

“Oh.” Your face fell slightly. You didn’t really know how to explain it to him. You had been painting street art for so long that it just came naturally to you. “Um...I guess you just, pick a can of paint and go for it. Paint whatever you’re feeling or thinking about. Or just your initials or something in a cool way. Whatever you want.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should watch ya for a bit, get some inspiration,” he drawled, giving you a cocky half-smile.

“I...uh...sure, if you want.” You shifted awkwardly, trying to ignore his gaze that felt like it was burning into the back of your neck as you riffled through the options to find the color you wanted. Stepping back, you looked critically at the wall, calculating it’s dimensions and what to start with. Satisfied that you had everything mapped out in your head, you set to work on the outline.

Nathan watched you work, your whole body moving fluidly in a way that sent his thoughts racing (not there was much you could do that didn’t), your brow knitted in fierce concentration. Once you had a vague outline of whatever you were designing, which he couldn’t even begin to guess, you shifted your focus to each individual section and detail. Occasionally, you would take a step back to see how the whole thing was coming together, tilting your head one way or the other, tongue poking out between your teeth slightly. He had never seen you so free and relaxed.

Suddenly, inspiration struck him and he practically dove into the shopping bag, rooting about for what he’d need. Taking a couple of the cans, he ducked around the corner to get started, a strange creative fire lighting in him.

“Finally come up with something?” you called softly, teasing.

“Yeah, yeah I did,” he said, almost absently. “But it’s a surprise, so no peekin’.”

“Ooh, mysterious.”

“Ye gotta promise ye won’t look til I say, Y/N,” he insisted.

“Alright,” you frowned, surprised he was getting so tetchy. “Cross my heart, I won’t peek. I’m pretty busy over here anyway.”

About an hour later, you put the final touch on your piece, your artist’s mark at the bottom so that anyone who knew anything would know who painted it. Stepping back, you smiled, wiping the slight sheen of sweat from your brow, formed by your exertion despite the cool night.

“You almost done, Nathan?” you called, surprised that he had been practically silent since he started working.

“Oh, yeah,” he called back distractedly. “Nearly. But I’ll come over there.”

“Sure,” you answered, puzzled by his odd behavior.

While you waited, you started gathering up the spray paints, putting any cans that still had paint in them back in the bag and tossing the empties in a nearby bin.

“Wow,” you heard Nathan say, making you jump as he appeared behind your back.

He was looking up at your art piece in awe. You had painted one of your signature designs: a laughing skull with flowers spilling from its open mouth. This time, the flowers were marigolds and foxgloves, and you had added a twist in the form of literal emerald eyes. You were quite proud of it, and Nathan seemed impressed.

“You like it?” you asked sheepishly, the heat of a blush creeping across your face.

“I love it,” he exclaimed, pulling out his phone to snap a grainy picture of it. “Make a cool shirt or somethin’. Or a pirate tattoo. Very punk.”

You rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him. “It’s been an...evolving design since I was like 14. Leave me alone.”

“I’m not messin with ya, Y/N. I really like it.”

“Well, thank you.” You smiled and he grinned back, and for a moment you were lost in that. And then you remembered his very secret work.

“So Hotshot, do I get to see yours now?” you asked.

He jumped, startled and then shrugged, mumbling. “‘F you want ta.”

“Of course I do,” you said, taking a step toward the corner.

“No wait! If it’s a surprise, I should cover your eyes and lead you to it.”

Knowing him, you were suspicious that he had some prank or ulterior motive in mind, but you nodded your ascent. He moved up behind you, pressing his chest against your back and curling his long fingers over your eyes.

“Can ya see anything?” he asked.

“Nope. Totally blind.”

Slowly he walked you across the gravel ground. Once you stopped, he started shifting you around by little steps in one direction or another, as if trying to get you into exactly the right spot.

“Alright,” he said, a nervous tick to his voice. “Ta-dah!”

He dramatically uncovered your eyes to show what he'd been working on.

“Oh,” you breathed, stunned.

Staring back at you from the wall were a pair of eyes caught in mid-wink. Your eyes. Captured in exquisite detail, right down to the scar in your brow, earned as a child trying to stop a group of older boys from dropping a paper sack full of kittens into the drainage ditch during a downpour.

“Nathan.” You felt your heart swell at the level of dedication, the obvious emotion he’d put into this, and tried to keep your voice from breaking.

He scuffed the toe of his dirty sneakers in the gravel, looking down and away sheepishly.

“I know. It ain't very good and it's jus' yer eyes instead o’ yer whole face but I thought this way you wouldn't get busted. And ye said t' paint what I was thinkin of…”

You turned to face him, reluctantly pulling your eyes away from the work of art before you. Tucking a hand gently under his chin, you drew his gaze back to you.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, making sure he could see the sincerity in your expression.

He blushed, barely noticeable under the dim lights. “Ya think?”

You nodded, snaking your arm around his neck and stepping closer. His hand dropped to your waist as if on instinct.

“And very sweet. Some might say romantic even.”

“Hey, don’t go spreading those lies! I have a reputation to maintain ya know,” he joked, obviously trying to hide his discomfort at your praise.

“Nah, I like keeping that secret all to myself better anyway,” you teased, smirking before stretching up on your toes to press a teasing kiss to his lips.

He groaned, pulling you closer and kissing you back, tongue trailing over your lip almost immediately. You parted to let him explore your mouth, toying with an errant curl at the nape of his neck. Slowly he guided you backward, only to suddenly jerk you to the side, accidentally biting your lip in the process.

“Ow,” you whined, pulling back and bringing a finger to your lip to see if you were bleeding. “What was that?”

“Didn’t want to mess up the art,” he explained. “Or my jacket.”

“What do you mean?” you frowned.

He looked at you incredulously. You glanced down, realizing that in your haste to get ready, you had indeed pulled on his signature plaid-lined black garment.

“Oh,” you said softly before turning your face back up toward his with a smirk and a shrug to rival his most unapologetic expressions. “Oops.”

“Ye’re lucky ye’re so damn cute, or I might be mad at ya,” he teased.

“I’m sure I can think of some way to make it up to you,” you hummed, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned at you, and you stretched up to kiss him again, but just as your lips met, a strong, chill wind cut whistling through, causing you both to shiver.

“Maybe we should take this back to my place?” he asked, breath ghosting across your face.

“I like the sound of that,” you smiled back.

Quickly, slid the bag of remaining paint cans under the nearby dumpster for your friend to pick up later. All traces of your presence in the area (except of course the now much more beautiful wall) removed, you turned back to Nathan, ready to head out. He draped an arm around your shoulders and you happily leaned in to the gesture, tucking yourself against his side. As you walked back toward the community center, your head resting on his shoulder, you thought of something.

“Nathan,” you asked, slightly hesitant, fearful that he might put up walls against you again. “I thought you said you’d never done this before?”

“I haven’t,” he answered casually.

“Then how were you so good at it? The level of detail and real, genuine artistry…”

He shrugged, taking his arm from around you to fumble in his pockets for a cigarette and a lighter, the latter of which he couldn’t seem to find. You reached into the pocket of your jeans, holding out yours and letting him light the end of the cig with it. The distraction passed, you looked back at him as he looked pointedly away and took a long drag.

“I dunno. I mean it’s not that different from doodlin’ on paper with a pen or whatever, right?” he said finally with another shrug.

“That was more than ‘doodling’, Nathan,” you said, plucking the cigarette from his lips and placing it between your own.

He pouted at you as you took a drag and offered it back. His lips brushed against your fingers as he took it back, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Guess I’m just a man of mystery,” he said vaguely, draping his arm back around your shoulder.

“I guess so,” you murmured, not voicing how much you look forward to finding them all out.

#I think street art is really cool and I envy the artists' talent #so I made the reader one #because I can live vicariously #it is not however what she was busted for that got her put on community service #also let's assume that this is far enough from the center that they won't be assigned to clean it up in the morning #Nathan Young x Reader #Misfits fic

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ravenbrenna09 · 4 years ago

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Jij Verliest - Chapter Three: Clip 8

the edited version of the chapter will come up later tonight (also technically there are two clips)

master list previous

...

Vrijdag 22:32

When Robbe sat down for his typical Friday night stream, he had a plan. For starters, he was only going to stream for the usual three hours that he always did. No more. No less. After, he was going to study for an hour, look over notes for his test on Wednesday, and go to bed. Then, in the morning, he would wake up, have breakfast with the flatshare, and go skating with his friends. After that, he didn’t know.

Robbe thought he was stronger.

Once the clock neared 21:00, his chat thoroughly managed to convince him—aided by Moyo and Aaron, chanting over the Discord call—to stream for an additional hour. While the smarter part of Robbe’s brain had begged him to stick to the schedule in his head, he was having so much fun with his friends and the chat that he couldn’t help extending the time a little longer. And, as it neared 22:00, he couldn’t help but continue for ‘one more round’ which simply turned into five without blinking. Robbe was starting to wonder when it would end because he didn’t want to.

Then, through the act of his phone lighting up, the universe decided to tell him to get off the stream.

earthlingoddity: It’s so lonely under the stars without you.

The message in every sense of the word screamed Sander. Yet, it made Robbe’s insides twist and turn with such a defined precision that it was elating. Freeing. It was bold and private, a confession for only the two of them, something that they shared. Something that Sander wanted to share with Robbe so openly and so quickly and so boldly.

Even though the stream was running, Robbe couldn’t leave Sander without a response. As soon as he had hit send (the second time), he turned back to the stream, catching up on the donations and messages. It was practically second nature now. But, he still found himself watching for his screen to light up again.

sterkerdanijzer: Oh, yeah? How can I make it a little less lonely?

Sander’s next message was the final cannonball into Robbe’s intricate night schedule. Whatever ounce of want to look over his Bio notes, to get to bed on time, splintered into pieces on the ground at three simple little words that flashed on the screen.

earthlingoddity: Wanna join me?

Vrijdag 22:52

As soon as the invitation had come through, Robbe abruptly ended the stream and claimed that he needed to the studying that he had been neglecting. His chat had all wished him goodbye and good luck on his upcoming tests. Once the stream was ended, he practically hung up on his friends and tripped over his feet in his search for a pair of jeans. Once he had switched out his night-stream sweatpants, Robbe was shoving his feet into shoes and typing out a message to Sander about meeting him.

Sander replied with a wink emoji and then an address.

As Robbe stepped out into the hallway, he quietly shut his door and tiptoed toward the front door. Even though Zoë—and Senne—were the only ones home, he didn’t want to disturb them in his haste to meet Sander. As Robbe opened the door, he could hear the sounds of their movie sounding from the living room. Feeling like he was sneaking out past curfew, he tiptoed out the door and pulled it close behind him without a sound. Once the door was locked, Robbe practically sprinted to the elevator, impatiently pressing the button until it opened.

The address that Sander sent him brought him to a warehouse or rather a whole street full of warehouses of all shapes and sizes. Nearly all the surrounding warehouses had their lights shut off and the only light that bathed the street was the harsh white light emanating from the street posts. Other than Robbe and a stray cat that darted into a dark alleyway, the street was empty.

Standing outside of the warehouse with the matching address, he balanced on one foot and looked around, searching for a sign of Sander. Or, at the very least, a clue of where to go. As he hopped off his bike, he spotted another in the shadows of the building and the neighboring one. It was a dark bike with dark handles but there was a bright red lightning bolt sticker on the bars. It was Sander’s.

Stepping into the shadows, Robbe leaned his bike on the wall near his before he moved further into the alleyway in search of the other. It was short and badly lit. There was enough room for a dumpster and some breathing room, but aside from that, the alleyway was bare of anything else. In the end, it opened up onto the Scheldt and the dark night sky. Robbe stepped out of the alleyway and quickly found who he was looking for.

Poised on the edge of the concrete, Sander looked like a stone statue, left there for others to stumble upon and gawk in awe. His bleach blond hair was ruffled by the light breeze and he was staring across the river with a focused gaze. His legs were dangled over the concrete, hovering high above the dark water below. He was dressed in a plain black shirt and a pair of denim jeans that made Robbe wonder if Sander had just gotten off work. As Robbe approached him, cautiously and nerves bouncing frantically in his gut, he accidentally kicked a bottle which made him jump more than it did Sander, who seemed unbothered.

The endearing smile that bloomed across Sander’s face did little to calm the mild heart attack that Robbe had given himself. “Hey,” Sander greeted. Robbe moved closer to him and sat down on the edge of the canal with him. Their legs brushed flush together and a small smile formed over Sander’s lips. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here or I would’ve met you.”

“It’s okay,” Robbe said, smiling at him. “I managed to find you all by myself.” Sander chuckled, smiling over at him with a sheepish smile on his face. “Did you just feel like star-gazing tonight?”

“Yeah,” Sander replied, shrugging his shoulders as he turned to Robbe. “Since I had the late shift and had to close up tonight, I thought I would come out and watch the stars a little before bed. Plus, if I went back to my apartment, it would be too quiet anyway. Noor’s in the Netherlands visiting family and, well—you know where Senne is.”

“How did you even find this place?” Robbe asked.

“In high school, I used to sneak out and roam the city,” Sander said, shyly. “When I wasn’t in a good place, it always brought me comfort. I would search the city for graffiti art and document it all. It’s how I found this place and over a dozen more coves of hidden artistic treasures around the city.” Sander smiled, returning his eyes back to the water. “But, this place has been my favorite. There’s not a lot of lights to block out the stars and it’s peaceful this time of night because not a lot of people live here.”

“Yeah,” Robbe said, barely a whisper. Sander glanced over at him and Robbe felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment for being caught staring. Even as a bright smile formed over Sander’s face, Robbe found himself unable to look as his cheeks flushed brighter. “It does seem quite peaceful here.”

Sander chuckled before turning back to the stars in front of him.

Unable to keep still, Robbe turned to take in their surrounding. He had been so focused on finding Sander that he hadn’t taken in their surroundings. In addition, he knew that if he didn’t keep his eyes off Sander, he would fall into the same daze of staring until he was caught again. Though, Robbe had a feeling that Sander didn’t mind him staring a little too long. In fact, he was certain that he enjoyed it.

The warehouse behind them was a simple warehouse with a large deep blue door. He had seen it many times before, of course, because his normal skatepark was on the other side of the river. But, the warehouse next to it, the one a little further back and hidden, was the one that caught his attention. For a second, he thought it was the trick of the light—or the shadows—but he realized there was something on the wall, harshly obscured due to the lack of light.

“What is that?” Robbe questioned.

Sander turned to him. “Huh?”

Unable to answer his question, Robbe rose to his feet. He moved away from Sander, who shuffled somewhere behind him. As he got closer to the building, he pulled his phone out and turned on his flashlight. Once the light was on and he reached the side of the building, he directed his phone toward it and gasped.

It was a mural.

In a large oblique circle located in the center of the brick wall, there was a depiction of a torrential ocean. The waves were large and massive, looking like they would crash into each other in a second’s notice. Above the ocean were deep gray clouds that poured heaps of rain onto the ocean below. The mural took up half of the building wall and Robbe couldn’t stop staring at it, shining his light over every piece of the mural, not wanting to miss a piece.

There was the shuffle of boots behind him, but Robbe didn’t have to look to know that Sander was right behind him. “Do you like it?” Sander asked.

There was something lingering in his voice that Robbe didn’t pinpoint. Pausing, Robbe turned to Sander, who was moving toward him with cautious steps and his hands buried deep in his pockets. He turned back to the mural in front of him, his eyes searching the dark blue paint and its torrential rain and overwhelming ocean waves. “I love it.”

“Really?” Sander questioned.

The artist was closer to Robbe now. He could feel the warm presence that Sander radiated just out of his reach. Robbe’s head spun out of control, twisting and churning like the depiction of the torrential downpour in front of him. Despite the fact that his heart might leap out of his chest if he talked, Robbe said, “Yes.”

Sander let out a breath before he said, “I’m happy to hear that you like it.” His breath brushed against the shell of Robbe’s ear and he shivered unexpectedly at the feeling of him so close. Sander’s tattooed arm appeared over his shoulder and his right hand grasped Robbe’s hand which held the phone. His hand was warmer, larger, and the warmth flooded through his body unexpectedly. Gently, Sander moved his hand so the phone’s light was shining directly below the mural.

In the center of the light beam, there was a prominent black lightning bolt, outlined with a thin line of white along its right side. On its left, there was an almost unintelligible S and a similar-looking D was on its right. A realization clicked in Robbe’s head as he stared at the tag. Sander dropped his hand from around Robbe’s, his thumb swiping across his knuckles, and Robbe felt a small smile tugging up the corners of his lips. “You painted this.”

“Yeah,” Sander said. “One night, a few months ago, I couldn’t sleep no matter how hard I tried so I snuck out and came here with a bag full of spray paint. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I had found a ladder that someone left and I started working. Once sunlight hit and Senne realized I was gone, he found me high on the ladder with spray paint covering my hands and exhausted. When he asked me what it meant, I couldn’t explain. It was just how I felt.”

“I get that.”

Turning away from the mural, Robbe turned to Sander. But, he had underestimated how close the artist had gotten and the realization had knocked all of the wind out of his lungs. Sander was standing within reach, less than, with his hands buried deep in his pockets. His green eyes, which stood out from the dark shadows surrounding them, were focused solely on him and Robbe was positive that he looked like a gaping fish.

It felt like Wednesday all over again, green eyes searching brown ones, brown ones searching green ones, in the darkness of the night sky. But, this time, Robbe was the one who purposely dropped his gaze to Sander’s lips and the artist immediately let out a shaky breath. He glanced back up at Sander, who had a vulnerable but determined look in his eyes, as their eyes locked together again.

Then, Sander took a step closer.

With each agonizing second that Sander leaned closer, Robbe could feel his emotions churning in his stomach like the waves depicted on the wall behind him. They crashed against his skin in torrential waves, drowning him beneath their waves, and they collided in his skull like excited particles threatening to explode. His stomach was a fit of nerves and anticipation of what might come next—of what was coming next—of how much he wanted it to happen with every nerve and atom that existed in his body. Robbe tilted his head so their lips would easily slide together.

As their noses brushed together—as Robbe’s eyes fluttered close—as Sander’s warm hand cradled his jaw—as Robbe gripped onto his bicep, the waves shuttered to a stop and all the excited particles halted in midair, leaving only one thought in their wake as their lips grazed against each other: I want this.

If the wait was like drowning, the kiss itself was like breaking the surface of the water, the waves reducing around him and taking a gigantic breath of fresh air. Sander’s large, warm hands cradled his jaw. In Sander’s gentle, warm grip, Robbe felt like he was something precious. Sander’s lips pressed against his own, barely there, gentle and sweet. Robbe felt like his head was spinning, his senses filled with the smell of Sander’s intoxicating cologne. But, even with his senses full of the intoxicating smell, Robbe felt like it wasn’t enough—he wanted Sander even closer.

Sander pulled away, letting out a breath that ghosted across Robbe’s face, and he opened his eyes to look up at him.

A beautiful smile was on Sander’s face and it was directed at him. It was by far the widest that Robbe had ever seen him smile and it looked like it could’ve split Sander’s face into two separate pieces. It made him look like a piece of artwork or a moment snapped in time. And, it was absolutely infectious. Robbe’s own lips pulled up in a smile as he stared at him. Robbe’s cheeks ached and he knew that his dimples were likely out. But, no matter how much it hurt, Robbe didn’t want to stop smiling and he didn’t think that he was capable of doing so.

“Fuck,” Sander said. His thumbs dragged across his cheekbones, dipping a little at the dimples on the edges of his lips, before tracing the path all over again. One of his hands moved back into the hair at the nap of Robbe’s neck, holding him there, tugging at the strands of his hair. Then, he whispered, a confession for Robbe and Robbe only, “You’re so beautiful.”

“So are you,” Robbe whispered.

Robbe surged up toward him. He stood on his toes to kiss him again—to kiss him a third time—to kiss him as many times as Sander would want to. And, Sander was there, holding onto him tightly and ready to catch him, and met his kiss with eager force.

Their first kiss had been sweet and short. It was like they were testing the waters on it all, trying to see if it was something the other wanted. But, this kiss was hungry and desperate, like they couldn’t get close enough to satisfy their increasing desire. There wasn’t enough time in the world so Sander kissed him with everything that he had and Robbe tried to pull Sander closer and closer until there was no room in between them. Their lips moved in an uncoordinated fashion, half reacting to the other, as they tried to learn their lips. Robbe tried to mesmerize this moment with Sander’s fingers in his hair and Robbe clinging to the black fabric of his t-shirt desperately.

Sander’s kiss slowed a little, but not enough to separate their lips. Then, he moved, taking one step and the other, and Robbe tilted along with him, clinging desperately to his shoulders like a koala that was unable to let go. But, Robbe couldn’t help it and he didn’t think Sander minded. He did not want to separate from the softness of Sander’s lips or the eagerness of his kiss. Sander’s hand was tight on his hip, guiding him on where he wanted him to go, before Robbe felt his back press against the wall—the wall with the mural—before Sander’s kiss returned in full force.

Sander leaned further against Robbe, nearly putting all of his weight on him. His hands tugged on the strands of Robbe’s hair and kissed him harder and faster. Robbe let out a sigh and tried to match Sander’s overwhelming, intoxicating intensity. He arched into the kiss before wrapping one arm around Sander’s shoulder. He tugged Sander closer and he came willingly, stepping forward and crowding Robbe against the wall. Robbe dug his fingers into the blond strands of his hair and Sander sighed between their lips.

They broke the kiss, half panting into each other’s mouth, trying to regain their breath. They were quiet and still, simply holding onto each other and relishing in each other’s presence. Then, a giggle escaped from Robbe’s mouth and Sander let out a laugh before moving to close the distance again. Their lips slotted together like they never separated.

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duker42 · 5 years ago

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May I perhaps request some punk!Levi x reader nsfw fluff please? You can pick the scenario~ ty for the chance

*****WARNING*****NSFW

💜Outward Appearances💜

He had that bad boy charm. The kind that got a girl wet from just imagining how bad he could be. His persona was only amplified by his outward appearance. The tattoos and piercings combined with the black jeans, combat boots and band t-shirts and his ‘Don’t Give a Fuck’ attitude made Levi Ackerman fucking appealing.

At least, Y/N thought so. She was sure that plenty of others had batted their lashes at the handsome man. All the piercings in the world couldn’t hide the startling silver blue eyes and the even features. His black hair screamed to be pulled while he was wrecking her, that lithe and muscular body doing wickedly delicious things to hers.

She wanted him, watched him from the corner of her eye as he worked, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he drew the latest piece that everyone would be clamoring for on their bodies.

He didn’t run a gun, he left that for his business partners. No, Levi was an artist to his very soul. His fingers created magic that his mind could conjure up. He had taken that and built a successful business with his friends. It didn’t hurt that his body was a canvas, a walking advertisement for Farlan’s skill with a tattoo gun.

She had been hired to schedule the appointments and man the front desk, for Levi and Farlan when Isabel was too far advanced in her pregnancy to stay at the shop all day. She and the bubbly red head had bonded, laughing easily as she had shown her the computer system and had given her some tips for working with her husband and her “brother” as she called Levi.

Her little crush had blown up into full on need. Her imagination taking over as she watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he sketched a new rough design, or the way his shirt pulled tight across his back as he walked around stretching from sitting in one position too long.

She knew that he probably had no interest in her. Figuring her too straight laced to even consider. She had no visible tattoos, something that was considerably odd for someone who worked in a tattoo shop. She didn’t even have piercings beyond the earrings she wore in her lobes.

Y/N was less decorated in the jewelry department, but Levi had his lower lip pierced on the side, a piercing in his eyebrow, another in his tongue, plus four in each ear. He didn’t gauge his ears, instead it was a lovely combination of studs and small hoops in his ears. She hadn’t missed the bars that poking through his tight t-shirts, indicating both nipples were pierced. There was no way he would ever be interested in a person like her.

~~~~~

Farlan’s call took less that five minutes. The sandy blonde had gone stark white as he stammered into his phone.

“I’ll be right there!.....No! Isabel, DO NOT THINK OF DRIVING YOURSELF TO THE HOSPITAL. I’m on my way.” His eyes were wide with wonder as he looked down at the screen as it went dark.

Levi grinned as he shoved his childhood friend, taking the tattoo gun out of his hand. “Go, dumb ass. She will try to drive herself if you don’t. I’ll finish up here.” He said, shoving him closer to the door.

Y/N handed him his jacket as she gave him a hug. “Go on Daddy! I can’t wait. Let us know how it goes, okay? I’ll come as soon as we close up.” She said, grinning at his dazed expression.

“S-she’s.....the...baby...” Farlan stumbled out of the shop, shaking his head before running to his car.

Levi shook his head as he looked down at the client, assessing where Farlan had left off. He clicked his tongue before pulling on a set of gloves and getting to work.

~~~~~

Y/N had called the last two clients scheduled and explained the situation and offering to let Levi fulfill the appointment. Both had been willing to reschedule, wanting Farlan to complete the work they had wanted. It allowed them to close the shop a few hours early since they did not take walk-ins unless it was for a consultation.

She swept the floors in the back room while Levi stood at the sink, meticulously cleaning the gun and preparing it for the sterilization machine it would bake in. She moved over to Levi’s drawing table, stopping when she caught sight of his latest creation. It was a beautiful mix of gothic and innocence. Skulls and roses intertwined, the vines holding the bones in place as it threaded up the page.

Levi snorted, drawing her attention. “What?” She asked, her head cocked to the side as she wondered what he found so funny.

“You.” The answer was short, much like the man.

“Me what?” Y/N demanded.

He set the gun in the machine and flipped the switch, the blue light coming on as the sterilization process started. He turned around and leaned against the counter.

“Acting like you’re interested in a tattoo.” He said, folding his arms over his chest and smirking at her.

She gaped at him like a fish as she tried to formulate a response.

“Like a good girl like you would ever be interested in something like that. You’re so straight laced it’s painful.” He scoffed.

“I-I have tattoos!” She exclaimed, wincing slightly at how defensive it came out.

He quirked an eyebrow as he pushed off the edge of the counter, stalking closer with an amused look in his slate eyes.

“Show me.” He demanded.

Y/N blushed as she looked down. “I’d have to...to pull down my pants.”

“And?” He asked nonchalantly. “Show me.”

He took the broom from her, setting it against the table as she gathered her nerves and reached for the band of her leggings. Thanking all the Gods in existence that she had gotten waxed the week prior and she had decided to wear some decidedly pretty underwear, she pulled them down to show the small rose tattoo that she had on her hipbone.

His chuckle was low and a bit condescending. “Oh yes a wild child.”

She turned around to show the ink on her lower back, right above the seam of her ass. A finger reached out to trace the slightly raised ink under her skin, making her jolt and spin back around.

He just moved his finger to the rose on her hip. “This is shit.” He said bluntly.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but he continued on.

“I could design something much better for your skin. Highlight the tone and let it stand out as a canvas.” The low words curled heat low in her belly as his finger drove her crazy as it traced the lines of the ink.

“What would you do?” She asked, unable to keep the slight breathlessness from her tone.

His hand yanked her legging down a bit more as he knelt down. Looking up at her, Y/N felt her heart skip a beat as mischief flashed in his eyes. His warm hand rested on the side of her thigh, right above her knee.

“Start here.” He said, squeezing gently before guiding it up to cover the front of her thigh. “It would cover your thigh; big, bright and beautiful.”

She let out a ragged breath, watching his hand on her, the ink covered hand a contrast to the smooth unblemished skin she had.

He shifted up slightly, his had on her hip, fingers curling around it rather possessively. “Coming up and covering this piece of shit with a real rose, in full bloom. So life like you can practically smell it.”

She couldn’t believe the purr in his voice, the low cadence was almost lover like as he stood and his hand slipped under her shirt. It grazed her flanks, making her shiver. “Vines trailing up your side, to curl up right here.” His fingers traced the edge of her bra, teasing the skin with light strokes as he watched her watching him.

Her breathing was rapid and shallow. She felt like her body was wax, melting slowly under the heat of his hand. Y/N couldn’t help her reaction to him, she had admired him for so long, fantasized about him too often to be calm with his hands on her.

Levi’s other hand tightened on her other hip, his eyes demanding as he stared into hers. The silent question passing between them, her answer in the small whimper she gave him.

He pulled her bra up in a smooth motion as he covered her breast with his warm palm. Y/N’s eyes closed as she arched up against him. He chewed on his lip ring for just a second, feeling her nipple pebble in his palm before leaning forward and kissing her.

She loved the feeling of his tongue rubbing against hers as he explored her mouth. The ball of the tongue ring making her shiver. She could just imagine how that would feel against her nipple or on her clit.

He backed her against the counter, lifting her up and sliding between her thighs after he had taken off her shoes and leggings. Her hand roamed under his shirt, lifting it up to expose the ink infused skin. Her mouth watered as he pulled back and lifted the shirt off with a smirk. The tattoos didn’t cover the fact that he was ripped. His hard muscles flexing and bunching under the skin as he leaned back in to kiss her again.

Her hands brushed over the bars through his nipples, his own shiver making her grin against his mouth. He pulled away to lift off her shirt and bra with a quick flick of his wrists, his mouth latching onto her collarbone as he nibbled his way down her chest.

Levi’s mouth on her breast was amazing, the ball of the tongue ring running over her nipple as he lapped at her. Her hands flew to his head and threaded into his hair. Her gasp filled the back room as he tugged on it before switching over to her neglected breast.

Her legs wrapped around him, tugging him closer. He growled against her as he rutted against her. The feeling of his hard cock pressed enticingly against her was enough to make her beg.

“Please.” She breathed, tugging on his hair hard. His fingers dug into her hips, slipping under her underwear and tugging them down and baring her to him.

He pulled away and looked down at the bare, wet folds of skin. His eyes darkened at how wet she was. “Next time. I’m going to taste you.” He growled.

Y/N went for his belt buckle. Her hands shaking slightly as she opened the buttons and slipped a hand inside to grip him. Her eyes widened as she felt something she hadn’t expected at all.

Levi grinned wickedly at her as he pushed his pants and boxers down, exposing the long curved length, a pierce tip with a curved bar in it. Her eyes were fixed on it as he took himself in hand and gave the stiff member a few pumps with his hand.

“Oh....” Y/N’s confidence faltered a bit as she started.

“Hey.” Her eyes flew up to his face. He gave her a serious look, comforting her. “It okay. It’ll feel good. It’s just a piercing. I can take it out.” He offered.

“No.” She shook her head.

“You want this, Y/N?” He asked quietly, moving closer to cup her face.

“Yes.” She breathed. “I want you.”

He leaned forward to kiss her, his hand around his cock as he rubbed it up and down her slit, wetting himself with her arousal. She moaned into his mouth, making his cock jump in his hand.

He nibbled her lip, biting down on it before releasing it with a groan. “I’ve wanted you for months. Since we hired you.”

Her hands froze as they traveled up his back, pulling back to look at him. His slight redness told her he was telling the truth. She yanked him back to her and kissed him passionately, pushing her hips forward to catch on the tip of his cock.

Levi’s hand flew to her hip as he snapped his hips forward, sheathing himself in her core in one hard thrust. Her head flew back, exposing the column of her throat that he attacked eagerly as he set a hard pace.

He hammered into her, the ball of the piercing pushing against her cervix and making her gasp with every thrust. He was making her see stars every time he pushed forward, her hips shifting forward to meet him.

He pulled her closer, pressing the cold steel of his nipple bars against her chest. His hands running up and down her back, urging her on as he kept thrusting with abandon. His grunts and slight groans against her ear making her tighten her legs around her, pulling him deeper into her.

“L-Levi.” His name poured off her tongue with a cry. Her body tightening as she bowed up. He gritted his teeth against the feeling of her cumming around him. He didn’t stop, actually moved faster as he pushed her harder over the edge of pleasure.

His own release tingling at the base of his spine. He hadn’t talked to her about birth control. Hadn’t even thought about a condom. Stupid and reckless, something he never was in sex, it was Y/N that clouded his mind and made him think of nothing else.

“G-gonna cum.” He panted, moving his hands to the counter, ready to push away.

“I-IUD.” Y/N gasped out, her hands moving down to grip his ass.

Levi groaned, loudly as he felt his body stiffen. His thrust deep as he poured himself into her, twitching with every pump of cum he released. “Fuuuuck.”

Y/N sighed as she felt him sag against her. His heavy breathing against her shoulder oddly sweet at she reached up and petted his hair. He might look like at bad boy from all outward appearances, but he was nothing but considerate to her.

He lifted his head up and leaned in for another kiss. “Lets go to the hospital and see the baby. Then I want to take you out for dinner.” He said, stealing kisses between words.

Bad boy punk....more like softy.

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hollyxqx · 5 years ago

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lover, leaver // jimin // 02

↪ PAIRING: Reader/Park Jimin (initally reader/Jungkook) ↪ SUMMARY: There’s only so much cheating you can take from your boyfriend when he’s on tour before you take matters in to your own hands. ↪ WORD COUNT: 8.2k

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | FINAL

Despite the uneasy feeling that gnaws away at your gut, you have a nice time with Jungkook and the boys. They drink a lot at the after party - held in an exclusive rock and roll bar that's adorned with records on the walls and pictures of some of its famous guests. Jungkook is at your side all night but you don't fail to notice the girls that hover around.

Hoseok ensures everyone gets back to the hotel in one piece and you're pleased all the boys go to bed alone. Jungkook's already kissing the back of your neck as you try to unlock the room door, since you're the more sober one of the two of you.

"Jungkook," You squirm away from him. "We're too drunk."

"Nuh-uh." He's tugging off his clothes and you're almost impressed at how fast he's able to strip down to his boxers, a very obvious bulge forming already. He manoeuvres the two of you to the bed as best he can in this state. "I need you."

As he hovers over you, pressing his hardness into you, you can't stop the images of Namjoon in that girl flashing in your mind, except the more you think about the more you realise it isn't Namjoon's face you're picturing it's Jungkook's.

"Baby, why are you crying?" He asks, looking at you, tilting his head like a puppy. You hadn't even realised you had been. The alcohol had definitely lowered your inhibitions. He wipes away a tear with a thumb.

"Sorry," You mumble.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks. "Is it me?"

You don't want him to stop. You want him to desire you like Jimin does. You want him to want you and nobody else. You want to prove to him he doesn't need anyone else but you. "No." You whimper.

Jungkook gives you a moment before he continues. It doesn't take long for him to be thrusting into you, lips attacking your neck. Jungkook cums but you don't, unable to get into that headspace. If he notices he doesn't say anything. Instead he just rolls over next to you. You mentally note that's the first time you've ever not reached your peak during sex with him. It feels unusual.

"Love you baby," Falls sleepily from his lips.

"Jungkook?" You ask, hoping he isn't unconscious yet. He hums next to you in acknowledgement. "What if Namjoon had had sex with that girl?"

"You want to talk about that now?" He groans. "So fucking what if he did? I told you not to worry about it. Besides it was just a blowjob."

"That's what you said before." You sigh.

"Baby," Jungkook sits up on one elbow to look at you, using his free hand to turn your face towards his. "If Namjoon wants to act like an idiot, let him. Don't waste time worrying about him."

"I worry about you." You say just above a whisper.

"You don't need to. You're the only girl I want."

He kisses you one more time before pulling you into his arms again. Sleep evades you for an unmeasurable amount of time, the lie your boyfriend told you on loop in your head.

***

The next morning at breakfast Namjoon can barely make eye contact with you. He has bags under his eyes, his skin is sallow and he's unshaven. Jungkook mutters to you that Namjoon is coming down from god knows what he took the night before. He's quiet as he eats.

Jungkook rests a hand on yoru knee as the two of you enjoy your own breakfast. Your mind wanders to Jimin, wondering what he's up to. Korea is eight hours ahead, so by now he's probably finishing work. Sometimes you think about how you'd feel if you found out Jimin was dating. The thought doesn't sting like it does with Jungkook but it doesn't exactly make you want to jump for joy either.

Your eyes flitter to your boyfriend. On the outside he's still the same Jungkook you'd always known and grown to love. He has more tattoos, longer hair and physically he's as big as he's ever been but more or less it's him. On the inside is a different story.

He's more famous now than when you met. With that came lots of good things - money, success, respect - but also some bad. Jungkook always had an addictive personality and having unlimited access to alcohol, drugs and women isn't good for someone like him. You weren't surprised when he indulged, however much it pained you.

When you first got together he was sweet, always playful and always making you laugh. He still has those elements but the toll of the other things are wearing on you. You love him, so you stay but if you're truly honest with yourself you don't know how long love can keep you afloat.

"What time is your flight again? I want to take you to the airport." Jungkook asks, breaking your train of concentration.

"9pm." You answer.

"Okay, well until then I'm spending as much time with my girl as possible."

***

You're so busy with studying for the exam you have in a few days that it takes Jimin banging on your front door as well as calling your phone to get your attention. As soon as you'd arrived back in Korea you had dove straight back in to your routine to make up for the few days you'd been away.

"What are you doing here?" You ask as the two of you stand facing each other. Another steadfast rule you had for hooking up with Jimin was to never fool around at your place.

"I haven't heard from you since you got back." Is all Jimin says.

"I've been busy, I'm sorry. I've got exams soon, so all I've been doing is studying."

"Have you eaten?" He asks, throwing you off guard.

"Uh, no."

"You can keep studying or doing whatever you need to do and I'll cook for you." He says pragmatically. "I won't get in your way."

"What? Jimin you don't have to. I'm busy and you'll be bored."

"Trust me I won't be. I just wanted to hang out with you."

You're a mixture of bewildered and astonished as you let him into your apartment. The fact that that he wants to do something for you with no ulterior motive is unexpected, but you're tired and could use a break. Plus you recall how well he can cook.

Jimin is more than familiar with the layout of your home and heads straight to the kitchen, meanwhile you resume your place on the sofa surrounded by scattered papers and books. "What are you making me?" You call out, peeking a glimpse at him through the breakfast bar.

"It's a surprise." He gives you a grin before resuming before getting started. As you try to concentrate you find yourself unable to, the sounds of pots and cutlery clanging in the kitchen. You bite back a smile thinking about what he might prepare.

Thirty minutes later Jimin is walking in to the room, a bowl in each hand. "I did my best with what you have, but the cupboards are pretty bare."

"Yeah we eat takeout a lot." You admit. He places the dishes down on the coffee table and sits cross legged ready to eat. "Aw Jimin, this looks amazing."

It's simple ramyeon but Jimin has added some pork, an egg and spring onion and god knows what else that's making it smell amazing. "Eat." He insists. You get up from the couch and join him on the floor.

"Thank you." You say gently, touching his arm briefly. He shrugs.

"I like cooking. I like you. It's no big deal."

"You're the kind of guy people write books about Park Jimin." You joke, slurping your noodles. He blushes adorably.

After the meal is finished he washes the dishes and you can't quite believe he's going out of his way like this. Just for you. You, who is unavailable, dating his friend and generally just not good enough for someone this sweet. When he's done he joins you once more, except this time on the sofa. His arm slides along the back of the cushion behind your back.

"Have you got a lot of work left?" He asks.

"I'm ready for a study break." You tell him, stretching forward to dump the books on the table. Jimin shifts closer when you lean back, thoroughly in his arms at this point. A hand slowly caresses your face, his thumb brushes the spot on your neck where Jungkook left a hickey in London and you can't help but flinch a little.

"How was London?" He asks quietly.

"A disaster." You tell him. He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "I caught Namjoon... with a girl. He got pissed with me, Jungkook got pissed with me for being upset. Let's just say I'm happy I'm home."

"Why was Jungkook mad at you for that?"

"He doesn't think it was a big deal." You sigh, Jungkook's words echoing in your mind. "Jungkook basically said it doesn't count because it was a fucking blowjob." You snort.

"What? How can it not be? Namjoon has a girlfriend."

In that moment you feel so fond for Jimin it overwhelms you for a second. Maybe it's because Jimin is older, more settled that you share the same view. "Yeah, I know. She's nice too."

"Sorry you had to witness that."

"Jimin," You say tentatively after a moment. "I'm not stupid, I know Jungkook does stuff like that too while he's away."

Jimin gulps and says dryly - "Yeah."

"Do you have anyone that you date or see? Obviously it's completely ok and I'm not upset but I was just wonder-"

"No." He interjects your rambling.

"Jimin, seriously it's ok if you do." You coax.

"I know." He stresses. "But it's the truth. I don't."

"Why?" You ask and he shrugs again. "You deserve to have someone."

Jimin sighs. "I have you."

The shame and remorse of your current situation threatens to consume you and try your best to fight it. Hearing those words from him makes it hard not to feel as if you're stringing him along, especially when the two of you act like you're in a relationship. Once again you ignore those ugly feelings and press your lips to his. His mouth welcomes yours gladly and he parts his lips as your tongue darts inside.

One hand moves smoothly up his chest to his neck before settling in the thick strands of his hair. Your fingernails scratch at his nape, something you've learned from experience Jimin loves. He lets out a breathy moan as he drags your bottom lip between his teeth. "I really didn't come here for this." He exhales in a deep breathy tone.

"Hmm," Is all you say, attaching yourself to his lips once more. As you kiss you gently nudge him so he's leaning back, lean body pressed into the cushion. He watches you with intent as you slip down on to the floor, kneeling between his legs. "Maybe I just wanna make you feel good."

"As if I would say no." He says with a half cocked smile.

You push his shirt up and relish in how his stomach tenses as you plant soft kisses on his abdomen. You work your way up to his nipple, tongue slipping over the pink bud. Once again you use your nails, dragging them down his sides. He sucks a sharp intake of breath at the contact. You move to his other untouched nipple, running a tongue over it, except this time you suck harder. He jolts underneath you. You really do enjoy the way he reacts to your touch.

Hands make quick work of his clothing, Jimin helps by lifting his hips up so you can push his jeans down. You pepper kisses on his neck as you stroke his half hard cock through his boxers. What his cock lacks in length it more than makes up for in girth, and you grip it in your small hand feeling it grow fully hard. His eyes meet yours as you work him, if you didn't know better you would think he looks awe-struck.

"I wanna suck your cock Jimin." You whisper huskily in his ear, lips touching the skin there. "Please?"

A breathy wine escapes him as he nods. "Fuck yeah."

You resume your original position on your knees as you gently peel away his underwear to free his hard cock. You can't help but lick your lips at the sight of it. You grip the base of him as you run a tongue up the underside of his shaft, all the way to the tip where you swirl your tongue around the engorged head. A spurt of precum leaks out at the contact. Jimin moans.

You love to tease but you don't want to waste anymore time. You slowly let a glob of spit drip from your mouth to his cock, getting it nice and wet for your mouth before you engulf the head of him fully. "Fuck." He whispers at the sight of you inching him in bit by bit.

Slowly, you start to suck and lick as you bob your head. Jimin's thighs tense and he fists the couch cushion beneath him. When you deep throat him fully he moans loudly and throws his head back. You fight the urge to smirk.

"So fucking good little butterfly." He groans. "So pretty with my dick in your mouth."

Your hands find his and you guide them to the back of your head. He easily gets the hint and pushes your head down so you gag a little, groaning at the sensation of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Even you can't help but moan a little at him being rough with you.

Jimin fucks your face faster, grip tightening in your hair. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He gasps in time with his hip thrusts. You know he's close. Your cheeks hollow as you go for one final push, sucking as hard as you can. "Y/N - Y/N - I'm gonna cum."

His hips jolt off the sofa as he cums down the back of your throat. He lets out a guttural sound that comes from his chest before collapsing, spent. You swallow what he gave you, sucking around his cock to get anything you missed. Your eyes meet again and his plump lips are still hanging open, slack with pleasure. He looks completely and utterly satisfied. His lips curve into a dreamy smile and he lets out a breathy laugh. "God, you're amazing."

You almost want to take a picture to show Jungkook that yes, blow jobs are a big deal.

***

Jimin stays a few more hours but he doesn't stay the night. It's unspoken between you that it would be inappropriate for him to sleep in the bed you share with Jungkook. Even adulterers have to draw the line somewhere.

You're studying when you receive a text from Hyerin. The message makes your heart sink so low you feel as if it's reached the floor beneath your feet.

from kim hyerin: hi babe, how was london? I really need to talk to you. It's about namjoon. Call me!!!

Your thumb hesitates over the green call button. You want to call her, it sounds like she needs someone to talk to but you also don't want to lie. You've done enough of that over the last few months, your conscience can't handle anymore. Fate, however decides for you.

"Hey." You answer Hyerin's phone call after three rings. "How are you? Everything alright?"

"Y/N, hey. Yeah I'm good." Hyerin sounds anything but. "Things aren't alright, no."

"Talk. Tell me. Tell me everything."

Hyerin takes a deep breath. "I haven't heard from Namjoon since you went to London. He's avoiding me."

"What?"

"That's not all." She sighs. "I think I might be pregnant."

"Oh my god." You gasp. That - you had not seen coming. Namjoon and Hyerin had not been dating very long at all, there is no way they would have planned this. Naturally you assume they were just being as reckless as you had with Jimin. "That is...a lot to take in in just a few seconds."

"I'm trying not to freak out y/n but it's hard."

"Ok, ok. Don't freak out." You instruct. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, trying to formulate some kind of solution for your friend. "First of all, have you taken a test?"

"No."

"Okay that's number one on the list. Secondly, did you and Namjoon fight? Maybe he lost his phone?"

"No, we didn't fight. The last conversation we had was...weird though. He was being evasive and distant which isn't like him." She explains. You can't help but feel responsible. If you knew Namjoon like you thought you did he was feeling guilty and paranoid that you'd told Hyerin what you caught him doing. "Have you heard from Jungkook?"

"Yeah." You say quietly.

"Fuck. I think something's happened. I think he's cheated on me. Why else would he be acting like this?"

"You don't know that for sure." You assure feeling like the worst person in the world. "Let me speak to Jungkook and see if I can figure out what's going on with him."

"Thank you." Hyerin lets out a shaky breath.

You say your goodbye's - thankful you can use studying as an excuse - and hang up. You hadn't meant to be untruthful and you feel shitty. You're not sure whether or not you'll actually bring up the topic to Jungkook knowing he'll only chastise you for getting involved in someone else's relationship. With a sigh you get ready for bed, wanting to forget the world for a few hours.

***

You somehow find yourself confiding in Jimin two days later. It feels right, like it makes sense. He knows both Namjoon and Hyerin, he knows Namjoon cheated and he's easy to talk to because of his calm demeanour. It just happens before you can think about it.

"Honestly?" He runs a hand through his hair as he lays shirtless on his bed. You haven't had sex, the two of you have just been lounging around at his place after work. "I'd try and just be there for her. If you tell her about Namjoon she might direct that anger at you and you don't deserve that."

"I never thought about that." You muse. "I hope she takes that pregnancy test soon."

"Namjoon is not ready to be a father."

"You are right about that." You sigh. "I feel crappy. I'm a bad person."

"Come here." Jimin demands. He holds his arms open for you and you move from your cross legged position at the foot of the bed into his embrace. His soft, bare skin always feels so nice. "You're not bad. It's a bad situation."

"They're back in two days, Namjoon is going to have to see her." His grip tightens at your mention of Jungkook returning because then he knows he can't have you anymore. "Anyway, enough about that. I need a break. Tell me how work is going."

"Good. I've got a few projects commissioned this week." He was an artist, a painter and from what you had seen Jimin was extremely talented. "A client asked me to paint their daschund. In a bow tie and top hat." He laughs. "It instantly made me think of you."

"Oh my god." You laughed. "I need to see this when it's finished."

"I'll bring you to my studio when it's done."

"More people need to dress their pets in formal wear." You say and he laughs. The two of you fall quiet. Jimin strokes your hair and you end up falling asleep on him.

***

"What is this?" Jungkook is smiling like a cheshire cat as he lifts up a piece of black, lacy, transparent material. It's hooked on his forefinger as he wiggles it at you, eyebrows raising in question. Your heart hammers in your chest as you realise he's holding the lingerie you bought for Jimin. You curse yourself for not hiding it before he returned from tour.

At least it was clean.

"I-It's underwear." You stammer.

"I know that." Jungkook rolls his eyes. "It's new. You get this to wear for me?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise." You lie, snatching the flimsy material from him, marching back to the dressing table where you sat getting ready. You throw it in a random draw.

"Well I'm ready to be surprised whenever you want baby." He walks over to the closet you share to select some clothes. Tonight you're going to dinner with everyone to celebrate Yoongi's birthday. You're anticipating Jimin being there and it's creating a bubble of nerves in your stomach. "Maybe you should wear it under your dress tonight."

"Maybe." You hum with no intention of doing that. Somehow it feels wrong.

"Maybe if you do I won't be able to control myself and fuck you in the restaurant bathroom."

"Yoongi would love that."

You both finish getting ready, you in a black dress that shows off your curves and Jungkook in a black leather jacket with a black vest that dips low enough to show off his tattoos. Even you can see that you look good together. He drives you both to the restaurant. You're happy because it means he'll stay sober.

When you arrive it's only Jimin and Namjoon at the table, everyone else appears to be running late. Hyerin is nowhere to be found. Talk about awkward. You greet them both as normally as you can, although Namjoon's eyes skirt your gaze. You sit opposite Jimin as Jungkook slings a protective arm over the back of your chair.

"Hyerin's not coming?" You ask Namjoon. You're assuming they're still together - you haven't heard from her - so you act innocent.

"Uh, no." He coughs. "She's working."

"Ah."

Before any awkward tension can truly take hold Jungkook speaks. "Yah, Jimin-hyung, is no one coming with you?"

"No." Jimin replies curtly.

"One day, if you're really lucky you'll get a girl drunk enough to want you." Jungkook teases. You slap him on the chest.

"Hey! Don't be rude." You scold, shooting Jimin apologetic eyes.

"He knows I'm joking."

"The joke didn't bother me the first time he told it. It certainly doesn't bother me the 500th time." Jimin mutters. Jungkook just grins.

Yoongi arrives as if on cue, Seokjin, Hoseok and a girl you've never met before in tow. She's introduced to you as Lisa and described as a 'friend' of Yoongi's. You know that means she's just the flavour of the month, however she seems pleasant enough.

The conversation flows much more naturally now that more people have joined in. You all order your food and wait for it to arrive. As the waitress brings the food to the table you notice her place a beer in front of Jungkook. "You're driving." You utter under your breath at him but he rolls his eyes.

"It's just beer, babe."

You ignore him and continue eating. He uses your silence as an opportunity to fall into conversation with Yoongi about some track they're producing. Your eyes drift to Jimin at the same time as he looks up from his plate. He smiles.

"Is your dog painting finished yet?" You ask before you can stop yourself. You're allowed to talk to Jimin but you always feel guilty doing so, like Jungkook will realise if you so much as exchange more than polite hello's.

Jimin shakes his head. "Not yet. Almost."

Next to you Jungkook is ordering another round of drinks. He offers the table but only you and Jimin decline. You feel silly, you should have anticipated that Jungkook didn't need a lot of convincing to get drunk. You sigh as you realise this means you'll have to drive home tonight. Jimin looks at you with knowing eyes as if he can read your mind.

Jungkook arranged earlier for Yoongi to have a birthday cake. He must have conspired with the restaurant because the cake that arrives is clearly for a toddler and it causes him to roar with laughter. Yoongi just shakes his head with a grin.

By the time the cake is cut and eaten you can tell the boys are tipsy. They're getting louder with each conversation and you're trying not to get irritated by it. "Baby," Jungkook says, voice already a little slurry. "We're all going to a bar, you coming?"

"Jungkook, your car." You remind him.

"So? You're sober. You can take it. Or you can do some shots with me." He quirks a brow at you, hand sliding him your thigh. It disappears beneath the hem of your dress. He always gets so handsy when he's drunk.

"You should come, y/n. I need another sober person to help me with these idiots." Jimin's voice interrupts your interaction with Jungkook. You look between him and Jungkook, sighing.

"Fine."

"Yes!" Jungkook cheers and plants a sloppy kiss on your lips while Jimin looks away awkwardly.

***

The bar seems even louder when you're sober. You sip on a lemonade, next to Jimin in the booth. Yoongi and his girlfriend are talking so closely and intimately you almost feel a little jealous, wishing Jungkook wanted to be doing that with you. He's at the bar with Namjoon doing shots. They're talking to a group of people and you notice there's a blonde getting very cosy next to Jungkook.

"I want to go home." You say through gritted teeth to Jimin. He follows your gaze and even over the background music and people talking you hear him sigh.

"I know. Me too." He squeezes your thigh affectionately under the table. Not that Yoongi would have noticed anyway.

"Jungkook is being an ass tonight."

"I know. I'm sorry."

It's almost as if Jungkook is still in 'tour' mode you think, wild and partying. You used to enjoy going out with him in the early days - the days before you knew about the women - but now it leaves you feeling a pit in your stomach. You turn away from Jimin to find Jungkook has disappeared. So has the blonde. And you don't know how long it's been.

"Fuck," You mumble, a coil of dread beginning to stir in your stomach. "He's disappeared Jimin. I'm going to go look for him."

Jimin lets you slip out of the booth and you storm over to Namjoon. A hand reaches out to harshly grip his shoulder, literally tearing him from his conversation. Namjoon looks half stunned, half annoyed. "Where is he?" You demand.

"I dunno." Namjoon shrugs, giving you an agitated look. "Bathroom I think."

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you stalk off to the bathroom, weaving through the various patrons. You locate the door marked 'Toilets' and enter to be faced with your worst nightmare. In the foyer that separates the men's and women's bathrooms there's Jungkook and he's not alone.

His back is against the wall (although he's swaying on his feet because he's wasted) and the blonde from earlier is attached to his neck, one hand already fumbling with his button. There's a drowsy smile on his face.

"Jungkook," You choke out. He's so drunk it takes a minute for him to register you standing there. The instant he does he literally shoves the blonde off of him. She stumbles, a confused look on her face. The fact that she's not even that pretty stings. "Really? While I'm here? While you're home?"

The tears are welling instantly. It's one thing him fucking around in another city, country, continent - you can detach yourself from it. But right infront of your eyes is a different story. "Baby, it's not what it looks like."

"Your fly is undone." You spit. He has the decency to look ashamed of himself as he fumbles with the zipper, doing it back up. "I'm fucking leaving."

You turn on your heel, ignoring him calling your name. Tears are running down your face but you don't care. You blaze past Namjoon again on your way back to the table. The instant Jimin spots your face his features soften, knowing what's happened without you even having to say it.

"Jimin, I'm going home." You sob barely able to get the words out.

"Let me take you." He offers.

"What about them?" You gesture vaguely to Yoongi and Lisa.

"I don't care, they can find their own way home."

Jimin walks you out of the bar and arm on the small of your back. You look over your shoulder to see Jungkook watching you leave.

***

By the time you arrive at Jimin's house you've stopped crying, but the anger hasn't left you. Neither of you had said a word on the drive over, though occasionally he would shoot you a worried glance. You numbly follow him inside and before you can decide which room you want to face plant and scream into a pillow in, Jimin is wrapping you in his arms. You bury your face in his chest.

"I'm so glad I have you Jimin." You mumble.

"Come on," He says as you pull away. "Lets sit."

He pushes you to the living room and you flop onto the sofa. Jimin sits next to you and grabs your hand. "What happens now?" You ask.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I do now? I've always know he fucked around. He never used to do it at home, let alone while I'm there. How am I supposed to go back to that?"

Jimin lets out a heavy sigh as he stares at your joined hands. "You don't have to go back. That's an option too." He says in a small voice.

"I do, I live with him."

"I mean to him. Not to your house."

Your quiet for a few heavy moments as you let Jimin's words sink in. You've never really thought about actually being with Jimin, you were too focused on fixing Jungkook. This entire tryst started out of retribution to your boyfriend's infidelity. It was only recently, when you had grown more comfortable with Jimin that the dynamic had started to shift.

"I never understood why you go back." Jimin speaks again when you don't reply.

"I love him."

"Do you?"

"Yes." You say but even you can tell how unsure your voice sounds. Jimin lets out yet another sigh as he stands up. Thankfully he drops the subject.

"Do you want to stay here tonight to cool off?" He asks.

"Please."

Your phone rings as you traipse to his bedroom with him. The caller ID is exactly who you feared it might be. Jungkook. Jimin peers at you as you silence the call. "You're not going to answer?" You shake your head no. The calls continue as Jimin searches for a shirt for you to sleep in. He turns around to hand it to you, watching as you strip to your underwear.

"Jimin," You exhale as you press into him wrapping your arms around his neck. Your lips meet in a heated kiss as his hands snake around to your bare waist. You press your body in to him as he cups your ask. Your intentions are clear, you want him, need him in this moment. But to your surprise he pulls away.

"Do you actually want me or are you just mad at him?" He presses his forehead against yours and your noses touch.

"I want you." You breathe.

"I can't do this if you don't want me."

"Right now Jimin I need you."

He walks you backwards to the bed, undoing your bra as he goes, tossing it unceremoniously away. His eyes are fixated on your breasts as you lean back on the mattress and kick off your own panties. His clothes follow and join your heap on the floor.

You take two of his fingers in your mouth, slickening them with your saliva. Jimin gets the hint and presses them inside of you while his pink tongue swirls over one nipple. Your phone rings again and it seems to only encourage the man, fingers fucking into you faster like he has something to prove to Jungkook.

A thumb rubs your clit and the combination of fingers and tongue have you cumming quickly, your ringing phone long forgotten. "Ride me, butterfly. Show me how much you need me." He whispers, hot breath tickling your ear.

He situates himself by the headboard and beckons you to him. You sink down on his length slowly and his mouth is everywhere, your breasts, collarbone, neck - it's like he can't get enough of you. You rock your hips against him, gripping the headboard to stabilize you. "Jimminie, you're so perfect." You whine. You don't just mean the sex either.

He spanks your ass with one hand and grips it tightly, groaning. "I love watching you like this." He pants as he rolls the two of you over. "But I want to make you cum again."

You're on your back in seconds and he drives into you with such force the headboard is thumping off the wall. His neighbours must hate it when you're over. "Fuck Jimin." You moan, feeling another orgasm looming. "Don't stop."

He rests back on his haunches, the new angle has you seeing stars. "I'm going to cum in you, butterfly." He grunted. You didn't say anything as you rubbed your clit, too angry at Jungkook to care. "I'm close. So close. God I love seeing you get fucked by me. I fucking love you." You barely hear the words as your orgasm takes over, thighs trembling around Jimin's narrow hips. "Fuck, I'm cum - I'm cumming. Cum with me beautiful."

He bottoms out letting out a heavy breath as he slows his thrusting to a stop. As your brain starts to re-enter a semi normal state your stomach lurches at his confession. Did he just say he loves you?

No. He got caught up in the moment and probably got tongue tied. Maybe he meant to say I love fucking you.

Neither of you mention it as you clean up and get ready for bed.

***

You tug anxiously on the hem of Jimin's t-shirt as you make your way to the apartment. Regrettably you have to work today and your work uniform is folded neatly on the pile of clean laundry in your bedroom. Obviously you never planned on spending a night away.

Quietly you unlock the door and slip inside. The apartment is so silent a librarian would be proud. Praying you don't find the same blonde from the night before naked in your bed you tip-toe to the bedroom. You don't know what you'd do if that was the case. However when you open the door the reality you're presented with is a shirtless Jungkook sleeping face down, one arm falling off the edge of the bed.

Even though you're beyond pissed his peaceful face makes your heart melt.

You spot your clothes and as quietly as you can you reach for them. However, as if by divine intervention, you receive a text and your phone dings loudly. Jungkook stirs. "Baby?" He croaks, voice thick with sleep. "s'that you?"

You hope if you remain silent he will fall back asleep but fate isn't feeling kind today. He sits up and squints at you in the morning light of the room. "You're home." He yawns. "I was worried."

"Not for long." You mutter. You ignore him as you grab some toiletries and underwear, as well as another change of clothes. They get stuffed in to a bag and you're ready to go. Jimin had kindly allowed you to stay at his place until you had to work.

"Wait."

You don't. You're at the bedroom door, ready to leave when Jungkook is up surprisingly fast for someone who has just woken up, your wrist in his grasp.

"Let go."

"Please can we talk?" He begs.

"What's the point?" You mumble, finally daring to look at him. He looks rough, like he hasn't slept in days even though it's only been a few hours and his eyes are sad.

"The point is I love you."

It's pathetic how easily the walls you've put up crumble at those three words. You drop the bag as he yanks you into his arms, though you don't reciprocate. His chin rests on top of your head as you breathe him in. He smells like home.

"Kook," You say as you separate, swallowing thickly. "There's nothing to talk about."

"There is! It wasn't what it looked like!" He protests you instantly.

"It was exactly what it looked like." Before he can open his mouth you're cutting him off. "I'm not an idiot Kookie," You say sadly. "I've known for a long time what you get up to."

"I don - "

"Save it. You're not exactly good at hiding it." You feel a tear hit your cheek and you swipe at it quickly. "God knows how many girls you've fucked since we've been together. But I took it Jungkook. I took it because I loved - love - you. Fuck I don't even know."

"I've never slept with anyone apart from you." He says defiantly. You let out a puff of laughter.

"Sure."

"I'm fucking serious."

"Jungkook I've literally found women's underwear amongst your things. Don't lie to my face like that. How do you know you haven't slept with anyone when you get so fucked up every night?"

He lets out a long sigh and cards a tattooed hand through his long dark locks. "Can we sit?" He asks. You find yourself nodding and both of you perch on the edge of the bed. He reaches for your hand but you move it away. "I won't lie to you then. There has been girls."

You feel sick.

"But baby, you have to believe me. None of them meant anything to me. I couldn't even tell you one girl's name."

"Wow, that makes it all okay. Carry on then." You spit.

"Sometimes on tour we'd just get so fucked up and girls would sometimes...do things. I barely even touched anyone. Pretty certain I never even kissed anyone either."

"Hang on - " You almost want to laugh. "So you cheated on me, multiple times, because you couldn't be bothered to jerk off?"

"No, it's not like that! These girls are so eager, you've seen them. I just would take advantage. All the guys did."

"Why am I not enough for you?" You ask in a small voice. "I thought - I thought I was special to you."

"Baby," He cups your face with both hands, affectionate thumbs rub at your cheeks. "You are enough. You are so special to me. There's a reason why I always come home to you."

"It's not enough anymore Jungkook. I can't handle it anymore. I haven't been handling it. Why do you think I got so upset about Namjoon?" Jungkook looks down in shame at your words and his hands fall back to his lap.

"What are you saying?" He asks, avoiding your gaze.

"I don't know."

"Did Jimin convince you to do this? Break up with me?" He asks out of nowhere, taking you by surprise. "Spend all night talking shit about me?"

"Why would Jimin try and convince me to break up with you?"

"He's been practically obsessed with you since the day I introduced you." Jungkook scoffs. "I once found a painting he did of you and some drawings. Fucking creepy."

"No..." You breathe, vision tunnelling. Jimin was a fling, he didn't obsess about you. "You're lying."

"Nope." He says boldly.

Suddenly a lot of Jimin's behaviour makes sense. The doting on you even though you're taken, acting like your boyfriend even though he's not, the 'I fucking love you' comment from the night before...You need to speak to him.

"Kook I need to tell you something." You say tentatively. You don't want to do this, you really don't but Jungkook was honest with you and it's only fair. He looks at you, an eyebrow arched in intrigue. "I stayed at Jimin's last night."

"I know...?"

"No, listen." You take a deep breath. "We slept together."

"What the fuck? I'll fucking kill him." Jungkook hisses.

"It was my fault too." You point out.

"No," He shakes his head slowly. "No, no, no, y/n. He took advantage of you."

You close your eyes for a moment in an attempt to summon some courage. A lone tear slips down your cheek. It's like the weight of the last few months are crushing you and you can barely breathe. The realization that you might be the worse one in the relationship hits you like a ton of bricks.

"He didn't take advantage of me. This has been happening for three months." Your voice chokes at the end of your confession.

"You are fucking joking." Jungkook deadpans.

"No." You're crying now. The guilt constricts around your throat like a cobra and it's tight when you inhale. "I was angry at you, and I was in so much pain Kook. I just turned to him as a friend and it led to that. I'm truly sorry."

He rubs at his face with the heels of his palms and a shaky breathe escapes his lips. He lets out a mocking laugh that sounds almost cruel. "Unbelievable." He mutters. "I don't know who I'm more pissed at, him or you."

"What do we do now?" You ask with some hesitation.

"Well seeing as you're wearing Jimin's clothes why don't you fuck off back to your boyfriend for a bit while I figure how I'm not going to murder him." Jungkook seethes. His eyes flash with fury. You reluctantly gather the things you had dropped and make for the door.

"You know Jungkook, when you're 'figuring things out' remember this - I apologised to you. I've yet to hear one sorry from you."

You don't wait for a reply, opting to leave instead.

***

You didn't go back to Jimin's. As you were leaving the apartment you had checked to see what the text message you received was, the one that had incidentally woken up Jungkook. It was from Hyerin.

from: kim hyerin: I really need your help. Can you come over? I'm home all day, phone me!!!

It's a welcome interruption into your day, frankly. The idea of going to face Jimin right now doesn't seem as appealing as it was twenty four hours ago. You have no idea what you'd even begin to say to him. 'Hey, so are you in love with me?' doesn't exactly roll off of the tongue. You push that to the back of your mind for now as you ring Hyerin's doorbell.

When she answers, the first thing you immediately notice is how tired she looks, totally unlike the composed pretty girl you'd become so accustomed to. "Jesus, you look like hell." You exclaim.

"Yeah, well I just got back." She utters dryly. "Come in."

You follow her inside and she leads you her living room. It's the first time you've ever been to her place. It's surprisingly girly, you had expected her to have a much more minimalistic taste. She offers you some water which you readily accept with a thank you. You wait for her to get comfortable on the opposite chair before you speak. "What's going on babe?" You ask gently.

Hyerin looks at you for a moment. "I'm pregnant." She says bluntly. You swear out loud.

"Does Namjoon know?" You ask. She shakes her head. "Have you been to the doctor yet?"

"No. I'm going this week."

"I can go with you if you want?" You offer.

"I'd really appreciate that." She says quietly.

"How are things with Namjoon now?" You ask rather hesitantly.

"Well, we're talking again. He gave me some bullshit excuse for the reason why he was ignoring me." She rolls her eyes. "Still not great though."

"It might improve now that he's home again."

"Yeah." She says with no emotion whatsoever. "It's still such a new relationship. I don't know if I want it to."

The two of you silent for a few moments, a lingering sort of sadness hangs between you. "I caught Jungkook cheating on me last night." You say bluntly, the desire to talk to anyone that's not involved with your situation too great.

"I'm so sorry, y/n." Hyerin says and it sounds genuine.

"Everything is so fucked right now isn't it?" You give a humourless laugh and slump down further on the sofa cushions. A large part of you wishes you could just hide at Hyerin's forever. "Do you mind if I hang out here until I have to work?"

"Not at all." She replies. "Let's stay and here and talk shit about boys until then." It's the first time you've laughed in nearly two days.

***

from: park jimin: where are you?? I thought you were heading back here...is everything ok? from: park jimin :i'm worried butterfly... (6) missed calls: park jimin (2) missed calls: min yoongi from: min yoongi: have you seen jk??? dude has vanished (1) missed calls: jungkook<3 from: kim namjoon: have u murdered kook? he's gone awol. Panic starts to rise as you check your phone for the first time during your shift at work. It'd had only been three hours since you last looked, the amount of time relatively short compared to the absurd amount of notifications you returned to. Immediately you dial Jungkook's number.

It goes straight to voicemail. God, you hope he hasn't done anything reckless.

The next person on your list is Jimin. You dial him but it just rings out. You try two more times but are yielded with the same result. "Fuck!" You cry out loud in frustration to yourself. "Why does everyone have phones if they don't use them?!" Thankfully you're alone in the staff room without anyone to witness your slight meltdown.

You text Jimin anyway, assuring him you're fine and asking if he's okay/heard from Jungkook. You try to phone Jungkook one more time before the end of your break but again it goes straight to voicemail. Stomach knotting with anxiety you have no choice other than return to work.

The remaining three hours of your shift seems to crawl by. You practically run to Jimin's house the second you clock out, trying not to come across too frantic to your co-workers. When you eventually arrive at his place you observe his car in the lot, surely he must be home.

You hammer on his front door. "Jimin!"

Silence.

"Jimin, I know you're home! Please open the door!" You call out, still pounding on the wood. It's silent for what feels like an eternity until you hear some shuffling inside. Nothing could have truly prepared you for what was on the other side. The door creaked open slowly, and even in the darkness of his apartment you could pick out a very bruised and broken looking Jimin.

"What do you want?" His voice was hoarse, worn.

"What the hell happened to you?!" You try to step forward for a better look but he closed the door slightly, acting as a barrier to keep you out.

"You told Jungkook."

You're silent as you take in his injuries. His lip is split and his eye is swollen. You would bet that that's only the tip of the iceberg knowing Jungkook. "He's responsible? I'm sorry, I never thought he'd do this..."

"What did you expect?" He sighs. "I think you should go."

"I just wanted to make sure you're ok." You tell him, voice small and defeated.

"I'm clearly not." He mutters. "Goodnight, y/n."

"Wait - " He pauses as he starts to shut the door. "Where is he? Everyone's been trying to get a hold of me because he's unreachable. I'm worried he's going to do something stupid. Something else stupid..." You add on, referring to Jimin's injuries.

Jimin tongues the inside of his cheek. He looks as if he wants to tell you to go fuck yourself. "I don't know. He was drunk out of his mind when he was here. He could be anywhere."

"Thanks Jimin. Truly, I'm sorry..." You feel silly, you know a mere apology isn't enough. He just nods. "Can I come by later on? I really think we should talk."

Jimin nods. You take a risk and gently push the door open, which he reluctantly allows you to do. You pull him into your arms as gently as possible, his limbs automatically wrapping around you. You mumble how sorry you are over and over while you hold him, willing yourself not to cry. This entire situation is your fault, you're not allowed that luxury right now.

"Can I do anything for you?" You ask as you detach yourself from him, eyes searching his, a determined look on your face. "Anything."

"I just need to rest." He averts your gaze.

"Call me if you need anything."

masterlist

#bts fanfic #bts ff #bts smut #bts smut and angst #jimin smut #jimin ff #jimin fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut

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becarefuloflove · 5 years ago

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Life As We Know It- Rowaelin AU

I’ve wanted to write an AU for so long and I’m finally doing it. It’s based on the movie Life as We Know it, through I made some artistic changes. Aelin’s a badass lawyer/political star and Rowan’s basically Anderson Cooper. The rest will be revealed as the story goes on. It’ll be slow burn, lots of drama, but plenty of fluff. It’ll be up on AO3 soon too. And If anyone wants to be a beta, please send me a message. Would love to get feedback (and have someone to keep me honest tbh).

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Prologue

AELIN

“Holy shit Galathynius, you fucking obliterated the bastard.”

Aelin looked up from her desk and gave her assistant Fenrys a small smile. “I just did my job. They deserve to rot in jail for the rest of their lives.”

“No shit, but what you did, nailing Arobynn Hamel for all those murders, and bringing down his inner circle, that’s not nothing. There’s no way the Governor isn’t going to name you the next District Attorney when Brannon’s term ends in 6 months.”

“We’ll see, now shoo, don’t you have research to be doing for my other 2 cases? Bad guys don’t stop, so we need to catch up.”

Fenrys started to leave, but not before running around to her chair and pulling her into a massive bear hug. “I’m so proud of you. You’re a fireball.” Aelin clucked her displeasure, but flashed him a genuine smile as he walked away. Like the idiot he was, Fenrys clutched his heart and pretended to swoon, before disappearing around the corner.

Aelin knew Fenrys liked her, could see him checking her out when he thought she wasn’t looking, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about returning those looks. If she hadn’t thought about what would happen if he put that smart mouth of his to work on her body instead of merely flirting. But after everything, after losing her parents to assassins when she was only 8, and then Sam 3 years ago, she couldn’t bear letting anyone else in. Even with her parents and Sam’s murderer, notorious crime lord Arobynn Hamel behind bars at last, Aelin knew she had a target on her back as the one of the last two surviving members of the great Ashryver- Galathynius political dynasty. The other being her cousin, Aedion, who was a Senator, taking their Great-Uncle Orlon’s seat after he had died of cancer a year ago.

After losing Sam, Aelin had become obsessed with finding his killer. She knew it couldn’t be a coincidence that her parents’ assassination and Sam’s shared so many similarities, and so the second she graduated from Terrasen University’s Law School at 23, she turned down all the corporate offers she’d been planning to take and joined the prosecutor’s office. For the past three years she’d been working on this case, meticulously gathering the evidence to bring Arobynn down. And she’d finally done it. He couldn’t hurt anyone else anymore.

A part of her knew she should be celebrating her victory with the rest of her staff, but the case had dredged up too many memories, and if she let go, that dam of emotions would drown her out entirely. So she quietly packed up her bag and snuck out the back door, looking forward to opening a bottle of wine at home and getting a head start on her next case.

Just as she was leaving the building, her personal cell went off in her purse. She let it go to voicemail, not in the mood to talk to whichever one of her friends was calling to bitch about their office drama. No- she wanted to be alone today. But when the ringing started again, she dug out the phone. She didn’t recognize the number, but on some instinct she picked up. 30 seconds into the call, she felt her feet give out as she fell to her knees on the pavement and started crying.

ROWAN

Rowan was silently tapping through the latest news on his phone while the assistant ran around him, touching up his makeup and making sure not a piece of hair was out of place. He felt her gaze wander to his neck, where his tattoo peeked from under the collar of his suit, and saw her reach for the makeup brush to cover it up when he grabbed her hand.

“No, it’s part of my contract. The tattoo stays.” It was a reminder of his shame, and he would not cover it up, had insisted on it when he had moved from Wendlyn to Terrasen. Leveraging his fame at Wendlyn’s Nightly News, he had been able to negotiate a fair amount when he took on the lead anchor role for “Rowan Whitethorn 360” at Terrasen News Network (TNN).

“Oh, I’m so sorry sir, I’m new here. I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t forget in the future.” he quipped. Moments later, his assistant Connall runs into the dressing room, out of breath, and shoves a folder into his hands.

“You’re on in 5 minutes. There’s been a complete change to the script, new breaking story. New experts on the show. Something big with Aelin Galathynius.”

Rowan shooed the makeup assistant away and pushed out of his seat, opening the folder with his new script as he started talking toward the set for the nightly broadcast:

Aelin Ashryver-Galathynius, daughter of the late former President of Terrasen Rhoe Galathynius and late First Lady Evalin Galathynius, who as we all remember were assassinated 18 years ago during their second term in office, made history in the High Court when she indicted crime lord Arobynn Hamel on 23 counts of murder, including that of her late fiancé Samuel Cortland. While circumstantial evidence tied Hamel to the murders of her late parents, the jury ultimately found Hamel not guilty on those counts. Regardless, Hamel will be serving 23 life sentences in maximum security prison, without possibility of parole. 11 of his associates were also arrested and will be serving life sentences for their crimes. Hamel is the latest in a series of high profile wins by Aelin Galathynius, and many leaders in the political world believe she is poised for a successful future in national politics.

Rowan lets out a low whistle. He’s impressed. A quick scan of the other documents reveals that Galathynius is only 26. He remembers meeting her at a wedding a few years ago, she was the maid of honor and he the best man, but they had barely seen each other, barely spoken. She had spent the entire time with her fiancé Sam, dancing and laughing without a care in the world. Rowan had hated her then, thought she was another spoiled rich kid living an easy life. But even he had heard about Sam’s murder in Wendlyn, and now looking at the work she had been doing in the DA’s office- he realized he had gotten her all wrong.

But they would never see each other again, so what did it matter anyway. He pushed those memories away, and looked up at the camera in front of him as the crew started counting down from 10.

“Good evening Terrasen. Welcome to the show, we bring you breaking news from Terrasen’s High Courts….”

An hour later, when the show finally wraps up, Rowan steps out from behind his desk and makes a beeline for his dressing room before his assistant can hound him with any more work. He makes quick work of packing his things and is out the back door with a silent wave to the crew. It’s late, almost midnight, and when he gets in his car and pulls out his personal phone, he sees 20 missed calls. Most are from his friend Lorcan and others from his cousin, Enda. There’s also two missed calls from a number he doesn’t recognize. He clicks that first. When the line connects, Rowan’s breath leaves his body and he feels the tears fall down his cheeks as he starts to cry.

#my writing #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #life as we know it #aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass #tog #sjm #fanfiction #sam cortland #terrasen #my fics #aedion ashryver

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years ago

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Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter fifteen: seesaw

❧ genre: tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: panic/anxiety attack, depictions of past physical/emotional abuse

❧ chapter song: Trivia 轉 : Seesaw by BTS

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

Kirishima sat in his studio, trying and failing to draw a large scale piece of something that he wasn’t even sure of. His mind was too crowded. Too dark.

A jumble of graphic scenes from a hit he had just come back from the day before flashed before his eyes. It always took him time to re-adjust when coming back home after those jobs. The red-head would lock himself away in his studio and draw to let out the rest of his anger and savagery, especially since you were around now. The more time he spent with you lately though, the more you’d notice these mood changes, not like you didn’t before, but he didn’t exactly know that.

Now that he allowed himself to confess his feelings and get closer to you, Kirishima also allowed you state your concerns about these random moods. Before you always kept to yourself and worried quietly, now though, you could go to him and pester him with questions.

“Why are you bleeding?” “How did you get that gash?” “Who did this to you?”

Each time those small hands of yours would cup his face, (e/c) eyes looking up at him with worry and anger. Each time he’d brush it off with excuses that never made sense but you never pressed for more. Each time you told him you weren’t buying the bullshit but that you knew he’d tell you the truth eventually then proceed to heal him and the others if they needed it.

Not only was Kiri grateful that you never pushed for more information, he was also grateful that you were still there. You knew something dangerous was happening to him, that he was subjecting himself to it but you still stayed by his side. Even if that meant letting him be alone for hours while he tore board after board of canvas apart from not being able to create something, his studio becoming a mess of art supplies and paint or charcoal all over his scarred and tattooed skin. You’d leave him alone until it was more than you could take and always, he’d hear a familiar knock and soft command at his door.

“Eijirou, let me in.”

Every time he heard those words, Kirishima would stop what he was doing and relief would flood over his body. The tightness in his chest would start to slowly diminish and little by little he felt like he could breathe again. Doing the same as every other time, Kiri sat up and cracked the tired bones in his neck then smiled.

“It’s unlocked little one.”

He heard the door opening as he gathered his utensils and placed them in the middle of the canvas that was nothing but a mess of colors and shapes. Your footsteps were coming closer to him and soon enough, arms wrapped around his neck and your body was pressed against his back. Soft (h/c) tresses fell over his shoulder and your lips were kissing at his cheek. Instantly, Kirishima melted and hummed, all his anger, violence, all the colors and words in his head suddenly blurring until there was nothing but one word as you spoke it softly and ran fingers through his hair.

“Eijirou.”

Just the way you said his name could make the massive raging beast inside of him calm.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” You asked.

Kirishima smiled and shook his head and turned it to you. His red eyes lit up when they fell upon you for the first time since that morning when he arrived and you healed him then let him run off to hide. His arm moved, top half turning and hand grabbing your hip to walk you around and stand before him. Kirishima brushed back your hair before placing a kiss to your forehead and holding your hand in his, the other cupping your cheek.

“I’m better now little one but there is one thing I do need.”

“What is it Ei, anything.”

The red-head leaned closer, his hand pulling your face in and a knowing smile growing on your lips. The distance was closed when finally he captured your mouth with his, kissing you sweetly and softly, his hands moving to pick your body up to sit on his lap. You squealed with delight and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing each other continuously as Kirishima held and pet you all over, his hands touching you softly as if he could easily break you, which he could.

Your own hands wandered the sharp edges of his jaw, his pliant cheeks and fingers brushed over his scarred eyebrow and into his hair. More and more, Kirishima could feel that beast being tamed and shooed back into its cage, tail tucking between its legs and he was able to emerge from the dark and take its place. He still couldn’t get over the fact that he was able to touch, hold and kiss you when he pleased now, he was able to satisfy his cravings - his needs. What made it better was how you were just as eager and needy for him in return. It didn’t even need to be kisses, it could just be soft nuzzles and secure hugs here and there, touches to his face and his hands holding yours.

The kisses were slowly dying down, your lips were now kissing each other’s cheeks and lingering, barely brushing along skin.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this or how easy and normal it feels.”

You softly giggled and pulled away to look at Kirishima.

“Now just imagine how it could’ve been this way a long time ago but you just had to be a stubborn ass.”

The man smirked and started to tickle your sides, making you laugh loudly and also panic as your body started to slowly slip from his lap.

“Kiri, s-stop I’m gonna fall on my ass!”

Kirishima laughed while he stopped then roughly tugged you back up into his lap, face to face and smiling. “Little one, I’ll never let you fall ... on your ass.”

Your eyes rolled. “Aren’t you fucking romantic!”

He chuckled and you pat his arms, silently asking to be released and set back down on the floor. Kirishima stood from his stool and stretched his arms above his head, his shirt rising enough to show his waistline and you taking the chance to claw at it. Kirishima grunted and quickly snatched your wrist, a shit-eating grin on your face.

“Watch it baby girl, don’t go starting shit you can’t finish.”

“I should be telling you that Mr. Cockblock.”

Kiri playfully flicked your forehead before stealing another kiss.

“I hate you.”

Smiling, you reached up and pinched his cheek, “I hate you too. Now, let's get this mess cleaned up and close the shop. Everyone else is gone already!”

Kirishima ruffled you hair and did as told. After a few minutes the two of you were finally done and walking out of his studio. Working together to make sure everything else in the shop was locked and turned off before heading out.

You snuggled inside your coat as snow fell, walking to the edge of the curb and waiting while Kirishima locked the doors. A weird chill came over you, body suddenly going stiff and your senses becoming hyper-aware. The wind blew and there was an eerie silence all around. It felt like someone was watching you, causing you to look up and down the street. Something felt off and wrong.

“You alright little one?” Kirishima asked, coming up behind you and causing you to slightly jump. His brow quirked and he stepped closer, taking your hand and squeezing it. “What’s wrong babe?”

Your eyes scanned the area again and your head shook. “Nothing.”

Kirishima knew you were lying though, your breathing was irregular, continuous puffs of air becoming visible in the cold and your cheeks becoming pale. He cupped your cheek, turning you to look at him.

“Fine then. Listen though, if you aren’t busy tonight, how about you come to my place and hangout. It’s been a few weeks and you still have yet to come over even though I’ve been to your place plenty of times, plus - I think it’s time you met the other girl in my life. What do you say, no pressure though, I’ll take you home later if you want.”

Your hand squeezed Kiri’s and a thankful smile grew on your face. “That sounds great handsome. Will food be involved?”

“Of course, what kind of man would I be to let my girl starve huh?”

Kiri smiled and hooked his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him to hug his side as you started to walk towards his truck.

“Let’s hurry and get you out of this cold baby girl and we’ll make a few stops on the way.”

Happily you went along with Kirishima until you were safe inside his vehicle and leaving the shop.

But when his truck rounded the corner and was out of sight, a figure emerged from its hiding spot in the shadows. The man walked into the middle of the street, a grin on his face while fishing his cell from his pocket and dialing a number. As he waited, he lit a cigarette.

“Hey, tell him I found her.”

Once parked inside of Kirishima’s garage, he got out and walked over to your side of the truck to open the door. You smiled and he took your hand to help you down from the vehicle. Together you both gathered the groceries that you stopped to get before heading to his place, Kiri had promised to feed you and also got other goodies to snack on throughout the night.

Now standing before the door, he unlocked it and slowly opened it, his head peeking in and looking around before motioning you inside. Your eyebrow quirked and Kiri grinned when you walked in ahead of him and inside, he followed behind into the quiet house. You were minding your business, searching in the dimly lit kitchen for the counter-tops to place the bags on. Out of nowhere Kirishima whistled sharply, making you jump and yelp. Not too long after the sound of paws could be heard hitting the hard floor and rushing into the kitchen.

“Here she comes,” Kiri chuckled.

You hurried to dump the groceries on the counter then went to stand beside Kirishima. Sure enough a grey and white pit bull came barreling out of a room down the hall, quickly halting to a stop just a few steps before the two of you and looking bashful, her ears lowering and body cowering. You quietly gasped and touched Kirishima’s shoulder, looking at him.

“Should I move?”

He smiled and shook his head, grabbing your hand and crouching down, asking you to do the same.

“No little one, she’s just shy. Pits are scared of their own shadow and she’s special, I told you I got her from a shelter, so she’s cautious of new people. Don’t worry though, just do as I say.” You nodded and Kiri reached out his other hand, softly clicking his tongue at the dog who watched you both with curious eyes. “Hey mama, it’s okay. We like her, see,” he cooed at the animal before turning to kiss your cheek. “Come here precious.”

Slowly but surely, Duchess started to make her way towards the two of you. You were instructed to hold out your hand and try talking to her as well, not that much a challenge at all. Gently you moved to sit on the floor, free hand reaching out palm up for the dog.

“Hey there cutie, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

Duchess licked and smacked her jowls, tail starting to wag so much her body was wagging as well. She blinked and started to move faster, her wet snout nuzzling at your hand and allowing you to pet her face. You awed and scratched her until she was melting into your lap on the floor and panting. You took it upon yourself to start petting and loving her all over, cooing and making kissing noises. Kirishima smiled and joined in on the belly rubs.

“See, she’s just a big baby. Now she’s gonna be stuck to you like fucking glue.” He chimed and pat the dogs side.

“I don’t mind that one bit, I could never get tired of this sweet baby!”

Duchess happily groaned and turned over on her back, wiggling side to side and smiling.

“You’re a spoiled brat huh?” Kirishima chuckled before looking at you with a smile. “Now that the two of you have finally met, how about we start making dinner.”

You nodded and gave Duchess a few pats before getting off the floor with Kiri’s help. He kissed your cheek and went to the counters to start un-bagging the food. You took a minute to look around the place and hummed.

His home was big and spacious, very warm and colored in dark moody colors. The walls decorated similarly like the tattoo shop with oni masks and artwork. The living room could be looked into from the kitchen and you pouted upon seeing a bare Christmas tree set up before a massive window. Rubbing the side of your neck you went to help Kiri.

“Why isn’t your tree decorated yet?”

The red-head looked over to the object in question and shrugged while he set-up the ingredients to prep.

“Uh I just haven’t had time I guess, it’ll probably stay that way. I usually don’t even get a tree, I was just suckered into buying it from those kids selling them.”

“You don’t like Christmas or something?” You questioned.

“Nah I like it, I don’t do much for it though. It’s been just me and the guys for years now. We always just go to the bar or get together at the shop. We don’t really care too much for all the fancy extra’s of the holiday you know. We’ll have a meal and all but that’s about it. What about you little one?”

You swallowed thickly and shrugged before taking an onion from him and started to peel it so you could start dicing it.

“I love Christmas. I love the lights, music, the smells and just all of it but I don’t celebrate it I think. It’s been so long since I’ve had a real Christmas, I can’t even remember my last one. You know - so much shit has happened in the past two years, or is it three ... hmm. Anyway, I’ve sort of tried to just block everything out, repress it all.”

You sniffled and scrunched your nose, the powerful fumes of the onion started to make its way into your sinuses. Kirishima was marinating and cutting up pieces of beef, lost in thought at what you had said. It pained his heart to hear that you seemed to love the holidays but wasn’t lucky enough to experience them. He thought back to when the two of you were shopping and you were like a kid going crazy over all the Christmas lights and decorations.

It didn’t take long for Kirishima to decide that he was going to change what Christmas was to you, this was something easy and very sentimental that he could do for you. If you wanted Christmas, the lights, the music, the treats and the whole big cheesy ordeal of it all, then he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make that happen for you.

“Well what do you say we start forming some good memories for you to keep stored in that cute little head of yours. The holidays are all about traditions right?”

You stopped dicing, using the back of your hand to rub away the tears from your eyes and wipe your nose before looking at Kirishima, a faint smile on your face.

“I think they are.”

“Then let’s make our own, you and me, the guys. You’re part of the shop, the family, and you’re part of me now. We can start with that sad looking tree in there.”

“Ei, I - I don’t know how to decorate a tree, I don’t know how to - Christmas.”

The tattooed man chuckled and finished with his task, washed his hands and dried them before moving closer to you, turning and placing a hand on the counter and the other on your lower back.

“Decorating is easy and it’ll be fun, it doesn’t have to be perfect little one, just as long as you’re happy and enjoying yourself. You’ll know how to Christmas in no time, we’ve got years to perfect your skill.”

“Years huh?” You smiled and bit your lip.

Kirishima nodded and let his hand glide from your back and up your spine until it came to rest on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your jawline.

“You heard me. Now that I have you (Y/N), I don’t plan on letting you go. I wasted too much time fucking off and fucking up with you, I plan on redeeming myself for the rest of my life, so that involves a shit ton of Christmas’s, birthdays, Thanksgiving, excetera, excetera. You okay with that?”

Your lips pouted, the strong vapors of the onions and Kiri’s words making you tear up even more. You stopped chopping and grabbed a towel to wipe your hands. Irritated eyes looking back into piercing ruby red ones. Your bottom lip quivered.

“What if someone tries to take me from you though …”

Kirishima shook his head, thumb tracing your bottom lip to still it.

“That won’t ever happen. I won’t ever let that happen. I’d fucking break myself over and over again and do whatever it takes to keep you safe and with me. I’d find you and whoever is stupid enough to try and pry you from not only my hands but five other pairs, they won’t even live long enough to regret what they did. No one is taking you from me, ever.”

A relieved sigh left your lips and your body relaxed. You’ve been told before by the others that no matter what you’d be protected but to hear it coming from Kirishima’s own mouth now, only made it that much more real and believable.

“No one is taking me from you.”

Kirishima grinned and nodded. He leaned in closer, seeking out a kiss and having his wish granted when you closed the distance and desperately kissed him. The desperation diminished though once Kirishima took the lead by lightly nipping at your lip and kissing you softly as if trying to convey every word he just said with affection. The kiss made you feel like he was saying, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

When it broke, Kirishima pecked your cheek and hummed.

“Now, let's get this all cooked, eat, then start on our new tradition, okay?”

You nodded with a smile and Kirishima ruffled your hair before he went back to prepping and started to cook. Once you were done with your tasks, you went to play with Duchess in the living room while Kiri cooked. When it was done, you both sat down at the counter and ate, Duchess eating her own food at your feet. When dinner was over, put up, and the dishes cleaned, Kiri rubbed his palms together and clapped.

“You ready to start decorating my little elf?”

Nodding, you rubbed the side of your neck and nervously smiled.

“Yeah but I’ll probably be shit at it so don’t laugh and don’t expect a marvelous looking tree.”

Kirishima smiled and pulled you into a hug. “There is no right or wrong way to decorate a tree little one, plus we’re starting our own tradition so it can be anything we want it to be. Since I don’t usually decorate I only have the basics like lights and a few ornaments. I can get some supplies together and if you want we can make our own stuff too since you know, your boyfriend is talented as fuck and you’re not so bad yourself with all the practicing you’ve been doing.”

You smiled and pinched Kiri’s cheek.

“That sounds like a plan! Can we play music too? Maybe not the usual holiday music, let's make a playlist of all our favorites!”

Kiri agreed and the two of you quickly made a playlist, it was full of different artists and genres, metal, rap, k-pop, instrumental and indie music. Once it was playing through a set a speakers, Kirishima went to grab the few decorations he had that all fit into one plastic bin. Together you strung the lights around the tree and hung up the few ornaments he had, once they were all used, the tree could pass for being decent but you both decided it needed more! One idea came to mind for you and had you gasping then running to your bag that sat on the couch. You pulled out a small pink camera that produced medium sized polaroid pictures.

“We can decorate it with some pictures, of you and me, Duchess. We’ll take some throughout the night then put them up later, if you have string I can punch holes in them and tie them in a line. I also have pictures of us and the guys from the shop we can use as well.”

A smile came to Kiri’s face and he nodded.

“Hmm, I can make some origami stars out of some old sketch pages I have and some of yours if you want!”

“Origami? Geez what a fucking nerd.” You snorted while checking the film in the camera and taking a picture of Duchess where she laid on the floor, rolling around with her tongue out.

“Hey do you want ornaments or not?”

Your eyes rolled before looking at Kirishima with a smile. He smiled back and left long enough to go get his old sketch books from his room, along with other items such as scissors, string and other things you’d need for all the handmade ornaments. Without another word, the two of you got to work on creating, you making a string of polaroids and taking a few here and there of yourself and Kiri. Him focusing on his origami and Duchess going back and forth between you.

A few hours went by and more and more the tree was starting to come along. The stars Kirishima made were actually quite nice and gave it an artsy look along with the pictures. Even a few of Duchess’s old collars were added to the mix. As you walked around the tree, starting to string up the last of the polaroids, a song started to play that caused you to squeal.

Kirishima popped his head out from behind the fridge at the sound, not seeing you behind the tree. He knew he didn’t need to feel uneasy but he did and made his way back into the living room.

“Babe you okay?”

“Banbokdwen shiso shisogeim,” you sang with a smile while coming into view from around the tree.

Kiri sighed and shook his head, watching you slowly starting to dance. All night long you sang and danced to the songs you knew and loved. Kirishima always watching and thinking how much he loved this tradition already. He went to go back to the kitchen but your volume raised and sounded panicked as you lunged for him and grabbed his hand, tugging his body back with a pout on your face.

“Dance with me, another tradition, I demand it!”

There was a look that grew on the mans face that read ‘please don’t make me’ but you only giggled and nodded, continuing to sing and trying to lure him in with your dancing.

“All right banbokdwen shisogeim ijeseoya kkeucheul naeboryeo hae.”

Rolling his eyes, Kirishima sighed and finally fell into step with you, making you smile bigger than ever when he took both your hands. Just like that night at the club, you both found a rhythm together quickly and moved along with the steady and mellow beat. Neither of you were bad dancers at all, doing little twists and turns here, Kiri dipping your body playfully and both of you lightly bouncing together. All these traditions that were being made that night may have seemed silly or dumb to others but they made you utterly happy and that made him happy and Kirishima would be damned if he forgot a single one of them.

His red eyes never left you the duration of the song and as it slowed to its end he couldn’t help but be consumed by the tone and swiftly picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and letting you wrap your arms around his neck. Smiling, quietly you sang the rest of the song upon his cheek, lips brushing against it and his own nuzzling your cheek in return with a smile. Your head turned to look at the tree and you sighed, Kirishima’s eyes followed.

“Think it’s done?”

Your lips jutted out and you hummed.

“It is but it’s missing something! Oh - look, it’s missing a topper, like a star or an angel, if you’re religious or whatever.”

“Ah - I gotcha,” he responded then smirked, “Actually, I have just the thing for it!”

“But we used everything in the - ah!”

You yelled out at Kirishima unwrapping you from around him and hoisting you up like a child over his head while walking towards the tree and laughing.

“I’ve got a perfectly good angel right here!”

“Shut your fucking mouth that is so cheesy, you better put me down!”

“Or what little one?” Kiri replied and started to tickle the bottoms of your thighs he held, making you squirm above him.

“Eijirou Kirishima, I will fuck you up, stop I’m gonna fall!”

The red-head chuckled and dropped you in the air, making you squeal until he caught you again in his arms. Your hands covered your face, chest heaving and your heart raced from the adrenaline. When you peaked between your fingers, Kirishima had a cocky smile on his face.

“How are you supposed to fuck me up looking like a scared little baby back bitch?” He teased while standing you on your feet.

“Oh you fucker, it’s on!” You challenged and pushed at his chest with all you had.

The massive man only laughed and took a step back, deflecting every punch you swung at him and giving you playful little jabs to the stomach and side in between. You giggled and kept trying, landing a few solid punches to his stomach and kicking at his sides.

“You’re like a mad little cub, it’s adorable!”

“Fuck you you spiky haired bastard!” You replied and went to kick at him again, this time his hand catching your ankle and making you immediately regret your decision. “Ei, let’s talk this out!”

“Uh-huh, you’re mine now!”

He smirked and tugged your ankle, making you hop on one leg towards him, arms flailing and almost falling back on your ass before he wrapped an arm around your midsection and tossed you over onto the massive couch. Before you could get up and try to crawl away he was already hovering over you tickling at your sides as you pleaded for mercy.

“What - where’s all that shit talking now little badass?”

“Eiji!” You whined and tried to pout but it was useless from how hard you laughed and smiled.

“Beg like a good little girl and I’ll stop.” You scoffed and tried to punch at him again but Kirishima growled and took both your wrists and pinned them to the sides of your head roughly with a smirk. “Beg.”

Your eyes narrowed at the massive man as he stared back, red eyes dark and hungry looking. A short chuckle left your throat and your eyes rolled at him before tilting your head, lips pouting and a leg slowly wrapping around his waist as you whined.

“Please Eijirou, I’ll be a good girl and do whatever you want.”

“Hmm,” Kirishima licked his lip and leaned in closer, his hands tightening around your wrists and making you gasp at the soft kiss being placed under your jaw, “Then say my name again.”

You were now panting just from the way Kirishima’s voice spoke to you, how his hands around your small wrists were rough and possessive and how his lips kept brushing against the skin of jaw and neck just enough to drive you insane. A genuine pitiful whimper rang in the back of your throat and your fingers clenched into fists.

“Eijirou.”

“Good girl,” he breathed on the corner of your mouth before finally kissing you and making your body keen under him. Your leg wrapped around him tighter, hips rising to met his own and causing him to groan, sharp teeth taking your lip between them. “My good girl.”

You whimpered more and nearly lost it when Kirishima let go of one wrist, placing his hand on your hip and pulling it up so he could rut against you. When both hands were free, they scrambled to the hem of his shirt and eagerly tugged it upwards. He chuckled and let you pull it over his head and drop it onto the floor.

Your mouths met again, getting more and more hungry by the second as tongues tasted and teeth gnawed, your sweater soon finding the floor next to Kiri’s. Over and over you made soft and sweet sounds, also repeating your lovers name and egging him on more and more.

“Ah, Eijirou,” you moaned when his hand softly squeezed your breast over the black bra.

Soon kisses and bites were trailing down your neck, collarbone and sternum. Kirishima smiling and running a finger down the ink of the octopus that laid before him. He kissed further to the side and pushed up the band of your bra enough to let him kiss at the very tattoo he placed on you. Smiling, your hands tangled in his messy red hair while more sweet and soft kisses were gifted to your ribs and stomach.

Kirishima always loved how the majority of your skin was still devoid of any ink, still blank and perfect, clear like a fresh canvas. To him, you were the clean part of him, sweet and bright, a new slate he could start over with. He would do everything in his power to keep you this way, cherish every single inch of you and only tarnish your skin with the evidence of his love for you.

You sighed once he kissed your navel, one hand holding your right hip and his thumb brushing over the skin of it. You trembled though when his thumb contacted with the scar that rest a few inches from your hip bone.

The red-head stopped everything at once and his eyes moved to the scar. He had completely forgotten all about it, not just that one in particular but all your scars. This was the first time he was literally face to face it and he carefully touched the pinkish flesh again. Just like before you trembled and whimpered quietly.

“Does it hurt?”

Your head shook and you slowly sat up on your elbows to look down at him. “Not physically, there’s just this phantom feeling left behind I guess.”

“I’m sorry little one,” he replied and lowered his face, placing his lips to the scar and gently kissing it.

This time you didn’t tremble like before, instead you hummed happily and pet his hair. Kirishima continued to examine the scar, his heart feeling heavy and chest tight at the realization of its location.

Doing what he did behind your back, the hitman knew all the detrimental spots on the human body that could easily end someone’s life or cause them agonizing slow pain. He could tell the scar tissue was thick and damaged, letting him know that you weren’t stabbed just once but multiple times in the same spot. You were tortured, that much wasn’t a secret considering the other scars he remembered seeing that night at Sero’s.

“I bled for two days, only allowed to heal myself enough to where I wouldn’t actually bleed out. Finally when he thought I had learned my lesson he let me heal it fully but there was already so much damage and I was too weak and too tired to even care so I just let it heal on its own. To think that was just a warning, I should’ve learned my lesson after that but I’m a brat remember?” You chuckled.

Kirishima’s red eyes glared up at you, obviously not amused.

“Okay, not my best joke,” you frowned and rubbed the side of your neck before sighing. “Do you want to know - about the others I mean. I might as well show and tell you now since we’ve gotten this far right? Plus I don’t have anything to hide from you.”

“Does that mean you’ll tell me who your ex is then?”

“Okay I have one thing to hide from you!” You laughed and sat up on your palms, touching Kirishima’s cheek with one hand and smirking. “I can’t tell you Ei, not right now. I promise though when the time is right I will.”

“What if it's too late then huh? How am I supposed to protect you when I don’t know who to protect you from!” He pleaded and pressed his forehead to yours, “(Y/N), if anything happened to you when I can easily prevent it, I’d fucking lose myself.”

“I know Eijirou, the same goes for you. This is the only way I know how to protect you and the guys. For now let’s just take this one step at a time okay, we both have secrets we’re keeping from each other right now and obviously these secrets are dark but I trust that you’ll tell me when you’re ready, so just trust me as well okay?”

Kirishima sighed and cupped the back of your neck, lifting his head to place a kiss to your forehead and deciding to give up for now and take what you were willing to offer at this moment.

“Okay little one. But you fucking promise me that if anything ever feels weird or you can just sense something is going to happen, please, please tell me. Remember, no one is taking you from me and I’ll kill the bastard who thinks they can.”

“I promise Red.”

Kiri nodded and sat back on his knees, hands moving down to rub your thighs. He was aching to see the burns again and to learn more. Nervously, his hand moved to the button of your jeans, slowly un-doing it as he looked to you.

You watched, letting him do what he pleased, lifting your hips to help him pull the jeans down and off before tossing them to the floor. Kirishima swallowed the lump in his throat once he looked upon the reddish-purple burns, the hand-prints charred onto you skin and let his own drag down them. Shockingly the skin was still soft, raised in areas and cold to the touch.

“These weren’t a warning, more so just him showing off really. I walked in on something I shouldn't have like always, I had terrible fucking luck. After the first warning, when things like that happened, he would just let me go on about my day and deal with me later that night but this time there was an audience, new people who didn’t know about me and didn’t know that I knew better than to dare speak of anything that went on in that house. But they panicked and were way too fucking paranoid, so he made a demonstration of my ‘loyalty’ and blind love to him.”

You paused and looked at the burns, your own hand touching one of the hand-prints as your teeth chewed your bottom lip and for a split second you actually missed the fucker. Quickly you shook the feeling from your head and cleared your throat before continuing.

“He uh - he ordered two of personal minions to grab and pin me down to this table and he stood at the end of it, taking his knife and using it to cut off my pants and toss them, he could’ve just used his quirk to burn them off but he wanted to humiliate me, show the power he held over me. He said he loved me before grabbing my thighs and burning them. No one batted an eye or looked away, no one helped - they just watched as he continuously tortured me. They even laughed you know and applauded him.”

You cleared your throat, trying to will away the pain in your voice.

“’You love me too don’t you, so much that you’d die before opening that pretty little mouth right?’ I cried and screamed that I’d never betray him ever, over and over again until I couldn’t anymore and it was true. Because even when he was maiming me, he still looked at me with those eyes as if they would never let me get hurt and he talked with that voice that made me believe this really was just how love is - suffering and complying no matter what. I - I’m pretty fucking stupid huh?”

Kirishima sat there before you, one hand on your thigh, on the same spot that monster laid his own hands and left permanent marks.

He was livid, raging, seeing red.

All he wanted to do was find that bastard and adopt some of Deku’s sadistic methods for himself and hear the guy screaming in agony, laughing in his face just like he did to you. Kiri wanted nothing more than to demand his name, his breathing picking up and teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek. His opposite hand clutching at the couch cushion beneath him and slowly starting to tear until your own hand touched his and that sweet voice said that magic word.

“Eijirou.”

All at once, Kirishima came back to his senses, the red clearing once he looked at you staring back at him, waiting patiently for some sort of response. Normally, he wouldn’t think before he spoke and that always backfired on him. Things were different now, you weren’t hiding anything, you were giving him answers he wanted, one in particular he wasn’t going to get anytime soon, but this was good, this was a start and he needed to be there for you more than anything.

His red eyes blinked and he took a deep breath.

“I - I don’t know what to say to that. I mean there is a lot I want to say but that’s not what you need right now. I’m just trying to let this sink in without going off the fucking handle. I’m trying to be what you need me to be right now little one.”

You shook your head, fingers interlocking with his own and your other hand running through his hair.

“Ei, that’s perfectly fine. I don’t expect you to know what to say to something like this. Just as long as you can still want and love me the way I am now, knowing that this will always be on my body, then that’s all I need. I don’t need you to pity me or feel sorry because I’m over it all, I’ve moved on and I got out, I realized how what he did to me wasn’t love at all ... it was cruelty and abuse. I shouldn’t have been so dumb and it’s my fault for not realizing that until I was a-almost dead … f-fuck I was so c-close ... I c-could’ve d -”

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere in your response you started to cry, not realizing till the memory of waking up cold with a knife in your back had you hyperventilating and reaching out for Kirishima.

Not hesitating for even a second, he quickly grabbed and pulled you into his lap, your arms and legs desperately wrapping around him as you started to sob into the crook of his neck. He held you close, rubbing your back and not letting go. Kirishima gently rocked you in his lap, Duchess making her way onto the couch and laying down next to him, her head resting on his thigh and letting out a pitiful whimper.

“It’s alright mama, I’ve got her,” Kirishima spoke to the dog, letting go enough to scratch her head then hold you with both arms again and he kiss your hair.

“Listen to me, none of that shit was your fault, none of it! That guy is fucked up and he took advantage of the massive heart you have alright? I can’t say much because in the beginning I treated you like shit, I strung you along and hurt you, so I’m no better than him but I swear on my life I’d never lay my hands on you. Thinking of you suffering there alone, thinking of you thinking that what he did was love, it sucks. All of that was his fault, you’re innocent (Y/N), all you’re guilty of is loving someone who didn’t deserve it, who didn’t deserve you. Hell I don’t deserve you, not after what I’ve put you through but even after all that shit with that monster and with me, your heart is still so fucking massive and so full of love that you’re willing to give me a second chance and I promise I’m not going to fuck that up. You’re the only good thing in my life, you hear me?”

He paused and pulled back, his hands cupping your face and staring into your watery eyes, his own tearing up.

“You’re strong, so fucking strong! You’re beautiful and kind, sweet and caring. I don’t care what scars you have, how big they are, I love you and I’ll love those scars as well because they are you. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe, happy, smiling and most of all I’ll show you what love is, how you deserve to be loved. And hey, it’ll take a few sessions and some long hours but if you truly want those burns gone you’ve got me and two other guys that can do just that - together we can turn those scars into something beautiful just for you.”

You sniffled and cracked a tiny smile. “We can?”

“Of course we can little one, but only if you want to. Don’t think that I’ll love you any less for having those, don’t think that you have to be ashamed of them and hide them. It’s your choice to embrace them however you want or cover them up. No matter what you’re still beautiful and I’ll still love you.”

“Eijirou -” you breathed out before kissing him with quivering lips and hugging his neck, “I love you.”

The man sighed and hugged you back, sitting there and comforting you for a few more minutes in silence. After a while you started to grow heavier, your fingers tracing his back randomly and yawns filling his ear. Kiri smiled and kissed your cheek, lightly patting your thigh.

“Here little one, lay down for a bit while I go turn off some things and lock up, I’ll get us a blanket too,” he spoke while turning and easily laying you down on the couch, Duchess immediately curling up next to you, “Keep an eye on her for me, I’ll be right back.”

Your hand clung to one of his lazily, slipping as he stood and quietly backed away.

A few minutes later Kirishima was back, blanket and a few pillows in hand and in some sweats, he turned off all the lights, leaving just the glow of multi-colored lights from the christmas tree to illuminate the living room warmly.

Just as suspected you were passed out, turned on your side and hugging Duchess who laid on her side facing you. The red-head chuckled and leaned over to kiss her ear and pet her back before laying down on the other side of you. Your body was slightly trembling from the somewhat cold air, being that you were only in your underwear. Kirishima snuggled up close, wrapping the thick blanket he brought with him over your bodies and gently placing a pillow under your head. You hummed upon feeling the warmth of the blanket and his body, legs unconsciously intertwining with his and back pressing into his chest.

“Eij,” you sighed out, head turning back to him and eyes trying to flutter open.

Kirishima shushed you, one hand curling around and playing with your hair and the other arm holding you. “I’m here, go back to sleep baby.”

“But ... the other one ... didn’t tell you …” you mumbled.

At first he was confused, a red brow quirking before he looked down enough to see that last scar stretching across your shoulder blade. Sighing, Kiri leaned closer and kissed the scar before laying his head down and cuddling you closer, speaking softly into your hair.

“We’ve talked enough for tonight,” he kissed your hair, “I love you little one.”

#crimson ink #kirishima eijirou x reader #eijirou kirishima #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #tattoo shop au #hitman au #hitmen au #bnha writing #mha writing #angst #eventual smut #bakusquad #dark themes

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onlycags · 4 years ago

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Self-Control | Çağlar Söyüncü

Born out of an odd discussion with @words-for-marcus (because of course), please enjoy this manifestation I like to call “Yet another thing I want Çağlar Söyüncü to do to my body”

- - -

You were laying on your back in the comfortable tattoo chair, shirtless. “This is gonna look so good,” Meg, your artist, murmured as she peeled off the stencil. “Why don’t you go have a look in the mirror - make sure it’s positioned exactly where you want it.”

The moment you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, you gasped. The stencil was perfect. An intricate chest piece, the rose in the centre fanned out into leaves and miniature flowers with teardrop jewels dangling from delicate chains. It outlined your tits perfectly and added something to the rest of the ink on your body that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Thoughts?” You asked, turning to your boyfriend, Çağlar.

His eyes instantly darkened as he took in the purple stencil. “Çok seksi,” he murmured, his voice rough. So sexy.

You were half-tempted to kiss Çağlar, especially with the look on his face right now, but you didn’t. Instead, you flashed Meg a grateful smile. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

“Alright, love. Let’s get started then.”

The hum of the tattoo gun instantly put you at ease. You often found yourself at a tattoo parlour to both add to your collection and release any negative or overwhelming feelings you were experiencing at the moment. This sternum piece was something you’d wanted for years and you couldn’t believe you were finally getting it.

You’d actually met Çağlar at a different tattoo studio in Leicester that had since changed locations. You were getting stenciled while his tattoo was halfway done, the two of you chatting throughout the remaining duration of his tattoo. As you’d gone up to the counter to pay, the girl behind the counter had slid you a card with Çağlar’s number on it, saying that he’d left it for you. You worked up the courage to call him, the two of you went for a date, and now almost a year later, here you were.

You moaned a little as the tattoo gun went over a sensitive spot on your sternum. “Doing alright, love?” Meg asked, pausing.

“Yeah, thanks, babe.” You offered her a shy smile before you closed your eyes again.

Your mind wandered as the tattoo gun roamed over your skin while Meg did the linework. You couldn’t help thinking back to the first time Çağlar had used the flogger on your tits. Heat pooled between your legs as you thought about it, the vibrations from the tattoo gun going to your clit.

Çağlar watched you from his phone, occasionally looking up to see how the linework was coming along. He couldn’t wait to play with it once it had healed, but the healing process in and of itself was also fun and he couldn’t wait to rub lotion onto it for you.

Meg finished up the linework, running the paper towels over your skin. “Wanna take a look?” She asked and you nodded, getting up on shaky legs as you walked over to the full-length mirror. You didn’t want to think about the sweat streaks you’d probably left on the chair, but you were getting turned on just watching Çağlar.

“Thoughts?” You asked, turning to him.

Çağlar’s gaze ran over you and his eyes narrowed in a look you knew all too well. “Seni sonra becermek için sabırsızlanıyorum,” he murmured. I can’t wait to fuck you later.

Meg muttered something under her breath and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Tu dis quoi?” You asked, a total shot in the dark.

“Tu parles francais, aussi?” She asked and you nodded.

From then on, the two of you spoke in French about everything and nothing. It had been a while since you’d found someone who spoke the language and you were excited to finally flex your language muscles. It didn’t help that she was beautiful and her ink made you want to kiss all of it with your tongue while you asked her what everything meant.

During five minutes of silence while Meg was adding the colour, your mind floated back to the first time Çağlar had used nipple clamps on you and you found yourself clenching around nothing while the green on the leaves went into your skin. Sweat beaded on your upper lip and you knew you were gonna cum again just from the pain alone.

“I’ve just got one more colour to add and then we’ll be done, okay?” Meg asked in French.

“Oui,” you replied, hoping you didn’t sound too whimpery.

When it was finally done, you laid still and let Meg take pictures of the finished product from various angles for her Instagram. You tipped her well, the two of you conversing in French the whole time, making plans to meet for coffee in the near future.

“Did you have a good time?” You asked Çağlar as the two of you walked out, the bandage rustling around under your shirt.

“Of course,” Çağlar replied, kissing your temple. “I got to spend seven hours staring at your tits.”

You rolled your eyes, giggling. “And I got to spend seven hour getting tattooed and having two orgasms.”

Çağlar’s eyes darkened as he processed your words. “You what?”

You repeated yourself, smirking. “You heard me, baby.” You knew you shouldn’t have admitted it - you had to ask for every orgasm you wanted and something like this was strictly forbidden - but you couldn’t help yourself. A part of you was still up in the clouds from two orgasms, especially since you’d been denied for close to a month and now you’d just had two pain-induced orgasms in the span of seven hours.

“I don’t believe you,” Çağlar growled, his accent getting thicker and making goosebumps break out across your skin. “I was watching your body and I didn’t see any of the telltale signs of an orgasm, let alone two.”

You shrugged. “Guess I’ve just gotten good at hiding my orgasms.”

“Like hell you did. I know you and I know your body. Sen Benimsin.” You’re mine.

It had been so long since Çağlar had punished you in the way that you craved. Both of you had been busy with your careers and in the last three months, every time you had sex it was so vanilla you had wondered if you’d done something wrong.

You got back to your place, throwing him a cheeky smile as you unlocked your door. “Are you gonna punish me the way I deserve?” You whispered in his ear, nipping on his earlobe to make him groan.

The door shut behind you and you gasped when you felt Çağlar behind you as he pulled you back against him. “And then some.”

***

Thirty minutes later, you were tied securely to your bed, naked except for the bandage covering your new tattoo.

“You think I don’t know your body?” He asked, the first stroke of the riding crop on your displayed pussy making you moan into the gag. “You think I don’t know what you look like when you cum?” Another strike. “You think I haven’t been fucking you right?” Five hits all in succession had you writhing and moaning around the gag. “Well, sweetheart, I’m going to make you regret those two orgasms you stole from me in the shop today.” He paused, landing more blows specifically on your clit. “And don’t think I didn’t see the way you and Meg were flirting. This pretty pussy is gonna get all marked up.” You screamed some more behind the gag as Çağlar spread your lower lips and focused ten harsh spanks with the heel of his palm directly on your sensitive clit. “Look at that,” he breathed, his index finger tracing your entrance. “Look at that pretty little pussy pucker just - for - me.”

You tried to beg behind the gag, but you couldn’t. Çağlar watched you try to speak, chuckling at your predicament. You shrieked as he disappeared into your closet where you kept all your toys. The smirk on his face made your stomach drop - Çağlar could be merciless and you knew that this would be one of those times where he didn’t let you go until one of three things happened: 1) you used your safeword, 2) you passed out, or 3) he got everything he wanted from you.

The clamp on your clit was the first thing he applied, and for the first time that night you were glad he’d gagged you. He parted your pussy lips and held them open with duct tape that you knew would be the final bit of torture after you were spent and used. The Hitachi buzzed as Çağlar plugged it into the wall, the gleam in his eye making your pussy drip.

It wasn’t hard to slide the vibrating head of the Hitachi in your dripping cunt, making your eyes roll back in your head. Çağlar leaned down and bit the inside of your thigh - hard. You squealed against the gag. “Don’t think you’re going to get away with faking an orgasm with that eyeroll. I’m not falling for your tricks, little girl. If you’re cumming, I’m going to make sure you’re screaming my name and you can’t possibly be lying.”

Your eyes went wide.

“If I take this gag off, are you gonna be a good girl?” You nodded. “If you make a sound I don’t like, though, I’m going to put it back on and it won’t be coming off.”

“Thank you,” you whimpered, breathing heavily.

Çağlar hummed, running his hands up and down your torso, the calluses on his fingertips amplifying the sensations. He bent down, his tongue swirling in your bellybutton, the scruff of his beard making goosebumps spread across your skin. You desperately wished you weren’t tied up so you could run your fingers through his hair, but all you could do was bite your lip and take it.

“I need ice,” he murmured, getting up abruptly and leaving the bedroom.

He returned minutes later with a large glass of ice. Your stomach dipped at the sight of him towering over you, thinking about all the things he’d do to you with the ice. Your pussy clenched around the Hitachi inside you and it took all your willpower not to scream.

Çağlar took off his shirt, revealing his inked torso that always managed to leave you breathless. “Like what you see?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, biting your lower lip to keep from making noise while you drank him in.

Çağlar’s tattoos were your favourite part of him. You loved the way the lion moved over his back; it was your favourite thing to trace, pressing kisses to it whenever he walked around the house shirtless and you could pounce on him from behind. The script on his torso over his ribs always made you bite your lip - you knew firsthand just how painful the rib tattoos were and it always turned you on to think about Çağlar sitting shirtless in the tattoo chair getting them done. Finally, there was the ink across his chest that you were constantly running your fingers over. You couldn’t deny that every inch of the Turkish centre back left you a dripping, achy mess, but the best feeling was knowing that you had the same effect on him.

You were so in your head about him that the ice touching your skin made you jump and strain against your restraints, angling the Hitachi further in your pussy. You had learned a long time ago with the vibrator that if you held still, you could last a long time but it was always Çağlar’s personal mission to make you move as much as possible.

“Soğuk?” He taunted, watching the ice melt as he moved it down your neck, your whimpery moans spurring him on further. Cold?

You weren’t going to give him anything, slipping on your passive face as you said, “Not really,” with a blank expression.

Your self-control had always been above-average. From a young age, you learned to manipulate your emotions to bend to the expectations of others, using them to get what you wanted. It was both a blessing and a curse that nobody could figure out what was going on inside your head, but somehow Çağlar was able to break through the barriers you had long-since put up. He knew just what to say and do to get you to break, and right now that was his sole focus. You knew just how good Çağlar was at getting what he wanted and if he wanted to make you truly let go and show him what you really looked like when you came, that’s what he would get, one way or another.

“It’s a shame I can’t suck on these tits tonight,” he mused, running the ice over your distended nipples. “But they already got so much action today it would be unfair to your pussy.”

His gaze flickered to your face and he smirked at you, the ice and his fingers trailing down to rest in your bellybutton. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as Çağlar held the ice in place, letting it melt and pool in your bellybutton until it filled and spilled over, running down your sides and down your pussy.

Çağlar reached into the glass again. “Açık.” Open.

You opened your mouth, watching as he placed an ice cube on your tongue. “Keep your mouth open - I wanna watch it melt.”

Another ice cube, this time he settled between your legs, running the frozen water along the insides of your tattooed thighs. His tongue followed the water droplets, licking and sucking all the sensitive spots he’d long-ago discovered. You squirmed, the Hitachi hitting your g-spot as the melting ice dripped from your tongue and traveled down your chin, mirroring your dripping cunt.

“Are you close?” Çağlar asked, his nose accidentally brushing the clamp on your clit, making you whimper. “If you are, I’ll take the clamp off and then we can really get started.”

You were torn between wanting to keep the clamp on and letting Çağlar take it off so you could have what would no-doubt be a mind-blowing orgasm. In a moment of pure, unadulterated need, you nodded.

Çağlar’s fingers paused over the clamp. “You’ve gotta swallow first.”

The last of the ice had melted and you did as he asked, swallowing the meager drops of water that had managed to stay inside your mouth.

“Good girl.”

The rush of blood to your clit almost pushed you over the edge but you refused to give Çağlar the satisfaction. His lips kissed your clit, followed quickly by the melting ice. Your hips bucked off the bed, a feral whimper leaving your mouth.

“Finally - a reaction,” he mumbled, reaching for the riding crop again. “Since you’ve cum twice from pain today, I see no reason why you can’t do it a third time.”

“Sir-” you were cut off by the riding crop on your clit.

“Not tonight, baby. You say my name or nothing at all.”

“Çağlar!”

Another slap. “Better.” He reached for the Hitachi, changing the angle.

“Çağlar, please!” You were unravelling and you both knew it.

“Eight more,” he commanded. “You cum on the last one.”

Çağlar watched you come undone with the next seven slaps, a plan forming. He struck your clit harder than any of the previous nine strokes you’d received, watching as you had the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life. He held your hips down, his mouth latching onto your clit to draw every last sensation out of you lost control.

“Please!” You moaned once you’d regained the ability to speak. “The vibrator. Take it out!”

You whimpered when Çağlar took the still-vibrating Hitachi out of you and turned it off. The duct tape on your lower lips was next, one final infliction of pain as he took the tape off. You were anxious for Çağlar to untie you - the restraints were fun while you were in that space, but the moment you got what you needed from them, you wanted them off - your hands reaching for him while he untied you.

The moment you were free, you launched yourself into his arms, burying your fingers in his hair, your legs wrapping around his waist, your lips on his. You always got needy after sessions like that, but Çağlar never said anything, letting you take the comfort from him that you needed.

Çağlar helped you take the bandage off when it was time, his hands gently running over the fresh ink, patting you dry lightly. “You’re so bruised,” he murmured when he noticed the marks forming in some areas. “I don’t like it when you’re marked up and it’s not my doing.”

You smiled looking up at him. “You already marked me up so much tonight, I think you’ll live.” You groaned when he slid a hand between your legs.

“I’m sure I will.”

#cags writing #cags originals

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tristancreed · 4 years ago

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My Relationship With Tattoos

Art as we know it comes in any medium. It could be a portrait, a scuplture, a dish, a film or even a fighting style. The canvas and the medium may change, but one thing remains constant. It represents something. One's feelings, identity, code, maybe even culture. Tattoos are not far from this. They are pieces of art etched on a living canvas. Just like any piece of art can be viewed differently by the artist, the wearer as well as the mere spectator. The same perception could also be rooted from a personal interpretation/bias, cultural influence, and etc.

The Philippines, while still attempting to develop have yet to change its view on tattooing. To some, it is in fact seen at an artistic light whereas most view them with negative connotations. Some even view tattooed individuals as nothing but bottom dwellers, drug addicts, criminals, anything synonymous with the word undesirable. We even have a senator that says exactly these words about tattooed individuals, as do most conservative folks. Which is ironic considering that tattoos once played a significant role in the pre-colonial history. It often dsiplayed one's role, accomplishments, clan, and even social status. One of our most well-reputed national artists happen to be Whang-Od. To the uninitiated, she is currently the last living traditional tattoo artist around these parts. She is well sought out by visitors both domestic and foreign. In all sincerity, I'd like to see that senator try and publicly call her a drug addict to her face. Like I said, The Philippines has yet to be anywhere near ready to adapt to a modern society. And with it, more progressive views.

I for one had a neutral stance on them. I should know, I have four of them and have gone through five sessions all in all. But before that, I remember wanting to get one as far as when I was in college and even intending to get two particular pieces. One being WWE Superstar Edge's Rise Above wrist piece and Toryn Green's sinner and saint ambigram. This what happens when you grow up being a fan of hard rock music, professional wrestling and mixed martial arts. Although what kept me from getting tattooed was the fear of being an ineligible blood donor, as well as the fear of being unemployable in the future.

That however changed after I graduated. Turns out, most corporate environments won't even bat an eye at an upper management figure sporting full sleeves and stretched earlobes. Others may not be as lenient. But it hardly impacted how they're received in the company. I even had a chance to get a session done in 2013 but it kept falling apart.

It didn't cross my mind until 2017 and that's that I finally decided to go for it. I remembered seeing a simple but perfectly symmetrical geometric arrow design. The design was perfect. I also happen to love archery. So I literally had no other issue with it. I later ended up getting referred by my cousin to her artist who did her wrist piece months prior. The three weeks leading up to that session, I let my folks know in advance that I am getting a tattoo. I didn't wait for their approval or anything. I made it clear that I’m getting inked. Furthermore, I’d like to point out that I am a regular subscriber to Aaron Marino’s YouTube Channel (you may know him as Alpha M). I then took some crucial tips regarding tattoos. I had the certainty down as long as I follow one crucial tip. You have a whole sea of skin all over you. So out of all that, just avoid having one on your hands, neck, and face. If you can hide it with a dress shirt, it’s completely fine.

On the day of my appointment, I literally just slapped on a sleeveless Avenged Sevenfold cut-off top, some shorts, with only my phone and wallet in hand before heading out for my session. It happened in a small studio just next to a small school in Pacita. Fortunately, I got there in time and I happened to be his only scheduled client for the day. What happened next was pivotal. I literally watched as the needle first touched my skin and slowly covered my birthmark. The session itself took over five hours. And what turned out to be the final product was an entirely different design. One which was inspired by the concept I sent, but also deviated from it. My parents despite having already been warned in advance were still initially shocked by it. They didn’t think I was actually going ahead with it. So this is the part where I retroactively followed what Jaiden Dittfach (of Jaiden Animations) said when she got her bird Ari. If you want really want something and your parents said no, get it anyway and trick them into loving it. Now that it’s on my skin, there really wasn’t much they could do about it. But at least they know its meaning and that it isn’t anything negative. I did have some issues with the product though and it took three more years before I finally got it fixed. For good this time. At least before the pandemic happened and it was done by a trusted friend. In her defense, she made the best of what she could work with then and even remarked how deep the first needle went. Fortunately, she managed to even out some places that needed to be polished.

The (first) finished product.

Finally fixed.

In between all of this, I also managed to get three more pieces. It was November 12, 2018, a news shocked Marvel fans the world over. Stan Lee tragically passed away just six weeks shy of what would have been his 96th birthday. It was such a devastating loss of a figure who helped mold the childhoods of many. I wrote about it and posted it here shortly after. During those events, I remembered having come across the Wakandan alphabet before it hit me. But first, I had to consult a few friends in order to make sure that I wouldn’t be committing any act of cultural appropriation. After finally clearing that up, I sent my own design to a friend of mine (Who went on to do all of my ink from that point on) and booked the session. Thanksgiving day later came and I realized that we had no work that day. So I later called her up to see if she was free. Fortunately, she was and I finally had it etched on my right forearm. It was the Latin word “Excelsior” that literally translates to ever upward. It was also Stan’s catchphrase. The feeling of getting that piece was a lot more different than the previous one. This came with a wave of emotion. Because the significance could even be traced from my childhood and I grew up around this fandom and it meant more to me than just entertainment. It helped shape part of my identity. It’s literally the one piece I wish I could have flashed on a camera next to Stan himself. One thing’s for sure both Stan Lee and Chadwick Boseman would have thought it was a wise choice for a piece of ink on one’s skin.

“Excelsior”

- Stan Lee

Upon having gone through a tattoo session, you can only describe the feel of a needle as a sting. But you wouldn’t exactly call it pain. That isn’t an opinion, that is a fact. Another thing one must know upon getting a tattoo is that you will later want additional pieces. Your skin will want the feel of that needle again. And while my parents said that would be my last piece, I simply couldn’t promise that. This time around, I’ve been looking to get a Cthulhu tattoo since December 2018. Of course, being busy as always, I couldn’t find a time to arrange it. I would only do so once I’m sure I’m completely free for that day. I live two lives. Both as a corporate guy and a public figure. Spare time and sleep are luxuries I can’t always afford. And after all the planning, I finally booked it. I literally went to my friend’s place right away to have it done. The session was of reasonable length and it felt different. Both of my previous tattoos were done on my right forearm. Both of which had uplifting personal meanings. A darker piece like that would be completely out of place in that part of my body. So I opted for my left bicep. It was surreal. I’m a man invested into multiple fandoms and H.P. Lovecraft’s universe is definitely in that list. There’s just something about the occult and the unknown horrors of the cosmos that piqued my interest since my formative years. This was me finally marking that on my skin. If there’s one of Lovecraft’s most iconic creations that deserved that spot, it was the famed Dreamer of R’lyeh himself. If the excelsior tattoo gave a rush of innocence that I hadn’t felt in ages, this was different. It had that enigmatic aura around it which made it all the more perfect. The piece came together so well and it was on an arm that a needle had yet to kiss. After the session, you could say I probably found out how the Sam Raimi Peter Parker felt when he first put on the black symbiote suit. Minus the dance when he exited that tailor shop. I also ended up getting a freehand bonus on my right wrist again. Just something Roxy threw in. It was the Latin phrase “Sic Parvis Magna.” which literally translates to “Thus great things come from small things.” or better yet, greatness from small beginnings. Which is another phrase I hold dear considering my humble origins.

“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn”

“In his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”

“Thus great things come from small things.”

That certainly wouldn’t be the end of it. Again, while my folks insisted that I got my last pieces, I still can’t promise that. One thing’s for sure, I wouldn’t get any piece that either stands for something that abridges the rights of another human being, nor would any of my upcoming pieces ever wrongly appropriate a culture. Ultimately, I would always advise everyone to at least take Aaron Marino’s advise to heart. Don’t get one that you wouldn’t want to show your folks. You also have a whole sea of skin around you, so avoid having one on your hands, neck and face. I’m definitely not done stepping next to a needle. I still have plans on some pieces. But I always see to their significance. It’s always wise to do exactly that. Getting a tattoo isn’t a joke. It’s a commitment. One that can even outlive a marriage. So it pays to take every choice into consideration. Some of us choose to wear our hearts on our sleeve and some do so literally.

#tattoos #tattoostories #excelsior #cthulhu #lovecraft #inkedlife

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sgtrolandhills · 5 years ago

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A Perfect Storm || Luce & Roland

Luce listened intently as the cop filled her in on the details. So he was put on shit duty out here, figures. That kind of thing seemed to happen around her. Someone transfers in from one city or another, then they either can’t hack it or they become one of the locals. She idly wondered which side of the coin Officer Hills here would land on. “It’s a nice place. Small place, but we keep busy here. I’m Luce.” She said, not bothering to add her last name. It was hardly necessary and, if he was like any kind of the normal newcomers, he’d probably head to Illusions of Grandeur at some point. She’d rather not be associated with her sister’s sideshow act. “If you’re looking for a sports bar, Dell’s is pretty good about keeping the game on.” She said. Staring out the windows, Luce watched as a streak of lighting flashed across the sky. Pretty, in a deadly kind of way. “I’m a tattoo artist. I work at Ink Inc. I do a lot of geometric and black work, but I can roll with traditional too. You got any tattoos?”

Roland nodded along as Luce spoke. She had certainly been right about White Crest keeping busy for a small town. Crime and death rates alone spoke to that fact, though he wouldn’t consider that one of the town’s positive attributes. It had its charms and he had more than enough work to keep him busy. “It’s good to meet you, Luce. There’s definitely more going on here than you’d think for a small town. You go hiking out here often?” There was only a hint of concern in his voice. There were more missing persons reports than he’d like coming out of those woods. He’d hate to see her as one of them. She knew the area though, he had to believe she knew how to keep herself safe out there. It looked like she had a hiking pack which meant she was prepared. Now he learned she was a tattoo artist. It seemed more and more that Luce definitely had the know how to fend for herself. He’d never met a tattoo artist who didn’t have a little bit of grit to them. “Thanks for the tip,” he paused before adding, “Tattoo artist, huh? I don’t have any myself, but I’ve always thought they were cool. I don’t even know what I’d get if I were to get one. How long have you been doing that?”

“I usually just go running along the easier paths, but I like to mix it up with hikes.” Luce replied, jerking a thumb to the pack sitting in her lap. “I bring gear when I’m out and about. First aid kit, stuff like that.” She nodded. Plus, some miscellaneous magical odds and ends that wouldn’t attract too much attention. A lump of red tourmaline, which to most people wouldn’t look like anything other than a shiny bit of rock. To her, it was a focus for her magic. A small knife, in case she needed to fuel her flames with something beyond just her will and energy. But, she hardly ever used that. Not unless she wanted to pass the fuck out in the middle of the woods. Which, having done it a couple times before, was a sure fire way to catch a fucking cold when you were out setting fire in the middle of a storm. “No problem,” She replied, “Fair enough. I just know we have a couple folks on the force who come in from time to time. I’ve been tattooing for five years, but I did a three year apprenticeship beforehand.”

“As long as you’re being careful out there. Sounds like you’re well prepared. Just be on the lookout for wildlife. I know it keeps our Animal Control unit pretty busy,” Roland said with a gruff chuckle. It was good to hear she had safety supplies on her. Luce seemed nice enough and he’d rather not see her face in a missing persons file. Roland knew his way around in the wilderness, but it had never been something he specifically sought out. He got the appeal of it though and it was a practical hobby. He listened carefully and nodded along as Luce spoke. Eight years was a long time to be tattooing, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was good at other art forms as well, which sparked a question. “Do you do any other kinds of art? I don’t personally have any art, but I’ve been wanting to make a shadow box with some of my dad’s old uniform pieces. You good at that kind of thing?”

“Ah yeah. Growing up here, you get used to scaring off the local animals. I’m a pro at scaring away moose at this point.” Luce said with only the slightest amount of sarcasm. Moose weren’t anything to fuck with, and she’d been on the Mooseventure tour often enough to know that they could wreck your shit without a second thought. But, it helped when you could huck a ball of fire at an angry moose. “I do charcoal art. Woodburning too. Dabbled in oils a while ago, but it’s not my thing.” She nodded. A bit intrigued at the idea of a shadow box, Luce glanced over at the police officer. “I’ve never done one before, but it sounds like a simple enough premise. Was your dad on the force too?”

“Are the moose here particularly violent? I always thought they kept to themselves,” Roland mused. If that was the case, he’d do his best to avoid them. Death by moose would be an embarrassing way to go out. It was far more likely that he'd go down in the line of duty than by a moose considering he didn’t spend too much time out in the woods. Roland was sure to pay close attention to directions while driving. He was still learning his way around. The main parts of town he had pretty much covered through patrolling, but the Outskirts were still new territory. Eventually even the roads surrounded by the woods would become familiar enough. He smiled at the thought of being able to nicely display his dad’s badge and uniform jacket. He’d always been proud of his father and hoped to live up to his example. “Yes, he was a Lieutenant for the Boston Police Department. If you’d be able to do something like that, I’d be happy to commission it.”

“They can be. Apparently the fuckers can run at 35 miles per hour and, to make it worse, they can swim. Nothing like going for a dip and then getting drowned to death by an angry moose.” Luce said, recalling the more gruesome fun facts she’d gleaned from the last time she’d been at Mooseventures. “The ones around town seem more ballsy than most, but I chalk that up to the fact there’s a literal company that hauls tourists out to see them. Like whale watching or something.” She laughed with a shake of her head. Listening to the man, Luce regarded him with an intrigued eye. A Boston boy, huh? Family ties and all must be why he had joined the police department. That said, it made it all the more interesting that he was here and not back in Boston. “Yeah, I could definitely help you out with that. You’d have to give me dimensions of what you’re looking for, but I’d be happy to work on a project like that.”

“I think I may have to skip out on potentially making a moose angry. Guess I’ll be skipping out on that moose tour. I was already a little iffy on it,” Roland said slightly amused that there was a moose tour to begin with. You didn’t get much of that kind of thing out in the city. Occasionally, you’d get a rabid racoon in your trash which was a lot less dangerous and easy to get away from. He relaxed into his seat, finding conversation was moving easily enough. He liked people well enough, Roland just found that sometimes he always didn’t have the easiest time relating to others. Luce seemed to make jokes easily enough which always helped these sorts of things. He imagined she had to make a decent amount of conversation being a tattoo artist. “Thanks, I’ll measure the space I’d like to put it in and get back to you. Do you have a website or something?”

“Sounds like a smart idea. But, I’ve been wrangled into more than my fair share of trips to Mooseventures. It’s better than the fucking mime restaurant.” Luce grimaced at the thought of Kaden’s awful fucking birthday. “Another good piece of advice? You wanna go to a strip club, just make the drive to Bangor and go to one there. The Stripe Club? Fucking awful. Worst place ever.” She said with a shudder that was only partly exaggerated. As they continued down the road, she couldn’t help but be amused at the situation. One of the good ol’ boys in blue, dropping her off back at home? And, even better, that she was in the passenger seat? Funny stuff. Not that Luce had ever been in the back of a cop car, but she had to act the part. Everyone assumed that tattoo artists were rough and tumble and she wasn’t going to argue with that, if it meant they continued to treat her with the respect she wanted. “No worries. And yeah, I do. Ink Inc. has a website that’s linked on the town’s message board. If you go there, you’ll be able to see my work under my artist’s page.” She replied.

Roland’s brow furrowed at the mention of a mime restaurant. That seemed to be very oddly placed in a small town. Wasn’t that French thing? He’d have to ask Langley about it. “I didn’t realize mimes were a big enough thing here to warrant a whole restaurant dedicated to them. I think I’ll be avoiding that.” When Luce went on to continue about there being a Stripe Club, he grimaced further and couldn’t understand the appeal. He didn’t really enjoy regular strip clubs much let alone mime strip clubs. “I don’t think I’ll be going to either if I can help it, but that Stripe Club sounds like a nightmare. Thanks for the tip. You have a bad experience there or something?” He mentally checked off places to avoid unless there was a crime to investigate. Roland sincerely hoped he’d never have to investigate The Stripe Club. There were some things that just couldn’t be unseen once you saw them. He supposed he was lucky to have found Luce in the woods. He hated the thought of her trekking all this way in a storm. “I’ll have to check that out and reach out to you with some dimensions.” He paused for a moment before he asked, “Have you ever been to Boston?”

“You and me both. If you can manage to figure out why people are so obsessed with them, you’d have cracked the mystery of White Crest.” Luce joked. Though, if he really did manage to figure that out, she’d honestly love to hear it. It had been years since she’d tried to tackle that particular oddity of the town she called home-- in a very literal way. She’d tackled a mime. When Roland asked if she’d had a bad experience, Luce’s face turned grim. “Yeah, you could say that. I accidentally got shanghaied into the most fucked up birthday party I’ve ever been to. One of your new co-worker’s actually. Kaden Langley, with animal control. If you really wanna make him angry, just mention “mime lapdance.””She said with a knowing look. “No worries. And yeah, I’ve been there a couple times. Work trips. I went there for a tattoo expo once and then the second time I was there, I was doing a guest spot at a friend’s shop. It was a fun couple weeks.”

“I have the feeling that maybe some mysteries are better left unsolved,” Roland said letting out a single laugh. Whatever the appeal was, he wasn’t too sure he even wanted to understand. As long as it wasn’t a front for some sort of illegal business, he could live without ever stepping foot inside. He was sure his face was visibly disturbed when Luce mentioned that Langley had his birthday party at a mime strip club. He was relieved he missed the invite on that one. Being the new guy around the station had its perks and not ever having to see a mime strip was definitely one of them. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. Didn’t know Langley was into mimes like that. Should’ve guessed he had unconventional tastes with all the animal skulls on his desk. Glad I got here in time to miss the invite to that birthday party.” Even imagining it was enough to ruin his appetite. There wasn’t enough bourbon in the world to make that sound bearable. “Oh, yeah, we always get a pretty good crowd for that expo. There’s some nice hiking trails at the Boston Harbor National Park.” As they came up to an intersection, he asked, “Where am I going from here?”

“It was a fucking shit show, I can tell you that much.” Luce agreed. She’d gotten real fucked up that night, on the combination of whiskey and Blue Velvet. Even after spending a little bit of time merging into the alleyway outside of the Stripe Club she still couldn’t wipe the memory of the cursed mime lapdance from her brain. She had a sinking suspicion that little gem would be with her till she was six feet under. “He’s got animal skulls on his desk? What a creep. But yeah, you definitely dodged a bullet.” She reassured him. Glancing at the road they were coming up to she pointed to one of the dimly lit off shooting roads-- Bea’s house was closer to town than her own cabin, but it was still firmly placed in the outskirts. “Just turn left down here and keep driving. We’re the only house at the end of this road.”

“Sounds like it. Can’t say I get the appeal of mimes stripping. I’m not the chattiest guy around, but no conversation seems a little weird,” Roland responded, still incredulous that his coworker had a birthday party at a mime strip club. He definitely could have gone his whole life without the mental image of Langley getting a lapdance from a mime. There was something seriously disconcerting about it. If he had bad dreams tonight, he’d have that story to blame. He chuckled as Luce mentioned the animal skull thing was creepy. He never thought too much of it considering he worked in Animal Control. He slightly shrugged while driving and said, “A little bit abnormal for desk decorations, but he’s an Animal Control Officer so I guess it’s not that crazy.” Roland turned down the road as directed. It seemed like she still lived out near the forest which made a lot of sense if she loved hiking. “That must be nice. This part of town seems like a great place to live if you love spending time with nature. Did your family hike a lot when you were younger?”

“Right? And, as someone who had the misfortune of witnessing it, I can tell you that it’s incredibly fucking weird.” Luce shook her head, as though that might help cast the cursed memory from her mind. No such luck, but a girl could try. “I don’t know if that makes it any better. That’s like saying that since I’m a tattoo artist, it’s totally chill for me to have like… tattooed skin hanging up or something.” She grimaced. She never really understood the whole collecting animal skulls thing anyways. They were dead already, how would you like it if someone killed you and then used your skull as a paperweight? It just felt insulting. “It’s a good part of town. I didn’t originally live here, though. Grew up in the East End before moving out here.” She said before nodding. “We went hiking quite a bit as a family, yeah. It was a fun way to hang out with the family without really hanging out, you know? Because when you’re hiking, you can just kinda… go.” Luce grinned. “I prefer solo hikes, in case you didn’t notice.”

Roland wasn’t jealous of Luce having to endure what sounded like one nightmare of a birthday party. He guessed she had a point on the animal skull thing, but it seemed like a widely accepted decoration by most standards. “That’s fair enough. It’s not really my thing either.” His own decorating standards were pretty much nonexistent. The only not work related thing on his own desk was a photo of his father. When she mentioned the East End, he casually said, “That’s where I’m at now. Figured might as well live close to the station.” It was nice to hear she got to go hiking with her family a lot as a kid. Must have been what inspired her love for it. It was a productive and heart healthy hobby that he could get behind. “That sounds like it must have been fun. I did pick up on that part,” he said with a slight laugh at the end. He followed the road and pulled up to the only house on it. He was definitely glad she didn’t end up walking back home in this. “Here we are, it was good meeting you, Luce. I’ll be in contact with you about that piece.”

#a perfect storm #luce #wickedswriting

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