tattoo artist!bakugou
inspired by @heartofjasmina’s tattoo artist!bkg hc. 🧡
18+ content, mdni. you will be blocked.
tattoo artist!bakugou seeing you walk into his shop for the first time not thinking much of you when you say you’d like to schedule a consultation with him because you like the work he’s put online. you’re suddenly questioning your decision because this man can’t be much older than you and he looks like a fucking model hiding out in a tattoo parlor, not an established artist with at least ten years under his belt.
tattoo artist!bakugou being thankful you’re separated by a counter when you show him pieces similar to what you’re thinking of: a bold but classy floral tattoo that starts at your hip and wraps over the majority of one ass cheek, curling its way up the lower back just slightly. he knows how to remain professional because it’s his job, but he can see how hard you’re blushing and his thoughts are racing. your mind is more distracted than it should be by his huge, strong hands and a gruff voice that sunk into your bones.
tattoo artist!bakugou knowing the moment the consult started that he should hand this one off to the bubbly, pink-haired artist who’d knock it out of the park just as easily as he could; he’d rather spank and grope and eat your ass than tattoo it, and he didn’t want to risk looking like a fucking tool with his dick hard while trying to lay ink into your soft, pretty skin. but fuck, you were just too damn cute, probably already soaking your panties because of him if the flush on your cheeks was any indication.
tattoo artist!bakugou trying to ignore the ever so slight way your ass pushed into his hands when he applied the stencil before you both checked the final placement for any last adjustments, but he definitely noticed. at least he could get away with staring a little bit without looking like a creep.
tattoo artist!bakugou being smart enough to put up a few partitions to give you some privacy, but stupid enough not to block off the whole shop on the books. on a fucking saturday no less, the busiest day of the week. seeing you laid in front of him in a pretty, pastel thong he wanted to rip right off your body, circumstances be damned, had him swallowing hard.
tattoo artist!bakugou, whose hands are massive and hot against your skin as he works. you’re (shamefully) already clenching and fluttering around nothing but your own arousal before he’s even finished the outline. you breathe deeply to will yourself to relax in an attempt to make it stop. (it doesn’t.) because there’s no way he doesn’t know and isn’t put off by it.
tattoo artist!bakugou, who can just barely feel you clenching under his hand as you shift more often than you should. he’s irritated that there’s a swelling ache in his groin every time, but relieved that you’re faced the other way, unable to see what’s impossible for him to hide. “quit yer fuckin’ squirmin’,” he mumbles, “‘m tryna work, here.” he’s wondering how red your face just got from him calling out your subtle movements, a smirk touching his lips.
tattoo artist!bakugou, who can see your body go rigid before your breathing slows as you try to calm your body again, and eventually it does. “‘s a good girl. just relax for me,” he says, the words slipping out like butter before he stops to think. his stomach drops because he’s a horny fucking idiot and now he’s trying to stay calm, hoping you won’t think anything of it.
tattoo artist!bakugou, who knows you must have felt something because can fucking see the wet spot on the pathetic piece of fabric you’d call panties. he can smell the scent of your arousal and fuck does he want to bury his face inside you and inhale it. “atta girl, you’re almost done.” your body is hot and aching and you’d swear if he says anything else like that, you be might too weak to stand once he’s finished.
tattoo artist!bakugou rubbing antibiotic ointment into your skin after the final pass as you swallow a groan. he hands you a mirror to see his impeccable work and you thank him. he’s wrapping the tattoo and taking off his gloves as he calmly goes over aftercare instructions when hot fingers trail across your thigh, closer and closer to your cunt.
tattoo artist!bakugou, who’s leaning into your ear, whispering, “you been thinkin’ about me this whole time, haven’t ya, sweetie? be a good girl n tell me the truth.” your face is burning with shame but of course you whisper, “yes,” your legs opening even though you know they shouldn’t.
tattoo artist!bakugou telling you to, “look at what you fuckin’ did t’me,” as he gently teases your clit, holding back a groan of his own with the soaked fabric of your thong at his thick fingertips.
tattoo artist!bakugou rubbing your eager cunt as you push into him, his other hand clamped tightly over your mouth. “maybe i’ll let ya cum for me if you’re good. better not hear a fuckin’ peep outta ya ’nless you want everyone t’know what kinda girl you really are.”
banners made by @cafekitsune.
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hello fandom artist. in front of you is a male character widely interpreted as transmasculine because of his vaguely gnc features. your task is to draw him next to a cis man without feminising him beyond recognition. if you fail you will be beaten to death with hammers. your time starts now
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I now disagree with that post that went something like "to make high schoolers laugh post pandemic you have to kill someone" because when I was clocking out of work today I overheard my coworkers, two high school boys, joking around. One said "hey bro...literally me when im making pizza..." He was in fact making a pizza, that's our job. They both laughed like beavis and butthead and repeated it a few times.
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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
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dust and light
i swear to somebody, the actual good omens parallels were a complete accident when i wrote this scene in BNF, where crowley is a writer in the agnes nutter fandom and aziraphale is his big bang partner. i've been on fire ever since i realised.
"The way you talked about the lighting in that last scene was just so striking— I really want to capture it somehow; find a way to paint the different layers of sunbeams and dust motes, just as you’ve written them.” Aziraphale’s grin caught himself quite off guard. “What are you planning?”
Crowley shifted with an exaggerated, bashful shrug, but his grin remained steady on his face.
“Not sure, just some kind of metaphor about the light and the warmth, probably. Maybe note some stark differences between the bookshop and a dusty room with no light, or a bright place with no dust. Each feeling equally inadequate compared to the shop, and that being… Er, I dunno, a reflection of their lives without one another in it, or something.”
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