#tattoo machine buzz is music to my ears

[ghilan-maim]

feeling the need to be stabbed repeatedly with a needle.....I would settle for 1 quick stab tbh

[bakeryblood]

Marked For Life

Eddie Munson x Male Reader

SFW

A young man sat in a backless rolling chair, hunched over their sketchbook as they worked on finishing up a flash sheet of florals for their boss as the bell on top of the front door to the shop rang, the jingle covered by the rock music blasting throughout the shop. It was nine in the morning on a weekday and only him and the shop owner was in at that moment, the other artists reserving themselves to come in once their usual rush hours hit.

Y/N bounced their head along to the music as he finished the spit shading and lifted up the paper off of the transfer sheet and admired it. ‘Just one more week.’ He thought to himself. He had been certified for months, had built his own machine and was more than heavily stocked up on supplies but his boss had held out on letting him take up a booth in the shop. Either telling him the same old story about the owner still not being convinced on them, shops in the neighboring cities had a tendency of poaching artists fresh or otherwise.

Breaking down the other artists set ups, answering the phone, keeping track of bookings and check outs all whilst building their portfolio. It was a thankless job but to him it was worth it, beyond worth dropping out of school to pursue the opportunity he’d been given. “Y/N! Get out here!” The shop owner Fuji was calling out to him over the music and they immediately jumped out of the chair and headed that way towards the store front, sore from sitting in that position for too long.

He leaned against the arched doorway for a moment stretching, “Yeah?” He’d expected them to ask them to go on a coffee run before the others showed up but when they opened their eyes and saw the owner leaning on the counter with an unamused look on their face and a young man with long, curly brown hair standing opposite of them with a sheet of loose leaf notebook paper out in front of them he opened his mouth again to speak.

“You didn’t hear this dude banging away on the bell?” Well, if you could’ve been honest with him no you hadn’t. The constant loud buzzing of the machines coupled with the shop music had done your ears in quite a bit. But you couldn’t respond like that. “No sir, I’m sorry about that..” Y/N made his way over, standing next to the man his age. Trying to ignore the feeling of their dark eyes as they bore into him whilst he looked at the drawing on the paper done fully in black pen with a messy signature at the top. ‘Eddie Munson’.

“Okay kid, like I was saying..” He pointed to the paper on the counter. “Even if I had anyone in the shop right now, something like this wouldn’t be in your price range.” The man had finally been able to pull his eyes off of you before scoffing lightly, a grin on his face as he did so.

“Wow, okay well first off, I’m not a kid. Secondly how do you even know my price range?” Y/N’s lips tightened into a line as he looked away from the interaction. He didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or feel bad for them as he knew his boss well enough at this point, he didn’t like when people got an attitude with him. He was ‘too old for that shit’ as he’d put it. ‘Kid’ was the nicest thing he could be called at any given time, the guy should be happy he hadn’t been called shithead’ or something else along those lines.

The boss man watched as they pulled their folded black wallet connected to their belt loop by a chain out of their pocket and pulled a fifty dollar bill that looked like it had been through a washing machine at least five times out and slapped it on the counter confidently. “There.”

Fuji grunted as he bent down and pulled one of the thick binders out from under the table top and slid it across the counter, Y/N knew that book. It had the shop minimum flash designs in it. Your usual tiny hearts, butterflies, stars and letter work for those generic couple types who came in to get each other’s initials tattooed a week before the breakup. “The shop minimum is eighty, but that kid-” He pointed to you. “He hasn’t tattooed shit a day in his life, I’ll let him do something out of there on you for fifty.”

Eddie opened the booklet and quickly flipped through it before looking back up with a look of confusion. “Uh, no.”

“Then no deal. Come back next year and hopefully grandma gives you more birthday money next time.” He chuckled at his own shitty joke and pulled the binder back towards him to put up as the man grabbed the sheet of paper and money off the counter, effectively crumpling both before storming out of the shop. Y/N watched him disappear out the door, the tinted windows hiding them from further view.

“Hey boss man? Let me go talk to them real quick. I need a cigarette anyway.” You bounced on your feet waiting to get the okay from them before rushing out after them. Fuji rolled his eyes and motioned with his hand for you to get out. He knew you would probably grovel on your hands and knees to that kid to convince them to get something meaningless out of the booklet if it meant you could finally hit some skin.

Which was close to being true, you might’ve been inclined to beg if you thought it would be necessary. Just as you pushed open the front door and looked around the smoking area out front you saw them sitting on one of the benches dejectedly holding their drawing.

“Hey!“ Y/N jogged over and grabbed the piece of paper out of their hands, beginning to look it over more closely. “Look, my boss is supposed to leave in like..five minutes.” You checked the time on your watch before looking back down at them.

“And?”

You cursed and scrambled to pull your cigarette pack out of the back pocket of your black jeans. Your mind was racing and it was like your skin was vibrating as you thought about finally getting to do your first piece on someone. Along with the adrenaline rushing through you from what you were planning on doing. Your artist was going to kick your ass.

“So, I’ll do it.” You mumbled around the cigarette in your mouth with excitement as you took a seat next to him on the bench and went over his design. It was a beat up looking coffin with two roses on each side at the bottom with scribbled in shading, or coloring, you weren’t exactly sure.

Eddie looked at you as you talked to him about the specifics of what you knew you could get done but it was almost like he zoned out through most of it. You seemed so familiar to him, he’d thought the same thing when he saw you walk out from the backrooms. You couldn’t be younger than him if you worked here and you definitely weren’t older. But with the amount of tattoos you had already it seemed make since that you would be to have had the time to accumulate them, the black tank top that clung to you allowed him to see the countless pieces that covered your upper arms. Leading his eyes to travel to your neck and then down to the hem of the shirt, preventing him from viewing your chest piece in full.

“Hey, buddy—“ You snapped your fingers and smirked at his slightly dazed expression. “You okay? I’m not putting something on you if you’ve been drinking or anything..”

“Huh? No! I mean..no. I haven’t been drinking. It’s just..” Eddie cracked a smile in an attempt to cover his embarrassment from being caught looking at you way too hard. “I feel like I know you from somewhere? If that makes sense?”

Y/N ashed his cigarette and handed him the drawing back. “Doesn’t everyone in Hawkins know everyone else?”

“So you’ve always lived here?” Eddie watched them nod and stand up, shaking their hands out to get ready for the session, knowing how tense in them he got when holding anything for an extended amount of time.

“Since elementary school, yeah. We gotta go do paperwork before he fucks off, just pretend to pick something alright?” Eddie stood up as they tossed their cigarette butt out into the parking lot that extended out from where they had been sitting and followed them back inside. They were quick to change face before they headed back inside, the serious look on their face replaced the one of enthusiasm they had when talking about the piece of art that would soon be on his body forever.

Eddie raked his brain as he filled out the short form for the shops records, desperately trying to think of where they remember them from. School? That was definitely a possibility, seeing them in the hallway in passing, though he couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t have at least attempted to approach them. If they were even half as intimidating as they are now back then that would make more sense. Damn it! This was going to drive him crazy!

“Alright.” The owner walked out of the backrooms where Y/N was meticulously prepping their set up so he’d be able to have it completely ready and out of the way, saving more time for getting the stencil ready and then the actual tattooing process. Eddie stopped tapping his fingers on the table and stood up straight when the bearded man made his way over, snatching up the filled out form and looking it over briefly.

“Mhm..Okay.” He put it back down, taking note that ‘Eddie Munson’ was the same age as his fledgling apprentice. “Don’t fuck this up by trying anything kid, You’re lucky the door was even unlocked when you got here.” And with that he look his leave. Trusting Y/N to get him out before the other artists arrived after lunch. Perhaps he wasn’t a full fledged resident yet but this would definitely be something to tell the others about, he knew Y/N had been jumping at the chance to tattoo someone other than himself.

Eddie waited for the front door to close before rushing through the doorway to see Y/N folding Eddie’s drawing back up, the stencil finished. “Whoa, that was fast.”

“I’ve gotta be fast, the others will kill me if they find out what I’m doing..” He sighed and got up out of the chair he’d pulled up beside the booth an arm rest pulled up in front of that. “Sit. You want it on the other forearm right?” Eddie nodded and did as he was told although their back as turned as they pulled on a pair of black latex gloves. “Okay, shave it.”

“What? I didn’t have to shave last time I got one done..” Eddie looked at the little disposable razor on the metal side table where other things sat neatly laid out.

“Dude, no offense but didn’t you get those when you were like sixteen?” Actually he had been seventeen.

“So you do know me! We went to school together, right?”

Y/N rolled his eyes and made his way back over to his seat, picking up the razor and holding his free hand out to indicate he wanted him to give him his arm. “I told you. Everyone knows everyone in Hawkins..”

Eddie was beaming like a dumbass now knowing he wasn’t the only one to recognize the other person. Y/N actually clocked him a lot quicker after seeing his name on paper. His hair was a hell of a lot longer but his kitchen scratch tattoos were signature, he couldn’t forget Munson. “What happened to you? I haven’t seen you in school in..hell I don’t know how long.”

The young man looked up from the now freshly shaved arm with a perplexed expression. “You’re still in high school?”

Well damn, way to make him embarrassed about it now. Not that he had ever been proud of the fact, actually he was always very embarrassed when the topic was brought up.

“Explains a lot.”

“Yeah, like what?”

Y/N half smiled as he grabbed the transfer sheet and rolled over to dab his gloved finger in some Vaseline to rub on first. “Explains why your band is full of kids.” Ooo you— you had him there. Maybe not really, Gareth was the only one who really looked like a teenager still. All the Hellfire members would give him shit about his baby face.

“Wait wait, hold on.” Y/N looked up after laying down the stencil, hoping it was perfect despite Eddie’s mouth constantly moving. “You’ve seen my band? Like, us actually play?” His face was so bright with that smile, it made you feel silly.

“Don’t cream your pants, it’s not like there’s much other live music around here.” You peeled up the paper and looked it over letting your eyes come back up to meet his. That bastards’ face was way too close to yours! Pushing your rolling chair back with your feet to get a little distance before clearing your throat and motioning for him to make sure it was placed exactly how he wanted it.

“Oh..Yeah, looks good to me.” Eddie replied after giving it perhaps a five second look over.

“Are you sure?” Y/N pressed. This was his first tattoo ever on someone else, his first client essentially, and he didn’t want to fuck it up.

“I trust ya’ big guy.”

This was exactly why neither of them had interacted up until this point. They both had this intimidating air about them but at any give time they would have made the other embarrassed in a heartbeat. It was almost disgusting of Eddie to be relaying the mans’ earlier words as the whir of the tattoo machine began. Eddie wasn’t a fan of pain, at all, and when Y/N started to go in on the line work it successfully made his thoughts of creaming his pants retreat. “Fuck..”

Y/N stopped, pulling his hands away from his skin momentarily. “You haven’t ever had one done sober have you.”

Eddie tried and failed to hold back a chuckle before they started again. Using two of their gloves fingers to hold the skin taught as he drew on him painfully. “Nope.” He watched as Y/N’s tongue flicked out across their lip and they caught their tongue piercing between their teeth, a normal act he did when concentrating but this time it was on two things at once. Not fucking up this tattoo and not laughing.

Eddie was actually finding it pretty easy to concentrate on your face as you worked on him. Your eyes, your mouth. Fuckin’ pretty boys always got to him. “So why do this for me? Your boss said it would be expensive.”

“I don’t get paid either way, I might as well take the opportunity to do something nice for once.” Y/N dipped into the black ink in the little cap again before shifting into a better position for the shading process, he wasn’t giving him any color so it was actually going very quickly. For several minutes neither of them talked and when they did that the pain seemed to be more intense for Eddie, if you looked up at him you’d see the little muscle in his jaw clench along with his teeth and eyes until finally he had to say something to break the quiet streak.

“So Y/N, I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot.” Y/N tried to stay stoic and in the zone as he rubbed a bit of moisturizing ointment on the tattoo, hoping it could help calm the skin down some. The paler you were the more red and angry the skin tended to get he’d noticed.

“You smoke weed?” He hung his head, failing at suppressing the grin on his face so badly that it almost rivaled Eddie’s.

“Would I? With you? Never.” He tried to avoid looking at the man’s face but it was near impossible, especially when he heard him give a gasp as if you’d wounded him.

“And why is that? Don’t you think this right here is a bonding experience? You’ve marked me for life, the least I could do is repay you with something other than money.” Eddie watched you cover go to double dip, he was too distracting.

“Oh so this is intimate to you huh?” You went ahead and started going in on the finishing touches before he could reply with words, pulling a low hum from him that was drowned out by the buzz of the machine.

“Ugh! Fuck you..” He finally chirped when you stopped, pulling his arm off of the cushioned rest. He hadn’t been ready.

“You wish Munson.” You flashed him a cheeky smile as he held his arm, eyes on you. His mouth was slightly agape as if he’d heard something pornographic.

“Get your dirty little hands off that thing before you get it infected, Alcohol and then we’re done.” Dirty? Alcohol? Done?

“What the fuck, we’re done? It’s already done?” He pulled his hand off of his arm and stretched it back out in front of him, admiring your work silently. Until you grabbed your green tinted bottle of alcohol off of your station and gave it a spray. He could have killed you, he felt like you’d tried to kill him. It worse than getting the damn thing done times eleven!

“Oh no you don’t!” You dropped the bottle and quickly reached forward to grab his hands to keep him from touching it again. Once again you found yourself so close to his face, you could see every line in it as he bit his lip, looking back at you with a pained, pitiful expression.

“You did that on purpose.”

Y/N chuckled and nodded his head before they locked eyes again. “I had to. You know, disinfectant n’ all.”

“One star review, no, zero star review. ‘The cute tatted up bastard assaulted me when we were done, I demand a refund.’ That’s what I’m going to say.”

Your eyebrows shot up hearing that. It was a funny joke, but ‘cute’? That was blatant disrespect. That was hurtful. And it was flirting.

“I’m charging you full price now, two ounces of your best. Delivered.” You made sure to lean in closer as you inundated the curly haired man with certain feelings. He could smell the smoke on your breath from earlier you were so close.

“Jokes on you big guy, I can only get one ounce at a time.”

“Sounds like you need a new guy then.” Y/N let him go and immediately stood up to go retrieve the one thing he’d forgotten, a sheet of plastic wrap. Eddie was floored, perhaps even enamored. Were you some kind of jack-of-all-trades?

“You got the number for one?”

And the rest is history. Eddie wasn’t smooth by any means, but he had successfully gotten both a hot man’s phone number and some new ink. And in the end he made sure to promise to only come to them from here on out, with more money next time.

[sweet-by-and-by]

Heart on Your Sleeve- Arthur Morgan x John Marston

summary: Arthur spent 20 years working his ass off to become the top artist at Van Der Linde Ink, the high-end traditional shop founded by Dutch Van Der Linde and Hosea Matthews. Who does John think he is, showing up with his ignorant style and calling it art? A modern tattoo shop!AU

pairing: Arthur Morgan x John Marston

a/n: Did writing this make me want to get another tattoo? You bet your ass it did. Inspired by the same art by StrawBaby as my 2021 Reverse Bang x, along with the incredible art of Veradia x. Tattooed John just seems to awaken something in me. Love as always ❤️

AO3

The buzz of a tattoo machine always riled John up.

The thrum of the coils vibrating sent electricity down his spine; filled him with a rush that no drug could ever replicate.

He had found tattooing young, having spent most of his youth in shitty basements listening to even shitter music with friends. Bouncing from house to house, desperately trying to find something that made him worth keeping around.

So when someone thrust a machine in his hand and told him to draw, he did his best. Luckily, they were both so fucked up that neither of them minded how terrible it had turned out. 

But even luckier for him, he had found his niche.

Tattoos were everywhere nowadays. Having grown from the prison ink he knew as a kid in the streets to a real, viable career path if he played his cards right.

The first step was to get himself clean. After being turned away by as many shops as he entered, dismissed as “just some junkie”, he found someone to take him on. On the condition that he quit all the shit that had led him there in the first place.

He’d been six months sober, and had been tattooing for just as long. Worked to make himself a place at Van Der Linde Ink, a high-end name in these parts of the city. Why on earth Dutch and Hosea, the owners, had given him a shot was beyond him. But he knew he didn’t want to let them down and throw all of this away.

Drawing had never been one of John’s strong points. He’d barely even doodled since his days in middle school. He was just as confused as anyone on the day that machine was shoved in his hands. After finding a love for the act of tattooing, no matter how badly the ink had turned out, he struggled to reconcile his abilities with his dreams.

And then shitty tattoos came into style.

It was perfect timing that he couldn’t have planned even if he tried. People heading to shops for tattoos that any idiot with Amazon could do in their basement, minus the hepatitis. Instagram loved his ignorant tattoos, and Van Der Linde Ink had been looking to bring themselves into the new age of trendy ink.

So he landed a station within a lineup of history. The traditional shop was trying to break away from their uptight, rigid image, and their hope lay with John and the slew of new artists they had brought on. 

A shout from across the shop dragged him back to reality, breaking his concentration on the leg he was currently tattooing.

“Yer’ lines are lookin real sloppy there, Marston!” Arthur jabbed. John could hear the smirk in his voice, and didn't need to bother glancing up to confirm that Arthur was heading his way.

“Don’t worry about him,” he assured his client, who had shot upright at Arthur’s critique. “He’s just bored since no one wants his old man style today. You’re doing great, we’re almost finished here.”

The client huffed before resting back in his seat, grimacing as John returned to his work.

“Aww, don’t be sore, Marston. It’s good to get opinions from all the artists here. Even if your work barely falls in that category,” Arthur continued, his sarcasm cutting straight through to John’s nerves.

“Yes, but maybe we can keep our opinions to ourselves until the artists are finished,” Hosea interjected, glaring at Arthur from over his newspaper. “And perhaps until the clients have gone,” he whispered harshly, only audible to John’s listening ear.

It was wise to heed Hosea’s warnings, so with a roll of his eyes and a grumble under his breath, Arthur grabbed a cigarette from his shirt pocket and stepped out for a smoke.

John relaxed at his departure, trying not to let the older man’s comments get to him. His linework wasn’t perfect, but what artists’ was? John may not be the best in the shop, but he was damn good at hiding his mistakes. Besides, he’d never had a client complain.

Not yet at least. Today might be a first, if Arthur kept at it.

He glanced up at Hosea as he came to stand beside the client, leaning back to take a break and give the man a better view. He tapped his foot nervously when Hosea leaned in to study the piece closer and give his own critique.

“It may not be my taste necessarily, but your technique is good. Your hand is steady and your line weight is consistent. You’re doing a fine job, John. I assure you, you’re in good hands sir,” Hosea schmoozed the client on the table, clapping John on the shoulder and appeasing his customer with a reassuring smile.

The corner of John’s mouth quirked up in thanks, the praise bringing back some of his confidence. He finished the tattoo with no further interruption, Arthur choosing to spare him even further humiliation. He wiped down the tattoo, snapped a quick shot for his portfolio, and sent another happy client on their way with an aftercare sheet and his thanks.

“I ain’t never met someone so grateful for every tattoo they do,” Arthur ribbed, returning to his teasing now that the customer had left the building. “I swear, you look this close to blowin’ every client before they leave.”

John stammered at Arthur’s crude comment, speechless and flustered. He stomped back to his station to resume cleaning up, eager to get away from Arthur’s sharp tongue.

“Yeah, well at least I still like doin’ my job. Why you always gotta be such a sourpuss to all of your clients?” John glowered, busying himself with re-capping his ink bottles.

“A sourpuss?” Arthur asked incredulously, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as his lips stretched into a cheshire grin.

“Yeah, a goddamn sourpuss,” John snapped back. Arthur couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him at the phrase. 

“Well I’m sorry, Princess,” he chuckled, “I’ll make sure to get you some salt to cut that sour next time.”

“And maybe some tequila if you two don’t shut the hell up,” Karen interjected, rolling her eyes at the two bickering men. She tipped back in her chair, crossing her arms and shooting a glare at them from across the room.

John finished cleaning his station and packed his tools away, grabbing his sketchbook and throwing himself onto one of the waiting room couches. The big comfortable cushions all but swallowed him, and he stretched his long limbs over the arm to make himself comfortable as he settled in to work on some flash. Abigail, the shop receptionist, watched on with an arched brow, clicking her tongue as she busied herself at her computer.

“You know it’s my job to clean between clients, you didn’t have to do all that,” she mused, stealing a glance at the lanky man.

“Didn’t feel much like standing around and gettin’ berated,” John muttered.

“Oh, you know he just does it ‘cause it gets you so riled up. He’s like a school yard bully; just don’t give him a reaction and he’ll leave ‘ya alone,” she teased, trying to keep the smirk off her face. Anyone with sense knew that Arthur was picking on John more than any other artist that had come through these doors. Most blamed his style, not seeing his scribbles as the same breath of fresh air that Hosea and Dutch did. 

But Abigail knew better. She’d been here long enough to see all kinds. Had heard enough whispers when people thought no one was listening.

Arthur Morgan was sweet on John.

And he had no clue how to show it.

--

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, clients rolling in and out for their scheduled appointments. One by one the gang folded up their stations and took off for the weekend, excitement buzzing as they discussed their plans. Abigail was the last to leave, throwing John a pointed look as she locked the front door and said her goodbyes to Arthur, insisting that he finish up and get himself home at a reasonable hour.

Arthur liked the quiet of the shop at the end of the day. It gave him a chance to relax, to work without prying eyes and the commentary of his coworkers. This place had been a home to him for close to twenty years, and in its quiet moments gave him the peace he needed to get his best work done.

Half an hour deep into a drawing for an upcoming session, a sheet of paper was shoved angrily in his face. He was startled by the intrusion, deep in focus on meeting all of the appointment’s needs.

Arthur righted himself quickly, taking a better look at the page pushed at him. John grinned as he watched the older man take in his latest design, satisfaction fuelling him even further as Arthur’s lips fell into a frown.

“Really?” Arthur tsked, his brow furrowing as he looked over the piece.

“Really,” John replied cockily. “I’m thinkin’ it’s my best work yet.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, but said nothing to contradict John’s statement. He took the sketchbook page from John, careful not to smudge the wet ink as he examined the piece.

The dark image of a black cat, its face screwed up in a wince, stared up at Arthur from the table. Big bold letters, encased in a crude rendition of a traditional banner, spelled the words “SOURPUSS”.

It was certainly no American-traditional panther, but Arthur had to admit that the design was at least legible. There was no question of its subject, and even Arthur would give credit where it was due.

But of course, never to John.

“You know, this actually ain’t your usual lineup of terrible scribbles,” he admitted, the compliment sounding too good to John’s ears. “Too bad you couldn’t tattoo it if ‘yer life depended on it,” the older man jeered.

John scowled, fuming at how easily Arthur had turned him around. “I can so!” he protested, “I reckon’ that’d be the best tattoo I ever did!”

“Prove it then,” Arthur challenged, pushing himself away from the desk and gesturing towards his arm. “Why don’t you show us all just how great of an artist you can really be, Johnny.”

John prickled at the suggestion, snatching the paper from Arthur’s hands and shoving him out of the chair. “Fine,” he conceded, “go sit yourself at my station, and don’t touch any of my stuff!”

–

It wasn’t long before John had the stencil completed, determined as he stormed across the shop. Arthur rolled his eyes and stood from where he was lounging across John’s chair. 

The older man gestured towards a gap in his sleeve that the design could go, tucked away in a barely visible space on the back of his left bicep.

“This ain’t much room to work with,” John complained, but applied the stencil anyway.

“Yeah well I ain’t putin’ it anywhere the world gets to see it,” Arthur snipped back.

“Could’a put it on your ass for all I care,” John muttered, the comment slipping out before he could give it a second thought. Arthur averted his gaze as his cheeks tinged red, surprised by his reaction to John’s boldness.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched John smooth down the stencil and graciously ignore Arthur’s fluster.

Once the design was on, John adjusted the chair to lay flat and instructed Arthur to stretch out at his station. The older man huffed as he lay face-down across the saran wrapped leather, settling into position so that they could get started.

John rolled his stool up beside the makeshift bed and set to work, the buzz of his machine making Arthur’s heart lurch as his body caught up with what was going on. No matter how many times he’d gone under the needle, nerves still flooded him before every tattoo. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing, letting his thoughts wander to keep his mind occupied.

He hadn’t really thought that John would have such a strong reaction to his teasing. For all of his prodding, the kid had come a long way from his first days in the shop. He was excited to learn and worked twice as hard as the rest of the artists in the shop, something that Dutch and Hosea must have recognized when they decided to bring him on.

He also hadn’t exactly thought about the location he’d chosen; on the back of his bicep directly beside a poorly drawn heart with the word “Mary” inside inked by dainty, inexperienced hands.

Apparently he was developing a habit of offering himself as a practice canvas.

John’s touch was light, gentle in a way he would never have predicted. He wanted to criticize the man, poke him and tell him that the ink wouldn’t stay if he didn’t go deep enough. But he knew he was reaching, and that John’s touch would make the process less painful.

He quickly halted that train of thought and let his eyes roam around the room. It had been a while since he’d been tattooed there, and it was strange to see the place from the eyes of a client. Bill’s collection of animal skulls nailed to the walls, Karen’s grotesque watercolours pinned around her station. The details that he missed in his day to day, but the ones that showed off the shop’s misfit personalities.

He caught a glimpse of John in a mirror hanging on the opposite wall. He was hunched over Arthur’s arm, working diligently for his chance to prove himself. Arthur couldn’t help himself from staring. John’s hair hung low, the shaggy cut framing his face and complementing his sharp features. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his piercing catching the light when he cocked his head. Deep scars added intensity to his slight frown. He looked serious and passionate and beautiful, and Arthur couldn’t look away.

A flash of pain dragged him from his thoughts as John worked towards his inner bicep. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sensitive spot, tensing involuntarily against the needle’s touch.

“It’s okay,” John soothed, his voice gentler than Arthur was used to. “I won’t be here long.”

Arthur only nodded in response, favouring silence to ignore the fluttering feeling in his stomach and the tightening of his chest. He cursed his body for betraying him. For making it impossible to deny the impact John had on him.

The rest of the tattoo went smoothly and quickly. Arthur could feel the smug grin John fixed him with as the younger man leaned back in his chair, declaring his masterpiece finished as he shut off his machine.

“Think I was right,” he boasted. “This damn well may be my best tattoo ever.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed himself up off the chair, crossing the room to examine the finished product in the mirror.

He twisted himself around to get a better look, picking it apart as he eyed the tattoo. He scowled and opened his mouth to let his commentary roll, but stopped when he caught sight of John in the mirror.

The man was beaming with pride, cocky as all hell and wearing it well. His confidence only added to the attraction Arthur always felt, and he couldn’t find it in him to tear into John like usual.

It was a ridiculous style that Arthur loathed to call art, but the linework was clean and free of blowout. The design may not have been some show of all that tattooing could be, but it demonstrated an improvement in technique that Arthur couldn’t ignore.

“It ain’t terrible,” he finally said, his face softening as John’s smile grew wider. “I ain’t waxin’ poetic, and I’m still glad it ain’t anywhere anyone’s gonna see, but you’ve gotten better. Seems like you’ve been absorbing some wisdom through that thick skull of yours after all.”

“I told you, I’m not awful!”

“And I’ll tell you that you’ve still got a lot to learn. Your design is sloppy, that’s barely what I’d call shading, and I can see where your hand got tired halfway through. But I’ll take you on, show you what Dutch and Hosea showed me.”

“You’ll what?” John’s smile faltered dumbfoundedly, his expression turning to one of confusion.

“I’ll teach you how to draw, you idiot,” Arthur huffed, turning to face John. “We can practice after work when the place clears out. Can’t hardly learn a thing with all those morons running around, and you’ve sure as shit got some hard work ahead. But we’ll make an artist of you yet, if you’re willing.”

The younger man’s mouth hung open, his eyes wide like a deer stuck in headlights. Arthur fought back the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, refusing to acknowledge how adorable John looked in that moment.

“I…I don’t rightly know what to say,” John remarked, wary as he seemed to mull over Arthur’s proposal.

“Why don’t you start with ‘thank you’,” Arthur scoffed sarcastically. “Now get this thing wrapped up and clean your shit before I realize what the hell I let you do to me.”

John rolled his eyes as Arthur returned, reaching for his alcohol bottle to clean him up. He wiped away the blood and ink just as gently as he tattooed, and Arthur felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at John’s tenderness.

“Thank you,” he heard John say, voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t control the shudder that went down his spine, making him freeze in place as John bandaged his arm.

Arthur all but ran away once he was finished, turning on his heel and fleeing to the draft table to collect his things before John could notice the red colour in his face. John watched him dumbfoundedly, his own blush rising to turn the tips of his ears pink.

Abigail was definitely going to have to explain this one to him.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Needles & Ink, Pt 2 (NSFW)

Lena slips in the back door of the InkSpot. She pauses just inside, absorbing the utter silence that fills the place. Gone is the thumping music, and buzzing of machines. Gone is the bustle of clients coming and going. It's completely and utterly still.

At nearly 4am, it's well past normal operating hours, even for the night crowd. Lena knows she herself ought to be in bed, catching as many winks as she could before her next morning meeting, but-- even after a day of committees and endless reports, Lena is absolutely wired. She'd known tugging on James' door would be a long shot, but when it opened she'd hoped her fellow night owl might be down for a late tattoo session. 

Looking out across the darkened shop, though, it seems more likely that James has simply forgotten to lock the back door. She pulls out her phone, intent on teasing James into oblivion, but freezes when an odd sound drifts out of James' office.

It sounds almost like a moan, but when it's followed by another, longer moan of a different pitch, Lena realizes someone is humming. Someone in the office is humming a Bonnie Tyler song.

Total Eclipse of the Heart, to be exact. 

Lena saunters silently to the office door and leans against it, taking a moment to observe Kara Danvers humming along to the music playing in her ears. She's bent over paperwork, and despite the hour and the solitude a soft smile graces her lips, pulling one to Lena's own face at the sight of it.

"You look good," she says in a low voice.

Kara jumps violently in her seat, jolting the entire desk with the force of her gasp.

"Oh my sweet baby Jesus!!" she exclaims, pressing a hand to her chest. When she looks up, Kara sags at the sight of Lena. "You scared me!"

Lena watches Kara remove her earbuds, and folds her arms over her chest, still leaning against the door frame. "Sorry," she purrs unapologetically. She smiles. "How are you? It's been a while."

"Good, good. I mean, I'm-- I'm in Metropolis! Wait-- you're in Metropolis! What are you doing here??"

Lena gives a tilt of her head. "Business. I may have moved my company to National City, but it still feels as though I do more business here than there these days."

"Right, um..." Kara suddenly looks nervous, casting a worried look past Lena into the hallway. "Sorry, but um.... we're kind of closed? Actually-- how did you get in here?"

Lena huffs a faint laugh. "Back door. James lets me slip in now and then. I was hoping he would have time for a quick session."

"Oh, um... I'm the only one here. Sorry."

"Don't be," Lena smiles. "It's good to see you. Is James treating you well? I don't need to yell at him, do I?"

"Oh, no! No, no, he's been great-- everyone has been really amazing, truly. I couldn't have asked for better hosts. I've been loving it here."

Lena nods, glad to hear it. Pushing off the door jamb, she lets her arms fall, clasping her hands in front of her. "Well, I won't keep you. It was good to see you--"

"W-wait!" Kara jerks to her feet, slamming into the desk yet again in her haste to keep Lena from leaving. Lena pauses, biting back a smile at her clumsiness. "James isn't here, but I am. Why don't we do some more work on your crane?"

"Oh, it's late--"

"No, I-- I mean, I'll text James to make sure it's okay, but... I'm down if you are."

Lena regards her for a long moment. 

"Okay."

--- 

There’s something ethereal in the moments that follow. James gives his blessing, which Kara barely notices past the distraction that is Lena Luthor unbuttoning her blouse. Backlit by a halo of neon light, she looks like a hazy dream, long and beautiful and full of mystery even as she lays herself bare. 

In deference to the late hour, Kara keeps the overheads off, and simply turns on her worklight. The spill of light pulls Lena’s attention to her, catching her watching. In the shadows, Lena smiles coyly. 

“Like what you see?” Lena asks, casting her shirt aside. She takes a wide stance, presenting herself to Kara’s gaze in all her tattooed glory. Maybe it’s the late hour, but Kara allows her gaze to linger, charting a path from the stylized storm brewing at Lena’s collarbones, to the dragon that disappears down one hip. 

“Always,” she murmurs.

Lena looks aside for a moment-- when she looks back, it’s with a heat that sends a bolt of desire straight to Kara’s core. She takes a breath that quakes in her lungs, and then suddenly Lena is there, tucking a wisp of hair behind Kara’s ear.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since our first session,” Lena murmurs. 

A flush heats Kara’s neck and face. “Me either,” she confesses. “I mean. You too--”

Her blunder is swallowed by a kiss. Lena’s lips press against Kara’s, warm and soft and absolutely intoxicating. Kara lifts her hands, framing Lena’s face and pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. She’s rewarded with a muted moan, and Lena’s hands on her hips, thumbs brushing beneath the hem of Kara’s tank top.

“You are so beautiful,” Kara breathes when they part, panting for air. There’s an insistent throbbing between her legs, aching for more. Lena’s hand cups her gently, making her whimper. 

“May I?” Lena whispers against her ear. Biting her lip, Kara nods. Only then does Lena unbutton Kara’s jeans with her long fingers, peeling the denim away to reveal her panties. Kara’s completely forgotten hat she’s wearing until Lena laughs, low and throaty in Kara’s ear.

The pizza panties. Goddammit. 

“I love them,” Lena murmurs, reassuring her. “But I’d love them even better on my bedroom floor.”

Oh god. Kara envisions a clean penthouse apartment, spotless save for the mess of their discarded clothes. But here in the shop? Gross.

“Guess I’ll just have to make do,” Lena says, hitching up the legs of her trousers to kneel between Kara’s legs. In moments, Kara’s pants and panties are both below her hips and a warm tongue sweeps through her folds, collecting the moisture of her arousal in a single taste. Lena hums with pleasure before her thumb gets to work against Kara’s bare clit. 

Kara quivers, nearly staggering as her body reacts. Lena’s hands brace her hips, steadying her. 

“All right there?” she asks, playfully teasing. Kara whimpers with a nod. To her surprise, Lena guides Kara’s leg to rest over her shoulder, until Kara’s stretched and gaping at her very core. “Press against me if you need to.”

Kara nods again. She doesn’t last long. In mere moments she’s moaning and writhing against Lena’s mouth, shuddering as waves of ecstasy roll through her. Lena’s tongue continues to guide her through her orgasm, pressing firmly to calm her through the aftershocks. When she finally pulls away, Kara can’t bend down fast enough to kiss her own taste away from Lena’s lips.

“On the table,” Kara urges, pulling Lena from her knees. She hastily pulls her pants up, but leaves them unfastened as she quickly devotes her attention to the curves of Lena’s body. Lena doesn’t quite make it on top of the table. She settles for leaning against its edge as she kisses Kara soundly, her hands buried in Kara’s hair. 

Kara kisses her messily, wet and sloppy, but Lena can’t seem to get enough. She only pulls her hands away to fumble at the back zipper of her dress pants, until Kara nudges her. “Turn around,” she murmurs.

Lena turns, and Kara carefully unzips her trousers. They fall to her ankles, exposing the rest of Lena’s tattoos. Kara takes a moment to admire them, kneeling to run her hands from Lena’s hip to her ankle, tracing the shape of the tiger clawing up one leg and the dragon coiling down the other. Even in the low light Kara can see the artistry, the mastery of the craft that has been inked into Lena’s skin. And there, curving around Lena’s ribs, a crane peeks out-- Kara’s own offering to the altar that is Lena’s body.

Unlike Kara’s pizza panties, Lena is resplendent in black lace. The fabric hugs Lena’s hips and ass in a tantalizing display. Kara can barely breathe as she stands and runs her fingers across the floral threadwork. Her whimper is eclipsed by a wonton moan from Lena’s throat, her hips pressing out and back against Kara’s hands.

“Kara…”

Lena’s voice is heady, even breathless. It sends a shudder of delirium down Kara’s spine. How is this her life. But Lena’s need is real and evident in the heady utterance, prompting Kara to hook her fingers under the panties and delicately sliding them down Lena’s hips. Every inch of Lena’s inked buttocks steals Kara’s breath, leaving her gasping by the time Lena shifts plaintively in her heels. Finally, Kara cups Lena from behind, and when Kara finds arousal nearly dripping from Lena’s core, she swallows thickly.

“Relax for me, baby girl.”

Lena shudders, sending a gush of fresh warmth into Kara’s palm. Leaning forward, Kara slides one hand down to Lena’s wrist, pressing it against the table as she slips two fingers into Lena’s folds. Gently, she begins to thrust.

“Harder,” Lena gasps almost immediately. She shifts her stance until Kara’s fingers hit a new spot. Kara nods, catching Lena’s gaze when she turns her head to look over one bare shoulder. She increases her speed, adds just a touch more pressure, and is rewarded with a hitch in Lena’s breath. Soon Lena is moaning with every breath, her back glistening with building sweat as her body temperature rises. 

Suddenly, Lena’s body shudders with a piercing moan, her walls clenching tight around Kara’s fingers. Just as she begins to come down, Kara releases Lena’s wrist to slip between her hips and the table to press her thumb against Lena’s clit, rubbing swift, furious circles until Lena crests again with a sharp gasp.

When she recovers, Lena turns against the table to loop her arms around Kara’s neck. Kara wraps herself around Lena’s bare skin, nuzzling against her neck, nibbling at her pulse point. 

“You’re incredible,” Lena murmurs. 

Kara hums against Lena’s neck. 

“I’m not finished yet.”

---

Kara draws back to wipe her hair from her eyes. Lena lays before her on a freshly sterilized table in nothing but her bra and panties, looking sleepy and relaxed despite the blood stippling to the surface of her skin.

“You know,” Kara observes, “not everyone would follow sex with a tattoo chaser.”

Lena smiles. “Their loss,” she murmurs. “I highly recommend it.”

Forgoing the use of a stencil, Kara had freehanded the plumage of the crane directly onto Lena’s skin, and already she could see the bird coming to life.

Kara smirks. “Not everyone is a masochist.”

“Imagine tattooing while having sex,” Lena drawls. “Now that would be kinky.”

A laugh bursts out of Kara, earning a deep grin from Lena. With her hair loose and sweaty, Lena is a veritable dream-- to have her skin under Kara’s needle is an honor on a bed of honors. The atmosphere is slow and silky around them, like the world outside has slowed to a standstill without them. Kara savors every moment, lest it all slip away. 

“So how has Metropolis treated you so far?” Lena asks, watching Kara dip her needle in fresh ink. She relaxes back when Kara approaches, allowing her easy access to the tattoo site. She doesn’t flinch when Kara resumes. “Still taking walk-ins? Besides me, of course.”

Kara grins, even as she focuses on what she’s doing. “You’re the first one I’ve taken in weeks, actually. Most people are looking for big, personal pieces, so the walk ins don’t really happen you know?” She pauses. “I’ve already started booking back at Argo, since my time here is already booked up.”

“Really? Congratulations!”

“Thanks.” Kara can’t help but blush. “But you know… something tells me I probably have you to thank for all this.”

Lena regards her. “Oh? How so?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re the only canvas I’ve worked on that James Olsen would have seen.”

Lena’s lips part in a silent ah. She regards Kara for a long moment, before reaching out a hand to halt Kara’s ministrations. With a single touch, she pulls Kara’s entire attention to her. 

“I didn’t suggest anything, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

Kara doesn’t respond, and thereby tips her hand: it’s exactly what she’s afraid of. That a top-paying client threatened to withdraw their business unless James agreed to take on an unknown artist from a strip mall in National City.

Lena cups her cheek gently.

“All I did was show James the work you’d done-- as I would for any piece I was proud of.” She holds Kara’s gaze, allowing her to see the truth in Lena’s eyes. “Anything he did after that is entirely on you and your body of work. Do you hear me?”

Kara releases a shaky breath, laughing slightly. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I hear you.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her arm. “Now lay back so I can finish.”

Lena does so, but her eyes don’t leave Kara. Kara can feel her gaze linger, until she’s too immersed in her art to be aware of anything else. 

---

“This,” Lena says hours later, pressing cash into Kara’s hand, “is for the tattoo. Just to be clear.”

Without even looking at it, Kara tucks it away. “Good to know.”

“Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” Lena winks, earning a chuckle in return.

“Right. Absolutely. But you know…”

“Hmmm?”

Kara tugs Lena closer by the hips, bringing their fronts flush together. Taing advantage of their proximity, Kara kisses her deeply. “You’re going to need some touch ups.”

Lena smiles against her, then kisses her again. 

“Well, then…. I guess I’ll just have to see you again.”

“You will.” Kara creeps her hands playfully up Lena’s shirt, only for Lena to pull away with a good natured laugh.

“I have to go, but, ah… I’ll see you later?”

Kara watches Lena back away towards the rear entrance, a smile ever present on her lips.

“Yeah. You will.”

It’s not until long after Lena leaves that Kara realizes. 

She didn’t get Lena’s phone number.

[ao3bronte]

☯🐍LUKADRIEN HEADCANONS🐍☯

It all started when Luka got his first tattoo. Juleka livestreamed it on Instagram and Adrien watched as much as he could of it while in the back of Father’s Mercedes, purposely ignoring Nathalie’s pointed stare. No doubt she would tell Father he was watching videos of his friends “partaking in delinquent behaviour”, but Adrien couldn’t blame her. It was her job, after all.

That aside, Adrien found himself both entranced and horrified as the artist carefully outlined the shape of a serpent in black ink up and down Luka’s right forearm, wiping away the excess ink before starting anew. It must hurt like hell, but Luka talked through it easily, humming a melody he’d been writing with his sister like the needle in his arm was hardly a bother.

Even after he’d been rushed out of the Mercedes and onto the runway, Adrien couldn’t stop thinking about it. How calm and collected Luka had been. How intricate the scales of the onyx snake had been against the paleness of his skin. How the tattoo would look after a few days of healing.

Adrien desperately wanted to find out. And thankfully, a week or so later, he got his chance.

“Dude, you gotta show Adrien. He’s been dying to see it, bro!” Nino calls out from beside him, waving Luka over from where he’d just parked his bike. Marinette had organized a collège graduation picnic and thankfully, the invitation that she’d sent home with Adrien had “mandatory for class attendance” printed on it in big, red letters.

“Yes, please!” Adrien responds, practically skipping in place as Luka saunters over and stretches out his hand. Adrien’s eyes grow wide as he takes in the snake’s coils that twist from his elbow to his wrist. The pattern on the snake’s scales is so familiar that Adrien is sure he’s seen this type of snake before, from the hood of its neck to its elongated fangs.

“Did it hurt?” Alix asks, buzzing with excitement. She’d already proudly announced that she’s booked her first tattoo for her upcoming sixteenth birthday next week.

“A little.” Luka shrugs, smiling downwards as Adrien forgets all of his manners and gently turns Luka’s arm around so he can see the other side. “The elbow was the worst part. Once he got away from the bone, it wasn’t so bad at all.”

“It looks so cool,” Adrien gushes, unable to contain himself. His nose is practically centimetres away from Luka’s skin so as to soak in every little detail. “I wish I could get something like this done.”

Luka continues to indulge him, despite Alix’s teasing glance in their direction. “What’s stopping you?”

Adrien snorts and stares in wonder at the snake’s slitted eyes. “Father. He’d kill me if I ever got a tattoo.”

“I doubt he’d kill his best model,” Luka responds, smiling as Adrien shakes his head and prods the little tongue of the serpent with the tip of his finger.

“Well, maybe not kill me. But he’d lock me away in my room until I was thirty five.”

“Dude, that’s abusive,” Nino says. Beside him, Alix agrees.

“It’s Father’s way of showing me he cares.” Adrien sighs and thanks Luka for letting him see the tattoo. Luka assures him that he can look at it anytime he wants.

And, of course, that’s how the plan begins.

Six months pass and Luka and Adrien are closer than they’ve ever been, thanks in part to Juleka’s burgeoning modelling career. They cross paths frequently, which means he sees Luka almost as much and begins to spend his free time with him whenever he can under the pretense of practicing his angles with Juleka and his piano skills with Luka.

Nathalie has given him exactly four hours of free time at the Couffaine’s on his day off, so long as the Gorilla is present to make sure he doesn’t “partake in any delinquent behaviour”. Adrien is an expert at eluding the massive hulk of a man and within minutes of arriving, Adrien, Luka and Juleka are meeting up with Rose, Nino and Alix for what would be the wildest, best kept secret plan in the world.

Why? Because Adrien was getting a tattoo. A tiny one. Very discreet. But a symbol of defiance and teenage rebellion nonetheless.

The whole ragtag group piles into the same studio that Luka and Alix had gotten their tattoos. White walls reflect the bright pink neon sign that takes up the majority of the side wall, adding an ambiance that simmers with excitement as house music thuds through the speakers. Adrien signs his life away with shaking fingers and gives his friends a thumbs up before sitting down on the leather lounger. Luka follows him into the smaller workspace and distracts Adrien by talking about the merits of the 5/4 time signature as the artist carefully sterilizes his equipment and applies a stencil onto the pale strip of skin just inside the swell of his hip bone. Adrien had picked this part of his body specifically; even in swimming briefs, no one would be able to see it. He would have to be completely bare in order for anyone to accidentally spot the tattoo, which makes it the perfect location for a clandestine symbol of his secret life.

The machine buzzes to life and Adrien prepares himself, gritting his teeth.

“Why did you pick this for your first tattoo?” Luka asks, wincing as Adrien grabs his hand and squeezes the life out of it. Adrien has been tossed around the city like a ragdoll countless times as Chat Noir, but this? This is the worst pain he’s ever experienced by far.

“Ghhh—oh my god.” Adrien heaves and tries to keep still as the artist completes the outline of the circle.

“Just breathe.” Luka begins to massage his arm with his other hand, rubbing smooth circles into Adrien’s tensed muscles. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Adrien garbles something unintelligible and lets his head fall back against the headrest with a thunk. “How...did...you...?”

“I just did.” Luka shrugs and smiles encouragingly. “You get used to the feeling after a while.”

“I am never getting used to this.” Adrien groans vehemently, pushing the words from his lips in one shaky breath. Luka isn’t wrong though; after a minute or two of trying not to cry like an infant, Adrien’s hip hurts so badly that the pain begins to plateau into a five alarm burning bee sting. “Is it almost over?”

“He’s just finishing the spot,” Luka replies, leaning over to get a better look. Adrien opens his eyes, which is a horrible mistake. Between Luka’s constant presence beside him and his friend’s face mere centimetres from his belly button, Adrien finally thinks of something else that cuts through the haze.

“Y-yeah?” Adrien stammers and hopes Luka thinks it’s still from the pain. In actuality, the last six months of Adrien’s infatuation with Luka’s tattoo and, in turn, Luka himself has all flashed before his eyes in a matter of seconds.

“All finished,” the artist says, taking one last swipe with his towel before putting his tools away. Luka beams and congratulates him on being so brave, but all Adrien can think about is how his friend’s ample praise makes him melt like butter.

“Do you want to see?” Luka takes the mirror and holds it up to the tattoo. Red and raw, the yin and yang symbol shines like a beacon of Adrien’s duality. He’s the hero of destruction to Ladybug’s creation; he’s a flawless model with a secret dark side.

“I love it,” Adrien breathes, the immediate pain already fading. The artist dresses the wound and Adrien listens to the aftercare instructions with half an ear — he’s far too busy committing the experience to memory.

If Luka wants his hand back, he doesn’t ask, even as they exit the room together. Adrien’s too lost in the clouds to even realize, but the rest of his friends aren’t. They’ll tease Luka about it later, but the blue haired boy doesn’t seem to care.

A week later, Adrien proudly shows off his secret tattoo to his secret tattoo posse — he can’t risk anyone else knowing about it in case it gets leaked to the press — and beams when Luka tells him it looks beautiful.

He doesn’t tell Adrien he wasn’t talking about the tattoo.

SEE ALL OF MY LGBTQ+ HEADCANONS HERE!

[bonny-kookoo]

Cat Eyes (JJK x Reader) ❤️☁️🔞🐾

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Hybrid!AU, Human!Jungkook, Hybrid!Reader, Fluff/romance, Strangers to lovers?, slight angst, smut

Warnings: discussion of homelessness and unfairness against hybrids, mild mention of past abuse, trust issues, Sweet Koo, smut because duh, lovemaking it’s so sweet yall, dirty talk but only minor, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, doggy style, mild biting, yeah that’s it this time wait for part two oh my

Summary: on the streets, cast out. Just another week for you, but somehow you wonder if this stranger might mean a change for you.

Or alternatively: Jungkook feeds you and you’re kinda grateful for that.

Its cold, but you've been preparing for that outcome for a long time already. Being born as a hybrid, a simple housecat at that, you had nothing special or rewarding about you, making you just a pet getting passed around from person to person as soon as you got too boring to keep around.

This was a regular thing for you. The fact that you got kicked out so many times already made you wary of actually possessing any belongings at all, not even owning a phone or clothes you could consider your own- merely the things you currently wore, drenched in the water that had been dribbling from the skies in rough speeds, hood over your head already useless at keeping your hair and ears dry. But it was okay. This was normal for you, after all.

Sitting down between two glowing vending machines located behind a small convenience store, you tried to warm yourself up with the small amount of heat radiating off of the two metal machines- not really being successful, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

It's been three weeks already like this, trying to find a place to catch some sleep before roaming the streets again, searching for food and sometimes even finding a bit of money on the street. You didn't have a collar, so you had to hide your hybrid features well- not like you'd like to show your dirty fur anytime soon anyways.

Yawning before turning a bit, shoes squeaking a bit with the amount of water inside them, you closed your eyes, mind focusing on the buzzing next to your head, trying to use it as a form of lullaby to soothe you into sleeping a bit. Yet you were disturbed by someone pressing the buttons and inserting money into the vending machine, the loud noises of the soda can banging against the metal interior loudly enough to make you press your ears flat against your skull. You hoped whoever was craving the beverage was a human or didn't pay attention to you; but again- you were out of luck.

"Huh?" Came the humming question of a male voice, and you instantly tensed up as a warm hand was placed on your wet shoulder. "Hey.. you okay?" The voice asked, and you imagined his Umbrella shielding him from the rain, the pitter patter of it on the plastic fabric an indication that he probably used one. You weren't an impressive predator like a Tiger or a Leopard, but you certainly could distinguish noises from one another to see things around you, even without using your eyes. "Can you hear me?" He asked gently, and you wanted to turn around, scoff in his face that yes, you did, you just chose not to. "Do you have an owner.?" Well, piss. Seems like hiding your features didn't do much as well.

You only turned a bit, hood catching on a pointed piece of metal from the vending machine, making it reveal one of your wet ears to him, as well as a piece of the side of your face. You only saw him with one eye, but you already knew he was on the far opposite of the food chain- expensive suit and sparkling rolex on his wrist, connected to the tattooed hand holding his black umbrella almost mocking you as he looked at you with pity. You spotted his ears, or more lack thereof, already wanting to cry at them; a human like him didn't know the things you were going through. That's probably why he'd asked if you were owned immediately, and you wanted to laugh. Yet your croaky voice didn't say these things. It only stated the obvious. "No." Because you really didn't- the official timespan was two weeks, after that, a formerly owned hybrid was officially considered a stray if it went missing. You didn't belong to anyone other than the state itself- which was why you had to hide so well, to not get thrown into an adoption center again.

The stranger furrowed his brows a bit, before leaving. Well, at least he took the hint, you thought, before he came back again, placing a white bag with some plastic items down in front of you, before putting his umbrella over your head, the rain suddenly stopping from falling down on you. You looked downwards, at the plastic container- sushi? Dumplings? And another one that steamed a bit- rice? You didn't get it, but still turned around a bit, watching him warily as if you were waiting for him to yell sike and run away. Yet he didn't, simply scooting a bit closer to not get the rain onto his head, and waiting. The sound of cars passing by and some music being played somewhere was the only noise surrounding you for a bit, before you hesitantly reached out for the containers, always keeping an eye on him. He simply smiled when you started to unpack the plastic foil of the cheap chopsticks, digging into the hot rice as if it was a five star meal. You could practically feel it warming up your belly, making you suppress a sigh as you got lost in consuming the food he'd bought.

Only once you were finished, not being able to eat everything, did he actually move. He grabbed some of the leftovers, eating them until he took the boxes and put them into the trash nearby. You looked at him with a questioning gaze. Would he want anything from you now? You didn't trust his angelic features at all if you were being honest. "You're probably not gonna want to come home with me and thats fine." He said, before looking at you. "I'll leave the umbrella here, alright? Lets hope the rain stops soon." He mumbled, getting up, making you look up to him as he slowly turned around, giving you a small wave. "Goodnight. Stay safe." He simply said, before jogging to his car.

Huh. What a weird guy.

Jeon Jungkook was his name as he'd introduced himself on the second day of visiting you behind the convenience store, and he was indeed a weird human. He made it a simple casualty- visiting you every day after work with food, having full conversations with you, and asking about your day and life in general. He himself noticed a slight spark returning to your eyes, interest peaking in those orbs as you talked to him more and more. You were a quiet girl, not really giving away much about you, but managing to make him feel like he knew you. You were smart, and he liked that. After almost a week of daily conversations, he finally popped the question.

"Do you want to come home with me?" He asked, making you look up from your can of soup he'd bought you this time. You thought for a bit before shrugging. At this point he'd invested so much into feeding you that it felt like you had to- simply as a form of repayment. He smiled, before leaning his head a bit to the side, voice low and serious. "You don't have to. I'm simply offering." He said, and you put down the empty can, nodding.

"Alright." You said, and he grinned, standing up and putting the trash away before closing the umbrella still hanging over the vending machines, turning around. His eyes widened a bit at just how short you were, yet he found it endearing. He led you to his car, not caring that his cream colored interior could be stained with your admittedly dirty clothing and shoes. He'd pay someone to clean it the next day, and all would be fine.

"So uhm.." You began, unsure what would happen now. "What am I supposed to do when we get to your place?" You asked, and after a moment of realization, his ears turned red.

"No no no, I'm, oh my.." He cleared his throat for a moment, before he threw one leg over the other, as to make himself seem more sure of himself than he actually was. "I'm not that kind of person." He explains calmly, as he waves his hand to the driver, who nodded, before the window to the front closes, giving you two some privacy. "I simply saw you there and.. I don't know. I couldn't just leave you there." He said, and you nodded.

"So it's for your repuptation." You said. "I guess you're an investor then?" You knew people like him. Their initial thought was nice, but at the end of the day it was only for personal gain. Well, at least he'd keep you around for some months before the public would slowly forget about you again. You've been through that as a young kitten.

But he shook his head. "I am an investor, yeah- but I don't plan on showing you to the public eye. I don't want anything of you other than your company." You opened your mouth again, but he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose for a second. "Not like that." He began. "My apartment is.. big. Huge. But it's also empty. A friend of mine had told me I should get a hybrid, and I genuinely considered. I was actually at a shelter the day we first met." He explained, and you nodded. "I didn't find anyone I was.. okay with, I guess. I can't just let anyone into my life, you know. Most people only want something, just to leave right after. When I saw you, yeah, at first it was pure pity, I won't lie." You nodded, watching him. "But the more we talked, the more I realized how compatible we were." Well, this was new. "I won't be home much, because I work a lot, but I don't like being lonely." He turns to you, serious. "If you're comfortable with it, I'd like you to simply be a companion. Someone who shares my home with me, accompanies me to those absolutely boring dinners I have to endure every week or so, and who sometimes maybe comes to work with me. If you simply want to stay home however, that's fine as well." He says, and you nod.

"Can I.. think about it?" You ask, and he nods, a gentle smile adoring his lips. The rest of the ride is filled with comfortable silence, and you almost drift off to sleep, but you arrive at his apartment complex before you can fully float away. There's nothing said between the two of you as he leads you inside the hallway of the building, a hand on the small of your back as if to make sure you won't get lost, his figure always close to shield you from wary eyes of the security and other residents walking by. Inside the elevator, silence is still present, until someone joins you two; a tall man, a little older than your now soon-to-be Master, who looks at you, and then at your Master.

"Ah, so you have finally found someone for you? I'm happy for you Jungkook." He says,a smile on his lips. "My name is Kim Seokjin my dear, may I ask yours?" He speaks, and you look at Jungkook close to you as if you were expecting him to answer for you- like it was typical. But he only smiled as well, nodding towards you in encouragement, so you, quietly, answered with a small bow of your head. "Ah, a shy one isn't she? But very pretty, I have to say." He said, and Jungkook chuckled as if to accompany that statement. "Ah, well. Please think about the company dinner next saturday, and oh!" Seokjin said as he left the elevator, hand holding the elevator door open for a moment as he looked at you one last time. "Bring her along, yeah? I heard that Jimin is bringing Yoongi as well. A good chance for her to make friends.!" He said, before winking, and waving goodbye- leaving you and Jungkook inside the elevator to climb a few more levels higher.

"Don't feel pressured now, please." Jungkook said, as the elevator chimed, the two of you stepping out as he walked past you to open his apartment door. "You don't have to if its too soon." He said, before opening his door.

He didn't lie when he said his apartment was big, but you never truly saw a skyline like that. It was a breathtaking view outside the windows, and it took a moment until you could finally avert your eyes to scan the rest. It felt.. almost sterile, in a way. Nothing truly screamed his name at you, neither the furniture, nor wall decorations. A few pictures were hung up, but other than that, the apartment looked like it got pulled straight out of an interior design magazine. "It's pretty bland, isn't it?" He lowly said, as he turned on some of the lights, hanging up his coat on the hanger next to the door as he untied his shoes. "I know it does. I.. hope that'll change, maybe." He said, before he made his way into the open kitchen. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can just show you your room and leave you be as well, yeah, that would probably be a good idea. Let me show you." He said, and you followed him after taking your own shoes off as well.

It was a rare occurence to have a room for yourself- so much so, that you only remember having one as a kitten, when it had been necessary. Stepping inside, you noticed the crisp air; he'd opened the window to air it out, it seemed. There was a bed in the corner, a wardrobe and a mirror- as well as a door that connected to a bathroom, right now void of light. "I'll leave you be for now. There are some of my old clothes so you have something to sleep in- don't worry, I washed them so you won't get my scent on you just yet, I know it makes hybrids a bit fussy." He chuckled, and nodded towards you with a smile. "If you want to, you can come out, if you don't stay inside, I won't be mad. I'll have the day off tomorrow and after, so we should use that time to get you some clothes if you want." He suggested, and you nodded into his direction. He bowed a bit, before leaving the room, and you alone.

You waited a bit so his footsteps got out of reach, before you walked around a bit. The room was bigger than the one you had as a kitten, but still small enough to be considered a guest room. Your first goal however, was the bathroom. Grabbing the clothes he had left you, you noticed immediately that it had been washed with hybrid proof detergent- a brand called 'noscent' which was typically used for newly homed hybrids so they wouldn't get overwhelmed. How he knew of that was unclear to you, but maybe he did have a hybrid before, or a friend told him. It didn't matter though, because you knew this was timed. Better make the most out of it. So as you climbed into the bathtub, soapy scent around you as you washed yourself squeaky clean, you felt okay again. Now was the time to mend yourself together, figure out what your master liked so you could make your stay as comfortable for everyone involved as possible, and just enjoy the good sides while rushing the bad.

But somehow there was a weird feeling in your gut.

Maybe things were really about to change this time.

The next morning was calm. Apart from something clattering in the kitchen, you awoke by yourself, shocked to see it almost being twelve. Why had he not woken you up, when he so clearly implied yesterday that he had plans with you today? For a moment you wondered if maybe this had been a test, but judging by his whistling in the kitchen, he was in a good attitude still.

So you went for it.

Simply brushing your hair and tail, you stepped out the room, smell of food immediately meeting your nose. "I was about to wake you." He said without turning, as he grabbed another bowl to fill. "I figured I'd let you sleep after all that change so you could rest well. Good morning." He said, finally turning around, making you gasp internally a bit.

You knew that his hand was tattooed, but what now showed was his entire forearm covered in ink. Completely different from yesterday, he wore a simple grey sweater and sweatpants combo, hair in a messy tiny ponytail on his head. He looked so.. young, yet masculine, not at all like the businessman you had encountered before. But it was a nice change; because if he let you see himself like this, he really was intending to have you around for longer, and was working towards a more personal companionship. Maybe he really did want you as a companion for himself, not his outside persona.

You sat down at the table before stopping immediately, eyes widening. He seemed to notice this however, chuckling as he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, helping you on the chair properly. "You can sit at the table with me, don't worry. Please move around freely; my home is as much mine as it is yours now, okay?" He said, and you nodded. "Thank you." He said, and you watched him for a moment, before you started to eat.

"How.." You started, and he wiped his lips with a tissue before looking at you, attention now on your words. You were grateful for that small gesture. "How do you know that much about hybrids?" You asked, and he smiled.

"Yesterday, Jin-hyung said something about Yoongi, you remember?" You nodded, a bit eagerly, since you were used to remember things that your master said all the time. "Good girl." He said, and it made your skin tingle a bit, as he cleared his throat, a bit shy after letting that slip. "He uhm, Yoongi-hyung is a cat-hybrid as well. His owner is Jimin, who's my coworker. Yoongi was a rescue a few years back, who I asked a bit about what to do if I take someone in who.. you know, wasn't from a shelter. He told me a few things." He explained, and you nodded.

"Why are you calling him Yoongi-hyung though, if he's a hybrid?" You asked, before taking another spoonful. You liked warm food. It made your belly warm.

"Ah." He mused, as he finished his plate, leaning back. "I'm not really following the whole foodchain-order stuff, to be honest. Yoongi-hyung is older than me, my hyung, so that's that. Oh, that reminds me, how old are you?" He asked, and you answered.

"I think.. 22?" You said, and he seemed a bit sad. Did you say something wrong? Did he want someone younger? Someone older?

"Ah, sorry.. but, you think?" He said. "So.. you haven't celebrated your birthday, at all?" He asked, and you shook your head. "Ah thats no good. We'll celebrate it this year, promise!" He said. "You're a bit younger than me, by the way. I'm 25." He said, and you nodded, saving that information inside your brain for future reference. "If you're done we can either go shopping, or if you don't want to, we can shop online. We should do that now though, otherwise you'll have to wait too long for delivery and stuff." He said, and you nodded.

"Do you have a collar for me then?" You asked, and Jungkook grabbed your empty plate to put away. A collar wasn't something he could just not give you- he knew from Yoongi that it wasn't demeaning in any way. Wearing a collar was a form of comfort, it wasn't just an accessory, it was a physical evidence that you were claimed and safe.

"Yoongi gave me one of his older ones, but we can buy a proper one you like today." He said, and dried his hands on a dish towel as he looked at you. "Go and get your shoes, I'll give you one of my coats to wear, and then we can go, yeah?"

Shopping was always a hard one to crack.

This was when you would somehow have to figure out by simply picking the opossum on the road to know if its dead or not- in a sense of; simply point, and wait for the blow. With Jungkook however, there never was one, and it confused you how calm and somehow even happy he was. For example, when you pointed at a pretty expensive collar that wasn't your style just to see how he'd react, you didn't know how to react when he smiled. "Ah, let's look for something more delicate, yeah? The price doesn't bother me, but I doubt that heavy chains suit you kitten." He had simply said, and somehow, the petname made your ears turn towards him, making a nearby bunny hybrid and her owner chuckle.

He'd somehow managed to wiggle under your skin in just a day.

Because somehow, every time he looked at you, helped you reach something, or talked to you about what you liked, it felt so genuine. It felt like he really cared.

"Okay, how about.. oh, this one!" He said, pointing at a collar hidden behind glass- one covered in velvet, with a pretty pattern and a silver plate on the front where your name would be. It was expensive; absolutely mind blowing however, but what made your eyes glisten were his words. "There's a jeweler next door, so we can have your name and ID, as well as my emergency information stamped in." Because, until now, you only had the one's where you slide a paper with all needed info underneath a clear cover- it was easier to replace or give back. But, getting it stamped onto such an expensive collar was definitely something that would last- well, forever. "Or- wait, hey hey, whats wrong? If you don't like it we can buy a different one-"

"I love it." You said, and he led you away from all noise, into a more secluded part of the shop, where he squatted down to properly look at you. "I just.. I..it's..-" You began, and somehow he understood, and had this absolutely frustrating smile again, as he helped you wipe your tears a bit less harshly than you did yourself.

"I haven't said it clear enough yet, haven't I?" He asks, voice warm. "I plan on forever, not just for the moment. What I said when you first came into my apartment was directed at you. I hope you'll make my home feel like a home one day. How can I think about giving you away, when I just got you?" He questions, and you shrug. "I know trust isn't something you give away easily, and thats completely fine. I can also Imagine that you're not too sure of things right now, considering where you came from. But I promise you, I really do-" He says, and takes your hands in his. "I'll stay by your side for as long as you let me." He finishes, and you nod after a moment. "Alright? Alright!" He says, and takes your hand to buy the collar, your eyes still sparkling when you later on watch the lady at the jeweler stamp in your name- and his at the bottom.

Maybe this really was permanent.

At the dinner table with all his colleagues, and the infamous cat hybrid Yoongi next to you, you felt less awkward than you thought you would. Yoongi was a huge help, his calm demeanor helping you to stay composed as well, even under the watchful eyes of the rest of the people. Seokjin had been sweet as well, immediately making you feel welcomed. Jungkook never let you out of his sight, and it made you feel save as well.

It felt good.

Yoongi and you conversed here and there, and occasionally, Jungkook or Jimin, Yoongis owner would chime in, which made it feel as if you were always a part of this. You started to smile a bit, converse more openly, all until a waitress came and turned everything upside down.

"Would you like us to escort the pets to a different table, sir?" She asked Seokjin, who you had learned owned the company Jungkook and his coworkers worked for. He cleared his throat, and shook his head; almost an apologetic look in his eyes as he looked at Yoongi, you, and Taehyung- an independent Tiger-Hybrid with working license, he'd told you. He seemed to clench his teeth as to stay quiet, as the waitress left, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind.

"I'm sorry, please continue." Seokjin said, but the reminder of your status made everyone a bit.. uneasy the rest of the night.

"I'm sorry about the waitress, by the way." Jungkook said, as he helped you into your coat, when everyone was leaving. You shook your head, but he held his unsure expression. "No, I really am. It was uncalled for, and I'm genuinely upset that she phrased it like that." He explained, and you smiled.

"It's okay, Master." You said, which made Yoongis and Taehyungs ears shoot towards your direction, as if on instinct. They didn't look, no, they were discreet. But they still wanted to know what would happen next. "She probably didn't know- after all, it's still quite uncommon to keep hybrids as equal partners nowadays. Change comes slow." You said, but Jungkook suddenly seemed even more serious as he placed his hands on your shoulders, as you looked up at him.

"Jungkook." He said, and you leaned your head to the side in question. "Please, don't.. please just call me Jungkook." He explained, and you nodded, unsure why he was so upset by this. He sighed, before he traced your metal nameplate with his thumb for a fracture of a second, smiling again. "Let's go home." He said, and you nodded, walking after him as he lead the way, not noticing the way that Yoongi and Taehyung shared knowing glances at each other.

When Jungkook came home, he didn't know what exactly made him realize at first. Maybe it was the way your shoes were placed where there used to be none, or how the clothing hangers held your coats and scarfs as well now. Maybe it was the scent, or the rug that was placed on the lightwood laminated floor because your feet were always cold- or maybe it was your body on his couch, covered by a thick blanket he'd bought you recently when the winter became colder. No, it wasn't that- it was what came next. Your ears which flicked into his direction from their place ontop of your head, and the words you uttered next. "Welcome home Kookie!" You said, and he smiled.

He simply walked over to the couch, letting himself lean ontop of you as he squeezed himself behind your body on the couch, holding you securely to his chest as you turned around to face him. He looked tired, but happy and you took in his scent, so distinctive you could probably tell his from a million others just after a second. He sighed, before he ran a hand over your back, cold palm warming up slowly. You were both unsure what exactly you two were- but it was clear that this wasn't just an owner-hybrid companionship anymore. No, the way Jungkook looked at you had something in it that you knew only lovers had; which made you feel so comfortable around him, after all.

So it was only natural, in a way, that after a moment or two, or maybe more (you didn't really notice anymore), you two found each other in his bedroom, a place you had spent your nights before as well. But this time there was no sleeping involved, at least not in that moment, as his hands roamed around, lips chasing yours as you mewled underneath him needily. He wished he could record it, but even if he did it would never sound as sweet as it did right now. Everything felt so good he didn't even care about his own noises, as you two began to shed your clothes one piece after another, until there was nothing to cover you anymore.

"You're so sweet, you know that?" He hummed against your neck, as you squirmed underneath his hands, his inked fingers wandering down between your legs, were you were aching for his touch to make you fall apart. "Even right now, with my fucking hand between your legs, you look so cute." He chuckled, while you could only rut into his palm like a touch-starved pet. He was teasing, and in a way you hated it, but somehow you couldn't tell him to hurry. No, you didn't want him to hurry at all, because you were at the point of realization;

"I love you, Koo." You said, and he stopped for a moment, some seconds that made you feel absolutely humiliated, before he groaned, pushing your legs against your stomach.

"You can't drop something like that onto me like this, Kitten." He scolded playfully, with no harm intended. No, he simply took hold of his already leaking length to guide himself into you, making you squeal in delight before you sighed out. "I love you too, I adore you so much, I swear to everything I have.." He said, as he began to move, almost as if he was unable to quite control himself. Technically, you were the one to act like an animal; but instead, it was him nipping at your skin, and growling out curses that sounded way too filthy to be uttered out from those lips.

You loved it.

The way he held you, played you like a well tuned instrument, how he sped up his pace without warning because he knew you could take it. You were his good kitten after all, all his, and he knew you would be good. You were lost in your own little cloud as his hand went between your bodies again, fingers suddenly flicking your nub in a sadistic movement that had you scream without sound- pleasure shooting through your veins so violently you were unsure if it was pain or heaven that you felt.

"Ah- Koo- I-" You pressed out, but he simply moved his hand away, never stopping however. "I can't-" You said, but he pulled out before you could finish, flipping you onto your stomach where he pulled your lower body upwards, entering you again as he teasingly stroked your tail which flopped down to one side to make space and give him a clear view of where you were connected so intimately.

"You can, kitten. And you will." He growled out, noticing how you were slowly clenching again. "I can feel you, greedy kitty." He growled out, pace growing harsher and harsher as the sound of skin against skin got louder and louder. "Come on. Give me one more, yeah?" He said, and you were unable to answer him. "Come on- come on, there we go-" He pressed out, a whining sound leaving his lips as well as he grew more sloppy, more desperate as you came again, your clenching core pushing him over the edge as well as he spilled inside you, before he pulled out, watching almost hypnotized how his cum dripped out of you after a moment.

"I love you." He said, uncaring of how you two probably stained the sheets right now. "I really do." He said, whispered like a promise, as he pulled your body against him, palms still kneading your breasts.

Because if you thought he was done with you, you were very wrong.

I apologize for how short it was, but I only have my phone for now. Sorry if this sucks, it's not my best work, but I didn't want to leave you hanging and without content for this long.. :< Love, Bunny <3

[muffindaddystyles]

Harry Styles x Barista!Reader.

Smut, pain kink and over-stimulation.

Mentions of past trauma and healing!

MASTERLIST, LETS TALK LOVIES!

Author's note: Your reblogs and appreciations means alot to me, token me a smile with your love.

His breath smells of strawberries and coffee, plushie lips dangerously close to her's making her half voracious gaze flicker between his lips and up at Tofu, kiss him kiss him you bloody fool, reeled in her head, "here lemme . . ." He notices her jitteriness fetching the birdy for her. She hiccups with a suck of breath when his knuckles brushed the inside of her palms while giving Tofu to her.

"Oi, Harry budge over you bugger!!" She hisses with sleepy voice but in return he squishes her more.

OR

Y/N has a phobia for needles and Harry's her damsel in distress.

//

Something about bungalows not having stairs makes Y/N's cheeks puffs out in disappointing amazement. The fact she couldn't even climb at the rooftop when the summer sky's ornamented with cosmic stars twinkling with the each buzz of music from inside. She hiccups a giggle when the cool zephyr blew her frock away giving out a glimpse of her itty-bitties, glad no-one's in the diameter to have a show. The discernment falls to nothingness when she hears distinct rustle of someone behind the fat‐very-rooty-tree, it widens her eyes into saucers as she blinks comically.

It's not a squirrel she could tell. Couldn't be Ronny who went to take a wee cause all the darn washrooms inside were occupied and his bladder being the weakest, he went for a bush.

But, that bush's behind her and for a moment she forgot her friend even existed since she muted out his piss taking whistle a while ago.

All her frenzied assumptions fails when two figures camouflaged in the darkness tumbles from behind the tree. Her cheeks splashes with burning crimson when they separate with a loud, wet kissing noise and the two men doesn't seem any shy about it unlike Y/N who's foozling the frill of her dress as if she got caught in the middle of a fuck in public loo. Not that, it everrr happened with her, still she has an example set for such incidents.

"Oh, hi." The warble of unprevious voice wins in gaining her attention and she tries to squint through the pocosin of his eyes which glimmers under moonlight if she glances away too quick, she startles in her spot when a gruff voice speaks over them, "Ronny couldn't even occupy a shot of vodka in his bladder." She couldn't seem to flit her gaze away from his cherry of lips glistening from whatever activities they were having before (the only features she could see in such illumination) as the other guy and Ronny bantered off passing a cig in between them.

"Oi, shut up will ya." Ronny locks his arm with Y/N and she flinches that he hasn't even washed them yet, "c'mon truffles we don't wanna be here." He announces dragging her away and the humid air around them bubbled with chuckles.

"Huh." She quips all lost between the interaction and accidentally bumping into two beautiful men kissing eachother, she's totally jealous! Poor thing tries to jerk the mud from her toes and to have a last glimpse of the man with marble irirses.

"D'ya think I've a chance with that daddy-long- legs-one? Dunno, but he intimidates me so bad." Ronny whispers to her and she frowns sniffing with her already runny nose from being a bit tipsy, it's making her bouncy little by little and she knows the bevvys she had will have a full swing within the night, "why? He seems nice."

"His hotness truffles, it intimidates me." He scrapes his already chipped nail polish after washing his hands from the basin throwing towel at her face, she just sighs putting it back in the rack.

"How about you talk to him first." Parties has teeny perks of them and gigantic disadvantages 1) Ronny gets a school crush at every boy he looks at. 2) They get more sweaty, stinky, gluey and more wilder till the clock hits 4 am. Honestly, even if it wasn't for the free bevys she would have never stepped in.

"That's the hard part." They push people aside like stuffies getting cursed and groped in return.

"He's not gonna know himself, Ron, you dump-stick." Good she doesn't need to yell like before as the music has dimmed to a hum possibly about to shut down within minutes. Halting, beside some people crowded alongside the couch some sitting on it and their confused heads shots up at first at the sound of familiar vibrations.

The worst scenarios of someone having a bullet up in their hole and peeps around having a show passes for a mere sec in their heads, together, that's why they're friends since the first semester of UNI.

But, upon seeing what's the ruckus about Ronny shakes his head in utmost panic, "oh no . ." He tries to escape from her grip but she tugs him from collar, "Please Ronny, swear 'm ready to over come my fear! Nothing's gonna happen to me." They stand beside the guy sheepishly (like two elementary kids deciding who'll step inside the staff room first) a gun perched in his hand and Y/N realizes that he indeed's the same guy she met outside, this time she could see him properly and those hickorey of curls brushing the eternity of his popping clavicles.

His back to them but she could see the flex of his muscles from under the sheer black of his shirt with the each movement he does with his gun, she admits that he got prettier back than her.

"Ey Harry this's my friend Y/N and she wanna overcome her phobia of needles, be a damsel in distress pal." So, they know eachother. The whizz of gun stops midway and he dismisses the drunk dude under him tilting his chin to meet her eyes, and it was worth it as it took tiny gasp from her.

He's way beautiful than he was in the darkness.

Ronny was right. It daunts her a bit. The name Harry itself is some kind of royalty.

"Oh, hi there, again." He greets her with a warm smile and it glitter-glittery her insides, will you please not she scolds herself. It's probably the alchol her subconscious assures her but her nervousness from the idea of really doing this says otherwise.

"Have a seat, love." Oh holy goodness. He's as sober as judge and she at whole is miffed.

//

Harry isn't a popular senior. No. His charm's something that woos everyone and his name's always on the top list of invites, he avoids them though unless it's his closest friend. Him remaining to himself has casted a spell on everyone that his personality's intimidating and he's this sex god who has an only concern with fucking people.

He could be called a nerd from his grades everytime being higher than last semester but his attire and being a shining star of the Christmas tree gives it away.

Everyone likes him, ah-ah no everyone absolutely loves him. The thing's he has never felt the same in his twenty-one years of life and that's a fat bummer.

He just gives that "please stay away from me" aura, brows always sewn together and bottom lip jutted makes him appear rather passive aggressive to strangers (well the people who knows him loves him for being the most chill person walking around them).

Right now, he got a tat gun in his hand and everyone's getting a drunk tattoo for the remembrance of this stupid party or just that they've a kink for pain, possibly for humiliation too because what could a tattoo gotten in an unconscious state could bring you?

"Y'alright there?" He asks her and she bobs her head clamping her hands shut in her lap. The rainbow broch on his loafers intrigues her about his fashion senses, it makes her jealous she can't afford to have her own style, "Yeah!" She avoids to even give a spare glance to the gun in his hand because she knows the moment she'd, it will make her dizzy.

She feels bad for cliff hanging him to herself only but he doesn't seem to mind at all. Waits patiently for her to guard herself as Ronny pats her back like she's about to summo wrestle.

"Want me to start it?" He knows how bad it's for some people. Many times he had an encounter with weak hearted persons who got dragged into his parlour by their friends and ended up running away, "Can you give me a moment?" She lifts her head towards him and it makes his forehead knit into concerned lines.

The poor bug's giving a purple face as if she's about to throw up and her ears pink.

"Take all y'want, darlin'." His gentleness flows over her head, she thinks that the music has died or she has gone deaf, can't be neither, cause no-way that such a sweet call wouldn't make her toes all gooey.

"'M ready!" She puffs out a huge exhale moving her shaking wrist nearer to his grasp and he gives her a comforting look before wrapping his fingers one by one around her delicate wrist, skidding the stool he's been sitting on closer to her, "al'ight truffles 'ere we go — wouldn't hurt promise." He decides to stick with truffles since Ronny calls her with the nickname everytime he's at Harry's. Thought his blabbers of his friend were exaggerated coating of sugar but when she's sitting infront of him with those glinting eyes and soft flesh in which his lanky fingers seems to turn pudgy, he gets it why he calls her that.

He keeps on glancing up at her to see if she's okay — she has her hand placed atop Ronny's thigh while he distracts her with his "let's throw shade at mean bitches together" game and Harry just hovered the nib of it over her skin when she passed out but Ronny quickly placed his palm against her cheek to pull her back towards his shoulder.

"'M good . ." She comes back from it with a weak whsiper-y voice trying to straighten up but the instant her already blurry vision falls at the needle again making a line so small it isn't even visible she passes out again and this time Ronny seems unfazed talking to a girl beside him (trust the lad they've done it multiple times but the pain and fear of needles never let her have a single tattoo inked on her skin), leaving Harry to sweat over her.

Sighing he shuts down the machine putting it aside and presses the back of his hand against her forehead --- to be more appropriate, and when she remains as if in the land of nod completely knackered out and woolly in Ronny's arms he realizes that she has passed out for real.

"Truffles?" He doesn't get a response from her.

//

She puffers out her lips blowing raspberries gazing at the sunny sky from the clear glazed window of the shop, chin resting in the softness of her palm as the cosy hall of it emptied from the rush the time it striked noon. The start of her shift's always effete and warm with honey-bees buzzing over the pots of pastel flowers outside, but the evenings are most tiresome and she has to do the closing in a grumpy mood.

"Can you pass me the icing tube, forgot it under the counter shelf 'cos of that pain in ass customer." He's their regular. Has constant complaints that their tarts are too sugary and they need to thicken the formula for their lattes, Y/N just bobs her head at his tantrums finding a way to shoo him away with a promise of next time, "yeah uhh — " Gripping the edge of marble counter she squats down and giggles at herself as she looks funny with her knees making a tent of her ruffle frock.

The door-bell chimes indicating the presence of someone but she goes for her rampage knowing Cora's there to attend them and she was about to pull her head back when she hit it quite painfully against the upper shelf, "Ow!!" She squeaks rubbing the sore spot stabling herself while Cora chuckled taking the tube from her hand to go inside.

She never expected someone to occur at this hour, moreso, she never expected someone like him to pop out of nowhere at their shop. He just doesn't seem like a person to have a merry making at little cosy cafés all to himself, it's been driving her crazy, she cringes at herself everytime when the humiliation of passing out infront of him invades her thoughts.

Half of her heart wanted to see him again and other half was glad she never bumped in him — but seems like nature was evily against her.

"Oops hi!" When she couldn't fiddle with anything she adjusts her frilly apron and with her wrist brushes her loose tresses away which her bow failed to keep. He blinks for several times sipping in the consequence, though it gives her time to take in his appearance.

He's yet again, wearing a sheer shirt with white flower buds spiraling from his abs towards the broad of his chest displaying his inked skin underneath beautifully — it shimmers every time he shifts on his feet letting the sunlight fall on him. His curls tamed and silkier than before, he groomed himself too good it puts Y/N to shame for being a girl, a careless one.

"You work here?" He asks with a drawl as if he has a all the time to dedicate to her, "nope just broke in to do a fat robbery — wanna join?" He cackles, hard it quelled his tummy and it also made her smile blushy-ly that he didn't find her humour boring.

"Okie . . S' what you'll have?" Brassing the belly of his nose he clears his throat roaming his eyes to catch a perfect spot, "'s okay if'll be waitin' fo' someone there?" He points at the nook aligned with the fuchsia coloured book shelves, wooden pots hanging and embroidered throw pillows piled and some overflowing from the love seats.

"Totally!!" She chirps. The thought of him waiting for a date sinks summat a tiny globe of mud in her stomach and dunno why — She wishes she could've things that other people have without burning themselves in effort unlike her.

She watches him getting comfortable, scrutinising around with curious and adorable big peepers. He'd give her a shy smile everytime he'd catch her staring and she'd just shake her head treating her back to track, that he's on a date, but not with you.

She didn't forgot to ask him if he needs anything putting a glass of water at his coffee table without him requesting, it's perpetually hot and even her throat'd get dry after some minutes. He's been here for two hours and even though the weather cooled down spotting pearly drops of rain, perspiration still beaded at his forehead.

The bustle of on goers kept on dying and she feels bad for him, knowing the end of it, she's been there before many times. Even visualised it at this same shop far more she should thinking the world's kind enough to even let their date know with q single message.

Sensing his timorousness she paddles towards him getting a coconut cookie from the jar, onto the plate and sliding it in his line of vision. He seems flustered — everytime they've interacted she's the one to be not in one place and now he's ripping the threads of his tattered skinny jeans.

"You can munch on this cookie, if you want to!" He looks back and forth between the cookie and her, fuziness spreading in his chest glad at her kindness and enough trust in him to not to kick him out, "Thank you." He grabs it taking a bite and she giggles when in the single one he left no crumbs behind, his mouth's big, shut it already! and so pink so pulpy, oh my goodness I hate youuu!!

"'M sure your friend's on way, it's rainy, might —" He cuts her off with a dissapointed spurt of breath, "dunno." He sulks into sofa folding the corner of book's page.

"You still've an hour till the cáfe closes, don't loose hope!" She pats his shoulder and he gives her a weak smile doing that bunny scrunch of his nose, combing his already wrecked hair and thanks her for the next thousand time.

//

Harry had worst dates. This seems to top them. To be honest because of Y/N being here. What will she think? What if she thinks it's his fault? That he's a broken dummy who nobody wants to date? He wants to grumble and call his date to end things but he waits patiently as the sky turned lilacs of night.

Y/N feels remorseful and angry at the person who stood him up this pathetically. With a sad sigh she turns the closed sign to display outward silently looking at him while he's in his own trance, she disappears into the kitchen and Cora gives her a knowing eye.

"Not believing in love's my greatest descion up till far. It's impossibly hard out there." She retorts. Placing a hot chicken steak atop the alfredo pasta and sprinkles parsiman making it appetizing, "Tell him to better end things with a pig like them." She says in all seriousness handing the tray to Y/N.

He's there. Gazing outside with lips pressed into a thin line and he seems down with his loose errand of curls tucked into a man bun now, a perfect hairdo outta frustration "Harry." She keeps her voice low not to startle him gaining his attention.

"You didn't have to." He shakes his head and she made a noise un-recognized by him putting the tray on the table and moves the ottoman with her feet closer to him sitting on it, "let's be eachother's date for a day." She hands him a fork and he accepts gladly. His sulkiness wooshing away when she digs in taking a bite and smearing the sauce all over her lips.

"If you don't mind me asking, is it the same behind-the-tree guy?" He nods. She frowns spitting grumpily, "what a prat." With the help of knife she tears the steak equally sliding it to his side and he smiles boyishly sucking the corner of his lip inside.

"'M sorry, Harry." She squeezes his knee and it bundles up the air in his lungs, "'s okay truffles — glad you were there fo' a rescue."

"Y/N." She tells him forwarding her hand to shake and he slips his calloused ones to envelop her warmth. His cheeks turns pink when his stomach made noises of starvation, "you need to eat c'mon!" She nudges his elbow and he obliges.

After, filling their tummies satisfied and full she hands him a cuppa of latte with a foamy sleeping kitty floating over it she even made two eyes and the uwu kitty smile with the cocoa powder, "pardon me if it seems like I murdered the poor thing . . . 'm still learning from Cora." His giggles were absolutely amazed and gleeful.

"It looks so good, I don't feel like stirin' it." He pats the bum of steamed floffy kitty with the curve of his tea spoon and it makes her giggle some. Relishing onto strawberry pastries and crumpets oozed into butter, sipping onto their lattes, watching the sky turning dark with the rain while Cora left them hours ago to themselves.

She puts a velvet cloak around herself after closing the shop and Harry waits for her as she takes her bicycle, "Thank ye' Y/N. 'S kind of you." He stirs his gaze from his shoes to her face smiling brightly at her and she waves him off with blushy cheeks, they walk along under the shelters of sideways shops avoiding to get soaked while she holds the steering of her bicycle.

"You can lounge at my place, till the rain stops." When he shakes his head she quips turning into the street, "I insist." They stop infront of the old white sculptured building having two floors in total.

The first thing she does entering into her flat's greet Tofu (it's a Bush-tit a white furball with two curious tich button eyes) leaving Harry to get out of his shoes and slip into her house ones (they barely fits him -- making him chuckle at the size difference).

His eyes giving a beautiful glimmer under the glow of the yellow light as he looks around the space, it's simple, with a bedding on wooden floor, a circle shelf against the window lined up with green plants, a desk opposite to it and a golden standing cage of her pet bird.

"Hi bubba missed me much?" She opens the cage to let it out and the chonky white bird sits on her fingers happily, "Harry meet Tofu." His lips curve upward at the lil thing as he caress it's fluffy head.

"Tofu looks like a snowball." He muses with bambi eyes and she agrees with excitement, "Sometimes I wanna squish him, cause he's just too cute." His eyes widens comically laughing softly at her statement.

"Evil thought said out aloud with cuteness still remains evil, love." Tofu hoped over Harry's finger and he takes him towards his shoulder making it sit there but he has another plans, to rest his furry bum over Harry's head making both of them giggle, "c'mon now birdy time to fill your tummy." She tip-toes to catch him in her palms and knocks her nose with Harry's in the way.

His breath smells of strawberries and coffee, plushie lips dangerously close to her's making her half voracious gaze flicker between his lips and up at Tofu, kiss him kiss him you bloody fool, reeled in her head, "here lemme . . ." He notices her jitteriness fetching the birdy for her. She hiccups with a suck of breath when his knuckles brushed the inside of her palms while giving Tofu to her.

"Make yourself home!" She announces going to feed her pet and Harry flops onto her bed quite comfortably with his sweny legs stretched wide over the floor. They watched episodes of 'Bridgeton' wounded under her blankets and she almost fell asleep when he offered her genuinely.

"I'll help ye' have a tattoo, tiny atleast."

"Means alot to me." She yawns pondering with lug brain whether to snuggle into him or not, she did anyways. In the morning she was woken up by cold sheets and beeps of messages from Harry that made her feel she endured wings of fairy and she's bathing in the glitter of happiness.

//

She stares at the shop infront of her in amazement. It's friday night. She winded up all her assignments and came to this place exactly how it was mentioned in the address, when she enters inside spare teens and a bulky man was waiting outside the office thing-y . . .? Y/N presumes — an assistant chewing loudly on her gum talking onto phone with someone in hushed bratty tone and when Y/N knocks at the counter her piercing stare startles her a bit.

"Yes?" How rude! Y/N thinks with a pouty lip at her striking tone and she clears her throat, "'m here to meet . . . Harry." The snarky assistant rolls her eyes dismissing Y/N quickly to move back to her lazying, "He's busy." Y/N picks her finger to interject murmuring something under her breath and strolls back to wait with everyone.

Sun sets outside shimmering evening pink inside the lobby and the door atlast opens making her head perk up, "pet?" He looks sternly to his assistant but she doesn't seem fazed.

"Harry." Y/N grins, "Fo' how long you've been here?" She feels good someone's caring for her even though it's just for the fact she waited some hours for him, "doesn't matter can 've a tour?" He nods and the bratty assistant eyes him furiously taking Y/N's hand to lead her.

Harry watches her with dimply smile when she babbles at the details of his working station, "do I sit here?" She asks excitedly and he shakes his head, "yes, you may." They scrutinise through his sketches of designs together and she squeezes his wrist.

"Harry you're so talented! Look at 'em." He never felt this flustered with the compliments before button nose scrunching adorably. She chooses a a small plain jamsine flower nothing more, nothing less watching collect things for the process, "it's one of me mama's favourite." He exclaims rather proud snapping the latex gloves round his wrist.

"Where d'ya want it?"

"Where it hurts less." She replies wiping the sweat away with her frock, "it's outer shoulder, yer arm, calves and arse — " His mischievous grin awfully stretchy and she she slaps his bicep playfully.

"Outer shoulder?" She tells him confused to herself. He agrees strolling his stool near to her as she turns her back to him; his fingertips twitches when he pushes her hair to the side.

"Can you uh . . mm." She groans trying to reach for the zipper of her frock and he smoothes down his erratic heartbeat muttering, "yeah sure." She digs her nails into the delicate flesh of her palms when his calloused cold knuckles brushed deliberately against her skin while skimming the zip down slowly. Her eyelids flutter like butterfly wings when he slides her sleeve down her arm revealing her shoulder and it's so supple that Harry had to come back from his reverie; lick his lips to moisture.

He applies the numbing cream and she hisses softly the leather of seat sticking to her calves, her nerves jumbles and body startles when Harry starts the gun without warning her.

He loops his arm around her waist atop her thigh massaging it assuringly — sure it did nothing but to make her core throb insatiably as his rasp melted in her ears, "you're okay puppy." She gulps saying no word feeling her body getting hot at the each stroke of his thumb over her waist line.

"Ah -- Harry." She gasps out of air grasping his hand tightly at the sting of pain. She's baffled at the reactions of her body, her panties getting wet and the displeasing constant pricking of needle quenching out noises she never thought she was able to give out. When she whines and squirms Harry presses her down with force shushing her, "bug just a mo' it's smaller and would be done in seconds." She kisses her teeth bobbing her head vigorously and Harry chuckles at her effort remaining polite.

"Done!" He announces pulling away to admire it and when he hears the lil sniffles he quickly leaves everything sitting infront of her on the seat, "darlin' don't like it when ye' cry." He wipes her tears away not even glancing at her exposed collarbones and the plump flesh of her tits barely covered with her arm.

Soft and squishy, soft and squishy, soft and squishyyyyy.

His mind screams but her whimpery voice distracts him, "'m just gleeful that I've a tattoo because of you." He wraps it up expertly and zips her dress back with ever gentleness, "happy tears then?" She giggles with a grateful nod.

"Want a hug?" He thinks she deserves one for being brave and nice against her fear, "cuddle me up." She murmurs with swollen eyes and peachy cheeks. Uff — it stirs his cock in his jeans arousing the need to be with her everytime.

He rests his chin mushily into the crook of her neck swarming his arms around her waist to squeeze her warmly and she snuggles against his throat, damp lips puckering against his adam apple making it bob.

He feels jammy to be able to have a moment like this with her.

"Chinese takeout?" He collects his sketch journals, his phone, fedora apparently, keys of his motorbike and a spare helmet for her, "Yes please!"

//

They ate the take out perched against his bike with the meadow vast laying feet aways from them, under the breezy sky they conversed and Harry already got a tender spot for her in his heart. He never reaches to a stage where he could get to know someone with this passion and Y/N isn't from someone who'd guard herself from him just because his father was in the bad business.

As the evening brisked with cool dew of summer grass Harry leaned into her more and more.

He finds her little things infatuating, her bonding with Tofu and her dire wish to make good bum steamed kitties on the lattes, she has an irrefutable love for floral dresses and her homely habbit is doing ribbon work.

She got to know that Harry owns the tattoo shop, teaches few blokes the skill of it in free hours. He'ad attended lots of parties raving ones and the boring ones of higher socials, never lets any stranger step inside his loft which's situated upstairs of his shop. His father does all the criminaly things, he's this master mind in doing the evil things for people from getting money out of their enemies yada yada and Harry despises him for it, moreso, that he left them. He doesn't want to be associated with him in any case — he's none like him, he's kind and soft-hearted like his mother.

Y/N loves his goofy side. The one that cracks jokes and puns -- makes her fall in love with him without her even trying.

Last and foremost he has the render love for sheer shirts — told her he has shimmery ones for the fancying off.

"S'm no stranger then." She quips beside his shoulder as Harry unlocked his home's door. He glances her timidly amicably hovering over her lips, "absolutely not, yeh me bezzy." He raises his fist and she bumps it giggling.

//

Y/N that night sleeping on his bed dreamt of them laying together into the pillows of growing daffodils of meadow, lining up the stars in the sky and tell each other what they made ----- galloping rabbit, a slipping cake and she'd laugh with ugly snorts when Harry tells her that he sees a massive dick.

His grin proud and mellow to make his bezzy laugh. She squeaks when he pulls her onto him but soon her dreamboat sinks as she stirs at the warmth swallowing her whole.

She startes from her blurrines at something trapping her down till she recognizes the familiarity of two mascular arms sewn around her waist and what the fuck?

Harry made a makeshift pallet on the floor and right now she's all over him, pressed tightly against his chest — her cheeks turns red with embarrassment from being this clumsy and falling over him in her sleep.

"Oi, Harry budge over you bugger!!" She hisses with sleepy voice but in return he squishes her more.

Taking her face out of his neck she admires the softness of his features when he's asleep and the dotting of beautiful moles, sighing a huge relaxed puff of breath and canoodles into him like an affection starved kitty.

//

It's another cool rainy day and Y/N keeps on swabbing the droplets of water off from her eyes with her elbow trying to paddle her bicycle. She was on her way to Harry's when the skies betrayed her. Standing on his doormat she soaks it completely waiting for him to answer the door, sad, that her gift was ruined too.

"Lovin' ye'll catch a cold – shit come inside." Concerned he ushers her inside his loft, halts in his tracks when she remains behind adoring a gruffy pout, "what is it?" He asks walking to her and cups her cheeks the instant.

"Embroidered ye' a shirt 's destroyed now." She raises it to show him and he stares it for good seconds before swiping her off the floor – hugging her to radiate the sentiment of endearment he carries for her in his heart. It bloats her cheeks pressed against his clavicles and her feet dangles as he sways them with a happy noise of favourite melody she's unfamiliar with, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." He kisses her temple and it lingers at the tip of his tongue.

I could kiss you right fuckin' now, pet.

"Harry you got wet too, dummy!!"

"Oops, guess we both have to change now."

Harry already set mixers for her on the luke points so that she wouldn't have to pull out her hair just to take a shower (his shower's quite complicated) leaves his shirt and boxers for her on his bedside, putting the lilac sheer shirt she embroidered for him in the dryer.

When she comes outside with trippy hair he already has two glasses of wine filled and windows closed to keep her warm.

She isn't a wine person. She was never able to afford it and it never settled with her tummy (she shares too much and feels bubbly with the rose coloured bevvy). Harry's gaze rakes from floor to her ankles snapping directly to her face and it's just snoggles his heart with fondness, seeing her drooled in one of his shirts.

"Need ya not to worry ye'r gift is good as before." He assures her and she flops onto the sofa beside him, "Thank you Y/N." He says genuinely and she waves him with small smile, "hush you."

They drink in silence, then soon it rośed their cheeks and noses making them giggly and floaty. A bottle gone in just a span of a time. She rumbles her lips stretching out, the twinkle of her belly showing and he does the same, eyeing him she slides down on the floor perching her elbow over the coffee table and YET AGAIN HE FOLLLOWS HER ACTIONS.

"Are you mimicking me?" She squints at him and he squints back, "are ye' mimickin' meh?" She smacks his bicep playfully and when he does the same though the force of it lighter than her's adoring mischievous grin making her squeal with chuckles, "Harry!"

He quips back in equal girlish pitch, "Harry!" blinking peepers up at her softly — to test her fates, the recipe of her drunken state and her heart bursting with affection for him she jests at him.

"I like you and might be falling in love with you." She says without holding back a breath and his eyes widen in an animated way chin slipping from his palm, "You what?" He's in utter shock. He has never come across the words she just said with so much delicacy and sincerity — it boggles him to an extent his tongue got tied.

"Say it back now, huh?" She smirks at him shaking from inside counting on to get rejected and ridiculed. Upset at herself more than him at his lack of response, clearing her throat she whispers.

"So — " But, her apology strucks in her throat when he pulls her to himslef with a gentle grip to her elbow. Grabs her jaw tenderly and with the ardent boldness smushes his lips against her's to seal his affinity for her in a kiss that's so soft it melts her inside. His hands brews at her sides and glides up to their destination, to cup her cheeks and deepen the kiss while billowing her in his lap comfortably. He devours the plumness of her lips, tracing the curve of her bottom one with his warm tongue and kisses the corner of her lips again and again making her puff out air from her nostrils.

He has kissed people and it was always to lead something to satisfy the cavity of loneliness, but this, this already feels like home sitting infront of the Autunm fire eating cookies and drinking milk. She feels like the mold he's meant to melt into and explore every ridge of it.

She doesn't not know what's filthier the string of spit that's connecting them or his raspberry lips that she could kiss and kiss for forever, he doesn't stop there pecks her several times with lil smooches, "You're really good at it." She winds her arms tight around the nape of his neck murmuring against him (she wants to make him feel appreciated), his cock chubbing up in his trousers and it lulls her head against his cheek upon feeling it. The thought of having him hard for her boasts the genitilty in herself and she kisses his smiling mouth.

"Wanna make ye' feel good." He presses his lips back against her's with more passion than before and tips her chin with his thumb to stamp lil pecks down her throat feeling his lips tingling to kiss her again, it's way better than he envisioned. Her softness could swallow him and the thought makes his hips stutter imagining his hard prick sucked inside her swelled up walls. His large calloused hands meander down her bottom taking the ripeness of it in a bunch of squeeze.

"On the bed." He pats her bum pinching it playfully and she squeaks obliging him giggles when she bounces over the bed. Him crawling behind her as lion ready to feast over a hare.

Leaning against the head of the bed he lays her between his wide spread legs, her back against his chest and their fronts facing the tall framed mirror infront of them.

"Comfy?" She bobs her head gulping cause no one has ever cared what'll be consuming for her and what not, "I want ye' to look in the mirror sweet girl, at us." He rasps in her ear stroking the hilt of her jaw in continuous circles and when she hums fluttering her eyelids, arching her back at the throb of her pussy and his dirtiness making her slick down to her bum he glides his thumb inside her mouth telling her to, "get 'em proper wet for me." She does coating his thumb with her saliva and flicking her tongue over it many time while he glazes his palms over her ribs, under the crescent of her tits shirt pulled to her collarbones.

She gags around his digit when he took her perky nipple in between his middle and index pulling it then kneads it with a kiss to her earlobe getting her out of his boxers telling her, "enough, pet." When she doesn't listen to him and kept on sucking thinking of his cock in her mouth he gruffs splitting her thighs apart and pressing the soles of her feet tightly against the mattress with his own ankles, "I said enough." Shushing her hungry kitten whimpers he trails his wet thumb down her fallen lip and chin, popping her shirt open and rims it around her areola, "s' soft wanna rub me cock between 'em tits." The shiver that hits her makes her squirm and Harry gives a chaste kiss to her open mouth putting his thumb at her entrance ready to play with her cunt.

"Your eyes open 'em fo' me, puppy." He ducks down to kiss her not letting her turn around himself so that her neck doesn't strain while caressing his fingers up and down in her slickness making soapy noises on purpose, when she finally looks in the mirror locking eyes with him as if he's holding the most precious gem in his arms — the sight turned her spine into a sharp arrow, "c - ca-can I've more?" She gasps squeezing his bicep pussy lips fluttering and her hole palpitates aching for him.

"My polite girl." He smiles awfully fonded at her and she nods licking her lips to speak, "'m good, good always." He pushes his two fingers inside her cunt and she moans with her whole will trying to sink herself to his knuckles nails digging into his shoulders, "I know ye'r." He assures her sliding them out and teasing her little pink asshole turning her into a whining mess.

She twitches around his fingers when he pumps them back along with her sticky wetness and fucks her with them, flickering her clit with his other hand and kneads the inside of her fleshy thigh. She gives out a gaspy moan of unbearable pleasure when his cock's stiffeness rubs between her asscheeks, "ye' feel it? S' fo' you, gonna stuff yeh full of me cock, fuck you nice n' warm and cum all over yer pussy. How you deserved to be fucked, is that okay?" She never expected him this much of a lewd talker — hell she didn't even expected him to step out of his conserved, rather shy demeanour, "yes, yes, yes." She visioned him as a curt dom, who's more into BDSM but he's warm and caring with her. Just in few second of them doing it he proved it how much he's loving to please her.

"Ah! 'm gonna cum . . . gonna —" His sweet vulgar words combined with him toying, rubbing and fingereing her already swollen pussy tips her to the edge she was desiring to get from him, "cum all over me fingers. Want it s' bad from ye darlin', to see you." He says in a tone that's on the verge of pleading but holds a commanding hint under it and with her bones all stiffing, her skin burning and heart buzzing she snaps into her own dreamy world gushing over his fingers with her juices.

"Oh . . Harry." She loudly mewls thrashing in his arms from the intensity of her orgasm and he holds her tight with his arms wrapped around her torso, kisses to the curve of her neck and exposed collarbones. He notices her stiring away from his hand due to sensitivity and takes out his fingers with a squelching popping noise that made her blink from her semblance. Her chest heaves as she watches him in the mirror licking her cum off his wrists with the tip of his pink tongue, "mhm tastes s' sweet." One by one he sucks his finger humming around them seductively spiking her insides yearing to be fucked by him, "just like you sweet puppy."

Gently laying her down he knees infront of her getting out of his flimsy shirt and Y/N admires the flounce of tattoos trailing from his pecks down his adorable love handles. Her gaze stops at the his happy trail leading down to where he's swelled up against his zipper and she hasn't seen someone so beautiful in her entire life, he shimmies his joggers down teasingly with a smirk and she whines hiccuping when his cock slaps against his lower abdomen making her eyes go wide.

"Oh my . . " She gasps at the gorgeous sight of his rock-hard cock between his supple thighs. He's beautifully big, satiny and a dot of shade lighter than his lips making his prick so kissable, would it even fit?? She could already imagine it stretching her out gracefully and stimulating her in ways her fingers could never, "you're so gorgeous button."

The shiny swollen tip, and the dollop of pre-come weeping down his slit alluring her to have him in her mouth but he strokes it not to waste it.

"What's the pout fo' darlin'?" He asks as she stares it making him all shy but he overcomes it persistent to make her feel good (she shared with him that she never knew what being cared feels like) he wanna gives her all lovin' as she did to him the day in cafe. Cups the nape of her neck to bring her for another kiss splitting his thumb into her hair and the moment is so vulnerable and saccharine as he snogs her to floatiness, "will make sure it fits — make you cum many times, baby." He flips her gently.

"On ye tummy fo' me, like an atta pup ye're." It knots her stomach into ropes and she jolts squealing softly into pillows when he smacked her peach watching it jiggle while tugging at his prick to coat it with his thick wetness.

He moans biting his lower lip lulling his head over his shoulders stroking the head of his cock between her asscheeks and round her entrance not pushing at once torching both of them, "you're so delicate wanna be slow with you." He whispers to her pressing his front against her shoulders while wrapping his hand around his shaft to push inside her.

"It's okay!" Her tiny squeaks rolls into a moan when the head of his cock settles inside her and when she twitches around it he cruffs a groan coaxing her sides, "shhh baby 's okay relax fo'me." Taking his hand away from around himself he places it atop her ass withdrawing and looking down to see her cunt glistening with his and her's wetness — then bottoming out deep inside her till his balls are snug against her bum. His stomach twists with pleasure at the warmth that blankets his cock completely making him hunch but he recoups with his arms pressed beside her temple.

The stretch that burns through her core's so pleasing and fulfilling. It hurts in a good way. She knows how patient and composed he's being for her, from the way he fattens tucked inside her walls and he slides his hand between her front and the sheets to caress her soft breasts moving with rough pace.

"Don't stop, please." She recites the mantra almost crushing his fingers with her grip around, it's alot, the constant rub of sheet against her clit and him driving inside her from behind with moans sexier than in erotic audio books. He draws loose circles over her mound making her thighs spread wider with the inability to hold them as he pinched her clit coercion her sensitive button, "oh my god . ." With the whimpers of his name she squirts around his cock and it makes her throw her hips at him.

When he pulls out to turn her on back she whines with a frown, heaving chest and coral cheeks looking totally fucked already, "wanna see ye'r face when you come . . . s' beautiful." He hisses hauling her legs around his waist lowering himself down to enter her with lil smooches to her cheeks, "cum again fo' me baby — yeah just like that squeeze on meh." He pounds her over and over grinding his pelvis against her's to stimulate her in every way.

Feeling the heat crackling in her bones and tummy she takes him by shoulders to cuddle him closer to her chest raising her hips to meet his's, a crying mess, with glossiness twinkling at the corners of her eyes as she comes with euphoria dawning upon her and Harry works her up again.

"Once more, love, i know you've one more fo' me." He gives out a purry groan biting her throat and the valley of her chest, snuggling against it with kisses — when she shakes her head through around him he lines up his nose against her nose petal–ling his lips over her's, "yes you could puppy my sweet — " His eyelids bolting shut at the built of up of his own release and the moment she cums with his cock now he shoots his thick spurt deep inside her.

"This's what it only took fo' you? Callin' ye mere sweet names." He fucks her through it and Y/N admits that he went with his promise --- fucked her like she had never before, they remain like that for some time catching their breaths and then he pulls out of her gently and pumps himself to empty his load shooting it over her pussy and abdomen, "you came so much." She says completely baffled and he steals a chaste kiss from her looking at the white ribbons sticking to her skin.

"Just for you, babyhun."

He tells her not to move and whisks away coming back with a pack of baby wipes. Her hearts swirls with so much fondness for him when he pats the wipes between his palms to get them less cold and shushes her with pecks when she hisses with sensitivity.

They take another shower, this time together and it's not sexual at all though alot of tired poofy kisses and cute yawns were included as they gave eachother shampoo massages and she'd cooe everytime untangling his long hickorey curl.

They changed the sheets (unapologetically very clumsily) and he fetches a glass of water for her making it drink her.

When they were cuddled awfully good he lifts his head up from it was nuzzled between her titties. His accent drawly and slippery from tiredness, "Y/N." He checks if she's asleep and she hums in response starting to play with his hair lazily.

"That day when me date didn't show up?" Witha half heart she hums again, she doesn't like to talk bout that day, because the hopelessness that conquered him that evening still makes her sad.

"I was glad ye' were there 'n 'm so so so thankful that he didn't show up. Else we wouldn't be here in eachother's embrace 'n me heart still'd been mournful to sleep in cold sheets waiting fo' me person." It's the most he has talked in his soberness. It wells up tears in both of their eyes.

"You're my person." She cradles his face hating it that he was kept so love starved his entire life and she gazes him dearly, sweetly, affectionately all the words that could describe love for someone spilling out of the chambers of heart.

"I want to love you so much, pet, make you me most treasured human hershey."

"I'm in, cuddle me up." He grins smauching a loud kiss to her lips and cosying back to his previous spot purring like a kitten thrown into heaps of fluffy blankets.

[jadelynlace]

Hvitserk’s First Tattoo / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!reader]

catch up on the porno, I mean series, here.

requested by: @quantumlocked310 ♡

author’s note: thanks to this post, you’ll all be subjected to the written requests. here is the visual reference for the tattoo Hvitserk gets (image isn’t mine and all credit goes to it’s original owner). mentions of brotherly bickering, Hvitserk being scared and Ivar tattooing.

synopsis: You finally talk Hvitserk into getting some ink.

✎

“Did I miss it?” You say, nearly falling in through the main door of the shop. “I almost took the ambulance over here just because it has lights and sirens,” Hvitserk offers you an estranged look, one mixed with him being mortified and slightly impressed with your timing after the over night shift.

“I’ve never seen you this excited,” Sigurd calls from his spot, pulling a record from the shelf as he goes about lining it up, pulling the needle over so the music can fill the room.

“She doesn’t even get this excited when she sees my dick,” Ivar teases from his spot and you offer him a less than kind finger gesture. 

“Can you blame me?” You remark back and Ivar only returns your original hand motion. “Did you pick yet?” You the ask as Hvitserk studies Ivar’s portfolio, as if he will be quizzed on it at the end of the session.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” He groans, another turn of the laminated pages.

“All of our best talks happen when it’s in the ambulance cabin at four in the morning,” You laugh, patting his back as you round the small counter. Ivar’s hands are quick to seat you on his lap, wrapping around you almost instantly and you both breathe in relief.

“Long night?” Ivar asks softly in your ear.

“Routine bullshit,” You grumble back, his hands tracing up your back and you could almost fall asleep in the very spot. One hand leaves your spine, reaching along the counter to grasp the tall can of his energy drink, offering it to you but you only shake your head. “That crap tastes like cough syrup,” You add as Ivar downs another gulp.

“Hurry up Hvitserk, we’re here after hours for this,” Ivar calls before he pulls the can back to his mouth.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to pop your cherry,” You say and Ivar looses some of the energy drink through a spray from his lips.

“You can get her name on your ass,” Sigurd says, walking past Hvitserk and tapping his uniform clad back. 

“Why? So Ivar and I can match?” Hvitserk grumbles back and you laugh against Ivar’s chest. 

“How do they know about that?” Ivar asks you quietly, through a teasing voice and you raise slightly, giggling against his mouth as your catch his lips with yours.

“Oh, for fucks sake—Hvitserk here, do that one,” Sigurd says, tapping his fingers against the page. “Paramedic Ragnarsson gets an anatomical tattoo,” 

“Nice choice,” Ivar hums, standing to his full height with you latched still around him and he sets you to sit along the counter.

“Is it nap time for the baby?” Sigurd says, voice taking on a toddler’s tone as he sits back at the front desk, and at the receiving end of the pen that flies from Ivar’s grasp. Leather combat boots stalk along the dark wooden floors, pulling the design from its laminated home before Ivar sends the image through the printer in the far corner. Your eyes catch sight of his back, the muscles in his biceps, the veins on his forearms as he programs the machine to spit out the stencil. Looming your eyes up the gray fabric of the old band tee, over the locks that he’s starting to comb into a bun, and then down the dark wash jeans and over how they end in the tops of his shoes. More thoughts swirl about how you couldn’t wait to undress him when you two would go to your apartment.

As Hvitserk makes himself comfortable in the black leather chair, he rolls up the uniform sleeve, a quick unbutton and folding of the blue material, already deciding on where he deemed the appropriate placement. The curl of his sleeve stops above his elbow and you could see the faint burn mark on his wrist from when he tried to eat a marshmallow that was still on fire. You watched Ivar position himself at his station, a meticulous arrangement of his tools, setting everything in a straight line to connect. There was a squirt of the ink into the containers, a pull of gloves onto his hands, wiggling his fingers into their spots and cracking his knuckles. You bit down on your own tongue to stop that moan that tried so hard to escape. Taking the razor to shave off the blond fuzz, he gingerly laid the stencil on his brother’s inner arm, pressing it gently before pulling it back.

“Double check in the mirror that you like the placement,” Ivar says, tossing his head towards the back wall with the mirror surrounded by an intense wooded frame Floki had built. Hvitserk stands, and you see the slight tremor in his hands, never a fan of any sort of pain—intentional or not. You’ve seen this man cry at the sensation of a paper cut, and all but sob when he jerked his shin against the metal grate on the ambulance’s bumper. But, he was also the man who would tell the patients that it was going to hurt—the realignment, or when he set up the hare for an isolated femur fracture—it was going to hurt and they had his full permission to break his hand if need be. You laugh every time there’s an active labor call, and Hvitserk reassures the mother that he has two hands, and if she needs to break one to push her child out, he’s willing to suffer. It calms the hysteria, even on the worst calls you two had walked into, Hvitserk always knew how to calm any of the demons that danced in the ambulance. Ivar turns to you as Hvitserk gazes, probably far longer than other client has to date, and slides himself over to where you’re perched. There’s a removal of one glove, an index finger and thumb on your chin as he kisses you once, twice, and third time. 

“I already know what I want to eat for dinner,” He whispers against your ear, just loudly enough so you’re the only one to hear his words. “But make sure you leave the polo on, baby girl,” He adds, kissing your temple and nudging the badge that’s on your chest, as a slow blush roses over your cheeks while he turns back around. “Alright brother, ready?” He calls, tapping the seat of the chair and Hvitserk takes a final look before plopping both himself down and his arm against the cushion. 

“Is it going to hurt?” Hvitserk asks, trying to bite the smile he’s showing while both Ivar and Sigurd are preparing to throw whatever they can reach. “I’m sorry I couldn’t resist,” Ivar offers him another lethal glare, nearly plucking the smile from his lips as he begins to spread a thin layer of the ointment across the purple ink. There’s a buzz from the needle gun and Hvitserk whimpers not unlike a puppy. Ivar’s glove-clad fingers stretch to pull the skin taunt, taking the gun down the first line and wiping it with a paper towel.

“Still alright, sir?” You say to Hvitserk as if he’s a patient in your ambulance and you’re watching an IV start. 

“Can you hold my hand?” He whines in a faked voice of concern.

“No,” You say back and there’s a snicker from Sigurd on the far side of the shop. The room dulls to only the noise of the record, the vibration of the needle and you watch Ivar so effortlessly in his element. Eyes watching, concentrating on what he’s doing yet singing lowly to the lyrics of the song that floods your ears alike. He rolls his chair slightly, maneuvering Hvitserk’s arm to his liking as he holds it down with his own. Strength unmatched because his least favorite thing is when the client fidgets, since it sends his work to become sloppy, and he’s grown accustomed to a way to hold the body part down to his liking. And that sight makes you think about him over you, body weight pressing against you like a weighted blanket, one with a smart mouth and curved lip who melts at the sheer stroke of your nails on his skin. Your thoughts rolls from the shift you worked prior, reanalyzing what you had done, gone through, pulling it to part like thread. They roll like waves but crash with thoughts of Ivar, his small comment earlier and then they shift. From work to pleasure and you’re squeezing your thighs before you realize it. Ivar’s voice comes through your ears to halt the dissection, and you move your head to see Hvitserk admiring the piece now forever on his skin and you smile back. Another layer of ointment and then it’s wrapped tightly with Ivar’s instructions to leave it on for an hour. 

“See? No need to be a little baby about it,” You tease him and he laughs.

“That’s his default setting,” Sigurd’s voice calls as he stands up. “Ivar you’re closing up tonight, right?” And Ivar just nods. “I will see your smiling face tomorrow morning then,” He adds sarcastically, and with a wave and check of his pockets he’s out the shops front door.

“Wasn’t as terrible as I thought,” Hvitserk jokes. “Maybe I will get your name on my ass after all,” You offer him a faked smile and forged laugh. “I’m going to head out too, I got the over time for tomorrow,” And he’s gone with a salute through his hand and the hundred dollar bill on the desk, leaving you and Ivar alone in the shop.

“I like seeing you in here,” You say softly as you watch him clear his materials, place everything in their homes and he smiles while he works. “You’re so relaxed,”

“I can say the same thing when I see you in that ambulance, baby,” He replies as he casts a look back to you and then he’s standing, arm grabbing you to come into his side. “Now let’s get going, I’m really looking forward to my dinner…”

Ink Drinker Tags:

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full masterlist can be found here.

[uschickens]

In re: the current Follicular Situation (and oh, to be back in a fandom that has haircut drama!) -

Maybe what had happened was Wu Xie ran into some sort of unidentified Tomb Gloop headfirst, so naturally he had to get his head shorn like a sheep. He hates it; his ears look enormous. Pangzi won’t stop laughing, and Xiaoge looks vaguely nostalgic for when they first met. Liu Sang is gobsmacked at how young he looks.

And then he’s out with Hei Yanjing, and he loses his coat, so he ends up borrowing one of Hei Yanjing’s leather jackets. He shows up at home looking something like this:

And suddenly the haircut seems a lot less funny.

(Yes, that is the Rebel haircut, not the current one, but I feel it’s always worthwhile to be reminded that Z1L has the bone structure to pull off otherwise-patently ridiculous haircuts.)

(Though is it me, or are parts of the sides shaved closer than a center stripe down the middle and back?

Can I at least console myself with the thought of punk!Z1L or punk!WX?

I mean, Wu Xie studied abroad in Germany in the late 90s/early 2000s; it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that he spent more than one night at some underground electronica club in Kreuzberg in Berlin, stumbling out at nine am on a Thursday morning to get döner from that little spot underneath the u bahn station, intertwined with a not-quite-a-boyfriend in leather and too much eyeliner, a boy who looks tough but has a hidden streak of sweetness, who takes Wu Xie back to his squat just off Alexanderplatz, where they make out lazily, and one afternoon when the generator is actually working, Wu Xie hooks up the clippers and tidies up his young man’s fade, trying and laughingly failing to cut interesting shapes into the short hair, and the not-a-boyfriend has to resort to tackling him back to the mattress and kissing him until he relinquishes the clippers, threatening him with the same treatment, and maybe Wu Xie gets a thoughtful look on his face and asks this boy to go ahead, to buzz down the sides of his head, leaving his floppy hair long in a stripe down the center of his head, and after they nap again and wake ready to head back out to the clubs, this boy scoops out a little of his good hair gel, the kind he pocketed in one of the nicer stores, rubs his fingers together, and spikes Wu Xie’s still-long hair straight up reaching for the sky.

Maybe one night they end up half-covered in colored hair spray, trying to make it red or green. Maybe Wu Xie’s hair refuses to stay spiked after the first half hour of dancing, gel melting with the heat of so many bodies packed into such a small space, writhing with the throb of music. Maybe Wu Xie has a strong sense of nostalgia for the smell of cigarettes and stale beer and hair gel and smoke machines. Maybe he feels too old to go to a club like that any more, but maybe one night he digs out the hair gel and colored spray and spikes Xiaoge’s hair and gives Liu Sang purple streaks, and maybe he puts on his old leather pants and cut off t shirt (because you know Wu Xie is the kind of little shit to still fit in his college clothes twenty years later), and maybe they set up speakers in one of Wushanju’s courtyards, and Wu Xie digs up old tracks by Rammstein and Miss Djax and an old mix from Tresor, and they have a little rave of three right there, bodies pressed as tightly as if they were in the middle of a heaving crowd of thousands, Xiaoge losing his shirt when they get warm enough to make his tattoo pop, Liu Sang’s hands creeping under the ragged hem of Wu Xie’s crop top.

And, because this is my old person fantasy, this is best because a) they can modulate the music enough so that it’s loud enough to be fun but not so loud as to hurt Liu Sang’s ears, 2) Xiaoge doesn’t get twitchy in a crowded room without clear sight lines to the exits, and c) their bed is just steps away when their feet get sore and they are out of breath, and while there’s no after hours currywurst, they also don’t have to wait in the cold in skimpy clothes and uncomfortable shoes for a taxi, plus Pangzi’s leftovers are even better eaten directly from the fridge before stumbling to bed together at a reasonable hour.)

[pregnant-piggy]

One coffee please (1/2)

Blaise Zabini x reader

This is part of all I want for Christmas is fanfiction

This is written for @kalimagik‘s writing challenge

Words: 2.9k

A/N: this was my first time properly writing for Blaise and it will definitely not be the last. With this fic he has grown to be a character close to my heart and I am already excited to write more for him!

Prompts: 'what are you talking about? This is brilliant!' and 'you're cute when you're mad'

It was definitely winter. The wind was blazing around in the streets, howling around the corners of high buildings. It was blowing against the windows of houses and apartments, creating loud thrums in the ears of the people inside. The skies were dark grey in the night and icy blue in the morning. The sun was shining but it was cold. Streets froze overnight, but thawed before anyone woke up.

Even the thickest sheets and blankets couldn’t keep you warm as you lied in bed. At night you curled up to a ball to keep all the heat close to your body, but in the morning you woke with cold toes and fingertips. The sheets didn’t reach far enough to your neck and even your woollen jumper couldn’t protect you from the freeze. It was now more than ever that you longed for someone to cling onto in the night, to have their body heat against your skin. You wanted to feel the warmth that came from someone’s arms around your waist and the heat of someone’s fingertips on the skin under your jumper.

Instead you woke up alone in your apartment, the wind pounding against the tall windows. A moan escaped your mouth as you stretched out and the little bones in your back cracked. The cold air of your room flew over your arms and goose bumps formed all from your wrists to your armpits. A shiver ran over your spine, sliding from your neck to the dip of your back. A cold spread through your entire body from only putting your arms above the sheets.

Resting your arms atop of the blankets over your duvet, you sighed and opened your eyes, greeting the darkness that came with the winter's mornings. The sun that woke you in the summer was now still hidden behind the horizon and the tall buildings in the city. The skies were dark blue with clouds that coloured orange from the street lights. Maybe if it had been clear you could have seen the stars.

You had to get out of bed eventually. The longer you stayed in, the more you would have to hurry and the thought of that was almost enough to get you out of bed. But instead you rubbed your face and stared at the ceiling until the alarm from your phone sounded through your room. You lifted your body half in your bed and reached for your phone on the nightstand. Your cold fingers had turned off the alarm before you could even see the screen of your phone; waking up like this had become a habit lately.

After five minutes even your social media couldn’t keep your mind from the fact that useful time was passing and you tossed your phone somewhere on your bed. After a deep breath you threw the blankets and sheets off your yet warm body and swung your feet over the edge of your bed. If it wasn’t for the rug under your feet you would have crawled back into your bed. But instead you got up from your bed and walked to your closet, contemplating just wearing sweats.

You settled on a black pair of jeans and a dark green jumper with a turtle neck, so that you would still be warm. After freshening up and making yourself look acceptable to the outside public, you put on your shoes and stole an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen on your way to the door. Breakfast would come later. Right now you had to make sure you were on time.

_-_-_-_-_-_

Blaise wished he hadn’t worn his hoodie to bed last night. He woke with a sweaty back and quickly threw off the sheets. He welcomed the coldness with open arms, feeling the air wrapping around his hot body and calming down his skin.

It took him fifteen minutes to take a short shower, brush his teeth and put on some clothes. Much different from what anyone would wear on such a cold day, Blaise chose for a simple button up and rolled up the sleeves up his arms, his tattoos peeking out.

He took his keys and wallet from the table next to the front door and closed the door behind him, while he put on the leather jacket and checked his phone for any messages. The door locked with a soft click and Blaise put his other arm in his jacket, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone. He reached into his pocket, fishing out his earphones and plugging them into his phone. The tones of his favourite song soon started to play and he relaxed as he walked out of his apartment building.

The streets under his feet were more slippery than they had been all week and it took Blaise a woman who nearly fell to realise. While the woman was helped by a passer-by, Blaise quickly turned around the corner and quickened his pace.

His hands were in his pockets, playing with the keys in his right one. The beat of the music synced with his steps and for a moment he forgot it was early in the morning and he wasn’t a morning person. He even arrived with a smile at the coffee shop he was headed for.

The bell of The Old Coffee House tingled when Blaise pushed open the door. The coffee shop originally was started by his grandfather, who had thought it would be a good thing to do with his retirement. The coffee shop was celebrating its thirtieth anniversary next year. It was the oldest company in the whole block and by tourists it was seen as a mark for the city. Blaise didn’t know if it was really that, but he was glad there were enough costumers.

His mother was managing the place from her home and she would come in once a week, to make sure everything went well. But it was mostly Blaise who had the control in the shop.

Well, Blaise and you.

You were Blaise's best friend. Your mothers were best friends and being forced to spend time together when you were kids had let to a connection to build. You had spent your whole lives together and when Blaise's mother was looking for someone to help her son in the coffee shop, you had been the first to volunteer. He had now been working with you for a year and it had only made that you were even closer now.

Blaise knew everything about you, from your morning routine to your favourite song and the dance you'd do to it. He knew what to do when you were down in the dump and what to give you when you were, as he called, ‘hangry’. He knew how to cheer you up and when to leave you alone when you were angry.

He had seen you at your best and at your worst. He was the first one to hear about your first date with your boyfriend and the one who was there when said boyfriend suddenly left you alone. He had seen you dancing on tabletops and crying in your bed.

Blaise was always there for you, because you had been there for him his entire life.

‘Well aren’t you happy for a Monday morning?’ you asked as you made your way into the space from the backroom, tying an apron at your back. Blaise rolled his eyes at you and took off his jacket. He hung it next to your coat behind the counter and took the apron from the hook, tying it the same way you had done. ‘What got you so cheerful?’

Blaise shrugged and leaned on the counter with his right forearm, watching you as you filled the coffee machine with coffee beans. You were humming along to a song that was playing over the radio while you turned on the machine and made two cups of coffee.

The grinding of the coffee beans sounded over the radio and your humming got softer as you lost track of where the song was. Instead you nodded along to the beat that was still vaguely audible over the low buzzing.

Blaise snickered when you tried to hit the high note and your hum failed to reach it. You shot him an annoyed look and he only shrugged at you, grinning as he turned around and he heard the huff from your lips.

Soon you fell into the routine that had developed over time. Since neither you nor Blaise were morning people, it was soon found that it was best if it was just silent. The only sounds were the radio and the occasional talk with a customer. It was a serene scene for anyone to walk into, seeing two people work in silence in a place that could be such a buzz in the afternoon.

While you helped a costumer to their coffee and muffin, Blaise leaned against the counter and watched you. The sunlight came in from the window behind you and the silhouette of your face was painted against a canvas of golden light. The edges of your figure were outlined by a golden thread. Your cheeks glowed up and your eyes seemed like the brightest gemstones Blaise had ever seen.

Blaise would be the last one to deny that you were pretty. Over the years he had seen you grow into the wonderful person you were now, inside and outside. There was something about your appearance that told the world how you were. With just one glance someone could see you as the passionate person you were, but Blaise knew that there was so much more to it than just passion.

‘Are you alright?’ you asked and Blaise was pulled from his thoughts. He flashed you his smirk and nodded before he took his own coffee mug. You raised your eyebrow at him as you noticed that what was in his mug was not coffee.

‘What’s in there?’ you asked, stepping closer to Blaise, ordering him to show his mug with your finger. ‘It smells like cinnamon.’

‘That’s because it has cinnamon in it,’ Blaise shrugged and he took a sip.

‘Well, of course,’ you said, rolling your eyes. ‘I figured that.’

Blaise lifted the mug to drink again, but you stopped him by grabbing his wrist and taking the mug from him. You eyed it suspiciously and smelled it. Over the cup you made eye contact with Blaise and with your eyes you pleaded him to tell you what it was.

‘I made it,’ he said, suddenly feeling insecure. He had never told anyone about it. He knew it was silly, but he was afraid someone would judge him over his coffee.  ‘I was messing around at home once and this kind of came out of it… It’s not much, but it does help keep you awake.’

You squeezed your eyes before you carefully took a sip and Blaise watched you, biting the inside of his mouth anxiously. You swallowed and held your eyes closed a little longer. Blaise shook his head and turned away from you.

‘I know it’s rubbish-’

‘What are you talking about?’ you cried out, turned Blaise back to you. ‘This is brilliant! You made this?’

The look of adoration on your face was enough for Blaise to start smiling and the blood rushed to his cheeks. He nodded and chuckled when he saw the stun on your face.

‘Why would you hide this from me?’ you asked, tilting your head. ‘What more have you been hiding?’ you added playfully, meaning nothing but still making Blaise fear for his secrets.

‘Nothing you should know about,’ he joked, yet there was a hint of nervousness in his voice that went unnoticed by you. You laughed and pushed Blaise away as you welcomed the next costumer and went back to work.

_-_-_-_-_-_

It had frozen overnight. Or better said, it was freezing at night. It was still dark outside and the sun was hours from rising. Only very few people were awake at this time.

You were sunken deep into your dreams, under layers of blankets to keep the cold from numbing your toes. The cold didn’t bother you yet, but it sure would when you would have to get out of bed in the morning. Luckily, it was Sunday what meant that the coffee shop was closed today and you could stay in bed for as long as you liked. Plans for today had been cast aside and you had nothing to do but sit on the couch in three jumpers and binge your favourite series.

However, fate seemed to have a different thought.

It was narrowing three when the ringtone of your phone started to sound clear and disrupting in your room, waking you from your sleep. In the dark you patted down your nightstand to find the thing that was making the sound and when you found your phone, your thumb automatically went to turn off the alarm. You dropped your phone back next to your pillow, but the sound kept going and you realised it wasn’t your alarm, but someone was calling you.

A loud groan passed your lips as you turned on your back. Squeezing your eyes against the light from the screen and an even louder groan escaped your mouth when you noticed who was calling you.

‘What do you want, Blaise?’ you said, your voice groggy with sleep and annoyance.

It wasn’t unlike Blaise to call you in the middle of the night when he knew you would be asleep just to mess with you, but yet every time he called you worried something had happened to him. However, when you heard his chuckle at your sleepy voice you knew that there couldn’t be something too wrong.

‘Nice talking to you too,’ Blaise said and you could hear the slight double tongue. Of course.

‘Blaise it is two in the morning, what do you want from me?’ you groaned, rubbing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose as you heard Blaise laugh again.

‘I might have accidentally locked myself out of my apartment as I left earlier this night,’ he said. ‘And the janitor won’t answer my calls.’

‘I wonder why,’ you mumbled.

‘Can I come over?’

You sighed and shook your head. Of course you were friends with the guy that forgot his keys in the middle of the night. ‘Sure, come over.’

‘Great, because I am already at your door.’

Without even reacting to that you hung up and put your phone back on your nightstand. You looked in the dark at the pile of blankets on top of you and cursed Blaise under your breath. In the freezing cold you left your bed and patted over to the front door of your apartment. Looking through the peephole in the door you watched Blaise for a minute. His broad shoulders covered with the leather jacket that he never left without were the first thing that caught your eye and you swallowed before you took a step back.

You unlocked the door and opened it. The cold air from the corridor seeped inside the hall of your apartment and you knew that it was over with the heat that you had been trying to create the whole night. You shivered as the coldness reached your bare legs; despite freezing to death, you still couldn’t sleep with long pants.

‘Get inside, idiot,’ you hissed and pulled Blaise inside before he could say anything. He chuckled and ruffled your hair with his cold hand. Taking of his jacket and hanging it next to your other coats, Blaise eyed the distance between the living room and your bedroom curiously.

‘If you wait a minute, I’ll get the couch ready for you,’ you said and you walked to your bedroom, looking at the blankets and deciding which ones you could miss. However, you hadn’t even taken one blanket before Blaise had crawled into your bed, waiting to see what you would do.

Defeated you stood at the foot end of you bed, the end of a blanket in your hands. As much as you tried not to look, you couldn’t help notice Blaise’s bare chest. Your eyes scanned his torso and lingered at his tattoos. It wasn’t like you had never seen Blaise without a shirt, but it just had never happened that he was sitting in your bed without a shirt.

You swallowed down the sudden nervous tingle in your chest and tried to act nonchalant as you shrugged and put the blanket back in its place. You walked around the bed and settled next to Blaise, leaving enough space so it would be appropriate, but still getting a little closer hoping he’d bring you any warmth.

‘Alright, then we’ll do it like this,’ you muttered as you turned down the light and lay down.

And indeed as you had thought, you felt the heat radiating off of Blaise, engulfing you in a warm embrace. The cold that had been pestering you all night was now suddenly gone and you felt you fingers and toes get back some feeling.

‘You owe me breakfast,’ you mumbled as you closed your eyes and your head turned to the side, Blaise’s hot breath stroking over your face as you fell asleep.

- - - - - -

taglist

general HP: @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @mytreec @lilulo-12fanfiction @emmaloo21 @kashishwrites @ananad1 @figlia--della--luna @kylosleftbuttcheek @mrs-malfoy-always @thefandomplace @magicwithaknife @mt2413 @aesthetically-hailey @superbturtlemakerathlete @the-natureofme @missswriter @hahee154hq @chloer1275​

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter

☽ ☼ ☾

five years ago 

Elide drank her iced coffee and idly watched her friend, Lysandra, race around her bakery. “Elide! Where is my phone?!” the normally collected woman asked, her voice shrill with nerves. 

Calmly, Elide shoved off of the table she leaned against and walked over, the buckles on her knee-high platform boots clinking. She reached around Lysandra’s waist and plucked the green-eyed beauty’s phone from the back pocket of her mom jeans, “Here you go. Coffee?” 

Lysandra sighed and tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her loose braid behind her ear. “No, thanks. It’ll make me more nervous.” 

Elide smiled gently and put her hand on Lysandra’s upper arm, rubbing it up and down to soothe, “Lys, c’mon. You and Nesryn are ready for this. Evangeline adores you two.” 

“Yeah, but her room isn’t even finished! There isn’t even a bed,” the baker replied, her voice only rising in pitch. 

“And that’s what the boys are for,” Elide said. “Why don’t I go call them, see how it’s going?” 

“Yes,” Lysandra said. “Please.”

The tattoo artist nodded and smiled, stepping away to call. Her thumb hovered over Rowan and Lorcan’s contacts, deciding which of the two she would call. Fenrys hardly ever picked up his phone and she didn’t know Vaughan well enough to call. 

She chose and held the phone to her ear, her gut wrenching with anticipation. It rang a few times before it picked up and a voice answered, smooth like whiskey and just as deep, “Hello?”

“Hey, you,” Elide said, her voice somehow steady. She hadn’t seen or spoken with him in three weeks, since they’d both gone home over the holidays. 

“Princess,” Lorcan said, a small smile in his voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

She looked at Lysandra, “Ms. Ennar-Faliq would like to know when her daughter’s bed is getting here?” Behind her, the door opened. Elide turned to see Lorcan, Rowan, and Vaughan carry in a large box. Fenrys danced in after them, off in his own world with his earbuds in. Over the few months Elide had known the boy, the one thing she had learned was that when he had his earbuds in, there was no mortal that could call him back down to earth. 

Lorcan had the phone to his ear and smiled at her, “Momentarily.” 

Elide rolled her eyes and hung up, “Honey, the menfolk have returned!” 

He snorted and put his phone in his pocket, his question directed towards Lysandra, “Where do you want this?” 

“Follow me,” she instructed, waving them to the back of the bakery. There was a staircase that led to the apartment Lysandra, Nesryn, and now Evangeline lived in. 

The boys nodded and dutifully followed Lysandra. Elide watched them go, her eyes on Lorcan. Heat rose to her cheeks and she hoped they would get a moment to chat later. 

She had missed him. 

At that moment, her phone buzzed. Elide looked down to see a number she didn’t recognise had texted her. 

(202) 555-0157: Elide! It’s Yrene 

(202) 555-0157: I loved seeing you over the holidays

(202) 555-0157: I hope you don’t mind that I asked your mother for your new number 

elide: yrene ! no, no it’s fine

elide: it was great to see u too

She added Yrene’s name and number to a contact and they texted, benignly, for a few minutes. Then, Elide heard a shout and loud crash from upstairs. She looked up in alarm and fisted a hand in the gentle material of her black tiered skirt so her steps wouldn’t be hindered as she went up the narrow and steep stairs. “Guys? Is everything alright?” 

The black door at the top of the steps was closed, but not locked, so Elide twisted the doorknob to let herself in. 

“We’re good!” Fenrys hollered back from the second floor. 

“You’re bleeding, pup, I think that counts as ‘not good’,” Rowan’s deep voice chastised. 

Elide snorted softly and walked upstairs. She peered in, seeing Lorcan, Vaughan, and Rowan kneeled around Fenrys. Rowan held a tissue to Fenrys’ nose until the boy batted his hand away, “I’m fine, it doesn’t even hurt that badly!” 

“Fenrys, you broke your nose,” Rowan reminded him, his tone dry and ever-suffering. “We need to go to the hospital.” 

Fenrys rolled his eyes and turned to the women at the door, “It’s not that bad, is it?” He stood up and Rowan got to his feet as well, steadying his friend. Fenrys pulled the tissue away and Elide gasped. 

“Fenrys! It’s completely broken,” Elide said, walking over to him. The bridge of his short nose was snapped at an almost perfect ninety-degree angle, though the rounded tip remained in the same place. She reached up, gingerly touching it. Fenrys winced, tears drawn to his eyes. “You’re going to the hospital.” 

“But the bed–” 

“I will drive you there and you three,” Elide pointed at Lorcan, Vaughan, and Rowan, “will stay and finish the bed so Lys doesn’t lose her mind whole.” 

“Lose my what whole?” Lysandra asked idly as she walked into the room, carrying a basket of things. “Fenrys, oh no, are you alright?” 

“I broke my nose,” he said, his head tilted up. 

Lysandra’s eyes widened and she quickly put the basket down, stepping over to him, “What, how?” 

He started to speak, but his words were so muffled and jumbled, no one could understand him. Lorcan spoke for him, “Vee was holding one of the boards and it slipped and hit Fen’s face.” 

Fenrys nodded in confirmation. Elide sighed, “Ok, well, let’s go, Fen. We’ve got to get you to the hospital.” She led him down the stairs, carefully, and out the front door. “How’re you feeling, hon?” 

“My nose hurts,” he replied, his voice clogged and thick. “And I want to punch Vaughan.” 

She laughed and helped him into the passenger seat of her car, “I’m sure you do.” The boy leaned his head back against the headrest and groaned, his eyes screwed shut. Elide quickly crossed the front of the car and slid behind the wheel. “Buckle up, buttercup.” 

Fenrys complied, his eyes remaining closed as he groped for the seat belt buckle. Elide did hers as Fenrys clipped his and they were off. 

She drove smoothly and reached over to take his hand, “You want some music, Fen?” 

“Sure,” Fenrys said. “Your choice.”  

☽ ☼ ☾

They stepped back, scrutinising their handiwork. Lorcan reached up and shook the frame, while Vaughan tapped the tall posts it was lofted on. They looked at each other and shrugged, turning to Lysandra. “It’s done.” 

“Perfect, because Nes is on her way home right now,” Lysandra said, smiling in relief. “Can you two help me with something downstairs?” 

“Of course,” Vaughan replied, nodding his head serenely. 

“Good!” The baker turned and walked downstairs, leading them along. 

When they got to the café, Rowan had Aelin pressed against the side of the coffee machine, her hands locked around the back of his neck, her leg hitched over his hip. Lysandra paused and crossed her arms, arching a brow at them. Vaughan muttered something about sexual deviants and averted his eyes.

“You know Lys has to serve customers with that thing, right? I think they’d appreciate not having you guys infect it with your STI’s,” Lorcan commented, leaning his forearm on Lysandra’s shoulder and using her as an armrest. 

Rowan pulled away, his cheeks flushed. Aelin smirked and kissed her boyfriend once more before slinking away from him, “I’m glad to know you’re concerned for my sexual health, Lorcan.” 

He gagged.

The golden nightmare cackled and fixed her hair, waltzing up to her friend, “How can I help you, boss?” 

“If you two can’t control yourselves,” Lysandra started, shoving Lorcan off and towards the chairs stacked on the table, “you may leave. And get the chairs.”

“And miss meeting your daughter? Never,” Aelin sniffed. “We can control ourselves.” 

“We?” Rowan asked. 

Aelin rolled her brilliant eyes and conceded, “He can control himself.” She waved her hand, “Whatever, I’ll be good.” 

The brunette walked into the kitchen to fetch trays of Evangeline’s favourite baked goods and sweets, muttering, “You’d fuckin’ better.” 

The others made quick work of readying the chairs and setting the table. Vaughan and Lorcan were strategic and subtly put themselves between Aelin and their roommate, so there was no way for them to go to each other without passing under the disapproving glare of the cousins. Lorcan’s promised violence, but Vaughan’s was much worse - filled with fatherly disappointment and gay distaste. No one could withstand it. 

Lysandra swept back out, bumping the swinging door open with her hip, “Guys, it’s so boring in here, will one of you play some music?” 

Aelin practically lunged with her phone towards the amp and took the aux before either Lorcan or Vaughan even looked up. Lorcan made a confused face, “What was that?” 

She scrolled through her music library, “I’m not letting you corrupt that dear child with your punk rock shit.” 

“Corrupt?” 

“Mm-hm!” 

“Not that I don’t simply adore it when the two of you go at it,” Lysandra cut in before Lorcan could snap back something, “I need someone tall to help me.” 

“Vee’s tall, make him do it,” Lorcan countered, even though he crossed over to help her. 

“Shush, you. Come this way.” 

They walked into the backroom and after Lysandra’s direction, Lorcan started pulling heavy boxes from the top most shelf. They were heavy and he puffed, not prepared for how heavy they’d be, “Hellas below, Ennar, the fuck’s in these?” 

“Bags of flour and sugar,” she answered, dragging them to a wheeled dolly. “So, how was home?” 

He shrugged, “It was fine. Cold as shit, though.” 

Lysandra laughed, “Is that all?” 

“No, there was a powwow,” Lorcan said, tugging the last box down and putting it on the dolly. “I was designated as the official photographer.” 

“Of course you were,” she said, taking another trolley and loading crates of butter onto it. The blocks would sit overnight to soften before Lysandra and her assistant got up to bake. “This wasn’t a competition, was it?” 

“No, not this one. Just for the solstice, ya know?” 

“Ah,” Lysandra nodded, understanding. “Did you dance?” 

When he was a child, Lorcan used to be a powwow dancer, like the others. His grandmother and mother kept shelves in their house dedicated to the trophies and medals he used to win and the ones his sisters brought in now. “Nah, I didn’t. I’m out of practice and none of my regalia fits anymore. The girls did, ‘cause they got new jingle dresses at the feast.” 

Lysandra made a noise of exertion as she braced her feet against the polished concrete floor and leaned into the handle, pushing the trolley out. “And how was everything else? You went with Ess and Vee, right?” 

“Yeah, but Essar’s staying a week longer,” Lorcan said, using his foot as leverage to push the heavy dolly. “She and Dresenda went to Oro with Fen before flying up. What’d you and Nesryn do?” 

“Oh, not much. We had a lot to do for Evie and we fostered a set of triplets,” she said with a beaming grin. Lorcan hadn’t ever seen her smile this much, not even after she’d barfed on him the first time they’d met. Twice. 

Thankfully, they had become fast friends after that. 

“And Yulemas is always a busy time for Nes,” she added. The social worker worked harder than anyone Lorcan had ever known and was always bringing home the strays, as she affectionately dubbed the children she met in her work. “She managed to find a home for the kids, which is especially hard for siblings, but they’re so happy.” 

They conversed like that, effortless and understanding, as they put the ingredients away and Lorcan moved the industrial stand mixer for her. 

“How’re you and Elide doing?” 

His spine straightened and Lorcan cursed the heat rising to his cheeks. Lysandra’s voice was casual, but her question was anything but. “We’re fine.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, pulling out her binder of recipes and flipping through them to choose an array of baked goods. “Did you two talk over break?” 

“A bit. We were both busy.” 

“Right,” Lysandra said. Lorcan looked at her and chuckled a bit, knowing she had completely zoned out. 

“Lys?” 

“Hmmm, what? I’m listening, promise.” 

“No you aren’t,” Lorcan said, reaching over to flick her forehead. 

Lysandra clicked her tongue and looked at him, “What, what? You talked a bit, you were both busy, I’m listening!” 

“You’re drooling over chocolate and strawberry mille feuilles.” 

“Well, of course I am, they’re delicious,” she sniffed. She sighed and flipped through the laminated pages, muttering something to herself. 

Lorcan knew that she was stressed and nervous - Lysandra would obsess over recipes in her binder whenever she felt herself lose control. The kitchen was the one place where she was in charge of everything. Calmly, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, “Ennar, you need to breathe, man. You already chose the specials for tomorrow and you’ve done everything you can. Breathe.” 

She nodded, her eyes searching his until she calmed and breathed slowly, “Yeah. Yeah, I can do this. I’m ready.” 

“Fucking rights you are,” he said, slinging his arm around her shoulders. Lorcan led them out of the kitchen. 

The door opened as they walked out, the bell above it chiming. A slender, brown hand reached up to silence it, “Hello, all.” 

A little girl, with hair like flames, sprinted across the shop, “Lys!” 

Lysandra grinned widely and stepped away from Lorcan, her arms open. The girl crashed into her, her reedy arms locked around Lysandra’s neck. The dark-haired woman held her daughter close, a hand cradling the back of her head, “Oh, hi, Evie.” 

Everyone else grinned at the sight and a slim woman sidled up to Lorcan, her eyes on her wife and their daughter, “Hello, Lorcan.” 

“Hey, Nesryn,” he said, nudging her with his elbow. “How’ve you been?” 

Nesryn turned to face him and Lorcan saw tears shining in her eyes, “Never better.” 

☽ ☼ ☾

Elide helped Fenrys get out of the car, as the splint they’d set his nose in obscured part of his vision. “Come on, you big baby.” 

“I am not a baby, my nose hurts!” 

She laughed and tucked her arm through his elbow, “You’re very macho, Fen.” 

He nodded, his short dreads bouncing, “Yes, I am.” He raised his chin and howled like a wolf. 

Elide laughed, her stomach aching, “Stop being goofy, let’s go, we’re already late.” 

“‘t’s Vee’s fault,” he pouted. 

She merely laughed again and pushed the door open, singing, “We’re back! Did you miss us?” 

“With everything I am,” Aelin responded. 

“Aha, I knew it,” Elide said. Her eyes scanned the room, snagging on Lorcan. She gave him a small grin that widened when he winked in response. Before she could become distracted, Elide moved on and saw a young girl. “Hello, there. You must be Evangeline.” 

She nodded, shyly, “Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Evangeline. I’ve been looking forward to it,” she said, grinning warmly. “My name’s Elide and this is Fenrys.” 

Fenrys waved, “‘Sup? Don’t mind the face, I broke my nose.” 

Evangeline nodded seriously and tentatively trailed up to them. She looked at the buckles on Elide’s boots, which were hearts. “Your boots are cool.” 

In the background, Lorcan punched Aelin as if to say, My work here is done, in regards to ‘corrupting’ the child. Aelin grabbed his wrist and viciously twisted his arm behind his back, pushing until it hurt. 

Nesryn reached over, “Stop that.” Immediately, they stopped and mumbled sheepish apologies. She chuckled and shook her head, turning her eyes back to her daughter. 

Evangeline strayed towards Lorcan, Elide, Vaughan, and Fenrys, asking them questions about their clothes and tattoos. She gingerly touched the spikes on the shoulders of Lorcan’s jacket and asked Fenrys about all the rips in his jeans.

He told her about each and every skate fall with huge, theatric sweeping arm motions. He wore them like badges of honour. 

The others readied the table and dinner, sitting down too. Elide was opposite Lorcan and he watched her watch the pair. Her grin was easy, her eyes thinning. He wanted her so badly and dearly. To be called hers. 

Something alerted her and she looked down at her lap, a bluish light, like her phone, shone on her face. Elide’s pale cheeks bloomed with a deep blush and his heart fluttered, then cracked when he realised it wasn’t his message she was blushing over.

He cleared his throat and spoke to Vaughan about nothing in particular. They ate their dinners and laughed along everyone else. Lorcan’s mind kept drifting to her blush, wondering who it was. 

After dinner, he volunteered to clean up. Their riff-raff family understood his need to be alone sometimes. It was… overwhelming, being around them for too long. It didn’t mean he didn’t care about them.

Lorcan trudged to the kitchen and hung his jacket up before he washed, his ratty black Joey Ramone t-shirt hanging from his lean frame. He attached his phone to the speaker and played his favourite playlist. 

Come on, people, now 

Smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now 

He started to wash the dishes and pushed his hair back with soapy fingers. It was long, past his hips and low belt. In all his life, he had never cut it. He hoped he would never have to.

When I was an alien, cultures weren’t opinions

Gotta find a way, find a way, when I’m there 

Gotta find a way, a better way, I’d better wait

For his people, for the Ozuye, hair was sacred - an extension of his spirit. Cutting was a sign of respect and grief, when someone you cared for deeply passed. 

Never met a wise man, if so it’s a woman

Gotta find a way, when I’m there

The doors swung open and clunky boots walked closer to him. He tensed and looked over his shoulder at Elide. Lorcan smiled tightly, “Hey, princess.” 

She sighed and stood beside him. Elide punched his shoulder and hopped up on the counter. “Don’t call me that, stupid. I’m not a princess.” She sniffed primly and crossed her leg over the other, clasping her hands on her knee. 

“Riot princess,” Lorcan replied, rinsing the utensils. 

“...Ok. That I like.” She looked at him, “Is that my contact?” 

He snorted and laughed, his shoulders shaking. “Nah… not exactly, Lee.” 

She gasped and pushed his shoulder, “What? Tell me, I gots to know!” 

Lorcan rinsed his hands and dried them with the towel. “You really wanna know?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, you twit.”

He flicked her cheek, “Insulting me won’t help.” Elide sighed and crossed her arms, drumming her fingers in her upper arms. “It’s ‘Discount Alice Cullen’.” 

Elide’s jaw dropped open and she gasped loudly, “Come on, that’s not even good!” She gestured to her hair, which was really more of a curly shag cut. “I don’t even look like her anymore.” 

Laughing, Lorcan leaned away from her and she punched him again, “Fine, I’ll just change you to ‘Discount Heath Ledger’.” 

He shrugged, “So? I stand by him.”

Elide clicked her tongue, “Stupid.” 

He knocked his head into hers, “Princess.”

 Just because you’re paranoid, don’t mean they’re not after you...

Gotta find a way, find a way, when I’m there

Gotta find a way, a better way, I’d better wait!

They sat in a comfortable silence. Elide picked at her nails, “How was your break?” 

“Pretty good. Got some cool photos.” 

“Yeah? Anything you wanna show me?” 

Lorcan nodded, “Yeah, actually. I dunno, it’s a ‘lil thing to say congrats for the tattoo job.” Elide had graduated her apprenticeship a month and a bit after they’d met. 

For her first tattoo, she’d tattooed Golden Girl above Aelin’s knees, one word on each leg. They’d thrown a party after to celebrate. 

Her eyes sparkled and she toyed with the stud in her Cupid’s bow. “I look forward to it.” They looked away again, stomachs hopping. 

Lorcan bumped his shoulder into hers, “Did ya miss me in your ivory tower?” 

“Yeah,” Elide said, resting her head on his shoulder, “Kinda. Did you? Miss me?” 

“Yeah,” he sniffed, knocking the toe of his Doc Martens into the rubber mat over scuffed linoleum. “Kinda.” 

☽ ☼ ☾

They all slinked out when Evangeline became sleepy. Elide had hugged Lysandra, kissing her cheek, “I’ll see you later, honey.” 

“Of course, El,” Lysandra said. 

Lorcan and Vaughan were standing by the streetlamp. The taller of the two cousins carried Fenrys in a piggy back, the teen drowsy from the light pain meds. 

As Elide strolled to Rowan’s car with Aelin, her phone buzzed. She knew who it was and had been blushing at her texts all evening. 

Something about talking to Yrene always made her feel like a young girl again, so smitten with her first girlfriend. 

yrene: You can totally say no if you don’t want to, but I’m going to be in Orynth soon to check the med school

yrene: Maybe we could get dinner some time? 

“Honey, you want a ride?” 

“Oh… no, it’s fine. I’m going to walk with the boys,” she said, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Bye, you two. Behave yourselves, I have to get up early tomorrow.” 

They laughed and got into the car. 

Elide half-jogged to catch up. By the time she got to them, Vaughan was slinging Fenrys over his shoulder and walking away. Her friend- well, she didn’t know if friend was right, but anyway. Lorcan waited for her and they walked slowly, Elide’s bag swinging between them. 

“So, how was home for you?” 

“Not too bad,” Elide said, looking up at him. “Got to see some old… friends and the like.” 

He hummed and nodded his head, “Yeah. It’s nice to visit home.” 

She nodded and bit her lip, “Essar and Dresenda are Ozuye, too, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re also Bogdano, like Fen.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know that Fen was Bogdano.” 

They walked and chatted to the intersection. Elide would turn off and Lorcan would walk straight on. She nodded towards the rolled paper in his hand, “Is that for me?” 

“Sure is,” Lorcan handed it to her and she turned to see it in the streetlight. He peered over her shoulder as she unrolled it. 

 A soft gasp left her when she saw it. It was a picture of Elide, bent over a long leg with a tattoo gun. Aelin leaned forward too, holding her hair back as she kissed the back of her sister’s head. Elide was smiling. 

“It’s the tattoo you did for Ash, Golden Girl?” 

“Lorcan…” she breathed. He watched her cheeks, and though amazement and tears glassed her eyes, there was no flush. “This is amazing. I love it.” 

He grinned, even as his heart sunk. “You think?” 

Elide spun on the toes of her Demonias and her skirt twirled, “Yes. You’re so good, Salvaterre.” She rose to kiss his cheek and whispered, “I’ll frame it in my studio.”

“You flatter me, Lee.” 

She rolled her eyes and stepped backwards, pushing him away. “Good night, stupid.” 

They parted. Lorcan flipped the hood of his sweater up as he crossed the street and looked back at her. 

She had stopped by the street corner and looked down at her phone. His picture was held beneath her arm and it was slightly crunched. High on her cheeks, that same blush pinked. 

He clenched his jaw and looked away. 

Lorcan regretted looking back.

☽ ☼ ☾

an: we're getting into the plot and i am SO excited hehe <3

powwows are culturally significant events for lots of native nations, but especially plains natives (Blackfoot, Arapaho, Assiniboine, Cheyenne, Comanche, Crow, Gros Ventre, Kiowa, Lakota, Lipan, Apache, Cree, Ojibwe, Sarsi, Nakoda, and Tonkawa). there is lots of different types of dancing and for lorcan's sisters (my oc's) i chose jingle dress ! they're called jingle dresses because of the metal cones sewn onto the skirts that make noises when the dancers dance <3 here is a video about its roots and here is a video of someone performing a jingle dress dance

songs played in chapter (by order of appearance): 1. Territorial Pissings - Nirvana fic playlist

@mythicaitt @eyllweambassador @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @ladyverena @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @jadeaffliction @superspiritfestival @sanakapoor @ireallyshouldsleeprn @spyofthenightcourt @thegoddessofyou @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @claralady @neonhellas @darlinminds @readingismyonlyhobby @autophobiaxx @myshadowsingeraz @firestarsandseneschals @elriel4life @always-in-a-daydream @jlinez @ladywitchling @mariamuses @darklesmylove @adelzd-bookblr​ @rowaelinismyotp @sassyhobbits @swankii-art-teacher​

[reddesertcolbs]

matching piercings // colby brock

requested: yes

summary: colby comes with you to get your nose pierced and he helps to comfort you during the process. 

word count: 1.6k words

warnings: some swear words, mention of needles and blood. 

my writing

//

“are you sure you don’t mind coming with me?” you ask your boyfriend, who is currently sitting in the passenger seat of your car, drumming along to the song that’s playing through the speakers on his knees. “because i totally understand if you’re busy and you don’t want to come.” you ramble, feeling your nerves start to settle in slightly, and because you feel mean for dragging colby along with you in case he had plans. 

“absolutely not, i wouldn’t be sitting next to you if i minded.” he says, turning to face you with a comforting smile and reaching over the middle console to grab your hand. once lacing his fingers with yours, he gives it a gentle squeeze. “besides, i can’t have my baby being all nervous without me, can i?” 

“urgh, you’re too cute, brock.” smiling, you lean over the middle console with pursed lips, begging for a kiss. within a second, he leans forward the rest of the way and presses his lips onto yours softly, humming in content before pulling away. 

you turn back around again, and slot your keys into the ignition of your car, beginning to make your way to the tattoo and piercing shop that is a ten minute drive from colby’s house, where you picked him up from. 

the drive to the piercing shop consists of colby singing badly to the songs that he’s playing from his playlist, that was playing out of his phone and he connected to your car prior to the drive, and him rubbing his thumb over the top of your hand to soothe your nerves as you drive, singing along to the tunes as well. 

your nerves begin to build rapidly, as you put your car into park and turn the ignition off, pulling the keys out and placing them on your lap as you turn towards colby with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. 

“you’ll be fine, love. it will be over in seconds, it doesn’t even hurt, it’s just like a pinch.” he says soothingly with a gentle smile, trying to help remove some of your nerves as you glance between the tattoo and piercing shop and his blue eyes, trying to distract yourself. “i’ll be there the whole time, holding your hand.” 

“let’s go before i end up not going in and driving back home.” you chuckle, causing colby to emit a loud giggle as well, giving your hand a quick squeeze before he’s releasing your hand from his and opening the door. 

after opening the door and stepping out, colby meets you by the driver’s side, and the two begin to stroll to the entrance of the shop. immediately, the two of you are met with the chime of a golden bell, tattoo machines buzzing from the variety of tattoo stations and the sound of music booming through the speakers. 

the two of you stand patiently in front of the desk, waiting to be served. colby can’t help but flick through the various tattoo drawing books, mentally picking out one for himself and asking your opinions of the designs that are sprawled across the pages. 

“how can i help you both?” the man, who you’re guessing is the piercer, behind the counter asks with a warm smile. 

“i’m here to get my nose pierced.” you respond, returning the warm smile even though your heart is thumping out of your chest with nervousness. colby can sense your nerves, as you begin to chew on your bottom lip again and play with your rings that are littered on your fingers, so he removes his that is flicking through the black book, and rests it on your lower back, rubbing softly. 

“yeah sure, we have a free space right now. you’ll have to sign some papers,” he begins, searching around the desk for the papers you need and a pen. “here you go, you can take a seat over there to fill them out. i’ll get the everything ready.” he points over to the black leather chairs, that are sitting against the window, still with a warm smile on his face, before wandering off down the corridor and into a room. 

the two of you walk towards the chairs, sitting down and begin flicking through the pages of consent forms. after two minutes of ticking and flicking, you turn to colby who is already looking at you with a smile. 

“i’m so nervous.” you whisper, not wanting the piercer to hear you, and because due to your nerves, your voice won’t go any higher without it shaking. 

“you’ll be fine baby. you got this.” he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him and planting a comforting kiss to your forehead, pulling away once the sound of shoes hitting the wood floors rings through his ears. 

“ready?” the piercer asks, making you stand up with a smile and a nod, once you hand him over the papers. he looks through them quickly, checking them over to make sure you can actually have the piercing, before putting the clipboard and pen back onto the desk. “you’re welcome to come in by the way.” he looks towards colby, who is still sitting on the chair, but he is sitting forward with his hands resting on his knees and his chin resting on his palm. “that’s if you want him to come in of course.” 

“yes please, if you don’t mind.” you smile sheepishly, glancing back to look at colby as he stands with a grin and a ‘thanks man’, before the two of you are led into a room where you would be getting pierced. 

once you walk in, your nerves sky rocket and you begin to twirl the rings on your fingers again when you take a seat on the cling film covered bench. colby takes a seat on the chair that is sitting next to the bench, and immediately grabs your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand to help you relax. 

after talking through the process of piercing your nose, picking out the jewellery that is going to be placed into your nose, going with a simple diamond, and dotting the position that was going to get pierced, it was finally time to get the needle shoved through your nose, and to say you weren’t shitting yourself was an understatement.

“first we’re going to clamp it,” the piercer says, picking up metal clamps and positioning them onto your nose. “people say this is the worst part by the way.” he chuckles, trying to ease your nerves and it helps slightly. you watch him as he picks up the needle, and holds it up, getting ready to put it through your nose. 

“i’m going to need you to take a deep breath, and release it once the needle goes through, okay?” he asks, searching your face for any hesitation, but smiling softly at you when you mutter out a quick ‘got it’. your grip on colby’s hand tightens, as the piercer brings the needle to your nose. 

“okay, deep breath for me.” 

inhaling a deep breath through your nose, he shoves the needle through your nose quickly, and you release the breath as soon as you feel the needle move through. within a second, your eyes start to water, not out of pain but because of the reaction of the needle going through your nose. the pain wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be, yeah getting a needle shoved through your face hurt, but it was bearable. 

“that wasn’t bad at all.” you say with a grin, squeezing colby’s hand as he chuckles. 

“told you it wouldn’t be too bad.” colby responds, fascinated with the piercer’s every move, as he threads the diamond through your nose, pushing it down gently to make sure it’s fully in. 

“all done, you did good.” he says, cleaning around the fresh piercing to remove any blood that may have escaped the small hole. after cleaning your nose, he hands you a small hand held mirror so you can take a look, and immediately you lift it up to your face, inspecting your new piercing with a smile. 

after a few moments, the piercer discusses aftercare for your new piercing, and the two of you are led out of the piercing room again and back to the desk. you hand over the money to pay for your piercing, giving him a tip for his service, and a ‘thank you very much’, before you and colby are walking out of the shop and back towards your car, hand in hand. 

you stop at the driver’s side, removing your hand out of colby’s and circling them around his waist, pulling colby close to you. he loops his arms around your neck, careful not to knock your fresh piercing, and leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before moving down to your lips. 

“you did awesome, love.” he mumbles against your lips, his lips brushing with yours as he pulls away to speak. “and you look hot.” he smirks, pressing another couple of kisses to your lips before leaning back up again. “not that you weren’t hot before, of course.” 

you roll your eyes playfully at him in response, as he let’s go of you, and begins to walk around the car towards the passenger’s seat. opening the door, he takes a seat, as you copy his actions, taking a seat in driver’s seat and buckling the belt across your chest.

“thank you for coming with me.” you turn to look at him with a smile, watching him as he messes about with the radio once you’ve turned on the ignition of the car

“it was no problem at all, my love.” he mimics your smile, reaching over to take your hand into his again and bringing it up to his lips, connecting them to the back of your hand and planting a kiss to it. “now we’re matching, baby.” he presses another kiss to your hand before looking at you with a smirk. “but i am jealous that you can pull it off better than me though.” 

request here

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 270: Harry Potter Rules

Previously on BnHA: Present Mic punched Ujiko in the face! It was awesome. I’m thinking about getting a tattoo of it. Meanwhile Endeavor saved Mirko’s life by setting her on fire (reason #15 why I will never become a superhero), and Aizawa did some sexy Spider-Man poses for our viewing pleasure while fighting the rest of these Noumus which are still annoyingly refusing to die. Anyway but back to Present Mic, the undisputed MVP of this chapter. Because you see, in addition to the punching, he also used his Loud Voice attack (literally the actual attack name; Horikoshi will steal all of my jokes and leave me with nothing) to smash open Tomura’s Noumutank! Which I really thought was going to immediately lead to Everyone Dying, but apparently I was wrong! Anyways so yeah, right now Tomura’s just lying down all heart-stopped and not-breathing. Which seems very anticlimactic, BUT I JUST HAVE THE CRAZIEST FEELING that maybe, just maybe, the super powerful villain lad who just spent the last three arcs slowly upgrading his bad self just in time to wage war on the world as the story reaches its climax, might not actually be dead though.

Today on BnHA: DON’T MIND THAT OMINOUS ORGAN MUSIC PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND, IT’S NOTHING, IGNORE IT. Ahem. So first of all, as some of the bolder among us dared to speculate, Tomura is not, in fact, dead. He’s still very much kicking it with his nipple-less pecs and truffula tree hair, putzing around in his mental landscape filled with crumbled buildings and disembodied Theatrical Gesture Hands. For some reason he doesn’t have shoes or a shirt in his mental landscape, which was a very interesting choice on Horikoshi’s part, but we will speak no more of it. Anyway so to sum things up, Tomura’s family is all “TENKO WE LOVE YOU” and he’s all “oh hey” and then AFO fucking appears and he’s all “COME HERE MY BOY” which is exactly as creepy as you would expect, and for some fucking reason TOMURA ACTUALLY DOES COME HERE. And lol it turns out Ujiko gave him AFO. Like the quirk. Yes, that quirk. So long story short, Tomura is about to be possessed by AFO’s evil soul or some shit, and to put the cherry on top, fucking Deku out of fucking nowhere, MILES AWAY, is all “HE’S COMING.” Because of course he can sense it, because AFOFA IS REAL, AND FUCK ME THIS IS ALL HAPPENING TOO FAST, FUCK.

I know this chapter has been out since like 1pm, but I’m not getting to read it until 5 hours later because for once in my life I was trying to be responsible and actually get some work done on a Friday. I thought this might lead to less oh-god-I-still-have-to-get-that-done anxiety hovering over my weekend, but instead it just led to oh-god-I-have-to-get-the-chapter-recap-done anxiety hovering over my now! anyways so this might be a bit rushed lol

(ETA: yeah turns out this wasn’t exactly the kind of chapter you could just read quickly and get on with your life lmao. so, then!)

what a nice panel of Present Mic taking out the trash

you heard ‘em fellas. the doctor is secured. good job everyone we did it, manga over, congratulations. now to cut away to a two-page spread of Dark Shadow comically smothering Dabi’s flames with a giant stock pot lid, and that’ll be that! what a wonderful, extremely short and strangely underwhelming arc in which we haven’t even seen the actual main characters do anything yet. but I guess we don’t need them since the main bad guy is lying dead on the floor! everything is just so fucking dead and secured!! do you think if I keep repeating it enough Horikoshi will finally be like “okay geez I get it” and reveal his hand already

Mic is now ordering Ujiko to power down the Noumu, which again, I’m sure he will definitely do without a fuss since after all the good guys have clearly won the day

OH SHIT OH FUCK

rip X-Less. gonna just take a moment here to imprint your beautiful face onto my memory before it turns into a pile of ash. your face, I mean. not my memory. well my memory more or less already is a pile of ash but that’s neither here nor there ANYWAYS

:’)

what are these little sound effects. I think that’s supposed to be a buzzing noise?? anyways whatever it is PLEASE STOP IT, I AM NOT HAVING A NICE TIME SO STOP

ffff Horikoshi sure has done an excellent job of setting the mood in such a way that all of these panels of X-Less doing incredibly mild things are sending my stress levels through the roof. like is anyone else reading his lines more or less like “WELP, TIME FOR ME TO DIE, ANY SECOND NOW, WE’RE REALLY DOING THIS, THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING, HERE IT COMES”

(ETA: when is this poor sweet innocent man going to fucking die already.)

LET’S CUT BACK TO MIC ESCAPING THE IMMEDIATE VICINITY

I have the clearest mental image of Horikoshi standing by with a walkie talkie in one hand and one of those remote bomb detonation clicky switch thingies in the other, patiently waiting to receive the go-ahead once all of the important characters have gotten to safety

anyway so now Ujiko is talking again

no fear everyone this is just the beginning of his verbal noumu deactivation sequence. nothing to worry about. everything is fine

yes for some reason his code phrase to put all the noumus back to sleep involves going into rambling detail about his work researching quirk singularities and shit. it’s fine. it’s not a big deal. code phrases are just like that sometimes all right

just ignore the increasingly panicked look in Mic’s eye as he slowly realizes he was way too fucking keen to just leave the “dead” Tomura back there with his laser-eyed hero buddy. anyway so let’s continue learning all about the Quirk Illuminati or whatever the fuck

okay so... he faked his own death? 70 years ago, at age 50 or thereabouts? I mean, that’s interesting and all I guess. not saying I wouldn’t be thrilled to spend the rest of this chapter learning all about Ujiko’s boring evil life. I don’t need to say it because it’s implied on account of Ujiko sucks and is the worst. so yeah can we get a move on though

oh shit?!?

WHOSE NARRATION IS THAT IN THE BOXES TOMURA IS THAT YOU OH GOD OH GOD

also, comparing AFO’s smile to a buddha’s really sent an actual shudder of disgust down my spine for some reason lmao. I personally would have steered that comparison in a different area, maybe less to buddhas and more to Norman Bates from Psycho, but to each their own

oh shit wait up

okay but this is actually a pretty big revelation though, isn’t it? because it’s been hinted for a while now that AFO and Ujiko had some method of duplicating quirks (the fact that all the Noumu share the same regeneration quirk was the biggest clue, but there was also John-chan’s quirk, as well as Hood’s Muscular-esque quirk), but as far as I can recall, this is the first time we’ve had it confirmed. though to be fair I wasn’t joking when I said my memory really has been shit lately sob

anyway so for real though, can you really call it a BnHA chapter if you’re not spending a good chunk of it being hopelessly confused over the ownership of some ambiguous thought bubbles. WHO IS THIS. I do seriously feel like it’s Tomura, because he’s the wrathful one, but another hallmark of a typical BnHA chapter is me constantly questioning everything I know as I muddle my way through

(ETA: yeah I’m pretty sure it was him. still impressive how vague it is though! it could also potentially be Ujiko, Mic, or even Deku. hopefully Caleb’s translation on Sunday can shed some more light on this. though he wasn’t really helpful last time this happened lol.)

SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

didn’t... you just... say that “preservation” was your quirk?? what do you mean that you wanted it?? CAN YOU JUST FINISH YOUR SENTENCES LIKE A NORMAL PERSON

anyway so here’s a summary of this chapter thus far

present mic: okay goodbye forever x-less

x-less: what a strange thing to say! :) also is it just me or is this machine fucking staring at me

present mic: turn the noumu off please

ujiko: seventy years ago... society... singularity... he’d be 120 years old now...

??: [REPULSIVE FEELING EW WHO’S TOUCHING ME]

ujiko: all for one has the smile of an angel...

??: [SON OF A BITCH I’M SO FUCKING WRATHFUL]

ujiko: my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk...

all caught up?? grand. also btw is anyone else super disturbed by the fact that Ujiko recognizes Mic as being “Kurogiri’s friend”, like holy shit though? how would he know that. I can’t think of any implications of this that aren’t super disturbing tbh

anyways back to -- LOL WHAT THE

Horikoshi Kouhei: [furiously scribbling notes to himself at 3am] BUT WHAT IF THE FOLDING CITY FROM “INCEPTION” HAD MORE GIANT HANDS

jesus christ. is this like some mental representation of what shit is currently like in Tomura’s mind? lots of crumbly destruction and traffic lights and the house his father built (isn’t it? I feel like it looks familiar), and SO MANY HANDS, HE JUST LOVES HIS HANDS

anyway so at this point it’s a coin toss whether or not anything in this fucking chapter is ever going to make any kind of fucking sense! but here I am voluntarily along for the ride while Gene Wilder sings that creepy boat song right in my ear!

DSFKLDSJ

ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN FLOATING IN A JAR FOR THREE MONTHS TBH. that is some luscious quarantine hair

SDFLKJSDLFKJSLKFDHLKSDJFLKJLKSDJL:FKJSDL:KJ

(ETA: that Tomura in the top left may be my new favorite panel. look at him. all he is is a nose and chin and ~*~HAIR~*~.)

HANAAAAAA AHHHHHH OH MY LORD OH MY LORD! OKAY I’M FINALLY PAYING ATTENTION NOW FOR REAL! NO MORE JOKES! EVERYBODY SHHHH!!!

FFFFFFFFFF

“LOOK AT ME I’M A MAIN CHARACTER I CAN HAVE STRANGE VISIONS AND TALK TO DEAD PEOPLE IN MY DREAMS, SOUND LIKE ANYBODY ELSE YOU KNOW?” TOMURA SHUT UP I DON’T HAVE TIME TO ANALYZE THIS SCENE THEMATICALLY RIGHT NOW I’M TOO BUSY BEING SAD ABOUT YOUR DEAD SISTER WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY CALCULATING THE ODDS OF THIS SOMEHOW BEING FORESHADOWING FOR HER NOT REALLY BEING DEAD. OH GOD, OH FUCK YOU GUYS, I’M FREAKING OUT

WHAT KIND OF YOUNGER BROTHER DOESN’T CALL HIS OLDER SISTER “NEECHAN” TOMURA WHAT KIND OF ANIME CHARACTER ARE YOU

AT THIS POINT HIS HAIR IS ITS OWN INDIVIDUAL CHARACTER WITH THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS WOW

HORIKOSHI PLEASE STOP SHAKING THIS CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE OF SIBLING FEELS SO VIGOROUSLY I AM SO TERRIBLY AFRAID OH GOD

“BY THE WAY TENKO I JUST HAVE TO SAY, YOUR MAN BOOBS ARE SERIOUSLY IMPRESSIVE AND YOU SHOULD BE VERY PROUD.” YES HANA I WAS JUST GOING TO SAY. HOW ASTUTE OF YOU TO POINT THAT OUT. BOY HAS BEEN HITTING THAT BOWFLEX

WTAF IS HIS HAIR THOUGH SERIOUSLY??!

IS IT JUST ME OR IS THIS DIALOGUE BUBBLE ACTUALLY COMING FROM THE HAIR ITSELF. TOMURA. TOMURA BLINK TWICE IF YOU ARE IN DANGER

SJJKJSKJSW

TENKO IT’S ME YOUR GIANT MOM I’M BEHIND YOU HONEY TURN AROUND AND LOOK HELLO HI I LOVE YOU DO YOU STILL WANT TO BE A HERO

ffff why is he so pretty all the time lately

you are very handsome with your billowy hair and ken doll abs, you. sure are having a lot of trippy visions for a dead guy too there

HEY!!!!

WHO SAID YOU WERE ALLOWED -- DO YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST -- ffffffffff I need to be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes fuck

okay well. but since it is getting late I guess we’ll just pack these feelings up real quick and put them inside a box and neatly label it “feelings I have about Tomura having a vision of his mom and immediately turning back into his innocent little boy self in said vision as soon as he sees her.” not too sure about the contents of this box yet but I will have to explore them thoroughly at a later date

oh hey it’s this asshole

“THAT WAS TWENTY YEARS AGO, DAD.” jesus Kotaro. get over it

and also guess what, if you go and get Tomura all riled up so he wakes up grumpy and disintegrates the first hapless guy he sees, I will hold you solely responsible for that poor man’s death. I’m just warning you now

oh my

I remember this conversation going a bit differently the last time, but hey

LOOOOOOL

HIGH FIVE. PUT ‘ER THERE

WHY WOULD YOU LOOK SO SURPRISED LOL DID YOU NOT JUST TURN TOWARDS HIM WITH A SINISTER MURDER FACE LIKE TWO SECONDS AGO. LIKE WTF DID YOU THINK WAS GONNA HAPPEN

OH NO OH SHIT

FUCK ME, GUESS IT WOULDN’T BE A DRAMATIC BNHA DREAM SEQUENCE IF THIS ASSHOLE DIDN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE AT SOME POINT OR OTHER NOW WOULD IT

-- HOLY SHIT?!

RECORD SCRATCH, FREEZE FRAME??

holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit

holy shit. fuck

...okay so

is this implying that AFO has been Noumufied? but that doesn’t make any sense, does it? he already had multiple quirks. what other advantages could there be to him becoming a Noumu. well whatever I’m just typing out all of my thoughts real fast for the time being and I’ll try to make sense of them later

or is it because he sees Kurogiri as a father figure? and AFO also?

or is he using Kurogiri’s quirk????? IS HE SOMEHOW WARPING INTO TOMURA’S DREAMS

because that third one, to me, is what this panel most looks like? Tomura says he looks like Kuro, but he doesn’t though. Kuro has a very distinctive face which this is very much lacking. instead it looks to me much more like one of Kurogiri’s portals, with AFO’s buddhaesque smile sticking out. so yeah. I got nothin’. except, again, fuck

(ETA: yeah I obviously have more thoughts about this now, but we’ll get to those in a bit.)

...

.......

-- !!!!!!!!!!LKJLK!JLKJ

oh shit oh shit oh shit 

OH SHIT

NO BABY NO DON’T DO IT

GASP

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AHHHH

I HAVE LIKE TEN THOUSAND THOUGHTS IN MY BRAIN RIGHT NOW YET SOMEHOW MY MIND IS ALSO STRANGELY BLANK?? I DON’T EVEN KNOW?? I’LL JUST KEEP READING

KOTARO ARE YOU TRYING TO HELP HIM OR ARE YOU PULLING HIM TOWARD AFO??

OH HE’S PUSHING HIM BACK!! OH SHIT IT’S A WHOLE FAMILY EFFORT

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AFO IS GOING TO TAKE HIM OVER AND THEY’RE TRYING TO PROTECT HIM OH GOD OH JESUS

BABY TENKO EYES OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE DEKU THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS DEKU FOR A MOMENT

NO TENKO!!!

FUCK -- DOES HE NOT CARE? HE ACTUALLY UNDERSTANDS WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN BUT HE DOESN’T CARE?? IS HE TRULY SO PROFOUNDLY MISERABLE THAT HE’D GO AHEAD AND ACCEPT THIS FATE WILLINGLY

NO SOUNDS. NO WORDS. YOU COULD HEAR A PIN DROP IN MY ROOM RIGHT NOW

except that I have the most incredible, chilling, disturbing, electrifying feeling that my mental soundtrack is about to start blaring AFO’s theme from the anime on full blast...!

LOOOOOL SOB OH FUCKK

THE MOST TERRIFYING, DRAMATIC KIP UP YOU’VE EVER SEEN IN YOUR LIFE!! THIS IS IT, IT’S BEEN REAL FRIENDS, THIS IS WHERE WE DIE

-- ARE YOU REALLY, TRULY, GENUINELY SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW

NOW OF ALL TIMES IS WHEN WE FINALLY CUT TO THE TRIO, I’M CAN’T, I’M FUCK

AND THAT’S THE END AHHHHH

holy shit holy shit holy shit. wow

okay so. I don’t really have any sort of neat and tidy way to wrap up this hot mess of a recap lol. so, just... have a whole mess of all of my stupid whirling thoughts

those first four pages really did nothing to brace me at all lol

okay, so. here’s my understanding of all this, I guess. basically we’re going full Harry Potter rules here. AFO horcruxed his quirk, and from the looks of it, a piece of his soul (perhaps even the main piece) along with it. he then passed it on to Ujiko to implant into Tomura

horcrux!AFO then wakes up, and takes over Tomura. so then my understanding is that he’s going to be possessed by him. and I also got the impression that he’s fully aware of that, but just doesn’t care at this point. he knew his family was trying to warn him, but he didn’t care. and that look in his eyes when he disintegrated them just seemed so fucking resigned to me, though. jesus

but now the more interesting thing! so we can liken Tomura to the resurrected Voldemort from book 5 and onward, reborn after transferring his power into a new vessel. which would go a long way toward explaining how AFO was able to sense what was happening from all the way in Tartarus; because if we liken it to Voldemort and his horcruxes, it would mean that he still has a connection to them (similar to the connection between Voldemort’s mind and Harry’s)

but so now comes the really interesting thing -- what does this then imply about the connection between AFO and Deku? because you’ll recall that AFO alluded to a similar mental connection back when Deku first activated SIXQUIRKS. and now we have Deku somehow being magically aware of AFO’s sudden resurgent presence in this chapter. but why?? if the reason AFO and Tomura share a psychic link is because of a shared quirk, why would Deku also be experiencing the same link? the answer is, he wouldn’t -- unless he, too, had the same shared quirk

in other words, I think All for One for All is fucking confirmed you guys. I can’t think of any explanation for this other than that OFA is also a horcrux quirk. a little piece of AFO broken off and embedded in his brother, and then passed along through the generations. and now residing within Deku

anyway. so that’s a hell of a lot to ponder lol. I guess we can at least be grateful for the fact that we’re not waiting two weeks for chapter 271 like Hori originally planned. can you fucking imagine. what a fucking asshole lol

[xaviermayne]

My Brother's Favorite Toy

Grayson was out getting groceries, and Ethan was in his bedroom getting close.

The vibrator in his ass buzzed hard against his desk chair as Ethan sat stroking his dick, his shorts and underwear around his ankles. Ethan looked down proudly at his dick as his hand slid up and down all 8 inches. Grayson was right, Ethan thought. This does feel amazing.

Grayson had been raving about this vibrator for weeks, which irked Ethan to no end, especially since Ethan had checked online and, because of the pandemic, it was backordered for months. Ethan had been hearing Grayson every night. Around 10pm, like clockwork, Ethan would have to pause his music because he could hear the quiet whirring of the vibe and his brother's muffled groans. Last night Ethan even got up and pressed his ear to the door, seething with jealousy.

So, when Grayson went on his Thursday morning grocery run, Ethan knew this was his only chance. When the garage door closed, Ethan had slowly counted to ten, then darted to Grayson's bedroom. Idiot, Ethan thought, when he found it barely hidden in Grayson's dirty clothes hamper.

Now Ethan knew what all of Grayson's fuss was about. Pushing up on the balls of his feet, Ethan leaned back in his office chair as the vibe pulsed and hummed in his ass. He almost felt like he was having waves of orgasms just from the toy flitting against his prostate, without even cumming. Of course, precum still drooled down his dick, which Ethan quickly swiped with the side of his finger as extra lube for jerking off. He felt another wave of p-spot pleasure rise up on him, when he started to feel his balls tingle too, and he knew a full climax was coming. He grabbed a dirty pair of underwear to use as a rag for his impending load, and then—

"Ethan, I'm home!" Grayson shouted as the front door slammed shut.

Ethan felt all of the blood evaporate out of his body.

"They were out of almond butter so I got cashew butter," Grayson shouted. "Try not to cry about it."

Ethan sat frozen in shock for a moment, then the adrenaline kicked in and he scooted back in the chair, and ripped the toy out of his ass with a thwop.

"Ah, fuck!" Ethan screamed, then slapped his own hand across his mouth. It turned out that quickly ripping out an anal toy can kind of hurt. Sweat began beading across his forehead as he looked down and also realized that, in his act of adrenaline, Ethan had also broken off the tip of the base of the vibrator. The tip with the charging port and the power button. No, no, no, no, no, Ethan thought.

Just then, Ethan's door swung open. Had he really forgotten to lock it?

"Dude it's not even gonna taste that diff— dude, what the FUCK!" Grayson screamed as he looked into Ethan's room. There sat Ethan, naked and drenched in sweat, face as white as the precum dribbling down his boner, with dirty underwear in one hand and a vibrator in the other. And not just any vibrator.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" Grayson screamed, only slowly being able to process the scene before him. "Is that my fucking vibrator? Were you using it?!" Ethan gulped hard. "Whoa wait, and you fucking broke it?!"

There was a stunned silence that, to Ethan, felt like it lasted eight entire years.

"Dude, I can explain," Ethan finally croaked. Then he looked down at the broken bit of the toy dangling from the base. "O-okay. Actually, I guess I can't."

To Ethan's surprise, Grayson just shrugged. "You know what, don't even bother, bro. I know exactly how you'll make it up to me. Just pull up your fucking shorts for now and help me with the groceries."

Stunned, Ethan pulled up his shorts, rearranging his still-throbbing wood into them, and followed his brother out.

That night, just around 10pm, Ethan got a text.

Grayson: Yo, remember how I said you'd have to make it up to me?

Ethan started typing, then erased it.

Grayson: Your punishment starts now. Come to my room.

Ethan tossed his phone on the ground and put his head in his hands. What the fuck am I about to have to do? he wondered. Then begrudgingly, he stood up, and sulked to Grayson's bedroom. He cleared his throat awkwardly and rapped on the door.

"Yeah. Come in."

Ethan turned the doorknob and let the door slowly swing open. Grayson lay at the edge of the bed, his feet firmly on the floor. He had his phone above his head, the light of the screen dancing across his face. He was totally nude, save for a pair of clean white socks on his feet. His dick wasn't hard, but it wasn't totally soft. Ethan knew this since he'd seen his brother's dick soft plenty of times before — only because they lived together and had played sports together though, nothing gay. Well, not until now, at least.

"Ummmm, what are you doing?" Ethan asked, eyes fixed on his own shadow stretched out before him.

"You broke my toy," Grayson explained. "It's backordered for months. And I can't cum without it."

"Look, bro, I'm sorry," Ethan said. "I know it's super weird that I even borrowed it. And then to break it... I mean it was a freak accident!"

"Shut up," Grayson commanded flatly. "I can't cum without something in my ass. And I really, really need to cum."

"Okay," Ethan shrugged. "Do want me to, like, get a pickle from the fridge for you or something?" He laughed at his own joke.

Grayson grabbed a plastic bottle laying next to him and threw it at his brother, hitting Ethan squarely on the cheek. "It's not fucking funny," said Grayson. Ethan winced at the pain then looked down and noticed it was a bottle of lube. "Squirt some on your fucking finger and get to work." Grayson casually raised up his legs and let them rest in the air, revealing the tiny pink dot between his tanned ass cheeks.

Ethan stared at his brother's ass. He'd seen his brother's ass cheeks a hundred times, but never his brother's hole. It looked pristine and tight. It almost looked like a girl's, Ethan thought, if you didn't look at his masculine, muscular glutes or, y'know, his big shaven balls sagging down, one slightly lower than the other.

Ethan approached his brother and heard the tinny sound of a girl moaning — some porn video on Grayson's phone. He dropped to his knees with a sigh and squirted a few drops of lube onto his right index finger. Though this was the first time seeing his brother's hole, it actually wasn't his first time thinking about it. Sometimes, when Ethan was extremely horny — like, hadn't jerked off for days horny — he'd watch his brother during their workouts and would catch himself having weird fantasies, like picturing what his brother would look like doing those barbell squats naked. Ethan would think about Grayson slowly lowering down into the squat and his ass cheeks spreading, a bead of sweat dripping off his swaying balls. Ethan would find himself hard and wanting to play with his dick, but would quickly snap out of it and flush with shame.

But now, here it was. His brother's hole. He ran his lubed fingertip around it until it glistened in the haze of blue LED lights in Grayson's room. Then, carefully, Ethan slid in the very tip of his finger.

"Slow," Grayson barked.

Ethan sat for a moment, his finger right at the precipice of his brother's hole, as the girl in the porn video moaned delicately. Hesitantly, Ethan pushed a bit more in. Grayson seemed to wince, but stayed silent.

It carried on like that for a bit, with Ethan slowly sliding in and Grayson occasionally commanding him to go slower, or questioning how trimmed his fingernails were. Eventually Ethan had a full finger in, and Ethan noticed his brother's warm hole didn't seem to twitch and squeeze as much. He was loosening up.

Grayson switched videos, and that's when Ethan noticed his brother's ass really starting to open up. With a bit more lube, Ethan was able to get his middle finger in, too. He was even pretty sure he heard Grayson let out a little grunt of pleasure when he moved around in him.

That's when Ethan found it. A few inches in was Grayson's throbbing prostate. He pressed on it gently with his middle finger.

"Huh!" went Grayson's startled grunt. As Ethan rubbed it more and more, Grayson's growls devolved into breathless moans of pleasure. Ethan watched Grayson's dick slowly rise from a thick slab of meat lounging on his balls to a beautiful pulsing tower, quivering as precum leaked down.

"Hoahh," Grayson moaned, in a certain falsetto he'd never heard from his brother before. Not even last night with his ear pressed again the door. Was he fingerbanging his bro better than the toy? Encouraged, Ethan furrowed his brow and started hammering at his brothers p-spot, determined to drive him totally wild.

He looked up and smirked as he noticed Grayson's toes were curling inside his white socks. Ethan tilted his head to see beyond Grayson's dick to his face, and his mouth was wide open and his eyes were rolling back. He had thrown his phone onto the mattress and whatever video he'd been watching was now not only muffled by the comforter, but drowned out by Ethan's own guttural groans and squealing moans.

Suddenly Grayson pushed his hair back with his hand and said in a hushed tone, "Oh my god, I think I'm gonna—" Ethan's eyes lit up and he put his fingers into machine-gun mode. Then, with both hands gripping his own hair in confusion, Grayson let out a yelp and Ethan watched as Grayson's balls suddenly raised up and a heavy stream of wet white cum surged out of his dick. Ethan's eyes followed the load as it seemed to almost touch the ceiling, then come down with a splat on Grayson's tattooed leg. In fact, Ethan noticed, some of it even got on the jack-o-lantern tattoo he'd given his brother a couple of years ago.

Ethan curled his fingers again and Grayson's body convulsed, another thick stream beaming up and falling, this time settling in the valleys of Grayson's abs, flexed as he kept his legs up. Ethan smiled as he pressed again and yet another load shot up. He realized he was full-on milking his own brother's prostate. He kept pulling the trigger and watched as his brother shot load after load, until eventually it seemed like his dick kept straightening for another shot but there was nothing left to shoot.

Ethan slowly slipped his fingers out of his brother's hole, which quickly tightened right back up to the perfect pink dot it was before. Grayson groaned as he finally lowered down his legs. Cum was everywhere, on Grayson's thighs, his abs, all over the bed. A drop had even sprayed on Ethan's face. Ethan made sure Grayson wasn't looking, then tongued it off his cheek. I tasted thick and bitter and buttery.

Ethan looked down at his own dick, which was harder than he'd ever seen it, and the front of his shorts were completely drenched in his own precum.

Biting his lower lip, Ethan looked up at Grayson. "Sooo... my turn?"

[thatesqcrush]

Karaoke Night

Rafael Barba x Reader. AN: Using “No Diggity” by Blackstreet at part of @thefanficfaerie’s song fic/3500 follower/birthday challenge. Also using fluff prompt #4: “you’re staring again” as requested by @lotsahugginbear.

***

“Much overdue, but cheers to Captain Benson. Well deserved,” Fin raised his beer to toast Olivia. The bar was filled with a hodgepodge from the 16th precinct to One PP to the D.A.’s office. The crowd cheered before taking sips of their respective drinks.

You smiled as you swallowed your beer. You sat at the high-top watching the crowd mix and mingle. You were a junior detective, having transferred over from white-collar crimes. Your eyes landed at the bar where one Cuban ADA who was busy talking with Olivia and the newest ADA, Sonny.

“You’re staring again,” Amanda replied, clasping a palm onto your shoulder, causing you to be briefly startled.

“Am not,” you protested before taking another long swallow of your beer. Suddenly the loaded potato skins in front of you seemed more interesting and you started to pick at one.

“You should just ask him out already,” another voice popped up. You looked over your shoulder and saw the newest detective, Kat had joined.

“What? I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” you said, bringing your hand to cover your mouth as you chewed.

Kat cocked a brow. “I may be new, but I’m not stupid. You like Barba.”

“Would you shhhh!” you hissed, your eyes darting back to the trio ahead of you.

Kat reached over and popped a potato skin in her mouth. She pinched her thumb and forefinger together and made a zipping motion over her mouth.

Amanda shrugged. “I think you should go for it, that’s all.”

At some point, enough booze had gone around to where someone thought it would be a good idea to do karaoke and a machine was brought out.

Kat and Amanda were finishing up their rendition of Salt n Pepa’s “Push It.” You had lost count of how many drinks you had. You were definitely buzzed.

“I think I am going to head out,” Rafael replied, approaching you. “Give the twosome my best,” he replied as he shrugged on his peacoat.

“No, no, no,” you protested, standing. A waitress walked by with a tray with a full round of shots. You grabbed one. Before Rafael could try to take it away, you had tipped it back. “You can’t.” Your legs were wobbly. Rafael instinctively reached out to stead you. His hands were on your waist and a jolt went through you.

Rafael could smell the alcohol on your breath mixed with the scent of your perfume. “Y/N, I think you had enough to drink.”

You shook your head and pressed a fingertip into his chest. “No. I have to do this,” you confidently stated. You never were one to be bold but alcohol always had a way of lowering inhibitions. “Sit,” you commanded.

A puzzled look flashed on Rafael’s face as you pushed past him to the karaoke machine. He watched you bend over and speak to the person working at the karaoke machine. His eyes drank in your curves that were clothed in a fitted shirt and joggers. You approached the microphone and raised your arms to tie up your hair, causing your shirt to ride up. A hip tattoo peeked out and Rafael felt his mouth go dry.

The familiar musical backing of “No Diggity” came over the bar. Rafael immediately recognized the tune. When you started to rap the intro of the song, Rafael all but fell out of the chair he was sitting in. Amanda and Kat who were talking stopped. Their jaws had dropped to the floor. You had taken the liberty to changing the gender of the lyrics and were dead-on staring at Rafael.

Shorty get down, good Lord

Baby got 'em open all over town
Strictly biz, he don't play around

Cover much grounds, got game by the pound

Getting paid is his forte

Each and every day, true player way

I can't get him out of my mind

Someone who sounded much like Fin did the “wow wow” part of the lyrics. You pointed a finger at Fin and thanked him before continuing.

Baby, you're a perfect ten, I wanna get in

Can I get down so I can win?

“Oh my God,” Rafael replied. He looked over at Olivia who was stifling a giggle. He the turned towards at Amanda who shrugged. The smirk on her face though was dead giveaway that she knew more than she let on.

He’s got class and style

Street knowledge by the pound

Baby never act wild, very low key on the profile

Catchin' feelings is a no

“Did you have a clue?” Sonny asked, approaching.

“None,” Rafael murmured. Unbeknownst to his friends, Rafael had harbored a thing for you. He thought you were completely adorable and was practically smitten with you from when he first met you in his office when you came in with Amanda in need of warrant. You were off the charts smart and had a dry writ that matched his own. However, his caseload and work schedule wasn’t exactly relationship friendly so he didn’t pursue it.

The crowd began to catch on to the chorus and it became a bit of a spectacle. Rafael covered the smirk on his face as you continued.

I like the way you work it

No diggity, I got to bag it up

You sauntered over to him, still singing.

I like the way you work it

No diggity, I got to bag it up

You winked at him, before making your way back to the stage. Rafael watched your hips sway and he felt his cock twitch slightly.

We out, we out

You finished the song to thunderous applause. You sauntered over once more to Rafael and wrapped your arms around him.

“Detective,” Rafael acknowledged, his voice low. “That was quite the performance.” Your eyes searched his. “Raf—“ you began before you stopped suddenly. You hand flew to your mouth but it was too late. Your stomach recoiled and you bent over, sick and upchucked everything you had consumed.

Rafael pinched the bridge of his nose and banged his head against the wall behind him.

“Okay, the show is most definitely over,” Sonny grimaced. “Let’s get Y/N home.” A bartender came by with a rag and key so that Rafael could use the bathroom and clean up. Rafael muttered his thanks as he made way to clean up his ruined shoes.

***

Bright and early the next morning, Rafael stopped by his abuelita’s house to check in on her. Normally he would have taken a town car from the Bronx to the city but something in him decided to forego that option, choosing to take the 4 downtown to City Hall. In another lifetime, Rafael would have stood out like a sore thumb in his three-piece suit on the subway. Due to gentrification, Rafael blended right in. He slipped his AirPods into his ear and hit shuffle on his phone. Rafael chuckled to himself as sure enough, “No Diggity” came on.

Quickly he opened the his messages and texted Olivia.

A little over an hour later, Rafael found you hunched over your desk. Olivia put you on desk duty for the day and you were grateful for it. You were leaning against your arm, the hoodie of your sweatshirt was covering your face.

“Good morning detective,” Rafael greeted brightly. He placed a large coffee on your desk along with a brown paper bag. “Liv told me I’d find you here. Call it what you want, but I got you a donut - you know, being a cop and all.”

Your brain registered who the voice belonged to and suddenly you wanted nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Not so loud counselor,” you groaned. Even the lights of the squad room and glow from your computer were too much; you wore your sunglasses inside. You reached over to grab your bottle of aspirin and you shook out two before chewing them dryly.

Rafael cocked a brow. You and him were too alike. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Clearly winning at life,” you grumbled. You removed your glasses and Rafael inwardly cringed at your bloodshot eyes. “I’m so sorry for last night,” you apologized.

“Interesting choice of music.”

You ignored him and instead chose to focus on the report in front of you. “I ruined your shoes-I’ll pay for them to be cleaned. I embarrassed the two of us.”

“Though, in order for the song to be accurate, I have to bag it up.”

You stopped what you were doing. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“You heard me,” Rafael replied, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. He stood up and opened the brown bag, reaching in to take out one of the two donuts he bought.

You furrowed your brow and tried to rack your brain for a response. “I—“ you began, but no other words came out.

“I’ll pick you up at 7... shorty.”

You watched Rafael saunter off, the swagger in a full effect and you died a little on the inside feeling your panties dampen. ‘Did that just-what?’ you wondered. You reached for the coffee. A smile twitched onto your face.

“No doubt,” you murmured before taking a bite of the donut.

FIN.

***

Tags: @melsquared79 @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @amirightcounselor @neely1177 @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @sweetsummertime99 @evee87 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @misssirenlove @letty-o @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @thefanficfaerie @fanficfaeriesrafaelbarbalibrary @theenchantedgalleryofstories @mishaissocoollike @trekinthruthestarwars - anyone else just ask! 💋

[taylorroger-s]

good company [1] // billy/four x tattooartist!reader

a/n so this came as an invasive thought one random night. might be caused by my recent addiction to tattoo videos. also i wanted to read something like this but sadly, i had to write it. and i think it turned out pretty good! plus i wanted to draw this out since i got hit by a wave of nine million ideas and it’s pointless to smush everything together when I can write it all out. and thus, this mini series was born. hope y’all enjoy!!! (me writing this: god i wish that were me) 

summary: you are brand new to the tattooing world; young, scrappy, and eager to prove yourself, you took the first opportunity offered to you. your first client? a young man named billy, who’s character puzzles you to no end.

masterlist here!

warnings: uhhh tattoos (duh), cursing, ~tension~ and the like. clocks in at about 6.3k words

enjoy :)

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it was the seediest shop in town, and the only one to give you a chance. young, scrappy, and determined to make your passion for tattooing a reality, you took the first real offer you got. after a few months doing an apprenticeship with a veteran of your new tattoo parlor, they gave you a table and chair in the corner and told you to get to it. he was your very first client.

the day started off with tidying up the counter and turning on the open sign. your first few hours as an official tattoo artist were spent at the meager “reception” desk, furiously doodling any design that struck your fancy. occasionally you would give out forms and verify ages, but the shop was more into efficiency and artistry than sticking to professional protocol. they did hire you, after all.

several hours and one brief argument with a coworker later, you plopped down on the chair at your tattoo station for lunch. while nibbling at your cheese sandwich, you took a moment to examine the room further. five other tattoo artists were hunched over their own work, chugging along while their clients cringed and bit their lips in pain. framed photographs of tattoos and artwork lined the walls, broken up by miscellaneous wall hangings and the occasional pipe. chatter filled the room, just barely overpowering the music streaming from a clunky radio set up by the waiting area. 

then he walked in, all ropey muscles and bright eyes, no more than a year or two older than you. he wore a grey jacket with the hood pulled up, letting just a few stands of honey blond hair peek through. his eyes swept back and forth across the stations, each one occupied except for your small set up in the far corner. you glanced up from the tree you had been drawing, almost falling off your chair once you saw how strikingly attractive the boy was. 

you couldn’t help but watch as a heavily tattooed woman - stacy, one of the most experienced at the shop - walked up to the desk and greeted the boy. you unconsciously leaned towards the two, attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation. the pen wedged between your fingers fell to the floor, but you hardly noticed. 

“i’d… like a tattoo please.” he spoke confidently, almost brash in his tone, but the way his shoulders tensed with each loud laugh and how his eyes darted back and forth from stacy’s face to the floor betrayed his anxiety. his hands were shoved in his pockets, fingers visibly squirming behind the gray fabric. he was nervous, despite being a good few inches taller than stacy and twice as broad. 

“what’s the name, love?” she asked, tucking a strand of dark blue hair behind her ear. half of her head was buzzed, the rest of her hair peppered with gray strands. tattoos snaked down from behind her ear to the column of her throat, the rest disappearing beneath a “sex pistols” shirt. she wore her age proudly on her face, smile lines creasing the skin around her bright red lips. stacy was almost like the mother of the shop, and had been there longer than anybody.

“billy.” his voice was borderline too deep for such a young face, hood slipping down a little further to expose more of his wavy blond hair. you were well aware at that point that you were staring at him, mind whirling with a million possibilities as to where such a person could come from and why he wanted a tattoo. there were upwards of three different designs you mentally listed that you thought would enhance his good looks. maybe something on his arms? or neck? you stood by the belief that tattoos could make anyone more attractive, though your parents would beg to differ. 

“alright then, what are you wanting to get?” stacy pulled out a clipboard, writing down his information with a pen adorned by cracked beads and colorful string hanging from the cap. 

“some numbers and letters on my knuckles, on uh… my right hand? four of them.” you gripped your sketchbook tighter, barely resisting the urge to grab your pencil and start doodling fonts. however, it was a long shot that you were going to end up with him as a client, your first client, which marginally deflated your enthusiasm. you took a large bite from your sandwich instead of drawing, turning your attention back to him and stacy. 

“splendid, let’s see who’s open… oh um, please give me a moment.” stacy glanced around the room, searching for an empty chair. she grimaced inwardly as she realized there were none, save for the one right in front of you that was occupied by your propped up feet and a brown lunch bag. you couldn’t read further into her expression before she turned away from both him and you, walking over to the middle aged owner of the tattoo parlor. tom was a sour character, but could tattoo better than most of the more respectable artists in the city. you attempted to focus once more on the sandwich in your hand and not the boy while stacy tugged on tom’s baggy tank top. 

“tom, there’s this kid here for a tattoo and no one is free.” tom looked up for no more than three seconds, tattoo machine clutched between his surprisingly thin fingers. he must have been in his early fifties, and weighed more than you and stacy combined. he was in the process of inking a bold skull on the back of a young man, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. 

“what about our little birdie over there? she’s free, yeah?” tom huffed, clearly annoyed at being disturbed. birdie was the nickname you got after bringing mostly bird-related art to your interview, and it showed no signs of going away. stacy flicked him on the forehead, nearly making him slip and mess up a line. he glowered at her, but still turned to listen. 

“no shit, but knuckles for a first tattoo? do you really think she’s up to it?” stacy had taken you under her wing from the get go, even offering a patch of skin on her arm for you to do your first tattoo. her protection was a comfort, but also a little stifling. she knew you were a good artist, maybe even great, but there were certain tricks to tattooing hands you hadn’t quite learned. she didn’t want you to mess up on your first tattoo and leave the boy with a messy bundle of lines instead of letters. 

“why not? he doesn’t look that picky. now fuck off and leave me alone.” he spoke gruffly, the cigarette between tom’s lips moved precariously back and forth. he turned back to his client, but not before flipping stacy the bird, to which she replied with an obscene gesture of her own. 

“bastard…” she grumbled, tugging mindlessly at a strand of hair just barely covering her eye. taking a deep breath, she walked over to you, plastering a wide smile on her lips. stacy was genuinely excited for you to begin tattooing, but it was difficult for her to step back and let you do your own thing. 

“alright babe, your time to shine. ready to do some knuckle lettering?” your jaw would have fallen open if it hadn’t been for the cheese sandwich filling your mouth. your eyes grew wide and you quickly swallowed the food down, doing you very best to process what exactly stacy meant. 

“what? me? but-” you shook your head, appetite suddenly lost. did she mean it was your time to actually tattoo? a paying human being? they must be mental, you thought to yourself, moving to put the rest of your lunch away. as soon as your sandwich was placed in the brown paper bag, stacy seized you by the arm and began dragging you over to where he was waiting. 

“sorry for the delay, this is y/n. she’ll be your artist today,” you suppressed a laugh, looking at stacy with your eyebrows raised. she just smiled and let go of your arm, giving you a push towards him. you barely saved yourself from stumbling, quickly straightening your spine and lifting your chin to look him in the eyes. his bright, beautiful, green eyes. dammit. 

“oh- that’s me, i’m y/n. and it looks like i’m gonna be your tattooist,” you gave him a little wave, doing your very best to smile professionally instead of grimace. he nodded in response, bringing his hands out of his pockets. he seemed to consider shaking your hand, but instead moved to rub the back of his neck. you fiddled with your fingers, not knowing what to do next. he was your first client, after all. 

“i’m billy. um, how much will this cost?” he stuttered a little, shrinking back into his gray hoodie. until that moment, you had almost entirely forgotten that you were doing this for a job, to get paid. 

“uhhh,” you were blindsided by a very common question, and looked to stacy for help. she stared at billy for a moment, tapping her index finger on the counter. he squirmed a little under her sharp gaze. his eyes flicked to you, locking onto yours. he was looking for an out, but you just shrugged, apologetic look on your face. 

“mm, about forty pounds.” she finally said after a solid couple seconds. he let out a small breath, shoulders falling. his lips fell as well, tweaking down at the corners. he reached into the pocket of his joggers, bringing out a five pound note, two 2 pound coins, and five 20 pence coins. ten pounds in all. 

“bollocks… i only have ten on me.”  you felt bad for billy, really. you remembered how you spent weeks saving up before you could get your first real tattoo; a small raven right above your hip. hurt like hell, but from that moment on, you were addicted. the ones you got before that were terribly done, with homemade equipment, and usually done by you. 

“i don’t know what to tell you then-” stacy started to apologize, but an idea began forming in your brain. bigger tattoo pieces could take upwards of twelve hours, so they were often done in multiple sessions. a knuckle tattoo wouldn’t take nearly as long, nor was it necessary to spread out appointments. but before you could stop yourself, the words fell out. 

“i can just do one. today, i mean. you can come in whenever you have the rest of the money.” you could hear stacy’s sigh, and couldn’t help but cringe as well. billy’s eyebrows shot up, and he opened his mouth to talk, but he couldn’t seem to decide on words and shut it again. a moment passed in painfully awkward silence, you looking anywhere but at billy. stacy sighed again, laying a hand on your shoulder. 

“okay birdie, i have an appointment in seven minutes and you seem to have this under control, yeah?” you turned your head so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. being alone and in close quarters with billy after only a few minutes after meeting him freaked you out more than it should. you were theoretically a tattoo artist, and that was an unavoidable point of the job. it was basically painting on someone’s skin with a needle for multiple hours at a time. 

“i guess so…” she gave you a soft smile, rubbing your shoulder with the ink-free skin of her palm. you smiled back. you could tell she was a little worried, but so were you. 

“you’ll do great sweetheart, just don’t- maggie! so good to see you, love…” she was about to give you sage advice, but her next client came a few minutes early and in an instant, you were alone. well, except for billy of course. you psyched yourself up for a moment before turning to him with your best professional smile. 

“well then, let’s head over to my chair.” you told him, walking almost halfway there before you turned around to see he hadn’t moved a step. odd. billy was still looking around the room, eyeing the beams on the ceiling and highly decorated walls. his shoulders were tensed and he had taken his hands from his pockets, fingers twitching as his eyes scanned the shop. he looked ready to run at the slightest movement. the hell? you exhaled heavily through your nose, walking back over to him and waving a hand in front of his face.

“you in there?” you asked, taking a step back when his gaze snapped to you, “ah, it seems like you are. ready to get tattooed?” what a peculiar person, you thought to yourself. he shifted back onto his heels with impeccable balance, taking off his hood in one fluid motion. his honey blond hair was styled into a short undercut. you shook off the dazed look in your eyes, and in a surprisingly bold move, held out a hand for him to take. 

“hell yeah.” he finally said, a sharp smile creeping onto his lips. you smiled back, letting the first-day jitters roll off your shoulders. maybe spending time with him wouldn’t be as tense as you expected. he took your hand, and you started to lead him back to your little station in the corner. his palms were surprisingly calloused compared to your never-seen-a-day-of-manual-labor hands. 

“perfect,” you said after stopping at your station. you dropped his hand, gesturing for him to sit on the chair meant for clients. you snatched your sketchbook from the small square table, digging out a pen from a years old pencil pouch you had yet to part with. 

“now, you have any fonts in mind? actually, a better question would be what do you actually want on your knuckles?” you already started to doodle, sketching out a curly, cursive alphabet starting with “a”. lettering wasn’t your favorite thing to draw, but there was always flexibility when it came to art. and you loved art. 

“2-2-E-S on my right hand. just black letters would be fine.” you deflated slightly, tearing your eyes away from the whimsical “b” you were drawing. he sat with his elbows on his knees, fingers knitted together. until then, you didn’t realize how close you were. you lifted your eyes to meet his, faces no more than eight inches apart. the tension between you two drew taut, yanking the breath from your lungs. he was mesmerizing. you laughed to break the moment and leaned back in your chair, letting it roll away from his focused gaze. he shifted as well, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“no design at all? shame on you sir.” you teased, almost immediately cursing yourself for acting so casual out of nowhere. while you were scolding yourself for being unprofessional, billy watched the minute changes in your expression as you mindlessly tapped your pen against the spiral binding of your sketchbook. he noticed that you had your right pinky extended as you drew, perfectly straight as your pen swept across the page. your eyes flicked up for a moment to meet his, then immediately dropped again before you could end up blushing. 

“i’m not really the creative type anyway.” his voice felt so familiar and alien at the same time. like every single boy you had ever known - cocky, fast talking, scrambling for a laugh. yet there was something more behind his deep voice and quick movements. you shook your head, dragging yourself back into the real world. 

“somehow i don’t buy that,” you couldn’t see him smile, focused instead on making the last line of the “e” straight as possible. you held the drawing away from your face once completed, tilting it back and forth. your innate need for perfectionism only grew after you decided tattooing would be your career, and every piece of art you did since then had to be flawless in case you would have the chance to put it on someone’s body. after a moment, you nodded, turning the page around so he could see it. 

“four plain black numbers and letters, as requested. looks good?” you were quite proud of the nearly perfect lines and proportions. it cooled the nerves simmering under your skin as the tattoo machine lay waiting in a shallow drawer. 

“yeah, yeah. good.” he nodded, moving to roll up the sleeves of his jacket and put his right hand on his knee, right within your reach. you took a moment to tear off the page, making sure your letters were still nice and neat. 

“excellent, give me a moment to get this stencil-” you started to stand up, paper pinched between your index finger and thumb. you were about to go to the printer by the back wall, but billy piped up before you could take a step. 

“you don’t have to do that,” you froze, turning on your heel to watch him. he had leaned back onto the palms of his hands, still seated in your client’s chair. 

“what?” you asked, voice coming out almost as a squeak. you immediately cleared your voice and he smiled a little.

“i mean, you don’t have to use a stencil. just freehand it, i don’t mind.” he just shrugged it off like having someone draw with a goddamn needle on his skin was just another day at work. 

“you do realize i could very easily fuck up and leave you with permanent lines on your hand, right?” you were starting to wonder if he actually didn’t know tattoos were permanent, especially since getting them on a visible place like your hands would scare away most employers in a heartbeat. actually, what job did he have? the money he showed was a slim window into his life; ten pounds in various, loose forms. now that brought you back to university in a flash. 

“in fact, i do.” you raised your hands to the sky in a “why me?” gesture before dropping them back down to your sides, integrity of your sketch forgotten. he snickered at your - overly - dramatic reaction, to which you responded with a quick glare. why did i have to get such a memorable first client? 

“must be in a rush.” you shrugged, accepting that this was how the next thirty minutes of your life would play out. you were about to throw the page of your sketchbook in the trash, but changed your mind at the last minute and stuck it in one of the drawers of your small table. you then grabbed your pencil bag again, rooting around until you came up with two pens: one light green, the other black.

billy was silent as he watched you shuffle around the space, taking out your hand-me-down tattoo machine from the top drawer of your table. you gently placed it on the table top, laying out a small cap and filling it with a brand new bottle of jet black ink. you put the pens on the seat next to him, opening a second drawer that contained a disposable razor and replacement parts, sealed wipes, towels, and other things for sterilization. 

one of the most important things to remember is cleanliness, you heard the voice of stacy echo in your ear. you cast a look over your shoulder to where she was, watching for a moment as she carefully laid a stencil on her client’s leg. you watched her for a moment until she stood back up from where she was crouching and looked back at you, giving you an encouraging thumbs up. you returned the gesture with your best play on a confident smile. 

“you all alright?” billy asked, pulling you immediately back into the task before you. 

“mhm,” you responded, lips pressed close together. you pulled on a pair of latex gloves and plucked a razor and wipe from the drawer. 

“give me your hand,” you told him, taking a seat on your rolling chair. he held out his right hand and you gently took it in your left, shifting his fingers so the knuckle of his pinky finger was between your own. you scooted forward until you were almost between his knees, doing your best to wholly focus on the razor in your hand and definitely not how warm he was and how his hand felt in yours. nope, not going to think of that at all.

slowly, carefully, you cleaned his knuckle, making sure that there was no way possible for an infection to set in. you could hear billy humming to himself quietly and tuned in to listen. it was hard to make out the song, but something about it tugged at your memory. you shook it off and tossed the sanitizing supplies into a nearby rubbish bin. you turned back to billy, surprised to see him holding out the pens for you with a small smirk on his lips. slowly, you took them, tensing as your fingers brushed his. 

“just a 2 for today then,” you muttered, almost to yourself, not waiting for an answer and diving right in to recreate the perfect number “2” you had drawn just minutes earlier, on his knuckle. you were so silent that it was nearly possible to hear his heartbeat as the light green sharpie swept over his skin. it was a relatively awkward place to tattoo- right on the joint between his pinky finger and hand. since it was so close to his bone, it would be more painful than he might expect. even drawing it was tedious as you tried to make the lines connect smoothly over the joint. billy watching you draw very carefully didn’t help the anxiety that started to simmer under your skin.  

once you were satisfied with how it looked, you grabbed the black pen and repeated the drawing, tensing every muscle in your body to keep your hand from shaking. the nerves were already coming and you hadn’t even started up the tattoo machine. you leaned back into the light, holding up his hand to inspect your penmanship. billy stared at you as you held his finger up to the light, carefully scrutinizing your work without noticing his gaze. he watched the small crease between your eyebrows form as your thumb swiped at the ink. you glanced up momentarily and met his eyes, and in that moment you could have sworn he blushed. hell, you might have too.

you looked at him for a beat then dropped his hand like it was a hot rock. it was hard to ignore the tingle shooting down your spine as his lingering warmth faded from your hand. it’s just the nerves, dumbass, you said to yourself, now hush up and do your job. you cleared your throat, immediately turning around in your chair and sliding over to finish setting up your tattoo machine. you soon froze when there was nothing left for you to waste time doing. you had to get started. 

it’s fine, you’re fine, this is just a man, a boy even. a nice, attractive, fit… goddammit. you were mentally cursing yourself as you slowly turned to face him again. billy just smiled, holding out his right hand to you. you took a deep breath in and pulled on a new pair of latex gloves. 

“alright, ready freddie?” you said to him, taking his hand in yours, repeatedly chanting ‘don’t fuck up’ to yourself. 

“ready.” he responded, letting his hand relax into yours. you moved his fingers so his pinky finger was front and center, the perfect “2” you had drawn clear against his skin. with your right hand, you picked up the tattoo machine, dipping the tip of it in ink. 

“here we go.” the tattoo machine started with a buzz as you pressed on the pedal. you took a deep breath and touched the needles to his skin, right at the top of the “2”. billy’s fingers quickly tensed, holding tighter onto your hand. you tried not to smile while you slowly pulled the needle across his skin. he took a sharp breath in, holding it for a moment before slowly releasing it. his hand stayed clasped around yours as the tattoo machine hummed between your fingers. 

minutes passed with no conversation. the buzz of the tattoo machine helped you tune out the various sensations trying to distract you. hard rock from a nearby speaker, an occasional bout of laughter or pained shriek from across the room, steady humming from billy that you still vaguely recognized. eventually, about a third of the way through the tattoo, you started to get antsy from the lack of talking and had to break the silence. 

“hmm… what’s billy short for?” you asked, wiping off some excess ink from his finger. you looked up at him, slightly surprised to see him focused entirely on your face. he cleared his throat, using his free hand to comb through his short blond hair. 

“william.” you couldn’t help the small smile that flickered across your lips, dipping the needle into the ink once more. a name like william didn’t fit with his scrappy, self-assured attitude and appearance. neither did billy, for that matter. 

“was billy always your go-to nickname? ever gone by will? or liam?” you went back in with the needle, billy hissing through his teeth as it punctured his skin again and again. 

“my primary school teacher always insisted on william, which made me hate it. she was a major arsehole, mind you.” you chuckled, wiping off more excess ink. 

“now that i understand. i knew a william once, but he went by… will, i think. he also gained the unfortunate nickname of ‘willy’ somewhere around secondary school.” billy laughed loudly, drawing the attention of a few others in the room. and he moved. you drew the tattoo machine back just in time, narrowly avoiding a potential accident. you glared at him, but he couldn’t take the frown on your face seriously and continued his chuckling. 

“you done?” you asked when he finally calmed down. he nodded, still smiling like a school boy.

“sorry, i have the humor of a twelve year old.” you rolled your eyes, biting hard on your bottom lip to ward off a smile. but it didn’t work. it felt terribly natural to be around him and you were not having it. 

“i’ve noticed.” you muttered, glancing back up to billy. you raised an eyebrow at him in a silent question and he nodded, letting you return to your work. dipping the needle in ink, you once again put it to his skin, and once again, his hand tightened around your own. 

“so, how long have you been tattooing?” billy asked, after a minute or two of silence had passed. you lifted the needle for a moment, thinking about your answer. 

“like, professionally?” you had certainly tattooed under less than proper circumstances. on drunk people and often drunk yourself. your roommate in university had a horrendous bird silhouette between her shoulder blades, and your very first love had your name inked on their ankle. you had done it yourself two days after discovering they cheated on you. but you didn’t really want to divulge those… questionable stories to a client. 

“uh, i guess.” he said, voice suddenly tinged with concern. you spotted a chance to mess with him and immediately went for it.

“about,” you glanced up to the clock fixed to the wall, “twenty minutes.” you bit back another smile at the fearful look in his eyes. it didn’t stop you from snorting with laughter, though. 

“your warnings make sense now.” he was speaking slower than before, which only made the moment funnier. to you, at least. 

“i’m thrilled. you scared yet?” you teased, smirk growing by the second. he laughed nervously, rolling his eyes at you. your shoulders relaxed, and you didn’t even realize how tense you had been until that moment. the playful banter back and forth with billy swept your earlier nerves right away. 

“not even close, birdie.” you groaned, a nervous laugh slipping past your lips. it felt a little weird to have someone other than your fellow tattooists call you birdie, but you could listen to billy say it for hours with that smooth, deep voice of h- OH MY GOD, you screamed internally. stop. fantasizing. about. your. CLIENT. 

“ah, you’ve heard my nickname. what can i say? i like birds.” you laughed again, a little too high pitched to be normal. he raised his eyebrows in confusion, but went back to his tense state as you started to tattoo again. 

“i like it, much better than billy.” you bit back yet another smile. he was really starting to worm his way under your skin, and in such a short amount of time. but you had to agree with him. he looked more like a… well, you couldn’t think of any other names that fit him but billy was certainly not anywhere near a fitting name for such an interesting - to say the least - person. 

“now that i have to agree with.” you said, still chipping away at your work in progress tattoo. he chuckled, shifting in his seat. 

“you are coldhearted, woman.” he declared, and you couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. 

“oh, i aspire.”

too soon, yet also not soon enough, you finished. you wiped away the last of the ink and blood - don’t worry, it’s normal - from his finger, lifting it up to the light. the tattoo turned out rather nice. the “2” was plain black, thick, and relatively free of wobbles. it warped a little as billy flexed his fingers, but that was to be expected. he started to stand up once you let go, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest. you could feel his heartbeat under your palm, and slowly drew your hand back. a moment passed in perfect silence where the only thing you could hear was his breathing, and the only thing you could feel was the residual warmth radiating from him. 

“slow down there, i still need to bandage it.” you said after clearing your throat. he sat back down, thankfully making sure to not use his freshly tattooed hand. you took a step back. then another. and then almost ran into your table. flashing billy a quick, slightly embarrassed smile, you turned your back to him and focused on getting out the clingfilm, bandage, and ointment that was standard procedure for tattoo aftercare. 

“okay, so,” you started, turning back around with an armful of health care products. billy was still seated on your chair, right hand resting on his knee.

“what you should do is try not to use your hands for a couple days, plus, your knuckles might swell up and it’ll hurt like hell to use them. gotta keep the area nice and clean with this ointment,” you held it up for him to see, then put it down by his side, “a good thing to do is wear is some nitrile gloves to keep a barrier between your hand and the horrors of the outdoors,” you took a small container of gloves from your pile, placing it right next to the ointment.

“here’s a little pamphlet thing if you want it,” you took it from in between your arm and side, adding it to the small pile on billy’s left. he was nodding along with your instructions, but his eyes were wandering from your face to examine the rest of the tattoo shop once again. you ignored him ignoring you, and got to work bandaging his finger.

“okay billy boy, you’re all set.” you said once you made sure his bandage was airtight and clean. you rolled yourself over to the trash can, disposing of your latex gloves and other used-up items. when you came back to your station, billy was back on his feet, almost unconsciously flexing his fingers to see if his right pinky still worked. spoiler alert, it did, and he was just paranoid. probably.

he seemed a little unfocused until you spoke, then immediately turned his attention back to you. he stuck his non-tattooed hand out for you to shake. still a strange guy, you said to yourself. 

“thanks, uh…” you felt a grin growing, and this time, you didn’t try to stop it. plus, he seemed to have forgotten your name, which was objectionably hilarious. is that why he called me birdie? and how does he remember ‘birdie’ and not my name? 

“y/n,” you confirmed, shaking his hand. billy smiled at you, showing a hint of bright white teeth. 

“y/n. here,” you almost shivered hearing him say your name.  you almost didn’t notice he was holding out the money until he cocked his head to the side, giving you a confused look. it looked almost like he was pouting. you let out a nervous giggle, cringing internally the second it passed. billy didn’t seem to mind, laughing along with you. it soon devolved into a laughing fit as you finally accepted the awkwardness of the situation. many of the other people in the shop shot the two of you quizzical glances, but that didn’t stop you from nearly falling over with laughter. what were you laughing at? nothing, really. it just felt good to be so wildly happy for a brief moment. 

billy started to walk away waving goodbye. you raised your hand to do the same, but froze halfway. there was something you wanted to know before he left for an undetermined amount of time. 

“wait! i never got to ask you what it meant. the tattoo.” he was halfway to the door but turned at the last moment, in the process of pulling the hood back over his golden hair.  

“i’ll be back soon, i hope. i’ll tell you then.” you brightened at that, giving him a playful salute. billy returned the gesture, even adding a silly wink for good measure. 

“i’d like that. until next time, billy.” he gave you one last wave as he strolled out the door, and you watched as he walked past the windows and eventually disappeared from sight. for a moment, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from that spot. a high pitched laugh broke your focus, and you whirled around to see stacy giggling at you.

“what?” you asked, doing your best attempt at a glare. stacy just smiled, batting her eyelashes as innocently as possible. crossing your arms over your chest, you started to say something, but got interrupted. 

“nothing. say, tom, do you think this is how most people behave after doing a tattoo?" she called out in a sing-song voice. tom was in the middle of cleaning up after his client left, but for some reason decided this was the time to cash in one of his few conversation checks. 

"no." tom responded gruffly, and blissfully brief. stacy grinned again, turning on her heel to face you. you opened your mouth to retort, but your mind went blank and you ended up just standing there with nothing to say. what could you say? you were stressed because your first tattoo was a knuckle tattoo? that it was stuffy and looking out the window made it less so? that you had developed an immediate crush on your first client? fresh out of ideas, you blurted out the next thing that came to mind. 

"i smelled bad… uh… yeah. i-i smelled bad, and i was embarrassed. i was watching him through the window to see if he had any reaction from being away from my… smell." you wished for a second that time travel existed just so you could go back to that exact moment, after you figured out a good response, to stop yourself from looking like a fool. because oh what a fool you sounded like. stacy could tell. tom could tell. and you bet that billy would be able to tell as well. stacy shook her head, visibly trying to stop herself from laughing. even tom seemed to have a smile tugging at his lips. 

"you keep telling yourself that, love. now buck up, don’t know when the next customer is gonna come in. gotta be ready, you know, if you happen to be the only one free…” you immediately perked up, billy momentarily scrubbed from the forefront of your mind. the chance to do more tattoos, more of what you loved, had you interested in a split second. your eyes drifted to your discarded sketchbook on the other end of the room. 

“you serious?” you asked, nervous edge clinging to your word. more freedom came with more chances to fuck up, but now that you got over an initial nervous edge thanks to billy, you were rearing to go. stacy looked equally excited for you, and equally worried. but she came over and patted you on the shoulder. 

“deadly. now go, there is art to be inked.” you were bouncing on your toes, but took a moment to lean right into her, even giving her a quick side hug. 

“yes ma’am.” you mock saluted her, then almost skipped back to your chair. you sat back in your swivel chair, letting it roll you to your small side table. you started to pick up the discarded papers, but found your mind drifting back to him. to billy. 

the thought that he would be back eventually brought a small smile to your lips. it could be a few days, a week, a month, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t flake out. it was just a matter of time. plus, he was good company. 

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so,,, what’s the vibe with this lads? please lmk if y’all wanna see more!