#ink clinic

[inkskinned]

today i love the red metal crane in her long neck arching her body over the boston skyline, which means i am okay for a moment. when i am unwell, everything is a little ugly. i always tell myself look for the beauty but when it is bad, i will look at birds and sunsets and little ducklings and feel absolutely nothing.

when my brother got his puppy, i was in a deep depression. what kind of monster isn't affected by a puppy. i was gentle and kind to her - i just didn't have an emotional reaction. she's five now and i feel like i spend all of our interactions apologizing to her - i don't know why. i just didn't feel anything. how embarrassing. i feel like if i admit that, i'll seem cruel and jaded. it comes in waves. like, two months ago when i went out into the world - it was like that. life behind a pane of stormglass. a firework could go off over your head - nothing. like dead skin, no reaction. not to ice cream or rainbows or baby chickens. life foggy and uninteresting.

i love goslings again. i love their little webbed feet splayed over grass. i love good food and live music and long walks. i like puppies. i feel like some kind of my soul has been starved - i keep staring at everything with wide eyes, trying to burrow the sensation into my stomach. it's real. beauty is real. when it's bad again, remember this. i stop and smell the flowers, feeling cliche in the moment. i like the white-to-red ombre of my neighbor's roses. i like colorcoding and yoga and cold drinks. i try to pass my hands over every moment, feeling like i'm squeezing joy out of every instant. remember this. for the love of god, it's real - just remember this.

[schrodingers-water-wet]

My take of all time is that Core, Ink, and Nightmare could be great friends but no one's ready to hear that yet

[hershelwidget]

wait hang on

HANG ON

DO YOU SEE MY VISION

[the-leech-lord]

🧠Dr Andover from Fear Clinic Stimboard🧠

🔬🔬🔬|🔬🔬🔬|🔬🔬🔬

[wetslug]

work gave me about 30 skin specimens today and i understand why our Skin Lady went on stress leave that shit had me angry as fuck just tired with it all

[bitterestbuggy]

Day 4: Shell

It would seem the theme this year is mixed media

[quotelr]

I don't feel much pain Got a knife in my back, and a bullet in my brain I’m clinically insane Walkin' home alone, I see faces in the rain

Lil Peep

[devious-crow]

suscept

apartment's empty - seems poetic

to even happen to expect

to see a face, the analgetic

for pains of overdue inspect

all bitter spews have integrated

the thorns start sticking out of flesh

thats why their words seem so curated

the parasite is me, I guess

it is so wrong, so digenetic

to even take a part in this

your stare is not apologetic

the conscious ceases to exist

it seems so forced, nonpolygenic

to be a pest along your side

my role so stale - the one abandoned

and yet all think - the one defied

[dr-rohit-singh]

𝔼𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕪 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 (𝔼ℂℂ)

𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗰𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀, 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗮𝘀 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 (𝗘𝗖𝗖), 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗶𝘀𝘀𝘂𝗲 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗻, 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗶𝘅. 𝗖𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗵 𝗶𝘀 𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗱𝘂𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗱 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗮 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗵. 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀, 𝗽𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗵𝘆𝗴𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘀.

𝗖𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝗧𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗖𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀:

𝗦𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗗𝗶𝗲𝘁: 𝗙𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘄𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘆.

𝗣𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝗢𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗛𝘆𝗴𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗲: 𝗜𝗻𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗾𝘂𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝘂𝗽 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗵.

𝗕𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗱𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲, 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀, 𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗸 𝗼𝗿 𝗷𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗵 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗲𝘅𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗱𝘀.

𝗗𝗿𝘆 𝗠𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗵: 𝗥𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗵'𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗮.

𝗣𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗧𝗶𝗽𝘀: 𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗢𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗛𝘆𝗴𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗲: 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗯��𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱’𝘀 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀, 𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗻���� 𝗮 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲.𝗟𝗶𝗺𝗶𝘁 𝗦𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗙𝗼𝗼𝗱𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗗𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀: 𝗥𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝘀𝗻𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘆, 𝘀𝗼𝗱𝗮, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝘂𝗶𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗲.

𝗥𝗲𝗴𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗿 𝗗𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗩𝗶𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘀: 𝗧𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗿 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸-𝘂𝗽𝘀.

𝗙𝗹𝘂𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁: 𝗙𝗹𝘂𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀. 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘃𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻.

𝗧𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁:

𝗜𝗳 𝗰𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀. 𝗜𝗻 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝘀𝗲𝘀, 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗼𝗿 𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗵.𝗣𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗹𝘁𝗵, 𝗮𝘀 𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘂𝗹𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴.

𝐒𝐚𝐢 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐜 & 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢 𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐮𝐫

𝐃𝐫.𝐑𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡

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ما هو افضل بوتوكس في المانيا؟

هل تبحثين عن طريقة لتحسين مظهر بشرتك وجعلها تبدو أكثر شبابًا ونضارة؟ إذاً، يمكنكِ ال��عتماد على خبرة الدكتورة كرستين مدري في تقديم العلاج المناسب باستخدام حقن البوتوكس عالية الجودة في عياداتها في ألمانيا. وبالنسبة لسعر حقنة البوتوكس في ألمانيا، فإنه يتم تحديده بناءً على عدد الوحدات التي يتم حقنها في الجلسة الواحدة، ويعتمد ذلك على عدة عوامل متغيرة مثل عمر المريضة ونوعية بشرتها ونوع التجاعيد ونوع العلاج المطلوب.

زيارتكِ لعيادة الدكتورة كرستين مدري ليست مجرد حصولكِ على حقنة البوتوكس، بل هي تجربة شاملة للعناية ببشرتك وتحسين مظهركِ بشكل عام. لذا، لا تتردي في حجز موعد الآن واستعدي للاستمتاع بإطلالة شابة وجاذبة.

بالنسبة للبوتوكس في ألمانيا، فهو عبارة عن علامة تجارية تُستخدم في العديد من العلاجات الطبية والجمالية. وتختلف مدة مفعول البوتوكس من شخص لآخر، حيث تظهر نتائج الحقنة عادة في غضون 3 إلى 7 أيام وتستمر لفترة تتراوح بين 3 إلى 6 أشهر. عندما تبدأ نتائج البوتوكس في التلاشي، يمكن للمريضة العودة إلى عيادة الدكتورة كرستين مدري لإعادة الحقن وتجديد المفعول. ولتجنب أي مشاكل صحية أو تأثيرات جانبية غير مرغوب فيها، يجب التحدث مع الدكتورة لتحديد الكمية المناسبة وعدد الجلسات المناسبة لاحتياجات الفرد.

بالنسبة لسعر حقنة البوتوكس في ألمانيا، يجب أن تعلمي أنه يختلف من عيادة إلى أخرى ويعتمد على المنطقة الجغرافية وسياسة التسعير لكل عيادة. ولكن بشكل عام، يتم تحديد تكلفة حقنة البوتوكس استنادًا إلى عدد الوحدات التي يتم حقنها في الجلسة الواحدة. تلك الوحدات تعتمد على عوامل متعددة، منها عمر المريضة ونوعية بشرتها ونوع التجاعيد التي ترغب في معالجتها، والجزء الذي سيتم حقنه بالبوتوكس. يمكن أن يظهر البوتوكس بشكل ملحوظ بعد حوالي 3 إلى 7 أيام من الحقنة، وتدوم نتائجه عادة لمدة تتراوح بين 3 إلى 6 أشهر.

إذا شعرتِ بالاهتمام أو الاستفسار حول سعر حقنة البوتوكس في عيادة الدكتورة كرستين مدري في ألمانيا، يُفضل دائمًا التحدث مع فريق العمل في العيادة للحصول على معلومات دقيقة حول التكلفة والتفا

صيل المتعلقة بجلسات الحقن.

البوتوكس هو اسم تجاري لمادة تُستخدم في عدة تطبيقات طبية وجمالية. ويُستخدم البوتوكس لعلاج العديد من المشاكل الصحية والجمالية، بما في ذلك الصداع النصفي والتعرق الزائد والتشنجات العضلية وتقليل ظهور التجاعيد. يُعتبر البوتوكس من الخيارات الشائعة للأشخاص الذين يرغبون في تحسين مظهر بشرتهم وتجاعيدها دون الحاجة إلى جراحة تجميلية. وبفضل فعاليته ونتائجه السريعة، أصبح البوتوكس خيارًا مشهورًا في مجال التجميل.

أما بالنسبة لمدى مفعول البوتوكس، فإن ذلك يعتمد على عدة عوامل منها الكمية المحقونة ونوع البوتوكس المستخدم والمنطقة التي تم حقنها وعمر المريضة ونوعية البشرة والعضلات. نعم، نتائج البوتوكس تبدأ عادة في الظهور خلال 3 إلى 7 أيام بعد الحقنة، وتستمر لمدة تتراوح بين 3 إلى 6 أشهر. عندما يبدأ مفعول البوتوكس في التلاشي، يمكن للمريضة العودة لإعادة الحقن والاستمرار في الاستفادة من فوائده.

ونصيحة مهمة: يجب دائمًا مراجعة الدكتورة كرستين مدري أو أحد أطبائها في عياداتها في ألمانيا قبل تنفيذ حقنة البوتوكس للحصول على تقييم دقيق لحالتك واحتياجاتك ولمعرفة الكمية المناسبة والتخطيط المثلى لجلسات الحقن.

إذا كنتِ ترغبين في الاستمرار في العناية بجمال بشرتك والاستفادة القصوى من فوائد البوتوكس، يجب أن تتذكري أن العناية بالبشرة ليست مجرد قضية حقن وإجراءات جمالية. هناك عوامل عديدة يمكن أن تساهم في الحفاظ على بشرة صحية ونضرة.

الحماية من الشمس: يجب أن تكون الحماية من أشعة الشمس الضارة أمرًا أساسيًا. استخدمي واقي الشمس بشكل يومي وتجنبي التعرض المفرط لأشعة الشمس، وخاصةً خلال ساعات الظهيرة.

النظام الغذائي الصحي: تأكدي من تناول الأطعمة الغنية بالفيتامينات والمعادن والمضادات الأكسدة التي تعزز صحة البشرة، مثل الخضروات والفواكه والأسماك الدهنية.

الرعاية اليومية: اعتني ببشرتك بشكل يومي بتنظيفها وترطيبها واستخدام المستحضرات المناسبة لنوع بشرتك.

تجنب التدخين والتدخين السلبي: يعت

بر التدخين من عوامل التسبب في تلف البشرة وزيادة التجاعيد، لذا حاولي تجنبه.

الاستشارة الدورية: من المهم مراجعة الدكتورة كرستين مدري بشكل منتظم لمتابعة حالة بشرتك وضمان استفادتك القصوى من العلاج بالبوتوكس وأي علاجات أخرى تحتاجينها.

في الختام، البوتوكس هو واحد من الخيارات الفعالة لتحسين مظهر بشرتك والتخلص من التجاعيد، وعندما يتم تنفيذه بمهارة وتوجيه من قبل محترفين مثل الدكتورة كرستين مدري، يمكن أن يكون له تأثير إيجابي كبير على ثقتك بنفسك وجمالك. استفيدي من خدمات العيادة بمتابعة نصائح الرعاية الشخصية للحفاظ على بشرة صحية وجذابة.

[evnglsan]

[flowerxbunnie]

Tattoo artist matt 🫦 and he’s praising the reader and telling her she’s taking it really well 🫦🫦 and she gets addicted to it and keeps coming back for more tattoos 🫦🫦🫦 and he’s like ‘wow you’re single-handedly paying my bills, this one’s on the house’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦 and she’s like ‘no, i gotta pay you.’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 i think you know where i’m going with this

ps I love you 💋

Ink

Tattoo artist!Matt x Fem Reader

Warnings: needles, blood, pain, tension, no smut (yet?? 😏) but veryyyyyy suggestive at times

6.3k words

Your skin is tender and raw, a soft wince drawn from your mouth as your tattoo artist wipes the excess ink with a rough paper towel.

“So proud of this one,” Alex beams as she scoots back in her chair, the wheels rolling her towards her supply cart. She grabs a roll of plastic wrap and some tape before using her feet to roll back toward your chair. “Let’s get you all wrapped up.”

“It turned out so good, dude.” You say in awe as you hold your arm out to her.

“Did you expect any less?” She jokes, wrapping the wound snugly and taping it up before shooting you a smile. “All done. Keep the wrap on for a few hours. It’ll be a little leaky, that’s normal. Wash once a day with unscented soap… blah blah blah you know the drill. Still legally obligated to tell you.” She chuckles at the end, standing up to throw away her stained gloves. “Come up to the desk whenever you’re ready.” She says before she turns on her feet and heads to the front of the shop.

You stand up and gather your belongings feeling the adrenaline rush a new tattoo always seems to bring out of you. Your arm pulses and slightly burns, a sensation you’d become addicted to over the past couple of years. You’re not covered in ink by any means, but you’ve gotten your fair share, all done by Alex.

You love the way her shop feels more like a home than a sterile clinical office. Tapestries are hung haphazardly across the walls, strings of fairy lights sprawl across the ceilings and there’s more weird little knick-knacks strewn about than you could ever imagine counting. Your favorite is the preserved butterflies she has in shadow boxes lined down the hallway.

Once you gather your keys and bag, you take the walk to the front and admire all the sketches pinned along the walls. Alex is waiting for you with a warm smile as she tells you the total. You sit your bag down and rummage for your wallet, gathering the money along with a generous tip as always.

“You want the change back?” She asks as she counts the bills.

“Just take the fucking tip Alex.” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” she chuckles humbly, shaking her head as she sorts the cash into her vintage register.

“I know I don’t have to,” you laugh, tossing your wallet back into your bag, “I want to.”

You grab the strap of your bag and throw it across your shoulder, knocking a binder off the counter in the process. You let out a quiet curse as you bend down to pick it up, flipping it over to look at the cover.

“Oh, you should look through that!” Alex chimes in excitedly. “It’s a bunch of flash pieces that are up for grabs. They’re going quick, you should pick one out!”

“Oh nice..” you thumb through the pages, studying the intricate artwork tucked behind sheet protectors. “These are so good Alex..”

“You think?” She asks, bending down to restock her glass display cabinet with more tattoo salve.

You turn page after page, seeing traditional pieces like tigers and roses, more abstract watercolor pieces and some random goofy sketches of cartoon characters. You stop when you come across a snake separated into segments with the word ‘collarbone’ scratched underneath of it.

“This one is so detailed,” you say, running your fingers across the sheet protector. “Why’s it all broken up like that?”

Alex stands back up to her feet and looks over the page, her brows furrowing a bit as she adjusts her glasses. “Oh, it’s because it’s made to look like it’s wrapping around your collarbone. Like it’s going into your skin kinda.”

“Oh, sick,” You say excitedly, “I’ll take that one then. When can you get me in?”

“That’s not mine, girl. That’s the new guy’s design. You may have seen him here before? He transferred here like three…ish months ago?” She rambles as she sorts through a stack of paperwork.

You think back, not recalling seeing a different face in the shop. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone new. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been here and you usually get me in and out.” You pull the binder closer and admire the tiny detailing of the snake skin. “He looks pretty good.. but I don’t know if I can cheat on you.” You sigh jokingly.

“Honestly, he’s fucking amazing. His card is right there if you wanna make an appointment.” She points to a carousel of different artists’ cards. “Matt… the black card.. yep that’s it.”

You stick the matte black card in your bag and give Alex a humorous warning glare. “If he fucks my tattoo up Alex I swear to god.”

“Just make the appointment, Y/n. He’ll do good, promise. Why would I hire someone whose work I don’t trust?” She laughs and steps out from behind the counter, walking towards the door. “Now get out of my shop, I need to rest my eyes.” She laughs as she pulls the door open.

——————

You dig through your bag, pulling out hair ties, loose sticks of gum and countless receipts as you search for your favorite chapstick. “I swear I left it in here,” you think out loud, gasping as your finger slides across the corner of something sharp. You pull your hand back, sucking back a curse and see a tiny paper cut on your finger, laughing at the fact that something so small can hurt so bad. You reach back in and grab the culprit, a black sturdy rectangular card.

Fuck. It’s been 3 days.

You look over the card.

Matt Sturniolo

Appointments by text.

Come get somethin’ nice!

You pull out your phone and create a new contact, typing the 10 digit number slowly and double checking, making sure you got every single one right. You let out a sigh that you’ve been holding back, deciding to drop your worries, bite the bullet and make the appointment.

Alex won’t care, she doesn’t mind. She wants me to.

He thinks I’m a guy, funny, you think to yourself, locking your phone and sitting it on the counter.

—————

The week comes and goes, the same mundane routine dragging you through the creeping days. It’s finally Friday, meaning you’re risking the integrity of your skin on an artist you’ve never even met before, let alone vetted his work. Sure, he can draw a sketch but can he execute it just as well into your skin? The entire drive to the shop you shuffle through your playlist while your fingers absentmindedly tap against the steering wheel, mind racing with every possible outcome.

You sit in the parking lot, nerves at an all time high as you scroll through TikTok trying to numb your brain while the minutes pass. You quickly peek up to the clock on your dashboard, heaving a sigh.

5:32.

Fuck. I still have way too much time.

You groan quietly and put your phone down in your cupholder, leaning your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. Your left foot taps slowly against the footrest in your floorboard, creating a steady rhythm, pulsing along with your music that quietly hums in the speakers. You pick your head back up and grip the steering wheel with a huff, tracing your hands up and down around the warm leather.

Your eyes follow passersby as they stroll and pace down the sidewalk, essentially people watching. Your hand somehow makes its way to your mouth without realizing, your nails picking and pulling at the skin of your lips habitually. You only notice when you taste the bitter metallic flavor of blood on your tongue, silently scolding yourself as you pull down your vanity mirror.

You lick the wound and pull your sore bottom lip between your teeth, suddenly hyperaware of the shriveled, dehydrated state they’re in. Leaning across your car to reach for the glovebox, you pull it open and grab the lip oil you leave in your car for moments like this. You shut the glovebox and center yourself in the reflection of the mirror, opening the tube and applying a much too generous amount of the gloss to your lips. You smack and pucker your lips, appreciating the way they seem to come back to life, plump and slightly tinted.

You look to the side as you run your finger against the corner of your mouth, cleaning up your work. A small blackboard that sits outside the door of the shop catches your attention, propped up and smeared with chalked in words. It lists the information for an upcoming tattoo fair, has random small sketches littering the board, and lists a social media account near the bottom.

Follow us! @LoveBuzz on IG!

Why haven’t I ever thought of that?

You pick your phone up out of the cupholder after you slam your mirror shut, clicking the Instagram icon and typing the handle into the search bar. You click on the account, seeing that Alex’s individual account is linked at the top as well as a piercer, Darren, who you’ve met a couple of times. You scroll down through the feed, seeing copious photo collages of fresh versus healed ink and videos with music edited into the background, featuring Alex working her magic in the shop.

You scroll past a reel of Alex promoting a clean brand of tattoo healing balms, your finger coming to a still as you land on a video of a man hunched in his chair, his body leaning over as he works a tattoo gun into someone’s leg. You can’t make out much of him from the video, but he’s clad in a stone washed black t-shirt and jeans littered with ink stains. Tattoos sprawl across his left arm that pulls at the person’s skin, holding it steady as he moves the dripping needle back and forth. Though his face isn’t visible, you notice his wispy, umber brown hair that falls forward as he works. Light catches the strands and outlines each wave as they cascade over his brow bone. Scrolling down, you read the caption.

“Matt may be new but he is making himself well known in the shop! Text him to book, slots are filling up fast!”

You scroll further and find more pieces done by Matt but can’t seem to find a tagged account. Your shot nerves are soothed a bit as you examine each flawless piece of art, every one of them so perfect it’s almost like a printed photo taped to skin. You can’t deny that the man is talented. You scroll down until you reach the very first photo that mentions his name, dated three months ago just like Alex had said.

Maybe I do trust him.

You break yourself from the distraction of your phone and check the time again, quickly fixing yourself in the mirror as you realize you need to head in immediately. Your soft fingers brush down the wild flyaways in your hair in an attempt to look as put together as possible. Grabbing the handle of your bag and slinging it across your shoulder, you turn off the ignition and step out of your car, making sure to lock the doors behind you.

You feel the ground beneath your feet meeting your body in shockwaves with each step you take towards the familiar building. In the reflection of the glass you watch your figure grow closer. You let out one last deep exhale as you grip the iron handle, pulling it open and feeling the cool air shoot across your skin.

As you step in and the door falls closed behind you, you take notice that the front desk is unoccupied. Distinct chatter can be heard over the music playing in the studio just down the hall and past the foyer, deep rumbling tones that you can’t piece together. You’re familiar enough with the shop that you feel comfortable going back without a so-called escort, so you grip the handle on your shoulder and begin the walk down the dimly lit hallway.

The walls open up into the studio and the music is so loud it almost vibrates your skin. You step closer to the source of the voices, one of them being the piercer you’re familiar with. He stands talking expressively with his hands to another man who sits with his back facing you, arms behind his head as he leans back into his chair.

“Is Matt here?” You question, looking around the rest of the studio.

The men continue on with their conversation, completely unaware you’d even said anything over the racket of the rock music. Clearing your throat, you step forward, just about six feet away from them at this point and speak up once again.

“Is anyone working the desk right now?”

The piercer turns his head to face you and the man in the chair spins around, planting his feet to stop himself.

His blue eyes catch your attention first, so bright the gaze is almost difficult to keep. But you do, and so does he. He drops his hands down from the back of his head, one of his arms coming to lay on the armrest of his chair and the other stroking the stubble that peppers his chin. The tattoos across his left arm in contrast to the blank one on the right tell you that this is your guy, this is Matt.

What you don’t know is how he feels his blood pumping hot at the sight of you. He does his best to keep his eyes above your shoulders, but he can’t help letting them wander down your supple, shining skin, immediately thinking about how soft it must be. Matt sees so many women everyday, some in very compromising positions, but just the sight of you standing in front of him has made him feel weak. The way you look so innocent and bright, juxtaposing the way you’re standing in front of his sketches of skulls and anatomically correct organs being feasted on by animals.

You feel a wave of awkward silence even through the intense bass sounding through the speakers. You ask once again if anyone is working the front desk, but your voice struggles to overpower the volume. You see Matt’s cheeks pull up into a chuckle as he reaches back around to the table, fishing for his phone and clicking the volume down considerably.

You huff, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice as you repeat yourself for the fourth time. “Is anyone working the front?”

“I’m sorry honey, we don’t take walk ins.” He rasps as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “You’ll need to make an appointment.”

“I have one.” You retort, resting your weight on one of your legs.

The bearded man walks away to his piercing station, leaving the two of you in a sort of awkward staredown.

“Alex is out today, and I’m expecting a guy to be walking in any minute for my next appointment. Are you sure yours was for today?” He asks smoothly.

“You’re Matt right?”

His shoulders tense when you say his name, but he relaxes them as he nods his head. “Yeah, I’m Matt.”

“Oh, well then yeah.. I’m Y/n. Collarbone snake for 6 o’clock.” You clarify, pulling out your phone to ensure you had the date and time right.

His eyes widen and he silently scolds himself for assuming something so bold while being utterly wrong.

“Yeah, here it is.” You turn your phone to face him, stepping closer.

“I must have been tipsy when I replied or something,” he laughs and sits up in his chair, running his hands through his hair to soothe his embarrassment. “I assumed you’d be a dude for some reason.”

“No, at least not since the last time I checked.” You giggle, tossing your phone into your crowded bag.

His laugh gives you a sense of satisfaction, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he catches his breath. “Shit, that’s my bad then.” He says while pushing himself up to stand, his arms flexing under the tight sleeves of his shirt.

“No worries.” You give him a genuine smile, not wanting him to feel any more embarrassed than you can already tell he is from his flushed cheeks.

He steps forward with a long stride, his frame much larger and taller than you expected once he passes you to head to the hallway. He tries to ignore the way his pulse quickened with the way you beamed up at him moments before, walking quickly to the front desk.

You follow behind, breathing in the lingering scent his cologne leaves in his trail. Stepping in front of the counter as he grabs a stack of haphazardly sorted papers, you grab a pen from the cup in front of you.

He slides them over to you, groaning as he flips them so they’re facing your direction. “Might not be much help reading them upside down.” He chuckles. “Alright, so I’m assuming you know the drill, yeah?” He nods his head at your arms, eyes flickering over the ink.

“Mhmm..” you hum as you concentrate on crossing off and initialing boxes stating you don’t have any medical conditions hindering you from getting tattooed.

Matt watches in silence as you skim over the pages, twisting the pen between your small fingers. He places both hands on the ledge in front of him and moves ever so slightly closer, enough to watch your lashes as they brush your cheeks with each blink. If he got any closer you’d probably feel his breath hitting your skin.

You print and sign your name on the bottom of the last page, capping the pen and tossing it back into the cup. He’s stepping back as you look up at him with the papers outstretched, deciding ogling over you isn’t a very professional first impression.

“My ID is already on file.” You say as he takes the stack and turns to the side to run them through the scanner.

“Well look at you, smart girl huh?” He jokes, pressing buttons to send the papers through the machine.

You feel warmth creeping up your neck and across your cheeks as the words fall from his lips. “I mean,” you pause with a giggle, “Alex is my only artist so I know she’s got everything she needs from me.”

“And you’re cheating on her with me?” He chuckles softly as he steps out from behind the counter, turning to head back towards the studio. “Let’s get this started, shall we?” His voice is quiet, his back to you as he walks ahead.

Matt’s shirt is stretched thin across his broad shoulders, and you absentmindedly let your eyes sink down his arms, following the veins that trail from them into his hands as they swing. His walk is confident and steady, unwavering.

Part of him wishes he had let you walk ahead of him so he could selfishly glue his eyes to your legs, drinking up the way your shorts hug them perfectly. But he has to keep this professional, you’re just a customer.

He walks to his table, gripping a handle and maneuvering the headboard so that you’ll be partially sitting, partially leaning back. “Go ahead and have a seat for me.” He gestures you to the table.

You sit your bag in your lap as you adjust in the seat, a chill running through you as the cold textured leather presses against your back. Matt stands over his supply cart, looking back and forth between you and a few sheets of paper.

“I printed a few stencils but they’re all man sized..” he laughs, crumpling them up and tossing them into his trash bin. “I’m gonna have to free hand it.”

Your eyes widen as he grabs a marker off the top of the cart and pulls the lid off with his teeth, scooting his rolling chair up to your table. “Uhh.. are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Honey…” he laughs, his head falling forward before he looks up at you with a grin. “You know I sketched the design free handed, right?”

You silently curse yourself and do your best to laugh it off, but you definitely made yourself feel incredibly dumb. Somehow he switched the mood and made it feel like he was laughing with you instead of at you, though.

“Alright… first let me…” he trails off, looking around his table before replacing the marker with a fresh razor. “I know you don’t have chest hair, but I kinda have to clear the canvas regardless.” He gives you a humored smile.

He pulls his chair up, his left hand brushing your hair off of your shoulder and down your back. He grabs your tank top strap with a clenched jaw, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His fingers feel like jolts of electricity on your skin, like he shouldn’t be touching you, but also like you want more.

He’s a tattoo artist. Alex touches me everytime she does one of my tattoos. There’s nothing weird about it, stop making it weird.

You gulp and hope that your cheeks haven’t given away your feelings as he gets the strap out of his way and leans closer. You look forward, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Matt as he slowly drags the razor across your skin.

“Alright there’s that.” He spins around and tosses the razor in the trash can, grabbing the marker once more. “Gonna sketch it out roughly right quick. It won’t look as detailed right now but I’ll add ‘em in later.” He mumbles as he tilts his head, bringing the marker to your collarbone.

Matt drags the marker across your skin with furrowed brows as he perfects the curvature of the snake to look like it’s wrapping around your bone. He can smell your sweet perfume permeating from your body, so close he can almost sniff out the individual notes. “You smell like candy.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. He bites down on his lip, shutting his eyes for a moment before he gets straight back to sketching, hoping you didn’t find it odd.

“Thank you!” You beam, “Funny enough it’s actually Prada Candy. I love it.”

He hums in response and finishes up his outline, rolling back to look at it from further away. “Sit up for me right quick.” He instructs and you listen. He nods his head, approving of his placement and sketch. “Let’s make sure you like it first.” He turns to the side and grabs a handheld mirror off his cart. He holds it out to you, his fingertips brushing yours as he hands it off.

“I love it! It’s the perfect size. Even just the sketch looks so good.” You grin as you study the purple ink in the mirror. You smile as you hand the mirror back to him, taking notice of the subtle curve of his lips.

“Great then. Already got the machine all set up and the ink wells filled. You ready?” He asks with raised eyebrows.

The look on his face tells you that you might have bitten off more than you can chew. “I… think I’m ready. Should I be worried?”

He sucks his teeth as he looks down with a stifled smirk. “Well… the collarbone isn’t the most pleasant place to get a needle jammed into your skin, I’ll leave it at that.”

You look to him with wide eyes. You’d never even considered how painful it might be, all of your other tattoos being on your arms and lower legs. “Matt, you’re scaring me.” You nervously laugh.

His stomach does a flip when you say his name for the second time today. He shoved the feeling down and reaches over, grabbing the tattoo gun in his right hand and turning it on briefly. The vibration sounds throughout the room and he assures it’s in good working condition before shutting it back off and looking up at you. “I think you’re a brave girl, you can take it.” He says lowly but causally as he rolls up next to the table, resting his left arm next to your shoulder.

The way Matt’s words fall from his lips like honey makes your skin feel as if it’s being licked with flames. You look down as he flips the gun on once again and dips the needle into the pitch black ink, the fluid dripping onto the table as he slowly raises it toward you.

“You’re gonna have to turn a little.” He almost whispers as he uses his left hand to guide your jaw to the side, giving him better access to your skin. “Alright, there we go.” He leans in as he brings the needle down into your skin, a sharp scratching and stinging pain making you gasp lightly. “You good?” He asks in a caring tone as he lifts the gun back up and scans your pained expression.

“Yeah, yeah.. I’m okay.” You breathe out. “Feels a lot different than arms and legs.”

You see him nod silently and lower the needle back to the surface of your skin, slowly pressing all the way down until he’s drawing the solid outline. He adjusts his left arm and places his warm hand onto your shoulder, his fingers gripping and pulling at the skin to keep it taut. He glances up at your face every now and again as he tattoos you, his view of your side profile and jawline begging him to keep looking. “You can move your head now. Got that upper outline all done.”

You turn your head to look at him, a smile pulling at your cheeks when you see he’s already looking up at you with hooded lids. He flashes you a small crooked grin before dipping his head back down and working on the rest of the outline. You squirm in your chair as the needle moves and works across your flesh, the area growing hot and tender.

You see a thin sheen of sweat forming on his arms under the heat of his overhead light, illuminating every dip and valley through the rolling veins on his hands. His wrist moves back and forth as he maneuvers the machine, his lip bitten between his teeth. Every few minutes his body must become sore because he moves his legs, adjusting in his seat before he brings his grip back to your shoulder.

He concentrates as he finishes the last of the outlining details, sitting up against the backrest of his chair and putting the gun down on his cart. “All done with the outline.” He smiles.

“Really?” You marvel excitedly. You peer down to take a look but huff once you realize you can’t bend your neck enough to get a good view.

Matt takes notice and leans over to grab the handheld mirror off his cart, except his left hand finds a spot atop your knee, sliding gingerly down your calf as he stretches toward his cart. As soon as his touch is there it’s gone. He leans back toward you and hands you the handle, smiling when you examine it in the mirror. “What do you think?”

You won’t lie to yourself, your pulse quickened when his hand brushed down your leg. Your only hope is he doesn’t notice the trail of goosebump he left behind in the absence of his touch. You struggle to find words, your mouth hanging open before you eventually find your voice. “I.. uh… l-looks really good.”

He exhales a small chuckle as he turns to switch the outlining needle for a shading needle. “Let me know if you need a break before I start this part.” He mumbles as he dips the set of needles into the well of ink.

You quickly shake your head. “Nope, get it over with.” You say flatly, closing your eyes. Shading is hit or miss, it either feels super relieving or like you’re getting shredded with a freshly sharpened cheese grater.

“That’s a good girl. All in one go, hm?” He murmurs as he scoots closer yet again.

He did not just say that. I’m thinking too much into this.

You give him a light chuckle and suck air in through your teeth once the needles meet your skin.

“Shhh.. you’re doing good. A lot better than a lot of crybaby men that have been on my table.” He coos as he drags the ink over the raw, bleeding skin.

If it wasn’t Matt you’d be much more of a mess. You’d probably be damn near in tears. But you can’t seem weak around him, so you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut as he shades and details the design. Your hands clench the air until your knuckles are white and throbbing, your body needing to release energy into anything other than the pain you’re in.

“Squeeze my arm if you need to. I don’t mind.” Matt proposes, stilling his movement and brushing his brown waves out of his eyes before looking at you expectantly.

You gulp and move your shaking hands to his bicep, wrapping your dainty fingers around the expanse of it lightly.

“C’mon, give me more than that.” He chuckles, “Just don’t squeeze hard enough that I fuck up your ink.”

You grip into his arm with more pressure, feeling his muscles expand and contract under his skin as he moves his forearm.

Thank god Darren left earlier. This looks so… personal.

When a small strained whimper slips out of your mouth he clears his throat, blinking hard as he wipes the tattoo with the paper towel in his left hand. He knows it’s because of the pain, he knows he shouldn’t enjoy the sound. But he does.

He can’t help himself as he finishes up the rest of the tattoo. He finds himself pressing the needle into your skin with more pressure than necessary, enough to draw more pretty sounds out of you and make you grip onto his arm. Enough for you to throw your head back onto the leather of the table, squirming your legs as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’d never do anything to mess up the integrity of his art, but god does he want to. He knows it’s wrong that his pants grow tighter with every move you make, every curse you let out as he pushes more and more ink into your skin. He sees this everyday, why is it affecting him like this?

The angel on his shoulder tells him to get the tattoo done, work fast and get you off his table. The devil on his other tells him to keep you here writhing and squeezing at him for as long as he can. His eyes drift across your sweaty face, your wet baby hairs sticking to your forehead. Your chest rises and falls as he digs in, taking his time to let the needle drag. His mind floods with sin, his hands desperately aching to pull the neckline of your tank top even a millimeter lower.

Your harsh squeeze to his arm snaps him out of his stream of thought, realizing he’d been keeping this on for too long, causing you unnecessary pain. Lifting the needle from your skin, he examines the finished piece for a moment. “All done.” He says flatly, pulling his arm from your grasp to set the machine down on his cart.

“Fuck… that was intense.” You breathe out, turning your head toward him.

“Mmm but you did great. Sat so well.” He praises as he grabs a bottle of cleaning solution.

You have no time to react before he’s squirting the liquid onto your collarbone, a harsh pulsing sting deep in your skin. “Oh that’s… fucking horrible.” You do your best to laugh through the sting.

He laughs along with you, nodding while he lets his eyes watch the droplets that flow down your chest and into the valley of your cleavage. He tears his eyes away and looks at his cart, scoffing when his box of paper towels proves empty. “Gotta go get some more paper towels,” he holds up the box, “be right back.”

“I won’t move a muscle.” You giggle and lean back onto the table.

He offers a quick smile before standing up, quickly turning around and walking to the utility closet across the studio. Once inside and out of view, he lets his hand wander down to the waistband of his jeans, slowly trailing lower to brush over his throbbing erection. He knows this is bad. He’s never had this kind of reaction to a client, and he can’t be crazy. He knows he’s seen you looking too.

He lets his rough fingertips push his shirt up and dip beneath his jeans and boxers, grabbing ahold of his pulsing cock with a slow, shaking breath. He pulls it up and tucks it into his waistband, knowing he can’t let you see the struggling tent in his pants when he walks back into the studio.

He quickly grabs a new sterile stack of paper towels and fills the empty box, sighing deeply before he begins the walk back to his station.

“They were up on a high shelf huh? Had to find a ladder?” You joke, poking fun at the fact he took longer than expected.

“Oh yeah. Had to call the fire department actually. Like when there’s a cat stuck in a tree.” He quips back with a laugh, sitting down and letting his chair roll closer to you.

He rubs the cleaning solution away and beams at his work. He may have taken longer than he needed, but damn if you didn’t get an insanely detailed snake piece. He grabs a package of Saniderm from his cart and peels the backing off, slowly applying it to the raw skin. “Leave this on for like two or three days, you can shower in it, sleep in it, the whole nine yards. It’ll start lifting and you’ll know it’s time to take it off.”

“Hmm.. Alex always uses plastic wrap.” You say questioningly, peering down at the clear bandage.

“That’s because she’s old.” He says matter of factly, peeling his gloves off and tossing them in the trash.

“She’s 35!” You chuckle and smack his shoulder.

“Yeah… old.” He replies as he fishes into his pocket. “Gotta get a picture of this, it turned out so sick.” He pulls his phone out and opens his camera, zooming in until he has the right angle and snapping a photo.

“Don’t post that, I bet I look busted.” You whine, sitting up and stretching your back.

“Well sweetheart, your face isn’t in the picture. But for the record, I think you look pretty good for a girl who just got a metric fuck ton of ink shoved into her collarbone with a needle.” He says as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

Your breath hitches inaudibly in your throat, heat lapping at your cheeks.

I have to play it cool. He didn’t call me pretty. He’s saying I took the tattoo well, that’s all.

“Thanks, Matt.” You smile, throwing your legs off the table and letting your feet hit the floor.

“After you.” He gestures his arm out as he stands, knowing he has to take the opportunity to walk behind you this time.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and walk down the hallway, feeling his eyes bore into the back of your head the entire way.

Except his eyes bore into everything he missed out on earlier. Your toned, smooth calves and up to your plush thighs that wiggle as you walk. The curve of your ass in your shorts. The way your hips sway with each step, taunting his still half-hard member.

You reach the front desk and peek into the mirror on the wall to the left of it, admiring the fresh ink. You can’t stop ogling at it as he prints out a receipt, walking up to the register and silently watching you. You turn your head to him and mumble an “oops”, stepping back to the center of the desk and grabbing the receipt from him. “Only $120?” You exclaim, widening your eyes as you look up to him.

He gives you a light nod and a shrug, brushing his hand through his fluffy waves. “You took it like a champ. Plus, I know you’ll be back. Gotta give that recurring customer discount, right?”

You know your cheeks are fire engine red at this point as you dig for your wallet, feeling as if you’re taking too long.

Am I being crazy or is that flirting? He’s flirting, right?

You open your wallet and dig out the cash, adding a generous tip to the stack before you hand it over. “I really appreciate it, Matt.”

“Not a problem. You have my number if you need anything else.” He returns as he sorts the cash into the register. He flicks his eyes back up and meets yours, a brief, almost-too-long moment of eye contact held between you two.

You blink hard a few times before clearing your throat and nodding, stepping back from the counter. “You got it. Thanks again.”

You turn on your feet and head for the door, pushing it open while your brain spins with thoughts of your encounter.

What the fuck was that?

—————

authors note: part two??? lmk 😈😈😈

taglist: @solarsturniolo @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @worldlxvlys @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel @karlybbx @chrisfavoritepepsi @mwah0mwah @starsturniolo @christinarowie332 @fionaheartswomen @angelic-sturniolos111 @mqttittude @sturniolowhore @luv4kozume

[chunghasweetie]

𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄 | J.JK

— pairing | fem!oc x tattoo artist!jjk

— summary | jungkook’s still closing up after a long day of work. she went to his shop right after work and she was drained. luckily jungkook was just the right one to cheer her up

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best)

unprotected sex, cursing, praising, just sex lol

— word count | 1.3k words

— song suggestion | put it on me — austin mahone

Jungkook had been working at the shop all day. All sorts of clients going in and out of his shop.

His employees had already gone home a while ago. He was still closing up for the night.

He was exhausted and drained. He just wanted to see his girl, though she had never left his mind through his shift.

The clock had just struck 12pm and JK’s Ink Lounge had finally closed up for the night. It was late, and she was barely getting off work around the same time as well.

He hadn’t seen her since last night because of their busy schedules.

She was a nurse and would work insane hours at the clinic. The two hadn’t had a work break in quite some time.

A knock was heard on the locked door of the shop. “We’re closed!” Jungkook called out before looking at the door, realizing it was actually his girlfriend, not a customer.

“Oh shit.” He cursed to himself, getting out and unlocking the door for her.

Jungkook's face lights up when he sees her enter his shop.

“Sorry baby. I forgot my key.” She apologized, pecking her boyfriend’s lips.

“It’s okay beautiful. What made you come here? Aren’t you tired? I thought you were at home.” He asked her, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Wanted to see my boo.” She hummed. “Never get to really see you anymore.”

He exhaled, “Yeah I know.”

“I got dropped tonight so I thought my lovely boyfriend would pick us up dinner on the way home.” She fluttered her lashes cutely.

“Anything for my baby.”

“I’ll help you close. Just do your online stuff and I’ll clean.” Y/n walked to the front desk, setting her purse down.

“No no baby.” Jungkook stopped her. “You gotta be tired Y/n. I don’t want to do that to you.”

“It’s not that bad baby.” She chuckled, grabbing some cleaning products to properly prep the studio. “I want to help you.”

Y/n could almost run the studio on her own. She knew everything and was more than willing to help her man out.

“You’re so amazing.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll hurry.”

“No rush.” She shook her head, getting straight to cleaning.

The two worked on the closing duties, making sure every part of the studio was ready for tomorrow.

“How was work today baby?”

“It was okay.” Y/n shrugged. “I’m so drained.” She complained, taking a seat on his lap.

Jungkook immediately notices her drained expression, and his face falls. He pulls her into a tight hug, rubbing her back soothingly. "What happened, mama?"

“Short staffed again so I was kinda irritated.” She sighed.

He sighs softly, understanding her fatigue all too well. "You know I'm here for you, mama. Always."

His thumb gently strokes the side of her face, trying to ease her stress. "Why don't you let me take care of you for once?"

“Mm no. It’s my job to take care of you.” She protested.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head at her stubbornness. "That's my job, mama. You're too tired to argue, and I can tell you need some pampering."

“You’re so hard working baby. You’re better than me because you can take so much.” He hummed. “Sorry about your day baby.”

His thumb gently traces the outline her lips, before gently kissing them. "Let me take care of you tonight.

“Please.” She gave in, “I need it.”

"You're too beautiful to say no to." He carries her to a guest futon and sits down with her, his arm around her waist as he kisses her once again.

He groans softly, kissing her deeper and harder as his hands begin to roam her body.

"You know what I'm thinking about, pretty?" He whispers into her ear, his lips brushing against it. "I can't wait much longer. I was fucking trying to wait until we got home but— shit I can’t.”

“So fucking pretty” He whispered.

He begins to undress her, kissing every exposed inch of skin.

“Been wanting this for so long.” She spoke, “We never have time anymore.”

He groans as he hears that, his hands cupping her ass as he her you closer to him.

"Fuck I know pretty. I've wanted it just as bad you have no idea.” He lifts her up and positions himself before lowering her onto him.

“Haven’t seen you in so long.” She mumbled. “Haven’t touched you in forever.”

He nods in agreement as he thrusts up in her. "I know, baby. I've missed this too." His hands roam her body, touching every inch of it as he whispers sweet things to her.

"I love you, mama. You're so fucking beautiful." He croaked out.

His hands travel down her body and between her legs, rubbing her in just the right spot as he watches her with lust-filled eyes.

“Mm” She hummed.

Jungkook’s eyes darken at her soft moans as he leans in closer. "Do you want me to fuck you now, baby?"

He whispers hotly in your ear before nipping at her earlobe. "Because I want to fuck you so fucking bad right now. Just say the word.”

“Jungkook please. Want this so bad.” She whimpered

He growls at her whines, pulling out of her before flipping her over and pushing back into her. "Like this, baby?"

His hips piston in and out of her as he holds onto her hips, tugging her back into him as he thrusts forward.

“Fuck Jungkook— yes.”

He smirks as he listens to her pleas for more.

"Yes, baby?" He leans over her, his chest pressed against her back. "Do you like it when I fuck you rough?"

He moans at her words, his thrusts getting faster and harder. "Yeah, baby. You like when I fuck you rough like this hm? You're such a good girl for me."

He bites down on her shoulder as he reaches around and starts rubbing her clit. “So good for me.”

He smirks against her skin, feeling her getting closer to her release.

"That's right, baby. Cum for me. I wanna hear you scream my name." He thrusts into her a few more times before reaching down and starting to rub her clit furiously.

Her legs were shaking and her body was reacting all too well to his touch.

Jungkook was reaching his orgasm as well, trying to chase it with hers.

“Fuck I’m cumming.” She whined.

He groans at her words, feeling himself getting closer to his own release. "Yeah, baby. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock."

He thrusts into her as hard as he can, triggering her orgasm. "Fuck” Jungkook cursed.

“Feels so good— shit” she whimpered.

He growls at her words, feeling himself getting even closer to his release. "Yeah? Mm gonna cum all inside this pussy."

He thrusts into her a few more times before he couldn't take it anymore and cums inside her with a loud groan, filling her up.

“Shitttt” She panted, looking at how messy her pussy was because of them.

He pants hard, his forehead resting against hers as he tries to catch his breath. "Damn, baby. You felt so fucking good."

He smirks and kisses her lips gently. "Thank you, you always let me fuck you so good."

“Anything for you my love.” She giggled. “I can’t believe we had sex in here again.”

He lets out a chuckle, kissing her forehead. "Yeah, I know. I can't help it though. Everytime you walk in here I know I’m done for."

He smirks and kisses her again. "You always make me so excited.”

“You’re just lucky I can’t resist.” She laughed. “Let’s clean now so we can go get food. I’m fucking starving.”

He nods. "Yeah, let's clean up. My stomach is killing me." He pulls out of you and helps clean her up.

“I’m not done with you once we’re home.” He mumbled. “Once that food in my system I’m ready to go.”

“You can’t be serious.” She laughed.

[nina-ya]

When You Fake It (Law x Reader NSFW)

A/N: Idk what came over me when I wrote this but here yall go! I'm thinking of turning this into a series I already know what I want to do for zoros next Pairing: Law x AFAB!Reader CW: NSFW MINORS DNI Oral, reader receiving WC: ~1.3k

Law’s breath was hot against your skin, leaving trails of kisses along the inside of your thighs as he worked his way to the core of your desire. He settled between your legs, his fingers gently parting your folds as his tongue flicked out to taste you. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity down your spine, and the room soon filled with soft sounds of pleasure and the wet, sinful noise of his mouth at work. Despite the scene unfolding between your legs, your mind was elsewhere, distracted by thousands of little thoughts that refused to be quieted. 

You faked it. An unconvincing performance at best, hoping it would be enough for him to move on without a comment. You moaned loudly, back arching off the bed, thighs tightening around his head, but there was no true conviction behind it. 

As soon as the faux moans escaped your lips, Law’s movements paused. Piercing eyes rose to look up at you, brow furrowed in thought as if he was piecing together a puzzle. 

“Really?” he asked, an eyebrow arching, his voice laden with disbelief.

“What do you mean?” you replied, trying to maintain a facade of breathless satisfaction. You hoped your voice carried the illusion of genuine pleasure, but the edge of your desperation seeped through. 

Law’s contemplative gaze remained on you. “Right there, that little performance of yours sounded like something out of a porno– you’re not fooling me,” he said, his tone almost challenging you to deny him. 

His fingers still lingered between your legs and began to move gently, tracing your body with an almost clinical interest. “Don’t try to sidestep me,” he murmured. “If you’re not feeling it, I want to know. No more pretending.” 

You shifted uncomfortably, embarrassment spreading across your features. “I’m just not really in the mood right now,” you admitted, your voice wavering as you tried to avoid the gaze that bore into you. 

Law’s eyes narrowed, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “Was it something I did?” he asked, genuine concern threading through his voice as he continued, “I need to know so I can fix it.”

You sighed, frustration creeping into your voice as you responded, “Law, I really don’t want to play this game right now. Can we just–”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “We’re getting this right. Trust me.”

He returned to the task at hand with a renewed focus. His tongue lapped at your clit with a hunger that bordered on ravenous, swirling and tracing patterns. It was a delicate assault on your senses, each stroke of his tongue a hot, wet caress that had you twitching and mewling underneath him. Inked fingers dipped between your folds, pressing and probing with an intimate knowledge, the digits on a mission to seek out every sensitive spot inside of you. 

“You’ve always been a terrible liar,” he murmured against you, the low, gravely vibrations rumbling through you. “I know how you react when you’re close. Your breath catches in this specific way, your thighs start to tremble and shoot out as if you’re possessed, and your voice, that’s not something you can recreate unless you’re really feeling it.”

You struggled to steady you being, anticipation and frustration swirling within you. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” you admitted, your voice a soft, breathless murmur that barely escaped your lips. “You’re being too hard on me.”

“I’m not being hard on you,” he said, stopping his movements to look up at you. “I’m just being honest. Now, let me make this right.”

His fingers continued their movements, pressing and curling inside of you while his mouth was a hot, wet worship of your clit that left no room for pretense. He sucked and nipped, eyes locked on you, watching and studying your reactions to know what he needs to do to get you seeing stars. 

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered against your sensitive skin. “Let me make you feel good.”

His fingers curled and pressed within you, brushing against those more sensitive spots that had you quivering on the precipice of ecstasy. His mouth lavished attention on your clit with an insatiable hunger, tongue tracing lines of devotion over your clit, drawing out sweet, desperate sighs from the depths of your being. A gasp, trembling and desperate, slipped from your lips. “Yes, right there,” you breathed, a plea caught between heaven and earth. 

Law's eyes darkened and gleamed with the satisfaction of a conductor in the throes of his performance. His smirk was nothing short of triumphant, as he continued to sculpt and mold your pleasure.

Your hands were driven by an unrestrained need and wove into his hair, fingers threading through the raven locks, gripping with a desperate longing as you sought to ground yourself. Your body writhed and arched, the torture he imbued onto your body nothing short of exquisite. Every movement he made was spellbinding, each pump of his fingers and each caress of his tongue drawing you inexorably closer to your release. 

The heat that burned between your legs was a consuming fire, a desire that intensified with each passing second. Your moans heightened in pitch, dripping with desperation as the unrestrained evidence of your rapture was pulled from the depths of your soul. 

“Come on,” he murmured. “Surrender to it. Let yourself go for me.”

Your body trembled, his efforts building to a peak that left you gasping for breath, like a crescendo of a symphony instead played on your arousal. Your muscles strained and quivered, contracting with an almost painful intensity as your orgasm began to crash over you. Your sweat slicked thighs clamped around his head, pulling him almost impossibly closer. His fingers inside of you were squeezed by the pulsing of your inner walls, each contraction pulling them somehow deeper than before. 

Choked gasps fell from your lips, each breath ragged and desperate. Your back arched off the surface, each muscle in your body taut and straining, the feeling bordering on discomfort. Your arousal gushed over his face, seeming to drive him mad as his mouth worked to lick and slurp every last drop of your ecstasy. 

As the final tremors of your climax began to subside, an overwhelming exhaustion overtook you, and your body collapsed back onto the bed with a soft, content sigh. Law’s face glistened with the essence of your pleasure, his eyes filled with a joy that he was able to bring you to such a blissful end. His fingers stilled within you, allowing you to come down from your high while his tongue gently lapped at the remnants of your release, savoring every last drop.

Each flick of his tongue against your oversensitive clit left your muscles twitching involuntarily in response to the continued stimulation. You whined out, weakly shoving his head away as you muttered something about being too sensitive. 

He pulled away for a moment, and his fingers emerged from your cunt, the digits still connected to you with a string of your essence before it snapped. He brought them to his lips and licked them clean, savoring every bit of pleasure that he coaxed from you. He smirked at you, expression still filled with a predatory hunger. 

Now that's the reaction I was looking for," he murmured, voice thick with desire. "Let me see it one more time to make sure you got it right

Before you could respond, he was back in between your thighs, his tongue and fingers resuming to their previous song and dance, renewing the growing waves of your ecstasy, making you wonder why you ever had to fake it in the first place. 

[charmedpruehalliwell]

fountain pen featuring this week's favorite notebook

actually spent real money on a fancy fountain pen

[bitterrfruit]

already FERALLL at this assistant concept more please

omg...... i'm so sorry for this. can you tell i'm ovulating? somebody sedate me please

[he wants a word with you]

Your boss is a prick and a cunthound. You need this job. here's [part 1] for some John POV Executive John Price x EA f!Reader 18+ mdni - 2.5k words - cw: degradation, free use, maybe dubcon?

You follow Mr Price down the stuffy corporate corridor, with your swollen heart in your throat. 

What did you do wrong this time?

Was there an email you failed to send? A meeting you forgot to book? Maybe you saved a document in the wrong place. Maybe you missed one of your many deadlines. 

You watch his besuited back, broad and tall, the billow of his open jacket as he marches ahead of you with long and aggravated strides. The back of his neck burns hot and red, he digs white-knuckled fingers into the angry skin as he rubs it vigorously. 

You pass the incoming traffic of other colleagues, and you see the concern in their glare when they look at Mr Price and then at you. An unspoken apology for your imminent castigation. A silent yikes.

Fuck, he’s going to fire you. Whatever you’ve done must have been catastrophic. Did you cost him profits? Did you humiliate him in front of a client?

“Did I do something wrong?” You anxiously chirp, fearful of being too loud but not wanting him to mishear you over the sheer volume of his fury. 

He doesn’t answer you. 

Instead he comes to a sudden stop, and you almost slam into him with the keen velocity of your pursuit. 

He gestures into the open door on his left, his other hand hooked on his hip under his jacket. 

“I don’t-”

“In,” he grits, lips pursed into an admonishing line, and you do not disobey him. 

With a skip you enter the room, heart thundering in your ears, and he storms in behind you. 

The stationery supply room; cupboards and shelves, full of paper and writing utensils. Atop the counter sits a guillotine cutter, open reams of white A4, a few stray cuttings littered about. On the one bare wall is a hip-height printer, one that most often fails to work. The air is dry and powdery, thick with the clinical scent of fresh paper and ink. 

Mr Price leaves the door ajar, and he wipes down his face with an open and rigid palm. 

“What is wrong with you?” He suddenly blurts, his interrogative glare shoots straight through you. 

His eyes are wide and angry, and you shuffle on your feet, fidget with your fingers. “What did I do?” 

He only steams ahead with his reprimand - closing in on you, heavy step by heavy step, you stagger backwards on instinct. “Slobbering all over that fuckin’ pen. Christ. Are you trying to drive me crazy?” 

Your back hits the wall behind you, it pushes a puff of nervous air from your open lips. Eyes fluttering between his, you choke on any words you think to offer him. 

“I - I don’t - pen? - I didn’t-”

“What more can I do?” He growls, cranes his head to close the distance, “How far away do I have to put you?” 

You suck deep a quivering breath as you blink up at him, his head a foot above yours and his body all but trapping you where you stand. 

“I don’t understand,” you whimper. “What am I doing wrong?”

He huffs like a bull. “You’re fuckin’ killing me, love.” 

You feel your mouth water when he calls you that. It makes your cheeks glow strawberry red. 

“What can - what do you want me to do?” You ask timidly, sweetly - you want so desperately to please him. You can’t lose this job. You can’t have him disappointed in you. 

He rubs his jaw with a straining hand, his murky eyes rake from your lips and linger on the faintest bit of cleavage in the collar of your button down. 

“I want you to turn around.”

His order is uttered dark and hoarse, so low that you feel the vibrations of his voice from where you stand. 

Your lips part gently, bottom lip trembling as you swallow under his heated glower. 

But you do as you’re told. You’re a good listener, you can show him that.  You spin around awkwardly in the tight space between his heaving body and the wall, until you’re met with the cold white drywall against your nose. 

You hear his breathing turn ragged and animal, almost growling, it makes you sweat. You lift your arms cautiously, placing both palms flat on the wall, and stand on the very tips of your toes. 

His hands are on you, then, hasty bear claws comb over your ass and clutch the meat of your hips like you might slither away from him. He tugs you backwards and you rock on your toes, arch your back to meet his pelvis with your behind. 

You feel it, hard as iron and heavy as tungsten behind his straining trousers; he grinds his rigid cock against you, warning you with it, letting you feel the weight of it. He hunches forward, you feel his wiry beard against your cheek and his warm lips against your ear. 

“You proud o’ yourself?” He snarls, a bestial gurgle deep in his chest. “Proud of what you do to me?” 

Your heart buzzes with such speed that it makes you dizzy, turns you stupid. 

“I’m - uh - I’m not-”

You want to smack yourself for your inability to form a single sentence, a single word, as you feel his harsh fingers claw up the back of your thigh, catching in the sheer black nylon that clings to your feverish skin. 

“Nothing to say for yourself?” He gnars into your skin, you feel his teeth as he speaks. “‘Course not. You’re a fuckin’ airhead, aren’t you?” 

His wide paw reaches the hem of your pencil skirt, the fabric too taut to be pulled up with ease - so he clutches the back of it with both hands, grips either side of the stiff kick pleat. 

You yelp as you feel him rip your skirt apart by the seam, the tear of the fabric shrill and ear-splitting. Your head urgently spins on your neck as you shoot a glance at the open door - muted voices of others in the office travel through the gap, blissfully unaware of your indiscretion. 

“Someone might-”

Bitten off by a gasp, his angry fists grasp at your stockings where they meet at a seam that runs down the cleft of your ass. He rips that, too, hurried and ravenous; he stretches a wide hole in the thin nylon that runs in a ladder between your legs. 

“Someone might come in.” You finally find the words, moan them out in a hasty breath like he might cut you off before you can warn him. 

He hisses; “I don’t care.”

His hand forms a blade, slicing between your legs and hooking under the gusset of your knickers; you hold your breath, sucking your lip between your teeth and biting down hard enough to draw blood. His thick fingers run along your slit, goading and mean, triggering a pathetic little whimper from your throat when you don’t have the words to plead. 

They push past your lips, dipping between your sodden folds like he’s checking the temperature before venturing any deeper. You feel him grin against your neck, beard abrasive against your sensitive skin, as he lets out a low, cruel chuff of laughter. 

“Fu-hu-huck,” he chortles, mocking, and you only let out a stifled cry as he coaxes your opening with the tips of greedy fingers. “Like being told off, do you?” 

He kisses the side of your neck in a hungry and messy suck, shivering gooseflesh crawls from his bite and down your spine. He plays with your syrup between his fingers, marvelling at the quantity, the slipperiness. 

You squeak as a single finger presses against the ring of muscle at your entrance, and pushes past it - he hooks it, drags it against your slick inner wall with a pressure that makes you grind against his hand to force it further. 

“Answer me.” 

You whine in complaint before you reply as instructed. “Yes,” you croon, writhing and eager.

He obliges you and stuffs his finger deeper, two knuckles deep, and his palm is flush with your cunt.

“Mh. You do. Fuckin’ soaked, aren’t you?” He hums deeply, hoarsely, pleased. 

He pulls his finger out of you, then, and you groan in frustrated defeat. 

“Don’t fuss, love,” he grumbles. “You’ll get your fill.” 

With your head over your shoulder, you watch in your periphery as he smears his glistening fingers down his lips, under his nose - sticks them in his mouth and sucks them clean like he might savour the taste. 

“Mh,” he rasps, grins, letting the scent and flavour of your cunt fill his mouth and sinuses until it turns his shark eyes black and hungry. “Fuckin’ good.” 

You hear the leathery clinking of his belt buckle as he undoes it, the strident rip of his fly as he tears it down. A shuffle, a grunt, and his heavy cock lands against your lower back with a thump. 

You gasp, turn rigid - he runs a firm hand down your spine, rests it in the dip of your back, pushes a deeper curve in the arch. Grasps your hip and yanks it back, rams your body against his, angles your pelvis just right. 

He grabs his cock in a fist, smacks its solid against your ass like it’s a burden. 

Holds his fingers to his lips and hucks up a lump of spit, crude and dirty, you feel him smear it against your cunt as pulls your panties to the side. 

He gives no warning as he feeds his length through the hole he tore in your stockings, slides the blunt and fleshy head along your slit to coat it in the amalgam of fluids that drip from you. His tip finds its sheath, nestling between your folds and rutting against your tight opening as if to taunt you. 

With a hoarse growl he bucks his hips, his cock breaks through your entrance and rams deep into your cunt with a single thrust. It forces a wet and mewling cry from your throat, forgetting that the door to the room is open and freely accessible to anybody you work with. 

“Shh-sh-sh,” he hisses, he undoes his tie with a single hand as the other keeps your hips tight against him. 

He ruts again, somehow deeper still, and you let out a sore yelp - but he shuts you up, stifles your crying as he packs his steel-blue tie into your open mouth. Stuffs the silk fabric behind your teeth until no more will fit, and your saccharine noises are dampened into muffled whimpers. 

“Tha’s better. Fuck,” he curses through teeth. “Can barely fuckin’ fit in that little cunt of yours.”

His hand holds your throat, then, and the other controls your hip with vicious strength - and he fucks you in earnest. Fucks you hard and hostile, the round head of his cock hammers your aching cervix as if he could fuck past it. Fucks you like he’s angry, like he has been eagerly waiting for each forceful thrust - pent up since he met you, fuel only added to the flame every day that you came to work. 

The tie in your mouth is sopping wet with your keening saliva, your eyes well with tears of some twisted rapture - you want to tell him it hurts, but not to tell him to stop. 

“You take it good, don’t you? Found one fuckin’ thing you’re good at, eh?”

You whimper. You like him mean, don’t you? You like him angry. 

You spilled that tea on purpose. You deliberately missed that deadline. You talk loudly because you know it frustrates him. You suckle on that pen because you know he wishes it were his cock. 

His heavy hand clutches your wrist and pins it to the wall in front of you, and you feel light on your feet. The hole in your stockings only tears bigger with each thrust, you can hear the fabric of your pinstripe skirt rip further up the back; likewise, your cunt stretches to fit him to the hilt, the delicate skin threatening to tear as he splits you open. 

With a final rut, pounding hard into your womb, he bites down on the tendinous flesh of your neck and growls into your skin, chuffs out of his nose like a grizzly; “Fuck.”

You feel his cock twitch and surge as he pumps his come deep into you, it overflows - it dribbles down the cleft of your cunt, down your thighs, soaks into the sheer polyester of your stockings. Didn’t think, or didn’t bother to ask if you were on birth control - it doesn’t matter to him. Your cunt is as much his as your livelihood, and he’ll fill it with his come if he pleases. 

He leans his weight against you as he recharges, panting and spent, he rests his forehead against the back of your head. 

“Mh,” he huffs, “fuckin’ needed that.” 

You exhale all the air you had been holding in a breathy whine, cunt still aching and fluttering around the cock stuffed inside it, clit swollen and eager for any ounce of attention. He pays it none - only came to take, no time or interest in giving. 

He pulls his tie out of your mouth in one long rope, it drags a string of glistening saliva with it. 

“I’m-” you breathe furtively, mouth free, “I’m glad I could help.”

He pants out a laugh, deep and gravelly, places a drained kiss into your hair. 

“Help you did,” he assures you, amused and sated. “Next time I want to see all of you. Hear me?” 

“Next time?” You ask timidly. 

He pulls his cock out of you, and the spate of hot come he plugged inside comes out in a gush and soaks your already damp knickers. 

“Aye,” he grunts, tucking his semi-hard cock back into his boxers, insouciantly doing up his belt. “You’d like that, eh?”

You swallow a weary breath, push yourself from the wall and try to shimmy down what’s left of your skirt to conceal the mess he made underneath. 

“I - um,” you hesitate, embarrassed, you tuck a piece of hair that had been fucked astray behind your ear. “I would.” 

A devilish grin stretches in his lips, sharp teeth, as he loops his wet tie under his collar and does it up neatly - as neatly as he can, while it’s covered in the damp splotches of your spit. 

“‘Atta girl.” With a domineering hand he grabs your jaw, tugs your head upward and meets your lips with a single hard kiss. Smiles at you with praise. “Knew you were a slut.”

“I’m n-”

“Head home for the day, will you, love,” he orders rakishly, smoothing out his pale blue button down. “Important meeting. Can’t have any more distractions. Understood?” 

“Yes,” you comply with a simple nod. 

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mr Price.”

“Tha’s my girl.”