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#tattoo artist!au
berriesandjunnie · 2 years
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❝ ink, linework and a cup of coffee ❞
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┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° synopsis are recommended tattoo artists always this hot? ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° genre & tags fluff / tattoo artist!vernon / vernon with tattoos<3 / the personification of reader is old enough to receive tattoos! / mutual pining? / warning for needles mentioning regarding receiving a tattoo & a lil blood (tattoos are fresh wounds) / also tattooed chan LMAO / reader recently had a breakup / light swearing ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° pairing vernon x afab!reader ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° w.c 2.2k words
┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° author’s note idea dedicated to the amazing @mythicalamphitrite​ ilysm and i hope this lives up to expectations sigh
˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰ now loading… enjoy! ꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄
You stared as your best friend fiddled with the saran wrap around his lower arm, wincing a little as it tugged on his now delicate skin. You’d both agreed to meet over a coffee after Chan’s tattoo appointment and merely an hour later he was excitedly unwrapping its protective covering to showcase his new ink to you. Albeit, you were quite excitedly awaiting to see the new art he’d littered to his body. Despite having tattoos of your own, you could never keep up with the pace of how many Chan seemed to acquire in a month - it’d been months since your last and you were craving the feeling of the tattoo gun again. 
It was simply because you went to two separate artists. Chan travelled further in Seoul than you and for this specific tattoo, even further than usual. He’d been to a tattoo artist a friend recommended to him - Chan didn’t state much else. Whereas you went to a dingy store in a side alley by your apartment complex. Everything was fine, professionally licensed and all but you couldn’t help but curse the prices he charged. You knew damn well the effort, time and costs going into it but it was the only thing holding you back from getting another one. You had to save up first. 
Chan’s saran wrap finally fell, albeit a little bloody and you could finally admire the ink on the pale skin of his arm. Fresh and yet to heal, Chan’s forearm was now decorated with his artist’s own version of The Great Wave off Kanagawa - one of your favourite art pieces by Hokusai. A gasp left your lips and Chan laughed, staring down in admiration at his tattoo too. 
“I knew you’d like it!” Chan exclaimed, watching you lean a little closer to glance at the shading and details his tattoo artist had put in. Your teeth tugged at your lower lip, chewing it as you leaned back in your chair.
“That’s sick, Chan!” You beamed, finally wording your amazement, “I bet it cost a bomb though.”
Chan shook his head, making you quirk a brow as you waited for him to explain.
“Nah, he’s such a chill guy - so reasonably priced too,” Chan hummed, taking a sip of the coke he’d ordered, “I told him how much I had and what ideas I had and he did this on the spot.”
With your mouth gaping, you leaned onto the table in front of you, holding your breath a little.
“Can I maybe get his instagram?”
-
Your eyes fell to your phone as you sat, curled up on your couch under a crocheted blanket watching your favourite movie for the hundredth time. You let out a noise - should you message the tattoo artist? You’d learnt from Chan that his name was Vernon. You should at least see his availability, right? If he’s this good he’s probably packed out on appointments for months. Groaning, you reached for your phone on the coffee table and pulled up instagram. 
y/n: hey, sorry i know this is late, a friend of mine came to you for a tattoo and recommended you y/n: i know you’re probably booked up, so could you let me know if you get a space?
You swallowed the lump in your throat, lowering your phone. Why had you been so nervous to message him? Perhaps because you’d stuck out with the same tattoo artist for years to the point where you’d reached a comfortable level with him. A sigh left your lips and you sipped at your hot cup of coffee as you awaited his response.
inkbyvernon: lol it’s not too late don’t worry  inkbyvernon: i got plenty of spaces rn here’s my schedule inkbyvernon: https://docs.google.com/document/2223schedule inkbyvernon: just let me know whenever (:
Slowly, you gaze drifted through the google document Vernon had sent in response to your enquiries. He was barely booked in, causing you to frown. His art and work were so good, why wasn’t he being appreciated for it? Humming, you leaned back on the couch. 
y/n: i can do tomorrow’s 10:30 for you inkbyvernon: neat, what’s the deal? y/n: i’m giving you full control, i have 395,000won rn y/n: maybe a little starry night by van gogh theme? inkbyvernon: nice taste inkbyvernon: i’ll draw up some sketches now and send you them in thats alright? y/n: yeah i don’t sleep yet haha
-
You hadn’t quite expected his studio to be so perfectly placed by the Han river, overlooking the views and scenery on the third floor of a nearby building. The studio itself was quaint and you could only note Vernon was the only tattoo artist who used it. It smelt of freshly ground coffee beans with the slightest floral aroma from the numerous plants he’d dotted around the place for colour. Other than that, he’d decorated it in a - majority - black and white aesthetic, with tints of gold. And the tattoo artist himself? You could have drooled when he answered the studio door. 
Dark, messy hair and a sharp jawline, his pasty skin was decorated in more tattoos than you could have imagined. Considering he was wearing a plain black t-shirt, part of you questioned whether he was hiding even more. He smiled, showing a set of straight, white pearly teeth as he stepped aside. 
“Y/n, right?” He hummed, not missing the tiny smile you cracked on your lips as you nodded in response, “nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” you mused, admiring how healthy his monstera plant looked, “this place is beautiful.”
“Costs a bomb on rent though,” Vernon chuckled, shutting the door behind you as he wandered over to the tattoo chair, where he’d already set up, “take a seat.”
Your legs wandered nervously to the black leather chair wrapped in sterilised saran wrap, watching as he fiddled with inks and needles. Humming, you turned your head to take in the view - which you admit was breath-taking from this height. 
“Can I get you a drink before we start?” Vernon piped up again, his eyes landing on you as he adored the angle he had on you sat above him. The way your hair fell over your shoulders and the side profile he had on you while you gazed out of the window, “of course, we can take breaks, if you need.”
“Can I have a coffee, please?”
-
It was like an addiction, you scoffed mentally as you scrolled through pinterest at tattoo ideas. Yet was it the feeling on the tattoo gun on your skin, needles massaging your skin as they painted permanent work into your skin like a canvas or was it him? Was he the addiction?
“Ain’t no way you’re thinking of another tattoo already,” Chan quipped as he returned from his apartment kitchen, two cups of coffee in his hands, “you’re catching up to me!”
“Maybe that’s the idea,” you teased, thanking him as he passed you your coffee, “his work is just too good.”
Chan’s eyes scanned over your face as you held out one of your arms, admiring the numerous inked works of Vernon that now littered your skin. Sometimes you were going at least once a week to his studio, you’d get a headache if you couldn’t smell the sanitiser he used for longer than eight days at the least.
“You’re down bad.” Chan mumbled, raising his mug to his lips. You scoffed, glaring over at him. 
“I do not like him!” You exclaimed defensively and Chain quirked a brow. You tensed, maybe you’d been too defensive. Chan smirked. He could read you like a book after all these years of being your best friend.
“Uh-huh,” Chan mused, flicking through the TV guide using the remote, “ain’t no way you’re just getting a tattoo a week casually - and he even touched up your older tattoos that were fading.”
Jutting your lower lip out, you knew there was no winning against Chan. But he was right, wasn’t he? Your glare softened as it fell to Vernon’s linework, the most recent one being on your wrist. It was just unrequited and you didn’t want another heartbreak so soon after the last one. 
-
His fingers drummed against the chair as Vernon worked on a piece he’d requested on his knee. He’d got free control again, just like y/n gave him - but Chan had chosen a shark theme and he knew damn well you would never give him that sort of theme in this art style. Chan’s eyes watched methodically of how the tattoo gun drifted around his skin, replaced with a trail of black ink that followed it. He also watched the way that Vernon’s brows furrowed in concentration as he followed his stencil. 
Vernon’s phone pinged by the counter on the far side of the room and Chan’s gaze moved to it. What harm would it be to bring you up? It was probably you who’d messaged, after all.
“I hear my friend comes here regularly now,” he chirped, leaning his head back in attempt to hide his wince as Vernon went over a certain spot, “hope she’s not being a nuisance.”
Vernon let out a light laugh, sitting up a little as he wiped away excess ink, his eyes momentarily flickering to his phone across the room. Chan smirked, jackpot. 
“I take it you’re the friend she heard about me from,” Vernon taunted, leaning back in to continue his linework, “she’s anything but a nuisance.”
Chan chewed his lip as shading began, still watching Vernon work methodically as he tried to think of his next words. 
“She’s my childhood best friend,” Chan choked out with a little laugh, checking his phone to see you’d messaged him, “she’s catching up to me in tattoos now.”
“She said,” Vernon mused, his eyes glancing at Chan’s phone as he replied to your text, “maybe she’s already surpassed you.”
Chan paused, looking down at Vernon as Vernon let a smirk cross his face, knowing he’d tickled Chan’s mischief in just the right place. 
“I know she hasn’t - this one makes me two ahead of her!” Chan huffed defensively, gesturing to his knee as Vernon sat up once more to wipe the ink, chuckling. 
“How would you know? I’m the one doing them when she sits in this chair, giving me the control.” Vernon jeered, dipping the needles once more into black ink. Chan scoffed, turning away from the male as he puffed his cheeks in defeat. 
-
Your hand pushed down the door’s handle, opening it and embracing the Seoul sun that shone through the large window on the other side of the room. Vernon glanced up from where he was setting up all the things he needed, chuckling a little. 
“You don’t even knock anymore, look at you.” He teased, making you roll your eyes as you sauntered to the chair, ditching your tote bag by his counter at the door. 
“I’ll start messaging you on instagram when I’m outside the building if it’s any better.” You huffed back sourly and Vernon raised his hands in a surrender.
“What’s got you all sour patch kids today?” Vernon quirked a brow, watching you flop back onto the chair with a loud groan.
“Just my work, my boss is such a fucking asshole,” you scoffed, punching the air momentarily, “I don’t care if he’s my ex or not, he just - ugh!”
Vernon gave you a moment before you sat up again, exhaling as if you were relieved to even have that small part off your chest. Vernon smiled a little, standing up and wandering to his coffee machine, already aware you’d be in need of one. 
“Didn’t realise you felt this comfortable,” Vernon teased again but he was quick to continue, “you can continue if you need to, you know? I’ll listen.”
“Helps when your tattoo artist is hot.” You mumbled subconsciously. Your eyes widened in response to your own words and Vernon tensed on the spot. You opened your mouth to speak but Vernon chuckled. 
“You speak better to therapists if they’re hot?” He mused, glancing at you. You were thumbing through your phone in a rushed way, probably telling Chan about your huge fuck-up. In response, you let out a nervous laugh, catching the smile he wore on his face as he approached with your coffee. 
“Maybe?” You responded meekly, taking the coffee from him without making eye contact. Vernon hummed, leaning onto the space you’d left on the chair you sat on. 
“Well, I think the next coffee is on you,” he smiled, catching your gaze as you looked at him in bewilderment, “at your place?” 
-
dinosaur dude: hao wants to go drinking tonight dinosaur dude: you down? y/n: hansol is over dinosaur dude: hansol...? dinosaur dude: yo u got a new bf without consulting with me? y/n: vernon y/n: hansol is his actual name, stupid dinosaur dude: LMAO NAHH NO WAY dinosaur dude: YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU FINALLY WOKE UP? y/n: i blurted out to him that he was hot, sort of y/n: then he said the next coffee is on me, at my place y/n: that was two months ago now dinosaur dude: u sneaky bitch dinosaur dude: tmrw night we’re going out with hao dinosaur dude: and you are spilling ALL the beans
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nightfang22 · 9 months
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Tattoo Artist Izuku
I can't get the concept of Tattoo Artist!Izuku out of my head.Like don't get me wrong the whole Tattoo Artist!AU gets me going for sure but there's something about Izuku Midoriya with a tattoo gun that just ruffles my feathers in the good way.Like could you just imagine walking into a tattoo shop one day and see him finishing up with a client before meeting your eyes and smiling?Tattoos from head to toe ESPECIALLY the neck.I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH,ESPECIALLY THE NECK.
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panravenc · 2 years
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no curses au, chosoyuki.
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type: one-shot.
character(s): chōsō, tsukumo yuki, itadori yūji.
warning(s): none.
a/n: the next one!! i am very fond of this au tbh bc i just want them to be happy,,,, i hope everyone enjoys it as much as i do!
love y'all,
—pau.
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It's Monday. Yuki has been very careful not to think much about it―lest she finds herself distracted and has an accident at work, or something. It's a test to her own work ethic, and to her capacity to concentrate when there's something clearly on her mind, but she manages.
Being a stuntwoman requires a certain amount of diligence―at least, enough not to die. In all the years she's spent between stunt and stunt, Yuki has only been to the hospital twice. Once, at the beginning of her career; the other, when there'd been a malfunction in the equipment and she'd ended up with a broken leg and bruises everywhere.
However, it's Monday 27th, and she's very close to calling it a day. In just a few hours, she'll be on a tattoo chair with his hands on her body and his gaze upon her skin, and Yuki just―
She sighs.
It's the last session for this tattoo. It covers her entire thigh, and colouring has taken a while. It's beautiful already, and she can't wait to see it done, knowing it will be as perfect as the rest. But, deep down, Yuki knows that the reason she keeps going back to that tattoo shop isn't for the artwork. It is, in part: he draws beautifully, whether on paper or on skin, and she's honoured to wear his art on her body.
But he's beautiful, too. His hands are gentle, nails covered in chipped dark polish, a ring or two adorning them in their drawing sessions. His eyeliner is always messy, his hair resembles a bird's nest most of the time, and he has dark circles under his eyes. He wears black clothes, or at least he's done so the days she's seen him, and he's covered in tattoos, sleeves and neck and letters in his fingers.
He's gorgeous when the light of the studio hits him right, and when it does not.
She might be getting lost on him.
(She knows she's beautiful, as well. His eyes track her body and he smiles when she cracks a joke, and he's not the only one. He has never been the only one: men have fallen at her feet countless times, and she has wanted some of them, even has loved a few. Still, there's something about him: about the way she wants to know what makes him laugh the most, how he sounds when he's lost in pleasure, about the way she wants to get into arguments with him only to talk it out, how she wants to show him her favourite places in the world and share with him the parts of herself she keeps under lock and key, learning about his in return.)
She's known him for a while, give or take a few months. And now that she knows she'll be staying in the city semi-permanently―since work is abundant at the moment, her services solicited―she wants to try.
Yuki knows herself perfectly―she doesn't like regrets. And him, he could be one.
She doesn't want him to.
"Hello?" She enters his studio, asking when there's no one in sight.
She catches him in another room with who he knows is his brother: a rose-haired boy with as much energy as a three-month-old puppy. Itadori Yūji, maybe? They have different surnames, so she isn't sure. The boy waves at her from behind the glass, and she waves back.
They get out in seconds, conversation seemingly over.
"Yuki-san," Chōsō greets her, a smile accompanying his words. "I'll be with you in a minute."
Yuki nods. She's a bit early, anyway. She scrolls down her phone, answering messages and liking photos from Instagram, until the brothers have said their goodbyes and the man she's been gone on for months is all hers.
"Sorry for the wait," he says, even though it's barely been a couple of minutes. "We can start whenever you're ready."
She smiles and winks at him. "Let's get it on, then."
He's quick when it comes to gathering his supplies, as he always is, and she's barely getting comfortable in the tattoo chair when he snaps on his plastic gloves and grabs a new needle for the machine.
"So," Yuki starts, licking her lips. "How's it been, pretty boy?"
And Chōsō, as he always does when she calls him that, huffs and wears a hint of a blush. It's one of the reasons she does it, witnessing those cheeks gain the slightest of the pinks, just beside the line tattoo that covers part of them in horizontal.
"I've told you already, don't call me that," he protests. "But it's been fine, thank you. How about you?"
He's not much about conversations, not really. He's more comfortable in silence, she's noticed it, but he follows her questions and engages on his own, and that's enough for her. Whenever she's silent for too long, he likes asking: about her hobbies, about the last TV show his brother dragged him to watch, about the new musicians in the radio station, about her favourite tattoos and the cities she's seen.
Yuki wants him. Wants to have a chance with him―not in bed, even though, yes, of course, but she could've had that months ago if it was all she was chasing, and it is not.
"It's been great," Yuki smiles. "Yesterday, my neighbour―"
Chōsō interrupts. "The grandma?"
"Yes, her," she nods, careful not to move her legs. "Well, she brought me bluefin tuna. Fresh, cut in thin fillets, I'm telling you, the whole she-bang. Apparently, her grandson had given it to her as a present, but it was too much for one person and she'd rather have me have it than let it go to waste."
He's got his eyebrows furrowed, mind focused on the tattoo on her skin. "I'm glad," he says after finishing a part, cotton taking away ink excess. "I wouldn't want it to go to waste, either."
Maybe, Yuki thinks. It's time to ask him out. He doesn't have a needle sinking onto her, and he's looking at her, a half-smile forming in his lips, his eyes dark even under the close light of the lamp. They map her own features, scanning for a flicker of pain, but even though getting a tattoo stings, Yuki's gone through a lot worse.
She likes it when his eyes are on her, she's found. When his gaze lingers. When he sneaks in a glance, through the glass or otherwise.
"It's delicious," she agrees, before deciding to take a leap and try. "But she's brought me a lot," she comments, relaxed. If he says no, then that's that. She doesn't think he will, though. Not when he looks at her like that.
He raises an eyebrow at her, a bit lost. "Is that a problem?"
"Is it?" She asks him back, amused.
"I would guess so," he answers, missing her rhetoric. "It would be a shame if you had to throw it away."
"Mm," she hums. And, as he's dipping down the ink, she continues: "It would. So, what do you say: want to help me out?"
He looks at her puzzled. "Help you out?" And he pauses. And he blushes. And he looks at her, surprise etched in his face. "Oh."
"Yeah," Yuki laughs, wanting nothing more than to lift a hand and caress his cheek. "Oh. Consider it a date, or not. I'd like to know you better either way."
She waits as he steams a response. She doesn't think she can go back from thinking he's beautiful: for his gentleness, for his professionalism, for the way her heart skipped when she heard him laugh for the first time. But if he only wants her as a friend, she can get past it.
She's got about a seventy-five percent of chance, she thinks.
A soft smile spreads across his features, and Yuki feels her pulse jump. The gods have given this man too much power over me, and she feels it like a truth.
"I think," he begins, slow, as if tasting the words in his mouth. "That a date would suit me just fine," he answers, a chuckle leaving his throat. He shakes his head, afterwards. "Let's finish the session first, though. We can talk more about it later."
And Yuki could jump and probably run a marathon right now, but she just nods, red staining her cheeks as a grin leaves the confines of her lips. "Good enough for me."
The conversation carries on, with Yuki asking about the boy from before, if it'd been his brother, and Chōsō answering yes, he was. He's wearing that exasperated yet fond smile she's seen in him only when talking about his brothers―the whole ten of them―as he explains to her that he'd been here to tell him he wouldn't be at dinner since he'd agreed to go to the cinema with a friend of his. And that, oh, by the way, if the school rings, it was Noda who started the fight, not me!
"Seems like a troublemaker," she comments, amusement clear in her face. "He must keep you on your toes."
Chōsō's expression turns fond at the thought. "Not really. It's the duty of the older brother to watch out for the younger."
Yuki wants to bottle up that smile. That warmth he radiates when he's talking about the people he loves.
She wants him to talk about her like that, someday.
The session is over before she knows it, the numbing pain of the needle finished and done with. She gets up and slips on her jacket, stepping out of the room alongside him.
"Well," she begins, looking at him as he leans back into the counter, fingers tapping the surface. "You already have my number. I'll send you my address in a few. Come by for dinner?"
He grins and tries to hide it. "The studio closes at seven tonight."
Unable not to, she closes in and kisses his cheek. "I'll be waiting, then." And, reaching the door, she turns over and smiles, cheeky. "See you soon, pretty boy."
It's the beginning of something. Maybe the middle of it. Yuki just knows Chōsō has been in her mind since the first time they met, and now that she knows she's staying in one place for an undetermined long time, she wants to know where it leads.
Where he leads her, and what memories will she make with him.
She's looking forward to it.
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azperja · 2 months
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Modern! Shadowheart ✨
God’s Favorite Princess + ink of her favorite flower
Closeups!
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Links: Commissions Open | Twittter | Insta
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luvit · 4 months
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thinkin' about tattoo-artist!ghost, who is working on quite a taxing piece on you, making sure you're okay every 15-20 minutes or so. gives you some extra snacks even if you brought some and a blanket from his chair as well, telling you that it's fine just stay comfy.
and the way he holds your hip so gently, so tenderly as he focuses on his craft, trying to make sure it is up to his standards. since after all, he's only adding some touches to a work of art already. he's been working on this tattoo on your leg for quite some time now and you can feel his breath hitting your exposed skin
but the way he gently kneads your thigh when it's a little too much and your head feels a little fuzzy. you think it could be the way his arms have been flexing for the past hour or how his eyes scorch into your skin and every so often flit up to your eyes. the little crinkle by the corner of his eyes as he gives you a reassuring smile makes you melt into the chair,,, and when he sees how much you've spaced out, he pats at your thigh and then cups your face n says
"hey, hey, eyes on me. how you doin', love?"
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marvellous1917 · 8 months
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Icarus Falling
(Part 2)
Pairing: mob!Bucky x female!tattoo artist!reader
Summary: It’s gonna be a busy day. Giving a tattoo to a mobster that broke into your home was nothing compared to the fact that you can’t stop thing about how fucking hot he is.
Warnings: lots and lots of swearing, mention of crime (duh), fights, broken bones, tattoo needles, threats, think that’s it.
Part one ⬇️:
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A/N: AAHHHH the response to part one was actually insane!!!! I hope this second part is good enough. Love u all <3
———————
Bold is reader’s thoughts.
Italics is Bucky’s thoughts.
The size of the tattoo is in inches.
———————
Walking to the shop, your thoughts were running a mile a minute. Holy fuck, what the fuck, did last night actually happen?, James Barnes is gorgeous and made falling asleep last night really fucking difficult, screw him for making me all hot and bothered. Asshole. But one persistent one came screaming to the front- how the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank?
Unfortunately there was not a lot of time to come up with an answer to that, the shopfront coming into view as you turn the corner. Jigsaw Ink stood proud in the middle of the busy Brooklyn street, the black paint of the walls in stark contrast to the pastel pink of the florists’ to one side and the baby blue of the cafe the other.
The shop was a second home to you, the couch at the front becoming a bed for you sometimes after a night out, or if Caleb was being an ass. Frank was nice enough to let you crash when you needed, trusting you with his business. Frank, and the other two artists at the shop, Billy and Curtis were like family - a weird combination of protective older brothers and best friends who were terribly bad influences on you.
The bell on the door rang when you opened it and there was a yelled “Y/N? That you?” from a deep voice at the back of the room.
“Yeah Frankie, it’s me. I thought Billy was supposed to be here, not you?” You yelled back, moving behind the counter toward your station, dropping your bag and taking off your jacket.
“He was, but he managed to get his ass knocked out last night so he’s taking the day off,” Frank replied laughing, walking out from the back towards you.
“What? Is he ok?” You ask, giving Frank a hug when he got closer.
“Managed to piss somebody off at a bar, not really sure what happened, but he’s fine. Just stupid,” he replied, patting your back as you release him.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy but he is an idiot I swear, you can guarantee it was his fault as well,” you say.
Frank chuckle and nods as a response, “yeah I bet. Hey , you got many appointments today?” He asks.
Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank Castle - literally the most protective man on earth - that I had to move all of my appointments to next week because a damn mobster broke into my house and demanded I gave him a tattoo today.
“…uh. No just the one, I had to move the rest,” you answer, praying to whoever was listening that Frank wouldn’t ask any questions.
“Why’s that?”
Fuucckkkk.
“Umm..no reason really..” your mind went completely blank, the only thing running through you head were those goddamn blue eyes.
“Kid, what’s going on?” Franks’ eyes narrowing, seeing straight through your bullshit response.
Ughhh. Change the subject right now. “Y’know you call me kid all the time, you’re not that much older than me Frankie. I mean there’s only-”.
“You’re ramblin’ kid. The fuck is going on?” He says, all sense of humor him from his voice.
Ah, there his is, protective Frankie coming in full force.
“Shit. Ok so here’s what happened-” you tell him the full story, coming home from work to see a dangerous criminal chilling in your apartment, the fear that came with that lovely surprise, Caleb’s debt, the weird philosophical conversation, the tattoo talk. All of it.
Of course, excluding the part where you found yourself extremely attracted to the fucking mobster, his weirdly slightly comforting presence, and the fact that the memory of those blue eyes where all you could see as your hand slipped between your legs before you fell asleep.
To be fair to the man, Frank listened to every word you had to say, not interrupting one. But you could see on his face every single emotion he was feeling, the main one being just straight up confusion.
“Lemme get this straight. The fucking Winter Soldier broke into your house last night and is coming in for a tattoo in..” he checked his watch as he spoke, “..an hour?”
“..yeah.” Hit the nail on the head there Frankie.
“Shit.” He says, rubbing his hand over his face in an act of desperation.
“Yep.” You say, patting his arm to try and reassure him.
“Alright, I’m gonna be here the whole time, don’t you worry about that kid. You’re gonna be fine.” He assures you, obviously worried about you.
“I know that Frankie, and if it’s any consolation, he didn’t seem all that bad.” You answer.
“Not that bad?!” He almost shouts, and incredulous look on his face, “Y/N he’s a fucking gangster. He’s fucking danger-“
“FRANK!” You yell, the only way to cut off his tirade before it starts. “I know that, but last night he didn’t do anything bad,okay, and if he wanted to hurt me, he definitely would have done it by now. I’ll be fine Frank, I’ll just give him the tattoo and that will be it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta set everything up.” You say, moving back to your station, beginning to grab everything you need.
“Holy fuck kid, how are you not freaking the fuck out right now?” He whisper shouts, running one hand up and down his head.
“I’m not sure. I think…I think I trust him not to hurt me. It’s weird, but my gut’s telling me I’ll be fine.” You answer, starting to print some different sized stencils.
“Kid your brain is brok-” Frank starts to say but he’s cut off by his phone ringing. He pulls it from his pocket and says “Shit, it’s my kids’ school, I gotta take it.”
You wave him off, Frank answers the phone with a sigh.
He walks off to the back of the shop, leaving you to finish setting up your station. Frank talks for a minute and wander back towards you.
“My girl got into a fight at school, Maria’s busy at work so I’ve got to go get her,” he says, dragging his hands down his face, in a way only an exasperated father could.
“Oh my god is she ok?” You ask.
“She’s fine, but apparently she broke some little shitheads nose for picking on her friends,”
“Like father, like daughter then,” you respond with a laugh.
“Can the people I care about stop getting themselves in dangerous situations for like five goddamn seconds.” Frank says, throwing a pointed glare your way.
“Frankie, how many times, I’m gonna be fine alright, go get your kid and -I dunno- take her out for ice cream, tell her she did good.” You say, pushing him to the door.
“Only if you’re one hundred percent certain you’ll be fine.” He says, already pulling his jacket from the hook.
“I’m good I swear, now go!”
“Ok ok I’m going, stop pushing me” he says, leaving the shop and letting the door fall closed behind him, the bell ringing as it did.
Only a minute passed before your phone pinged with a text.
James:
Have you already forgotten about me that quickly doll?
Send me the address to the shop
Now… please
Fuck me. Why does just his text give me fucking butterflies. Ugh. How irritating.
You send him the address and his response is cheeky as shit.
James:
See you at 1 doll, you better be wearing something pretty for me.
Little shit.
————
You had the music in the shop bumping, using it to help calm your pounding heart, adrenaline starting to get the best of you. Your favourite song came over the speakers so you turned it up and started to dance a little, knowing that you had at least 10 minutes before Barnes turned up. Unfortunately this action caused you to miss the ringing of the bell on the door.
Holy shit - ink and a show, today is going better than expected already.
Bucky slowly let the door close, trying not to disturb the dancing girl he couldn’t get out of his head. He lent against the wall, just watching and waiting…and staring.
Shaking out your hands to get rid of any nerves, you turn and nearly scream when you see Barnes stood at the door.
“Oh god, sorry I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, subtly looking him up and down and damn he looks good. Ever the powerful mobster, he wore a black suit, his black shirt had no tie and was unbuttoned at the top. His hair was slicked back from his face, opposite to how it was the night before. This was the other side of him, the business man - James Barnes: the face of multiple charities, the man that law enforcement could never seem to put behind bars. Last night you met the threat, the assassin, and you may be one of the first in his history to survive a meeting with the Soldier.
“No problem doll, I was enjoying the show,” he says, pushing off of the wall and stalking towards you.
Oh my god, “oh..ok, well I have everything set up and ready so if you’re ok to start I say let get going,” you respond, turning to the part of the shop where your station was, nerves flooding back, wanting to get this over as soon as possible.
“Damn girl, not even any small talk?” He asks, slowly following you to the table.
“Oh sorry, I would have asked how your day has been so far, but I didn’t want you to think I was prying into your business. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being disrespectful ab-”
“Ramblin’ again doll, thought I told you that you don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said softly, sounding genuine. “I know what people say about me, I understand why you would be nervous, but I just ask you to not believe everything you hear, ok doll? I’m not who they say I am.” His tone was gentle, almost tired but still pleading, hoping you believe him.
“So you’re not a mobster?” You ask, voice low and calm.
“Oh no I am,” he responds with a small laugh, “I am, and I do what gangsters do. But I am not the ruthless animal I’m made out to be, doll I’m just not. I do what needs to be done.”
His voice breaks slightly on the pet name. His tone is so sincere and tired. Oh my..he’s telling the truth. It actually affects him to hear that about himself.
“Ok,” you respond, siting on your stool next to your station and the table, looking up at him with no fear in your eyes, trusting his words.
“Ok? That’s your response?” He asks, moving around the table to sit on it directly in-front of you.
“Yeah. What did you want me to do Barnes, not believe you?” You ask, all fear gone from your voice.
“Of course not,” he says, confusion laced in his voice, his eyebrows furrowed, “but I wasn’t expecting you to believe me immediately, shit you were scared of me like a minute ago.”
“I know but I think I trust you? You haven’t done anything to me, y’know other than breaking into my apartment. I trust you when you say you’re not someone I should be afraid of.” You answer truthfully.
“…good.” He says, at a loss of what to say next.
“Good. So, Barnes, are we doing this or what?” You ask.
“Yeah let’s do it doll, and please, call me Bucky.” He responds, shrugging off his jacket, folding it and placing it on the head of the table. You had to make a conscious effort to not stare at the way his arms filled out his shirt, but damn it was hard. He sat silently waiting for you to talk.
“Ok..Bucky.. tell me about what size and what placement you want for this.” You say, “I printed some sizes out because I wasn’t sure what size you wanted, and I can reprint or adjust it based in what you want.”
“Oh you a real professional, huh? Not gonna lie to you doll, that serious voice is kinda getting me goin’” he says, smirk on his face, leaning back on his arms, lifting his hips and moving slightly on the table.
Fuck me, what is this man doing to me? He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s talking again.
“I want to get it on my forearm, the inside, and I think that size looks good,” he says, pointing to the 10x8 you printed.
“Ok that sounds good, which arm were you thinking?”
Silence. He stares down at you, an unreadable look on his face. You break eye contact and then freeze.
Shit. Shit. You dumbass. Which arm? Which fucking arm? Are you kidding? I can literally see his metal fucking hand. Oh dear god.
The silence between you goes on for entirely too long. You’re not sure whether you should apologise or wait for him to speak first. You weren’t sure if he would be offended, having a reminder of his injury.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just continues to stare down at you, that blank look on his face. Looking back up at him, you start to apologise but the words get caught in your throat. His eyes. He couldn’t control them the same way he did his face, tons of different emotions flowing through them, none lasting long enough for you to understand before another one took its place.
If only you knew what he was actually thinking. She asked which arm. She knows about my arm, everyone does, but she still asked. She forgot. The arm is all people see, a weapon, an instrument used to inflict nothing but pain. It’s all people see, but she forgot. That’s not what she sees. Maybe…maybe she just sees me.
He’s shuts his racing thoughts down, fully aware of how awkward the silence was becoming. “I’m thinking my right arm might be a little easier for you doll,” he says, an amused look crossing his face, his tongue poking his cheek.
You open your mouth to apologise for your mistake but he holds up his right hand and says, “and please, you don’t have to apologise like I know you’re going to, we’re all good darlin’.”.
He’s gotta stop with the pet names before I melt.
“Ok, uh, are you sure, because I honestly meant no disrespect or anything. I-,” you start, but Bucky cut you off quickly.
“Darlin’, what did I just say?” A stern tone coats his words and goddamn does it send a shiver down your spine. You internally roll your eyes and look away, back to your station, when you feel two warm fingers on your jaw, turning your head back to looks at him. Holy fuck. He places his thumb on the other side of your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him as he leans in closer. His voice was low when he said, “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Y/N, what did I just say?”
Jesus fucking wept. Somehow his use of your name made your heart pound, and the fact that his hand was so warm and strong holding onto your face.
“You said we’re all good..” you answer trailing off at the end of your sentence. His eyes don’t move from yours for a second.
“And?” He asks, tilting his head slightly.
Christ alive.
“I don’t have to apologise..” you say, eyes flicking between his and falling to his lips for a second and then back to his eyes.
“That’s right darlin’,” his eyes dropped to your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. “So stop, okay?” He says, lifting your chin to catch your eye.
“Yes sir.” It’s an automatic response but you can’t help but be a little proud of yourself when he lets out a small throaty growl at the name.
“Careful doll.” He responds, letting go and leaning back, “How about we get started before I do something you regret, hmm?”
Like I could regret you.
You turn back to your station to try and clear your head of all the dirty thoughts running wild. “Ok.. Bucky, if you could roll up your sleeve so I can wipe the area, I’ll place the stencil and you can check if it’s where you want it to be.” You say, not used to the name he said to call him by.
“Mhm,” he hums, releasing the cuff link on his right sleeve, his prosthetic catching the glare of the light above, the plates shining. He places the cuff link in the pocket of his jacket and begins rolling up his sleeve and folds it at his elbow.
You clean the area and place the stencil straight on his arm, and peel it off.
“There’s a mirror on the wall over there, you can check if it’s alright.” You say.
“Okie dokie doll,” he responded the furrowed his brows, like he was confused at why he said that, not very gangster of him.
I like him. He says okie dokie.
“Looks good there darlin’, and as much as I hate to say it, we gotta speed this up a little, I’m expecting a call at some point around 2:30 and I’d prefer you not have to hear it.” He says, coming back to the table, sitting down and swinging his legs up onto it.
You take his arm, putting it on the rest in a position easiest for tattooing while saying “Why’s that? Would you have to kill me if I overheard your call?” You ask, enough humor in your voice for him to know you’re joking.
“Probably, depends how much you hear.” He said, completely deadpan. He looks at you and you have the strangest feeling that he actually wouldn’t hurt you either way.
“Shit ok. Is that position comfortable for you?”
“I’m all good darlin’, let’s go,” he says, adjusting his position on the table slightly. His left arm rests across his stomach as he sits on the table, leaning against the backrest, his ankles crossed.
“Ok I’m gonna do a small line so you know how it feels,” you look at him and he nods. You draw a line about 2 centimetres long then stop, “how’s that?” You ask.
“Ain’t nothin’ doll, keep goin’.” He responds.
“Ok here we go.” You say, getting back to it.
————
You’ve been tattooing for about 40 minutes, and there hasn’t been a word spoken between the both of you. His arm kept flexing whenever you moved away, and he kept clenching his jaw, like he was in pain but was refusing to admit it, even to himself.
“Are you ok? We can stop for five if you want a break? I’ve just finished the outline so I’ve got to change needles anyway.” You ask, disrupting the silence between you, moving the machine away from his arm so you can switch to a higher grouping for the blackwork.
“I’m fine Y/N, how much longer do you think it’ll take?” He asks, moving his head to look at the outline that you had completed.
“Oh it’s hard to say, but probably another 30 at least,” you respond, looking at him while he was admiring the tattoo so far.
God he’s pretty.
“Shit.” He says, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.
“Are you worried about your call?” You ask calmly.
“Not worried about the call itself… just having to do it here may cause some issues.” He responds, lowering his hand to his thigh.
“Because I’m here? I can go to a different room if you want?” You say, placing the machine back on your station, and turning to look at him fully.
“It’s ok doll, to be honest with you, nothing that needs to be said will make any sense to you anyway, and I mean that in the least offensive way possible.” He says, looking at you with apologetic face, tilting his head slightly. “But depending on the news I get, I wouldn’t want my reaction to… scare you.”
“Oh.. well I guess we’ll see when your call comes.” You answer, unsure of how to react to that.
————
The sharp ringing of his phone interrupts the sounds of the machine. You move the machine away from him, turning it off so he could speak freely without noise.
“I really am sorry about this darlin’, but it’s important-”
“Answer it then, it’s fine Bucky.” You cut him off, concerned he was going to miss it if he kept talking.
He gave you another apologetic look, and then turned his back to you to get off the table and answer the call.
You sat in silence as he started to speak.
“Rogers, what did ya find?” His voice changes from how he speaks to you, deeper and more serious.
The person on the other line speaks for a moment before Bucky responds, “we already knew that, didn’t we? What new information did you find?”
Silence.
“Of course he is..,” there is anger in his tone now, “get someone to tell the asshole he can threaten what he likes, I’m not sitting down with him.”
A moment goes by and you think that may have been the end of it, until you see his shoulders tense and-
“FUCK NO!” He shouts, making you jump a little.
“No Rumlow Gets Nothing, I don’t give a shit what he’s doing… Then send the commissioner a goddam gift basket Steve, some portraits of his family would be nice, remind him why he pays us the fucking protection fee.” He seethes at the man down the phone.
This should not be turning me on, shit.
“For fucks sake… Walker is nothing Steve, just some fucking Nazi junkie with a rich daddy, trying to get his hands on my shit…get Nat to bring his ass in, I’ll deal with it Steve… I said I’d deal with it.”
His tone on the last sentence sends a shiver down your spine, what the fuck does ‘deal with it’ mean?
“Ah shit is he ok?” Bucky asks, tone soft now, caring even, “Damn, he’s gonna be out for blood now.. good for him.. give Clint the week off, find the guys and give the pricks to him, let him get out some of his pent up craziness out.”
Oh Clint sounds fun.
“Ok, alright I gotta go now man. Yeah I’m at the shop… nah it’s nothing..yeah ya did… ok fuck off now.. later man.”
He hangs up the phone, takes a death breath and pinches the place between his eyebrows, his other hand going to his hip. He stands like that before he turns back to you, with a small awkward smile. That was cute.
“Sorry about that doll, hope I didn’t upset ya,” he says, walking around the table and looking down at you.
“You didn’t. I gotta ask though, is your friend or whoever ok?” You ask, not bringing up the start of the call where the man in-front of you all but admitted to a multitude of crimes - blackmail, extortion, supplying drugs. He sounded different- genuine when he asked if the man was ok. It was sweet.
“Clint? Yeah no he’s fine, got jumped last night so he’s pissed about it, but he’s ok, worst thing he got were some nasty bruises and a broken finger.” Bucky responds, confusion on his face, wondering why you care.
“How did he break a finger?” you ask, moving backwards as he sits back on the table.
“Oh he didn’t go down without a fight, clocked one of them on his way out,” he says with a small chuckle.
“Ah, good for crazy Clint,” you say with a smile.
Bucky let’s out a sharp quick laugh, “that exactly what I thought doll,” he says, leaning back and putting his arm on the rest, “ready when you are.” He adds.
Ok right back to it. Got it boss.
“Ok, should only be about 10 more minutes.” You say.
“Alright doll.” He answers, leaning his head back on the rest, tilting his head so he could watch you.
Ten minutes later you were finished, putting your machine down for the final time.
“Okie dokie, I’m all done. Have a look in the mirror, see what ya think,” you say, hoping he liked it, not much you could do about it if he didn’t.
He moves over to the mirror, checking out his new ink, twisting his arm around to see it fully. He’s silent for a little while before he says, “fuck doll, you’re a damn artist.”
“Does that mean you like it?” You ask, failing to hide the hope in your voice.
“I love it. Couldn’t have asked for a better one for my first piece.” He says, walking forwards to stand in-front of you, letting you wrap the fresh tattoo, handing him a leaflet on aftercare as you talk.
“You’re shitting me,” you say, “was that seriously your first one?”
“Yeah, why are you so surprised darlin?” He responds, tilting his head.
“I don’t know, just sorta thought you’d have them all over.” You answer.
“All over, huh. You been thinking about me naked doll?” He says with a cheeky grin, talking half a step closer to you.
Shit.
“What, n-no of course not, why would I do that. I mean I’m sure you look good - uh fine.. naked but I don’t-” you cut yourself off before you embarrass yourself anymore.
“No, no ramble on Y/N please, I’m really enjoying watching you try to figure your way out of the grave you’re digging right now,” he says, chucking lightly.
“Shut up Bucky, leave me alone” you responds, looking down at your feet.
“Hey,” he grabs your chin, again, and add pressure until you’re looking up at his eyes, “don’t ever try and tell me what to do, darlin, I don’t tend to respond well to it. I won’t ‘shut up’ and I’ll never ‘leave you alone’… I like ya too much for that.” He says, sounding like a mix between a threat and a compliment.
“Uh.. okay.” You answer, not sure how to respond to his words.
He can tell that you don’t know what to say, so he mercifully breaks the silence. “I love the tattoo doll, it’s looks amazing. You’ve got a talent Y/N.” He drops his hand from your chin as he speaks.
“Thank you, Bucky. It means a lot.” You answer sincerely.
“How much do I owe you sweetheart?” He asks, reaching into his jacket for his wallet.
That’s a new one.
“Uh, say $180?” You respond.
“$180? Damn you gotta charge more than that doll,” he says pulling some bills from his wallet.
He hands you the bills and says “now that’s for today and it should cover next time too, take half for now and half for then.”
You’re stunned by the fact that he’s already planning for next time but your jaw actually drops when you look at the bills.
They were hundreds.
“Woah I think you gave me the wrong bills,” you say, trying to push the bills back in his hands.
“No I didn’t, I know what I gave you. $180 for today, say $200 for next time and the rest is tip.” He answers smoothly, folding your hand back over the bills.
You look down to count and start shaking your head, “I can’t accept this, it’s way too much.”
“Consider it a thank you for dealing with the inconvenience of me having to do business in the middle of the appointment.” He says with a smile.
“Bucky this is 2000 dollars.”
“I know.” He puts up his hand again, stopping you from talking, “I’m not taking it back doll, just have it will ya?” He says, rolling his sleeve back down, doing the cuff back up with the cufflink and placing his jacket back on.
“Oh my god, you’re serious aren’t you?” You ask, unbelievable he wanted you to have over fifteen hundred dollars as tip.
“Yes I am.” He answers, straightening his jacket, “it also may be a small bribe.”
There it is.
“A bribe for what?” You ask, expecting his to ask you to keep quiet about his call.
“I want you to be my artist, anytime I want a tattoo, I want you doing it for me.” He says, smiling down at you with a hint of…something him his eye.
“Really?” You ask in shock, not expecting that from him.
“Yeah, like I said earlier, you got talent. I want more of you on me.” Bucky says smirking at the euphemism he made.
Fuck me running.
“Oh..shit.. yeah ok, that sounds..,” you swallow heavily, “sounds like a plan.” You smile up at him, trying to hide the way his words affected you.
He smiles back, stepping closer and closer until his chest is almost touching yours.
“Yes it’s does. You’re mine now doll,” he says, a dark look in his eye. You swallow hard again and your breath stutters at his words, eyes going straight to the floor. He notices your reaction and smirks, “my artist, I mean.” He continued.
“Although, judging by your little reaction there, I’d bet you be ok with that, wouldn’t you doll?” He says, his tone slightly mocking.
You say nothing.
He hums, then places his right hand on your cheek and tilts your head so you’re looking him in the eye again.
“Would you?” He asks softly.
“Maybe,” you whisper, a cocky smile breaking out on his face.
“Maybe, huh? ‘Mkay, guess I’ll just have to convince you then doll.” He says back, leaning closer, eyes going to your lips before he looks back up, giving you a chance to get out of the situation.
“Guess so.” You respond, some confidence back in your voice.
He hums again, and then he’s kissing you. His kiss is forceful but somehow still gentle, like he’s holding back as much as he can.
Fucking finally you can’t help but think as you move your hand to his wrist, the other one going to his left bicep, the feel of the solid metal under your hand was new, but not unwelcome.
His metal hand moves, wrapping around your back and pulling you against him, deepening the kiss when you gasp.
Reluctantly, you break the kiss when you run out of air. He leans back, the pressure on your back relieving a bit.
“Damn doll, what the fuck are you doing to me?” He asks, biting his bottom lip.
“Something good, hopefully.” You respond cheekily.
He groans, leaning his head back. “Yeah hopefully darlin’. I hate to say it sweetheart but I gotta get going.” He says, releasing his hold on you. He moves towards the door and for a second you think he going to leave without another word, until he turns back and says “I’ll talk to you later doll, keep your phone on or I’ll drop by.” He finished his sentence with a wink, and then he’s gone, the bell on the door ringing behind him.
Fuucckk. Maybe I’ll break my phone so he has to come by. Who knew the fucking Winter Soldier was actually a gorgeous softie under it all.
————
A/N: Ta da! Finally complete!! Love everyone of you that read this, mwah 😘
I can’t tag anyone else on this post so I will tag the rest in a separate post.
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@sleepyghostygirl @starlightaurorab @scrynexxtins @where-the-river-bends @imagines-of-the-fandom @bigenargy @uraverageatiny @squeezyvalkyrie @mylifeispainandiloveit @mrvlxgrl @bopbeepboopbopbeep @yvessaintmuerte @thecubanator2 @flubblubbb @teambarnes72 @ria132love @pingpongfingfong @cashhvi @rivthejellyfish @mybakubaby @blue-chup @goatsmcgee @facinated-lemon @daddylorianisastateofmind @buckybarnesb-tch @yeahimcrying @shifting2places @fand0mskullfa1ry @1-800-bxrnes @amiets2 @aliabhatt19 @leabunny @justmarlen3 @bofadeezs @jehduxi @grey107th @king-of-spades-aroace @sebismyhubby @princezzjasmine @sebastianstanswhore @cluckityduck @shuriri4life @calwitch @goodkittyspost @iateall-yourcookies @miss-i-ship-it @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @anawhitethorn @radiator-hands @tripletstephaniescp
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azsazz · 1 month
Text
Midnight Muse (Part 19)
Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]
Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.
Warnings: SMUT
Word Count: 5,592
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Masterlist]
Notes: The moment we've all been waiting for 😏 (took me like four days to write this)....Happy Valentine's Day 💙
_________________________________________
The kiss is searing.
It’s a desperate attempt to taste each other, devour each other as your lips part beneath Azriel’s without thought. Your teeth clack and the sound is loud in the silence of the gallery, almost startlingly so, but his tongue is brushing across yours in a tentative swipe before you’re meeting him halfway, kissing him even more urgently as the taste of him explodes on your tongue.
He tastes fresh and spicy. There’s a hint of the champagne he’s been drinking, and just like the fizziness of it, the feeling bubbles throughout your body pleasurably. You press yourself closer. His eyelashes are so long that you swear you can feel them fluttering against your skin. The feeling goes straight to your cunt.
Your heart pounds in your chest, and you lose yourself into him entirely.
A new beginning indeed.
“Wait,” Azriel pants between kisses. His words tell you that he wants to pause this kiss that is more dizzying than any of the champagne you’ve had tonight, but the way his hands caress your face, keeping you close, the way that he continues to press his mouth against yours again and again tells you that he doesn’t want this to end either. “Princess, wait.”
Ice slips through your veins as you rock back from him a little. Is he already regretting this? I mean, you did just throw yourself at him like some simpering girl, but his reassuring grip slides down your arms, holding you close. Tingles skitter in wake of his touch, but you can’t help the part of you that’s suddenly terrified of what he’s going to say.
Azriel must see it on your face too, the worry, because his brows furrow slightly like he doesn’t understand your quick reaction to pull away. He’s stepping into you, plastering himself against your front. You can feel his cock, hard with attention against your stomach. You relax slightly as the warmth from your cheeks drips down to collect at the apex of your thighs.
“You’re drunk,” Azriel breathes, and the pinch of his brows becomes more tortured when you slide your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck. Those golden eyes search yours frantically, but you don’t show him anything but the ache, the need for him you have and have been locking deep inside of your soul. “I need you to be sober when I fuck you for the first time, princess.”
“I’m fine,” you whine, clinging to him as tightly as he is to you. You roll your hips a little to emphasize what you want from him and Azriel makes a choked noise in response. “I’m not drunk enough to where I’d forget any of this, Azriel.”
And fuck, the way you say his name, no longer filled with hatred or annoyance. It’s a heady whine that makes his cock harder than stone. He thinks he might crumble under your touch like a delicate piece of his charcoal. He wants to be wrapped all around you, embedded into your skin like the chalky substance he favors. He wants to ink you with his touch, with his cum—
He shakes his head, erasing those thoughts from his mind. If he continues down that path he might just rip off your dress right now and—“Fuck,” he squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can for a moment, leaning his forehead against yours. “I want to fuck you in a bed, not on some hard floor.”
It’s an excuse and you both know it. He could lie you down right now and fuck you so hard that your tailbone bruises from the stone floors, and you’d probably thank him.
“Just put a canvas down,” you suggest, “Let’s make some art.” He grunts like you’ve just shot him, bucking his hips against you. You can feel how big he is and you want to unleash his cock from his pants, run your fingers across the hardness of it, taste him on your tongue—
“Easy,” he warns playfully, but there’s a clear strain to his voice that tells you that he wants to keep going. Sadly, Azriel pulls your hands from his belt. You hadn’t noticed that your fingers had moved to his waist on their own volition.
“Fuck,” you curse, wincing. “Sorry.”
“Say fuck again,” he says, distracted. The honey of his eyes is dripping with lust, pupils blown wide as they drink you in. The flush to your cheeks, the way you’re biting your tongue and batting your eyelashes up at him like you’re going to make him beg for it. He might. Azriel brushes his thumb across your lip, watching the way your mouth forms the words again. “Filthy, princess,” he breathes against your mouth. “Everytime you called me prick or asshole or whatever creative curses you could come up with, you don’t know how much I wanted to come taste them off of your lips, fuck them right out of you.”
He wants to know if you’ll make the same noises that you did on the other side of that wall that day.
You can’t help but to rub yourself against him. Your sex is throbbing with need. You moan again and Azriel sucks harshly on your neck. “Shit,” you whine. His hands are everywhere, winding around your body to hold you even closer. “Need your cock, Az,” you pant, and he’s kissing you forcefully, the both of you stumbling back a few steps.
“You’ll get it, princess,” he mumbles, hands dragging hot lines down your spine to squeeze a handful of your ass. You’re about to beg him again, because your failed attempts at convincing him to fuck you right here on the floor are not working, but the lights cut out, sending the entire gallery into a pitch of darkness.
Azriel groans and you can’t help the laugh that escapes.
“What the hell?” You question through your giggling, turning as you throw a look over your shoulder as if making sure that the entire room has succumbed to the same darkness. You don’t miss the way Azriel’s grip tightens on you as you move, and the action weakens your knees.
“Thesan told me this would happen at midnight,” Azriel supplies, digging into the pocket of his trousers for his phone.
You feign a gasp, “My very own Cinderella moment! I’ve always wanted one!”
The smirk in Azriel’s tone is clear when he answers. “Except, unlike Cinderella, you’ll be getting dick tonight.”
You swat at him, but in the dark you miss. He chuckles, deep and throaty, as if the current of your swing ruffled the fabric of his shirt. You clench your thighs. Being on this side of Azriel’s good mood is spectacular, but there is no way he can keep torturing you like this.
“I think it really sets the mood; don’t you think?” You purr, fingers fumbling for the top button of his shirt.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he grouses, catching your hands and guiding you through the dark gallery instead. The flashlight on his phone leads the way. Azriel keeps your hand tucked tightly in his own as you wobble back into your heels with a soft hiss, your aching feet already protesting again. “When I fuck you, I need to see all of those pretty faces you’re going to make for me,” Azriel all but growls.
You stumble, blaming it on your shoes and Azriel steadies you.
He swipes up the glasses from the floor and you pick up the nearly empty champagne bottle, where you return them all to the kitchenette Thesan built in the back, dumping them into the sink.
When you scold Azriel for not washing the glasses, he arches a brow, illuminated by the glaring light coming from his phone. “Oh, now you want to stay longer and help clean up?” He questions and you roll your eyes in response. “Is this my punishment for wanting to take you home and fuck you in a nice, comfy bed? C’mon, princess, you know just how soft it is, don’t you?”
You shiver at his words. That, for once, you’re both completely on the same page about something.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The ride back to the apartment building is both the longest ride you’ve ever endured, and the most tension-filled.
Azriel had called a cab to take the both of you home, and spent the time waiting by pressing you up against the back door of the building and kissing the life out of you.
It’s difficult to focus on anything other than his hand in yours, the soft and rigid texture of his hand. The way that his thumb smoothes gentle circles across your own hand where they lie intertwined in your lap. The warmth of his skin is both settling and forming a rock in your stomach as you think about what he’s endured to grace these scars upon his skin. That his step-brothers had been so cruel to take a flame to the artist's hands.
You try to swallow past the lump in your throat, breathing shallowly so you don’t make yourself sick with the thoughts searing through your mind.
The driver doesn’t try to make conversation and you’re thankful for that, but the silence is consuming, aiding in your negative thoughts.
As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Azriel squeezes your hand, and gives you a gentle smile. It’s a crooked one, one corner of his mouth tilted higher than the other, but it’s easily the most beautiful smile you’ve seen. It makes him look younger, less like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It makes you wish you had your sketchpad with you. Him looking at you like this makes you feel like there’s a garden growing in your stomach, a field of blooming flowers.
You frown when Azriel’s fingers untangle from yours but then he’s sliding that large palm scoots slowly up your thigh. You glare, glancing into the front of the car at the driver, who is paying no attention to whatever is going on in his backseat, which is perfect because Azriel’s hand is creeping higher, almost cupping your—
You splutter a little and the driver glances at you in the mirror.
“You okay?” Azriel asks, but you can hear the mirth in his voice, see the heat in his eyes, flashing in the streetlights.
You’re not all that sure that you like this new Azriel.
“Peachy,” you offer, using both of your hands to clamp down on his wrist to keep him from coming any closer to your already weeping cunt. The thin fabric of your dress does little to separate the warmth of his hand from your skin. “Just peachy.”
Azriel finds challenge in your response, and you’re no match for his strength as he softly brushes his fingers across the fabric covering your intimates. You exhale harshly and can feel the car moving faster as the driver presses harder on the gas.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
You skip going into your apartment, trailing after Azriel with your hand tucked into his.
Your heart is beating wildly, like it’s trying to escape your chest. The closer you get to his door the more confident in your decision you are. You want him, want his hands all over your body, his eyes and hands on your skin and his cock plunged deeply into your cunt.
The elevator had been the only option to get upstairs because of your tired feet, but Azriel had thoroughly distracted your nervousness of getting back in the blasted metal trap by pinning you up against the door and slotting his lips over yours.
The both of you stumbled out onto your floor in a fit of laughter, helped along by the slight warmth that lingers from the champagne. Now, you’re mostly just drunk off of Azriel, his hands, the strain in his pants that’s calling your name, that gleam in his eye that you haven’t quite caught before…
“I’m going to get you some water,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. You had both creeped quietly into the dark apartment, holding your breath and listening for any movement. For college students, the weekend night is still young, and his roommates must be out because not a grunt of a wank or a moan from Feyre sounds. You follow Azriel’s mouth because you can’t get enough of the taste of him. His hands settle on your hips, eyes gleaming with amusement. “And after you drink it, if you still want to—”
“Yes, Azriel,” you cut him off, earnest. “My answer isn’t going to change.”
He studies you, golden eyes hungry with desire, before he nods, slipping from the room, the shadows of the dark living room swallowing him whole.
You bite back the smile threatening to tear your face into two at the sight of his tight ass in his black trousers. You can’t wait to rip them off and see what’s under them. 
Exhaling, you spin on your heel, kicking out of your shoes. Your feet sigh with relief as they fall flat against the hardwood floors, and you wiggle your toes, admiring his room. It feels different, somehow, than when it did when you woke up here hungover as fuck.
The light from the lamp beside the bed is soft, the pile of books stacked in pristine order as opposed to the ready-to-tip-over pile you remember. It’s clean, no piles of clothes on the floor like in Cassian’s room, no pair of panties thrown over the desk chair.
Azriel’s desk is the only thing you could consider messy, but even then, it’s cleaner that what your art stations look like when you’re working on a project. There’s a jar filled with chunks of charcoal, a cloth drenched black hanging over its side. There are loose sheets of paper and thick graphite pencils for sketching, and a luster of sketchbooks stacked in a neat pile, the one on top open.
You lean closer, squinting against the shadows to get a better look, and your breath hitches in your throat.
Drawing upon drawing, and they’re all of you. He’s made you look so beautiful that you didn’t even know you looked like this. Even the ones that he’s clearly drawn in a rush, before the memory faded, are impeccable.
It’s you in the elevator, head buried in your sketchbook, hat pulled low over your eyes. It’s you when Feyre and Rhysand forced everyone to have lunch together, tossing the grape at Cassian. It’s you, swallowing up at him the first day that you met. You sitting on the back of his motorcycle, rain plastered to your head, you—
You can’t help but to turn the page, all but collapsing into the desk chair. Some of the pages are filled with larger drawings, spreading across the spine of the book. When you’d eaten dinner with him, the shock on your face when you learned that he could cook. The following pages are a double-spread from when you were staring down at him when he was changing the oil on his motorcycle.
A hysterical laugh bubbles in your throat. You hadn’t realized that Azriel had been paying as much attention to you as you were with him. The drawings of yours that you dropped all over the floor of his hands are a tribute to that.
“What are you doing?” Azriel’s voice startles you. You stand from the chair and face him, but you don’t move any closer than that. He’s standing in the doorway, a glass of water in his hand. He doesn’t move closer, and when his eyes flick from the sketchbook to you , your chest hurts at the guarded look he wears.
“That sketchbook is filled with drawings of me,” you point at the sketchbook in question, even though he was just looking at it. In some speck of the world it might seem creepy, this sketchbook filled with drawings of you, but to you, it’s no different than children scribbling names of their cushes across notebooks. It’s no different than all of the drawings you have of him.
You watch Azriel’s throat work as he swallows. Like he’s considering not answering you at all. 
After a few, long seconds in silence, he breathes out a quiet, “Yes.”
“Why?” you ask, twisting your fingers together.
Azriel tracks the movement. Because you consume every waking moment of my life sounds too desperate. Because you chase my demons away sounds even crazier.
“Because I really like you.” It’s his first time admitting it, your first time hearing it from him. All of the times Feyre has tried to ask you about Azriel had been deny, deny, deny, because of this very moment right now. You hadn’t wanted to think about him like that, even when your mind was desperate to. You didn’t want to actually like Azriel, not after what he had done, but you find yourself admitting that you like him a hell of a lot more than you ever thought you could.
Bunching up the bottom of your dress, you curl your fingers around it as you take a step closer. He’s frozen in the doorway, watching you slowly drag the fabric up your body and over your head. You’d forgone a bra, and your nipples tighten in the chill of the room, underneath that piercing gaze of his. 
In the few steps it takes you to cross the room to him, your dress is on the floor and he can’t stop looking at your body, drinking you in like an artist does his muse.
“I really like you too, Azriel,” you respond softly. This is the most intimate thing you’ve ever done, bare yourself to him while he’s still fully clothed, being as vulnerable as he’d been with you back at the gallery. The ball is in his court, and the bulge in his pants has you hopeful.
Azriel curses. “Fuck, princess. You’re making my hands shake.” 
Your solution is simple, taking the glass from him and reaching over to set it on the dresser. You can feel the way his eyes rove your body as you move, hot like a knife.
Turning back to him, you slowly, gently take his hands in yours. They’re trembling a little, and it makes you ache.
He’s frozen to the spot as he watches you lift one of his palms to your lips, kissing it sweetly. It’s followed by the other, and then you’re dragging his hands down your skin and over your breasts, squeezing his hands around them, nipples tight with the pleasure of his skin against them.
Azriel’s breath hitches and your head nearly rolls back on your neck when his fingers twitch, fighting the urge to squeeze harder. You peer up at him. He’s so godsdamned warm, eyes dark and drinking you in like a delight. You want to feel his hands everywhere. Right this second.
“They’re not shaking right now, Azriel.”
As quick as lightning, Azriel strikes, lunging forward and scooping you off of your feet, kicking the door shut behind him.
You arch into his touch, the tightness of your sensitive nipples grazing across the soft fabric of his shirt. You moan into his mouth at the feeling and he swallows that sound desperately.
His room is small, and in two great strides he’s placing you on his bed and crawling up after you like a wolf getting its first taste of a kill.
You scoot backwards until you can’t anymore, and Azriel follows you like a worshiper to his God, like a starving artist to their muse.
His hands trail your calves to your thighs where he parts them, your clothed cunt on full display. The fabric is wet and you shiver at the cold of his room as it fights against your hot core, shivering harder when Azriel’s hot gaze drags down your body like a brush dipped in paint.
Like this, kneeling between your legs, he’s the one that looks Godlike. Strands of his black hair fall across his glowing eyes, and his tongue pokes out to wet his lips.
“My Gods, princess. Where do I even start with you?” he asks, his voice filled with awe.
You know that his question is rhetoric, but you can’t help the whine on an answer that slips from your lips.
“Anywhere you want.”
As if he can’t stand it a moment longer, Azriel’s hips find yours. His cock is heavy with need where it’s straining against the fabric of his trousers, and you keen as he grinds into you, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt as he watches you with hungry eyes.
Splayed out like this, on his bed, you look impeccable. A feast and he is a starving man. Biting your lip as he rubs himself against your cunt. The part to your lips, glistening in the lamplight. He drinks you in, memorizing each and every single ounce of you before your fingers find the sliver of exposed skin that grows with each button he takes off.
He’s smooth, warm, and the ridges of his muscles feel like a puzzle beneath your fingers. You know exactly where he fits, right up against your body.
Azriel’s shirt falls to the side and as if he knows the intended path of your thoughts, he’s leaning over you, caging you between his elbows as he stares deeply into your eyes. You can’t help but watch in response, suddenly so sure that you’ve spent too long arguing with him. All this time, you could’ve been doing this. 
It looks like Azriel is realizing the same, as he dips down to kiss you sweetly.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against your mouth again, following the words with another whisper of a kiss.
“I’ve already forgiven you,” you say, delirious from the feeling of his tongue against your neck. Azriel sucks lightly and your breath hitches, thighs quivering to wrap around his taut waist. “But if you get inside of me right now, I’ll forgive you again.” 
Azriel lifts his head. With the way that his dark hair falls into his gold eyes, paired with the slight smirk on his face, it sends your heart into a rapid flutter. He’s utterly breathtaking, and something blooms deeply inside of you. 
The things you’ve learned about him, from him, this man who hasn’t let his hardships keep him from doing what he loves.
“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, princess,” Azriel says, and you almost whine when he pulls away from you, but he’s kissing his way down your body, sucking a pert nipple into his mouth and rolling his tongue around it while his other hand massages your free breast. Your fingers find his shoulders and you dig your nails in, hissing as he rolls your nipple between his teeth. Gods, you need his cock, right now. “I have to taste your sweet little pussy first.”
“Please,” you beg as his hands trail down your sides, snapping the waistband of your panties against your hips in a tease.
“Might have to keep you here all night. So I can study your body with my tongue,” he says, leaning down to lick a stripe up the inside of your thigh. “My hands,” Azriel continues, and the words are accentuated with a brush of his knuckle down the center of your core. The thin fabric of your panties does nothing to ease the feeling of his touch. You keen deeply, and somewhere in the haze of the storm that is Azriel that accompanies his every touch, you don’t realize he’s slipped from his pants and boxers, his thick, full length on display. “And my cock,” he finishes, rubbing himself against your soaked panties.
“Az,” you mewl desperately, but you don’t have to wait any longer because he’s already peeling your panties down your legs and settling himself there, admiring the way your pretty cunt flutters and glistens with need.
Your fingers are already fisting the sheets and it’s an effort to peer down at him, watching in anticipation as he finally, finally, lowers his head to your weeping cunt.
Fucking Gods, is Azriel wicked with his tongue, sweeping a deep stroke through your slit. He groans and the sound of it reverberates against your clit and it’s all too much already. You figure he was going to be good with his hands, being an artist, but this…the gentle to harsh touches of his tongue against your clit is otherworldly.
You gasp as he fucks into you, keeping you from scooting up the bed where your feet are planted in the sheets with his hands on your hips, holding you to his face. He’s a man undone, delirious on your taste alone. He can’t wait until his cock gets to feel this.
Azriel works his tongue, fucking into you with such hunger. He sucks greedily at your clit and you arch off of the bed. One of his palms slides across your hips, pressing you back down. He doesn’t care that you’re squeezing his head with your thighs, only cares about the sounds that he’s ripping from your mouth.
They sound even better on this side of the wall.
A finger replaces his tongue and you’re full on squirming now, fingers buried deeply into his hair as you guide his head, the flick of his tongue too good that any words besides “yes,” eddy from your mind. Azriel’s knuckle brushes the bundle of nerves inside of you and you’re seeing white, cunt clenching around his finger, grinding your pussy into the feverish flicking of his tongue as you ride out the best orgasm of your life.
You cunt aches, and Azriel’s still going, so you use your grip on his hair to jostle him a little, whimpering to get his attention.
It takes a lot more strength for Azriel to part from your cunt than he thought. Your sweetness is still on his tongue, coating his mouth when he looks up at you, dazed, as if he’s the one that’s just come from a taste of you. But no, he’s still painfully hard, trying not to rut his hips into the bed while you squirmed for him.
He wants you to do all that squirming on his cock instead.
“You alright up there, princess?” Azriel teases, crawling his way up your body once more. Following the guidance of the hand in his hair, he slants his mouth over yours, sharing the taste of you in a lazy kiss.
You hum languidly, eyes shut in bliss from the orgasm. You peek your eyes open to peer up at Azriel, who’s admiring you with a soft curve to his mouth. He looks so handsome when he smiles that it has you wrapping your legs around his hips, the both of you groaning as his cock slides through your slick folds, teasing.
“Condom,” you gasp, canting your hips to slide your wet and fully interested cunt across his length. He’s so big, and you’d be going down on him if it weren’t for the way that you desperately need to feel him inside of you, right this fucking instant.
Azriel reaches over you, pulling open the drawer of the small table next to you. He roots around for a moment and then he’s pressing back on his haunches, tearing open the condom wrapper and pulling it out.
“Let me,” you offer, and his eyes turn a shade darker when he passes it over.
Your mouth waters at the feeling of his cock in your hand, hot and heavy, silky like heaven. You can feel your slick around the length from where he’d nearly driven you to insanity with that teasing grind against your cunt, and in retaliation, you give his cock a tug, reveling in the low growl that comes from the back of his throat.
“Princess,” he threatens, and your thighs jolt, trying to shut around your screaming clit at the sound.
You don’t wait for Azriel to take charge. As soon as you roll the condom on you’re brushing the head of his cock against your cunt again, slicking him and lining him up with your entrance, looking up at him with those big, innocent eyes.
“Fuck me, Az. I can’t wait another minute.” 
His lips meet yours in a bruising kiss and he slowly presses his cock into you.
“Fucking fuck, princess. You’re so tight for me.” His words are shaky against your mouth, as if he’s struggling to hold himself back from pressing into you all the way, from cumming with a singular touch. 
You mewl his name on the breath that’s forced from your lungs with each inch he plunges into you. Gods, he looked big, felt bigger in your hand, and as he works his cock into your heat, you’re not too sure he’s going to fit all the way. 
But the words he’s whispering into your ear, onto your skin have you melting. The finger he slips between your bodies to play with your clit is distracting enough to where you’re focused on the pleasure he’s pulling from you. 
And then his cock hits that spot, nestles up against it when your hips meet, and you cry out in joy. “Right there, Azriel. You feel so good.” Your fingers dig into the long lines of muscle down his back, trying to hold him closer, as if you aren’t already touching in every way possible.
“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this moment?” he asks you, accentuating his words with a slow roll of his hips that makes you both groan, your nails biting into his skin like the needle from his tattoo gun. It drags a shiver up his spine as a fleeting thought zips through his mind, one of you, naked and sitting on his cock, giving him another tattoo. He’ll teach you how to hold the tattoo gun and let you have free rein with it, because anything that you can give him, he wants. Azriel squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to burst at the visual. If anything, he can’t wait to coat your virgin skin in his ink. There is so much canvas for him to work with, all smooth and perfect, waiting for some artwork. “When you were touching yourself on that side of the wall,” he pants, pulling out and fucking back into you slowly. The drag of your walls so tight around his cock is perfect. He won’t last long. 
You gasp as he bottoms out again, throwing your head back into the pillows. “You heard that?”
His hum is strained, and he can’t help but to kiss you. “You’ll have to show me how you touched yourself some day, princess.”
You moan loudly at the thought of that, gripping him tighter. Azriel sitting in his chair, charcoal poised above his sketchpad as he watches you with dark eyes, while you touch yourself to the thought of him. Just how he’s touching you now, tight, little circles around your clit.
“I heard you with that guy,” Azriel continues, and his thrusts become harsher, deeper. “With that fucker from the coffee house. I bet you faked it with him, all that laughing and sighing. I’m going to find out if those noises were real or not.” You shiver at his words, but Azriel couldn’t be further from wrong.
“We didn’t fuck,” you pant, bucking your hips up to meet his. Azriel makes a choked sound, canting his hips to hear you keen wildly at the change of angle. And then, because you know it will make him come undone, you say, “All of this is just for you, Az.”
Azriel nearly cums at those words alone. The coiling in his bones is so hot that he readjusts for better leverage, and fucks into you with abandon. Gods, he loves the way that you’re clinging to him, the way your cunt squeezes his cock tightly, like you never want to let him go.
He’s been a fucking fool all of this time. A Godsdamn fucking fool. He could’ve had you like this, milking his cock dry, making these sounds that threaten to tear the walls down. He could’ve had his hands all over you, because you seem to like the way that he’s touching you, even with how fucked up they are.
“I’m going to memorize everything about this perfect body of yours, princess,” Azriel groans, thrusting deeply. He can tell you’re on the verge of your own orgasm, with the way your cunt squeezes him, the way those gorgeous eyes roll into the back of your head and your mouth parts, letting out those filthy noises he revels in. “We’ve got all night. Let me see you cum again, princess. Cum all over my cock. Oh, fuck, princess. That’s it.”
Your orgasm rocks through you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath away. You hold onto Azriel like he’s your lifeline, trembling in the aftershocks. The white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins is incredible, and you wrench your eyes open at the sound of Azriel’s shaky warning.
Azriel follows you into serendipity. He wishes he were painting your body in white strokes. It’s always been far from his favorite color, but he thinks it could quickly become his favorite if he could see his cum splattered across your skin. 
For the first time, you don’t care that it’s loud on this side of the wall. 
Because you’re on it.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
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navybrat817 · 1 year
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And Everything Nice
Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: You visit the tattoo parlor when an uninvited guest shows up at the bakery. Word Count: Over 2.8k Warnings: Bad ex, mild (h)arassment, protectiveness, brief moments of insecurity, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @firefly-graphics . Bucky edit by Nix. Moodboard by yours truly. A/N: More Hottie and Sugar from our Sin on Skin AU. ❤️ Thank you to @rookthorne for listening to me ramble about this part! Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you for spitballing), but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
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I am going to ask Bucky Barnes out.
After going through the closing checklist, Tess gave you another quick pep talk and said the only thing that would hurt if he turned you down was your pride. Deep down you knew it would hurt more than your pride if he said no, but you didn't say it out loud. She must have sensed it since she added she was certain he'd jump at the chance to date you.
"You got this," she said, giving you a quick hug. "Sorry to run, but-"
"Like I said, I got this," you said, waving her on. Normally you walked out together when you both closed the bakery, but she had somewhere to be. "Have fun!" you added as she rushed out.
Once you finished up a few minutes later, you strode to the door with your keys in hand and a smile on your face. Tomorrow was going to be a good day. You could feel it. And you would look Bucky in the eye with a smile as you asked him-
"Closing all by yourself?"
You weren't sure how you managed to not drop your keys, or not throw a punch, when you spun around and saw your ex in your personal space. You wanted to wipe the smirk off his face when you took a deep breath. "Thanks for sneaking up on me, Richard. Mind backing up a little?"
"Aww, did I scare you?" he asked as you quickly locked the door. "Not even a 'hello'?"
"We haven't talked since we broke up," you reminded him. "But hi and bye."
Richard charmed you in the beginning when you met him, like he did with so many others. Beyond his good looks, he was a confident man. It didn't take long to see that beneath the surface was a spoiled man child who was used to getting what he wanted, or thought he could buy everything. You included.
Breaking up with him was one of the best decisions you made, even if your mom disagreed.
"Where are you going in such a hurry? You should get a drink with me."
"I have plans," you lied, wondering what the hell he was even doing there.
"So? Break them. I want to talk."
The suggestion sounded more like an order and you weren't in the mood.
"I said I have plans. I'm sorry."
"Then why are you still in your work clothes?" he asked, gesturing to your outfit. "And who do you have plans with? Some new guy?"
"Because I'm changing later," you said, staring across the street as a smile spread on your face. "And not that it's any of your business, but yes. He's a tattoo artist."
You weren't sure why you said that. Maybe because you hoped Bucky really would be your guy. And because the thought of him also made you feel safe.
You half expected Richard to laugh as you walked around him, but he put his hand on your arm instead as his face twisted into a scowl. "You're not hanging out with him. You're getting a drink with me."
You wrenched your arm away before he could tighten his grip. "We aren't together anymore. So you don't get to show up out of nowhere and order me around," you said as you went to the curb.
"Don't act like a fucking brat when I'm trying to give you another chance."
I'm the brat?
"Not interested. Have a good night!" you said before you looked both ways and dashed across the street to Bucky's shop.
The entrance was cozier and more open than you expected, the sound of the needles bringing you a strange sense of comfort as you adjusted your bag on your arm. Pictures of various tattoos in different styles lined the red walls above the front desk and leather couches. You wished you had the time to pick out which works belonged to Bucky.
Another day.
"Hi! Welcome to Sin on Skin!" the man behind the desk cheerfully greeted you as he typed on the keyboard. Even sitting down, you could tell the man was built, his muscular arms covered in a variety of tattoos. He may have been intimidating if not for the glasses and warm smile. "Do you have an appointment?"
You glanced over your shoulder and saw your ex making his way across the street. "Sorry, I don't. Is Bucky here? I really need to talk to him."
"Oh, yeah. Just over there. If you want to take a seat, I can-"
"Thank you. I'll be quick," you smiled, hoping Bucky wasn't in the middle of an appointment.
You glanced around at some of the other artists as you walked over to the chairs and noted how exceedingly gorgeous they were. There was one with short dark hair and a beard that looked like he could kill someone with his tattoo gun if they stared for too long. The girl sitting at his station and the man behind him with shocking pink hair and bright smile both brought a ray of warmth to his almost dark aura.
Is it a prerequisite to work in the shop that you have to be good looking? And either look intimidating as hell or incredibly alluring?
You gripped your bag to keep your hand from shaking as you saw Bucky engaged in a quiet conversation with Steve, recognizing him from earlier. You were almost afraid to interrupt. "Hi?"
Both men turned toward you with smiles on their faces as Bucky pushed himself up from his stool. “Hey, Sugar. Couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see me?”
"Something like that," you said.
"Wait. That's Sugar?" the man with the pink hair asked. "No wonder you keep going to the bakery."
"Don't hit on her, Hal," Bucky warned, earning a chuckle from the other man. "Go bother Andy."
"He already is," a deep voice replied.
You would ask later just how much he spoke about you to the other artists. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting. My ex was waiting for me outside of my shop and I kind of panicked and said I was meeting you and I rushed over here."
"Your ex?" Bucky asked, immediately moving forward to rub your arms in a soothing gesture. "Are you okay?"
"Hi! Welcome to Sin on Skin!" you heard the guy at the desk call out before you could answer.
Instead, you burrowed yourself against Bucky when you heard Richard shout your name. Rock solid and sturdy, his hold kept your nerves from bubbling to the surface. You had nothing to be afraid of.
So why am I shaking?
“You’re kidding me, right? This fucking asshole?” Richard scoffed as you looked over your shoulder at him. He didn't walk any closer, but his voice carried throughout the entire shop. "Like putting a bumper sticker on a piece of shit car, isn't it?"
“Richard, just leave.”
"Does your mom know you're spreading your legs for some tatted up lowlife? Still a disappointment, aren’t you?”
The jab cut deep as much as you wanted to ignore it. He knew that your mom judged every part of you. No matter what you did, it was never good enough.
You wouldn’t focus on that for the time being. "
You do not come into his shop and insult him. Bucky, I'm so sorry."
"Don't apologize for this asshole, Sugar. His opinion of me means less than nothing, trust me," he assured you before he faced your ex. "You, however, are banned from my shop. You can get out now or Jake will call the cops for trespassing. After you apologize to my girl for upsetting her. Your choice, Dick."
Your heart fluttered as you leaned into Bucky more.
His girl. It sounds right.
"Please. I can buy the shop tomorrow just to bulldoze it to the ground," he sneered before he jabbed a finger at you. "And you know what? Keep her. I tried to give her another chance, but she's not worth it. She's a lousy lay anyway."
The insult washed away the momentary good feeling and was the tipping point that brought tears to your eyes. It was humiliating enough that you were the root cause of a scene in Bucky's shop, but the jab in front of his employees and customers brought it to another level. Why did you think hiding in there was a good idea?
Does Bucky think I'm a total loser now?
It was only when you sniffled did you notice the entire shop had gone silent, a dangerous tension in the air when Bucky tightened his arms around you as Steve and Andy slowly got to their feet.
"Hey, why don't you and I go in the back?" the friendly girl at Andy's station suggested. "I think there's some snacks back there, right?"
Andy nodded and gave her the go ahead.
"Bucky," you whispered as you dared to look at him. A tear slid from your eye when you saw the murderous gaze on his handsome face. "I'm-"
Before you could register what was happening, he pulled your face toward his and kissed you. Fierce, yet gentle as he brushed the tear away with his thumb, you let him take the lead. A slow simmer of warmth crept into your cheeks as he parted your lips with his tongue and coaxed yours into his mouth. Your fingers twisted in his shirt as he deepened the kiss and shifted so you were pressed almost completely against him.
If this is how he kisses, he might actually kill me if we ever go further than that.
He breathed into your mouth as he stole the very oxygen from your lungs when he pulled away.
"Go in the back," he told you, his gaze dropping to your lips. Did he want to kiss you again or was it wishful thinking on your part? "I just need to take out the trash, finish up here, and I'll take you home, okay? I won't be long."
It was a feat that you didn't shed more years with how gently he spoke to you.
"Thank you," you whispered, unable to say much more.
"Let's check out that snack collection back there," you heard before you were pulled from Bucky's grasp.
You didn't look back at Richard when the girl tugged you away, but you heard a slight waver in his voice as yelled after you.
That's right. You should be afraid.
"Thank you," you said, wiping your eyes with your hand.
"No need to thank me. One of my good friends just got out of a bad relationship and I'm still a bit in my protective streak," she explained. "Are you okay?"
"I think so."
You tried to remember how Richard acted around other guys when the two of you dated. Had he been the jealous type and you just ignored it? Or did he only cause a scene because you showed him you wanted to move on?
Tess is going to flip when she hears about this.
"Well, whether they just throw him out on his ass or worse, he deserves it for what he said to you," she added before she told you her name. "Everyone calls me Sunny."
"He does," you agreed, introducing yourself as she handed you some water. "Bucky calls me Sugar."
"And you work in the bakery across the street?" she guessed.
"Co-owner," you said, the small talk calming you. "Do you work here or are you a client?" you asked, noticing that she didn't have any tattoos.
"New client. I work in an animal shelter," she smiled. "Grumpy out there is going to give me a sun tattoo."
"That's nice," you smiled back. It seemed fitting with her warm and bright presence. "I really do appreciate you bringing me back here."
It was somehow just as warm and inviting as the entrance, the couch worn and comfortable. You wondered how often Bucky came back here to relax and hang out in-between his appointments. Would he ever bring you back here if you stopped in to see him?
"I figured the amount of testosterone out there could be a bit overwhelming, but are you sure you're okay?"
"Other than being incredibly embarrassed, yeah."
Even though Richard was no longer your boyfriend, he just had to barrel back into your life and leave a mess in his wake.
"He's the one who should be embarrassed," Sunny said, wiggling her eyebrows. "Especially after seeing that kiss."
Your face warmed as you replayed it in your mind. The silver lining for showing up tonight was receiving such a passionate kiss from Bucky. It was difficult not to get swept up in the moment though and you told yourself it was likely just for show. A way for him to stick it to a guy who upset you.
Right?
"It was a really good kiss," you smiled.
"Oh, we all felt the heat. Trust me."
Both of you giggled until there was a soft knock on the door frame.
"Hey, Sugar. Trash is out on the curb," Bucky winked. "You ready to go home?"
Your heart fluttered as you smiled back. "Yeah, I'm ready."
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You didn't live far away, but Bucky still insisted on taking you home. He even took you out the back way so you didn't have to see anyone. While he didn't specify exactly what happened with Richard, he assured you he wouldn't poke around either of your shops again. It made the drive home more pleasant knowing he looked out for you.
So much that you almost took his hand when he stopped outside of your place.
Almost.
"Thank you for everything," you said. "I'm really sorry about tonight."
"You have nothing to be sorry for. Not the first time we've dealt with assholes in the shop. Steve and I don't like bullies."
"I still feel bad," you said, wishing the feeling would go away.
"Please, don't," he whispered.
Your fingers twisted in your lap before you took a deep breath. "When you came into the bakery earlier today, I was going to ask you out," you told him, but refused to look at him. "But after that, it's probably a dumb idea. You shouldn't have to deal with that kind of trouble."
Maybe there's a better girl out there for you.
"You think one asshole ex is trouble?" he asked, leaning over to grasp your chin so you'd face him, goosebumps rising on your arms from his touch. "I can handle that."
"But what he said in your shop-"
"He did that to bring you down because he's an asshole. Guys like that don't want to see girls thrive without them."
You scoffed and mumbled, "I wonder what you'd think of my mom.
"I'm not afraid to stand up to anyone who tries to hurt you," he said, keeping a hold of your chin with a tender grip as your chest tightened. "You said you were gonna me ask out. Don't change your mind because of them."
"So, you really want to go on a date with me?" you asked.
"If I say 'yes', do I get to kiss you again?" he replied, running his thumb along your lower lip.
You were torn between sucking his thumb into your mouth or sinking into your seat. "Maybe we should get an actual date under our belts first. You only kissed me to prove a point or something."
Even if it felt like heaven.
"Or maybe I've been wanting to kiss you since I walked into your bakery and I want to kiss you again," he said, sliding his hand around to the back of your neck with ease. "Proving a point was an added bonus."
You looked at him wide eyed and subconsciously touched your lips. "Wait, you want to kiss me just because I asked you on a date?"
"I can give you a whole list of reasons," he said, his gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes. "And I'd love to go out with you. Friday night, Sugar?"
"It's a date, Hottie," you smiled when he leaned in.
But he didn't kiss your lips.
He brushed a kiss to your forehead, which somehow seemed more intimate.
"You had a rough evening. The next time I kiss you, I want it to because it's the right moment, just for the two of us," he explained when you furrowed your brows. "My girl deserves that."
A soft smile played at your lips as something warm welled up in your chest. He could have easily taken advantage of how vulnerable you felt by stealing another kiss, but he didn't. Even though you were into each other.
Going to see Bucky tonight was the right choice.
And you couldn't wait for your date.
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Love them. Love the whole gang. Except Richard. Fuck that guy. And where are they going on that date? Check out What Dreams Are Made Of to see how Bucky is feeling. Love and thanks for reading! 💙
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
3K notes · View notes
buckrecs · 11 months
Text
𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 : 𝙈𝙖𝙮
masterlist | monthly fic rec masterlist
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FLUFF
Buchanan by @barnesmurdock
baby, it’s bad out there by @intrepidacious
set me free by @/intrepidacious (40s!bucky x nymph!reader)
When I’m With You by @phantomspiderr
You’re Worth It All by @/phantomspiderr
Scotty Doesn’t Know by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky
cherry blossoms must be magic by @witchywithwhiskey
aisle 4 by @buckyhoney
Grump : The Musical by @itsapeterthing
Trough Sickness… Except Bucky’s by @teamcap4bucky
Wrong Number by @/teamcap4bucky
Alcohol You Later by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky
Possible-Future-Girlfriend by @jurassicbarnes
Vegas, Baby! by @bxcketbarnes
Love in the Workplace by @bxcketbarnes
Too Hot, An Arm Cold by @t-lostinworlds
almond milk by @buckysblanket
After Words by @justsomebucky (Modern AU)
Once Upon A Dream by @abovethesmokestacks
cut my hair by @buckybarnesdiaries
Mind Reader by @espinosaurusrexex
Chain Around my Neck by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky
Sweet and Strong by @navybrat817 (tattoo artist!bucky x baker!reader)
Charmed by @rookthorne (mechanic!bucky)
Rule Number One by @sidepartskinnyjeans
A Solid Foundation by @writing-for-marvel (fiancé!bucky)
It’s Not My Cup Of Tea by @malum-forev
The Weather by @saltsicklover
Silent Nights and Sorry Mornings by @veelacurse
In The Name Of Love by @moonbeambucky
Fallin’ For You by @/moonbeambucky
I’m Gunnin’ For You by @rookthorne (drifter!bucky)
Morning Workout by @sparklefics
ANGST
Call Me When You Get This by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky
I’ll Wear Your Ring by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky
After by @wkemeup
Spiral by @buckyalpine
Until We Meet Again by @bucksangel
Try Anything Once by @/malum-forev (doctor!reader)
A Place by @/malum-forev
SMUT
Silent Screams in Wildest Dreams by @buckets-and-trees
Ring Ring by @adrinktostopyourthirst (roommate!bucky)
Convince Me by @teamcap4buciy
Roadside Assistance by @urvenicebtch (mechanic!bucky)
That’s The Way Love Goes by @dirtytomatoedwrites
Surrender by @barnesmurdock
i was made for lovin’ you by @buckycuddlebuddy (rockstar!bucky x bassist!reader)
On My Tongue by @angrythingstarlight (chubby!bucky)
Sweeter Than Sugar by @/angrythingstarlight (chubby!bucky)
Destined to be Yours by @buckyalpine
sinner by @writingsbychlo (demon!bucky x angel!reader)
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3K notes · View notes
msgexymunson · 1 year
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Rumour Part Two: Rose
Description: After hooking up with your hot neighbour, things aren't going as you had hoped. Maybe a note will turn it around for the both of you...
Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI or I'll put you in detention, Angsty angst, but fluffy, and HELLA SMUT. Sub!fem!younger!reader x older!pierced!dom!eddie, (age gap not problematic) rough sex, oral fem receiving, praise kink, sir kink, pet names
A/N: Please read part 1 first! I'm totally feral for this version of Eddie and apparently you lot are too! Thank you for all your love and support, I really hope you enjoy this!
❤ Reblogs are what keep me alive FR. They keep Tumblr alive. If you want more smut reblog my stuff. I'll love you forever, promise.❤
4.6k words
Masterlist   Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Marching home from the bar, arms crossed as a barrier against the chilly air, you huff into the night, sending out a cloud of steamy breath. Your mood at work tonight was frankly diabolical. If you were your own manager you probably would have fired yourself. Dropping glasses, snapping at customers, drifting into day dreams, you were a mess. In the end your boss told you to go home, that your head was clearly not in the game tonight; thankfully treating you better than you would have treated yourself.
Nearing the corner of your street, you stomp along, thinking about the man you couldn't get out of your head for the past six days. The man you were trying to push from your mind unsuccessfully. The man that didn't call. Eddie Munson.
After an evening of frankly mind blowing sex, he took you out on a lunch date. You ate nice food, shared a bottle of wine, and spoke about your interests. You discovered a mutual love for art, and a similar taste in music. He was soft, chatty, funny. Afterwards you had gone for a walk around the park, even held hands. For a moment you really thought you had started to connect with him. Then he'd dropped you back home, told you he was a bit busy for the next couple of days, kissed you on the cheek and disappeared into the wind.
It would have hurt less if he had just left after that night, but the date seemed to go well. The only explanation in your eyes was that he couldn't have liked you after getting to know you. The thought stabbed ice through your heart.
As you approach your building, you see a familiar figure sitting down smoking. You still your movements, trying to collect your feelings and push them down deep inside. Taking a deep breath, you slip on the blankest look you can muster and march straight to your door.
"Hey pretty girl."
No matter how much you try to mask, that gruff voice and those words just do something to you.
"Hey." You throw back, not bothering to look in his direction. You hear the creak of leather as he gets up. Desperately trying to get your keys out of your pocket, you end up dropping them on the floor. Well done. Smooth.
Eddie's closed the distance between you, reaching down to swipe the keys into a large hand. He looms over you, standing close, inches from your shaking form. The atmosphere is stifling, tension in the air laced with your anger.
"Can I have my keys please." Your gaze firmly locked away from him.
Eddie hands them over, but grabs your small hand in his when you try to pull away.
"Can you look at me, sweet thing?" His other hand reaches for your chin to pull your gaze towards him, rough fingers coaxing you. Struggling to resist him when he's in the very air you breathe, you let your eyes meet his.
"Hey, I'm sorry if I upset you, I've just been-"
"-really busy? Yeah." Your tone has venom, it coats each word, leaving your mouth with a bitter taste.
"Look I'm sorry, do you wanna-"
"I've got to go Eddie. I'm super busy." You snatch you hand away from his and take your front door key, jamming it into the lock. Eddie steps back, arms up, giving you space. It takes everything you have not to turn around when you slam the door behind you.
You lean against the door, shaking, biting back the tears that are begging to roll down your cheeks. Hot and flustered, you do your best to calm down and just breathe. You slide your back down the door and sit on the floor with your head in your hands. This is stupid.
Maybe you should have let him explain. What explanation could there be though, after he made you feel like that, then disappeared into the mist?
Lifting your head weakly, you notice a piece of paper folded in half on the welcome mat, seemingly shoved under your door. Curious, you pick it up and open it. It's from him.
Underneath the hastily scrawled note is the most beautiful pencil drawing of a rose you think you've ever seen. It almost looks like you could pluck it off the paper. The detail is simply breath taking; there's even shining dew drops on the velvety looking petals. You're half expecting a floral sweet scent to roll off of it.
Hey sweet thing, sorry I've not called. You must be at work. Knock when you get this.
E.M x
p.s. You said you like roses, I drew this for you.
Your hand flies to your mouth, shocked at the sheer beauty and intricacy of it. What's more, is that you're not even sure you remember when you told him roses were your favourite flower. It can't have been recently.
Shame drips down your throat and into your gut at how you'd greeted him earlier. Determined to resolve this before it goes any further you stand up and make your way back outside. Eddie's chair is empty. Taking a deep breath, you steel your nerves, walk across the courtyard and knock on his door.
It swings open a crack, and then all the way. Eddie stands in the doorway shirtless, tattoos strewn across his chest, messy hair loose and wild. His sweat pants are hanging low on his hips, cut groin and hip bones on display, his dark thatch of hair leading down drawing your eye. You take a shaky breath in; realising you're staring, your eyes snap up to meet his.
He looks from your face, down to your hand still gripping his drawing.
"So, you got my note huh." Flashing you a small smile.
Throwing your arms around his neck you kiss him hard. He staggers, taken aback by the gesture, but only for a moment. Then his hand is on your lower back, the other in your hair, as his tongue flicks across your bottom lip begging. You submit, his probing tongue dipping deep into your mouth, saying everything his note did not. You feel the steel of his piercing rub against your tongue, massaging in the kiss. Pressing up against him it's impossible to ignore the growing bulge in his sweat pants forced against your beating core.
You both break from the kiss, eyes seeking each others.
"I'm sorry-"
You laugh, speaking in unison. He presses hot, hard kisses to your lips, tongue running down your neck, beginning to bite and suck. Moaning, your nails dig into his back.
Eddie breaks away from you, leaving you pouting, neck stretching towards his perfect mouth, chasing the feeling.
"Listen, as much as this is incredible, can I talk to you?"
Taking gasping breaths you try and steady yourself.
"Yeah, sure." Still focusing on pacifying your breathing.
He takes your arm and leads you inside, gesturing to the couch. Taking a seat you glance around the room. It's a mess; not exactly dirty but there's things everywhere. Several guitars and amps lean haphazardly on the walls. A tower of books threatens to spill over the side of the coffee table. A few empty beer bottles sit in various states on the counter top. There's a desk, covered in writing and drawing implements, more books open around paper pads, you assume for reference purposes. You don't see many photographs around which seems strange to you. The only framed picture on the wall is a younger Eddie with an older man, balding in a checked shirt, maybe his father? There's another frame on the window ledge which you can't make out much detail from, looks like a crowd of teenage boys.
Eddie sits beside you, hand resting on your knee. When he speaks his voice is brimming with emotion, something you're entirely unready for.
"Listen, I just wanted to explain. I really like you. It's just," he pauses, staring at the corner of the room, lips pressed together, "I'm not used to this. Any of this. I'm not exactly seen as boyfriend material, you know?" He laughs softly at that, eyes seeking yours. You nudge him with your hand, willing him to continue, fingers tracing encouraging circles on his thigh.
"People see me as a one and dump. I've gotten used to it, not many wanted me my whole damn life. Meeting you, and getting along, outside of sex, I just- I was scared."
His doe eyes meet yours and you melt. The strong, confident man has melted away, exposing the soft, tender boy in front of you.
Clambering onto his lap, you stroke his stubbly cheek.
"I don't see you like that." Locking eyes for a second, you lean in to press a soft kiss to his full lips. His eyes close, kissing you back gently, mouths moving in sync. His hands stroke delicately down your sides, so much so that you twitch.
"Sorry, that tickles," you breathe out, wiggling away from his attention.
"Oh, ticklish eh?" He grins deviously, fingers tracing agonising patterns in your sides.
You giggle, bucking out your hips, trying to escape from the feeling. Reaching out your own fingers you dig into his sides trying to get your own back.
"Oh sweet thing you're really in for it now!" Before you can understand what's happening you're on the floor, Eddie pinioning you to the carpet. Hands held above your head, his whole body weight is keeping you in place.
"OK you win, please sir let me go!" You tease.
Eddie's irises shrink back, pupils blown, predatory gaze roaming over your features.
"Oh now that's not fair pretty girl." He bends forward, large hand encompassing your wrists, kissing and suckling at your exposed flesh.
It takes a second, but then it hits you.
"Sir please."
Eddie groans into your neck; his hard length pressing forcefully into your core.
For confirmation, you cant help but play into it further.
"Oh please, please Sir, please let me go!" Smirking, bucking into the air.
The noise that leaves Eddie's throat is gravelly and animalistic, grinding into you with abandon, hand holding you tight by the wrists. Your giggles have transformed into moans, pulse travelling to your heat.
His hand roams from your wrists to pull your top over your head, exposing your bare chest. Eddie wastes no further time in licking down to your exposed breasts, tongue trailing to your nipples.
"I thought you were a good girl, sweet thing," and he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. The swirl of his thick tongue around your sensitive buds makes you wail, hips humping up to meet his. He sucks onto your exposed nipples hard, the feeling sending bolts of arousal through your chest, massing in your stomach.
"Please Eddie." All confidence stripped from you now that you're squirming beneath him, rough stubble from his chin abrading your delicate skin.
Unlatching from your chest he draws level with your face. The dark, steely glint in his eyes makes your cunt throb. His breath fans across your face; the smell of Eddie's skin permeating all of your senses.
"That's not what you called me before."
A rugged hand enwraps your neck, squeezing softly at the sides, almost a threat. The rough touch makes you whimper. He's not constricting your airway, just letting you know whose in charge. As if there was any doubt.
"Please sir."
His eyes close as he grunts, suddenly pulling off of you. He rips the fastenings of your jeans open with an unruliness that has your cunt clenching, attempting to drag them off your legs along with your underwear. Eddie realises too late you've still got your shoes on and you huff a laugh at his obvious frustration. The laugh dies in your throat however when he uses brute force to pull your trainers off your feet, ignoring the laces. You whine at the display of strength, arousal gripping you so tightly that you feel it in your bones.
Laying on the carpet fully nude under his powerful gaze, you attempt to shy away but Eddie stops you immediately with a simple wave of his hand. He rubs at your sides, taking a moment to stare at your naked form shamelessly. You don't think anyone has ever looked at you this way, with such need, wanting you this hard.
"You're really fuckin' beautiful, you know that?"
You flush at the attention, cheeks burning. His fingers smooth down to your slit, groaning when he feels how wet you are.
Without warning he flips you over, pulling a shocked yelp from you. Rough hands grab your hips, manhandling you exactly where he wants you, dragging your ass closer to him.
You jump slightly at the first contact of his swollen cock, feeling the rub of steel from his piercing drag back and forth over your folds collecting your slick.
"You ready sweet thing?"
"Mmm please-"
He starts pushing into you and you gasp; you'd nearly forgotten how big he was. The push into you continues, his girth making you bite your lip, dragging against your slick walls. He wholly sheathes himself in you and you stretch around him, filling you completely; heart, soul and cunt, belonging to him.
Eddie's warm, firm hand strokes down your spine, coming to rest on your hip, thumbs rubbing into the doughy flesh, fingers gripping possessively.
He bends over you, messy hair trailing tickles on your shoulder, gruff whisper in your ear.
"You ok sweet thing?"
Your cunt is already twitching, zaps of pleasure dancing through your insides at each flutter of your walls.
Breathlessly you manage "yes, please, fuck me sir."
Eddie growls "fuck."
He ploughs into you, setting a gut-wrenching pace, slick sex sounds slapping through the apartment. Your arm grazes the coffee table and a pile of books tumbles down. You see a flash of a dragon on the cover of one. The carpet digs into your palms and knees.
"Fuckin' hell sweets, so tight, fuck."
A flash flood of passion flows through you, expunging any discomfort at his size.
Brutal moans blossom from deep in your chest, long and drawn out, shaking in pitch from each thrust of Eddie's hips. You feel Eddie's hard member persistently hitting deep inside, hard ball of metal from his dick piercing amplifying every move. Your high hits you quickly and without warning, a lightning bolt of pleasure rocketing out of the pit of your stomach, shocking through your entire body. A tsunami of slick arousal rushing from your cunt, nearly pushing out his sizable length from sheer force.
Eddie's groans are guttural, bestial in nature. He roughly pulls you bodily towards him until your back is flush with his sweating heaving chest, pecs flexing. One hand remains digging into your hip continuing his forceful pace, other hand pulling up to your chin, holding your head firmly in place whilst he babbles filth in your ear, making your walls tremble around him.
"Fuck, calling me sir. My good girl's dirty isn't she? My good filthy girl, fuckin' soaking me. Yeah? Pretty little cunt soaking me, oh fuck-"
His thrusts flounder briefly, his climax hitting him harshly, coming deep inside you with a brutish grunt.
Both of his arms wrap around your form, sweating bodies impossibly close, panting, coming back down to earth together. Smooth lips and rough stubble press against your cheek.
You move to pull away from him and the pain in your knees hits you suddenly, buckling to the floor with a rush of air from your lungs. Laying on the floor, boneless and weak, but giggling.
"Shit you ok sweets?" Eddie hovers over your chuckling body.
"Yeah, just my knees are fucked."
"Sorry, probably should have taken you to the bedroom huh." He looks embarrassed, hand stroking the back of his neck.
Scooping you up in his strong arms he places you on the sofa. He strides off, returning with a damp cloth. Tenderly cleaning your core, he moves his attention to your knees.
"How are they now?" Eyes wandering, examining, brimming with concern. The look makes you melt.
"Apart from wicked carpet burn, fine. I think I'll live" chuckling at your own words you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you to deliver a sweet kiss. He pulls himself up to sit on the edge of the sofa and leans down over you, forehead pressed to yours.
"So, am I forgiven?" Smiling with that cocky look of his.
You pretend to think for a moment.
"I suppose. But don't do it again."
"Wouldn't dream of it pretty girl."
********************
It's a couple of weeks later and you're standing in the tattoo shop where Eddie works, marvelling at the artwork on the walls. You hear the incessant sound of a tattoo machine and some generic rock radio playing in the background, other artists busying themselves with their work.
"You sure about this sweet thing?"
"Yeah I'm sure," you say shyly back, nerves getting the best of you.
"Do you see anything you like? Those ones over there are mine, I've got my portfolio too if you wanna-"
"I've already got a design Eddie."
He frowns, clearly not wanting to create someone else's art on your skin. Your cheeks flush, and you pull a piece of paper out of your pocket and wordlessly hand it to him.
It's his note, the beautiful drawing of a rose almost hovering off the paper. The reason you're dating.
Eddie seems taken aback, staring at his drawing as if he were looking at it for the first time.
"Oh pretty girl, are you sure?"
"Yes I'm sure. Just like that please, it's perfect." You smile at him, your own eyes  betrayed your feelings, glossing over softly.
Smiling back at you, you gaze at each other for a moment.
Eddie coughs and looks away. "You want this in black and grey, or colour?"
"Hmm colour I think would be best."
"And where are we thinking?"
You point to next to your hip bone over your skirt, slightly lower. Eddie glances at the area and runs his tongue over his top lip, steel ball glinting.
"You know, that's a pretty sensitive area. Are you sure that's where you want it?"
You nod, eyes meeting his.
"Ok let's get upstairs, it's a bit more, private."
Leading you to the empty upstairs and across to his workstation, you're pleasantly surprised at how clean and tidy it is. You sit down in the big leather chair whilst Eddie sorts out the stencil and gets the inks ready.
"Ok so do you wanna just pull your skirt down a little or-"
You flip it up instead, given where you wanted it, it seems easier. Eddie's eyes are transfixed on your baby blue panties.
"Eddie..."
"Yeah, shit sorry, ok right here, yeah?" He traces a gloved finger where you pointed. You nod and he pulls the hem of your underwear slightly out of the way, kissing your hip bone.
He preps the area, lays the stencil down and turns the tattoo machine on. The noise buzzes through your jangling nerves making you tense up involuntarily. Eddie strokes your thigh, firm hand coming to rest.
"You gotta relax, my good girl, or its gonna hurt more."
You huff a laugh at the familiar phrase.
"Hmm I think you've said that before, about something else."
Eddie's eyes sparkle impishly at the memory. "Well I was right, wasn't I?"
He leans over to your face, turning the machine off for a second, and whispers, "are you gonna be a good girl for me?"
"Eddie, I- fuck, don't do that in public!"
He laughs wickedly, flicking the machine back on.
"Just stay still sweet thing, I'm starting now, 'kay?"
When the needle finally hits your flesh you're pleasantly surprised. Oh it hurts, certainly, but not as much as the buzzing made you think it would. It was more annoying than anything, a persistent scratch.
"You good sweets?"
"Yeah that's fine."
He leans over you, using his left hand to steady himself high up on your thigh. Heat is pouring off him, the grip of his fingers occasionally making you want to squirm. You're sure you're getting wetter by the second just by being in close proximity to him. There's something about him concentrating the way he was, entirely oblivious to the world and in his element, that made your heart swell.
Each word of encouragement from him, each check in was making your cunt throb, pulse in your core threatening to make you twitch under him.
"Sitting so still, doing so good for me."
"Atta girl, you taking the pain ok?"
"My sweet thing, doing such a great job."
When the outline is complete, he turns off the machine to check in yet again and you feel like you're ready to explode into a horny mist.
"Sitting so well for me pretty girl. Do you need a break?"
"No I'm good," you manage breathily. His eyebrows raise, taking in your flushed cheeks and wide glassy eyes.
'Are you enjoying this sweets?" Smirking, his eyes flit from your face to your baby blue underwear, smiling wider when he eyes the growing wet patch.
"I don't know, it's just, you're really close to, you know, there," you gesture downwards, flushing even further, "but you're not touching me and you keep praising me and-"
"Well you're taking it so well, being such a good girl for me, I've got to let you know right?" He bites his lip, flashing his teeth deviously.
"Eddie" You squirm in your seat, heat of his gaze too much to take. To your surprise, embarrassed, hot tears are starting to form in your eyes, unable to process so much praise and feeling all at once.
"Shush shush, poor sweet girl, don't cry. We've got the shading to do and then I'll reward you." He winks.
You nod dumbly, wiping tears from your eyes; a subby mess on his words alone.
Eddie gets to work on the colouring and shading, constant praises falling from his perfect lips.
You space out, endless accolades making your head fuzzy, taking you away from the perpetual pain. Little by little the background noises disappear, the radio downstairs switches off and the shop sounds empty.
You hear a disembodied voice from the vicinity of the doorway.
"Eds, I'm leaving now, lock up when you're done!"
"No worries bud!" Eddie shouts back, continuing to focus on the red of the rose.
Pain starts to mount again, relentless rasping of the needle starting to take its toll. You wince, doing your best not to tense. Eddie switches to white for the highlights and you hiss at the touch of the needle.
"Ok pretty girl, I know, nearly done I promise."
You nod, hands balled into little fists.
Finally after what seems like an age of little touch ups Eddie declares he is finished. He helps you up onto wobbly legs whilst you hold your skirt up awkwardly and waddle over to the mirror.
Gawping at your new ink, you gasp in astonishment. It's as if he'd plucked a rose at dawn, sprinkled with morning dew, and laid it carefully on your hip.
"Eddie, its perfect, it's incredible, honestly. Thank you." You can barely believe its real. Turning to Eddie you give him a kiss on his lips, soft and lingering.
"No problem pretty girl. Lay back down lemme wrap it for you."
Hopping back onto the leather chair, you lay back on your elbows, watching him cover your new tattoo with plastic wrap and surgical tape.
"Thank you again, I love it. Shall we go?"
"Oh sweet thing, you're not going anywhere."
You look at him in confusion. He takes his gloves off, hungry eyes transfixed on your heat.
"I've sat here, inches away from this pretty pussy, looking at this cute little wet patch and I can't take it anymore. I can fuckin' smell you sweetheart, it's not fair."
A flush blooms over the apples of your cheeks, thighs clenching at his filthy words.
"Scoot down for me."
You wiggle your hips until you're at the edge of the reclined seat, skirt bunching up in the process. Eddie kneels before you and peels your underwear off, carefully avoiding your new ink. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, leaving the hip with the tattoo alone.
"Now I'm gonna be gentle and you can't move, ok? Don't want you smudging." He winks at his joke and starts pressing delicate kisses over your pussy, hot breath tickling you. His tongue pushes into your folds so slowly, running up and down with a languid place. You moan and shudder at the feeling, intensity magnified by how on edge you'd been, waiting for this for hours. Every agonisingly slow movement sent tingles to your core, warmth spreading to the tips of your toes.
High pitched mewls and whines fill the room when Eddie turns his attention to your clit, teasing it gently with his tongue stud, hard nub sending thrilling tendrils of pleasure deep inside you.
"Eddie, fuck that's so good." You whisper, eyes fluttering shut.
Eddie hums into you, continuing to make out lazily with your cunt, his own moans swallowed up by your heat.
Impossible, unimaginable feeling floods your system; it was as if every nerve was singing, blending together into a choir of pleasure. The intensity, the passion, the emotion he was conveying between your legs was pushing you to a precipice, looking down at your potential release from a dizzying height.
It was all too much. Tears fall down your soft cheeks, utterly caught up in so much feeling.
"Eddie, I can't, its, it's too much-"
Hot breath on your cunt, "it's ok, sweet thing, I've got you, let go."
He takes your clit in between his lips and kisses, and kisses, and kisses. Pressing his tongue to it one final time he suckles softly and pushes you over that edge.
Stars collide. Your release meanders through your very soul, ripping away any semblance of breath, clenching and coming with a silent cry, tears still falling. It flows, collects itself and continues, pleasure in perpetuity, leaving no part of you untouched by its warmth. The feeling finally dissipates, leaving you breathless, thoughtless.
You're not sure how long it took for you to return to yourself, but when you do Eddie's pressing the softest kisses to your cheek, lips, nose, even your eyelids. Your eyes flutter open, wet and glossy, and full of feeling for the man in front of you.
"Hey pretty girl."
"Hey baby." You smile softly.
He grins right back; its the first time you've called him a pet name.
"Stay at mine tonight?"
"I might have to, pretty sure that was the best orgasm I've ever had. I may need a wheelchair."
He laughs, cocky grin firmly in place. "I could carry you to the car if its that bad..."
"I'll manage I'm sure." You get up, wobbly as a baby deer but upright. He steadies you, strange look in his you're not used to.
"Eddie, can you pass me my underwear?"
"What underwear?" He's trying to pull a serious face but his mischievous eyes betray him.
"Eddie!" You hit him on the arm. He just laughs in response.
You huff, and smile, and squeal inside at the sheer joy of the moment.
Masterlist
❤ If you want to be added to my tag list please comment/reblog and say so sweet thing (tag list in comments as it's grown arms and legs) ❤
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surelystaggering · 2 months
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sirius black ! [ @ drwisteria on twt & ig ]
so, this was originally meant to be a duo piece but i couldnt work out posing for find good refs so now its just this !! hope you still like it. better quality on other socials though posting them later next week !!
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jarofstyles · 7 months
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Indigo Masterlist
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Harry hates Y/N. She’s sure of it.
Or stone faced tattoo artist!H, a confused Y/N, tattoo shops, nervous rambles, leather sketchbooks, strawberry milkshakes and leather jacket sharing.
Check out our Patreon for early access and exclusives!
Warnings: tattoos, smut (duh), miscommunication, talk of anxiety and bullying, drug usage (weed), alcohol, and tooth rotting fluff
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Divider by firefly-graphics
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onceuponastory · 4 months
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closer - tattooartist!bucky barnes x female!reader
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Plot: Y/N's feelings towards her tattoo artist intensify the closer he gets to her. Pairing: TattooArtist!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: A few mentions of needles - specifically tattoo needles - and the sensation and pain of getting tattooed (specifically when it goes over a bone). If that sort of thing gives you the squick, I wouldn't read. Notes: Welcome to... whatever this is. I just missed tattoo!artist Bucky and I hc him as a flirt and a slight pain in the ass so here we are!
Not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.
“Alright.” Bucky grins, loading up his tattoo needle with ink. “You ready to start?” 
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” 
“You’ll be fine.” Bucky reassures. “Besides, it’s not like it’s going to be any different from the other ones I’ve done for you.” He chuckles.
He’s right, of course. This is not her first tattoo by Bucky Barnes. In fact, by this point, Bucky’s done most of Y/N’s growing collection of tattoos, and claims to be the very reason she was ‘bit by the tattoo bug’. And he’s right. Since she got her first tattoo from him, Y/N’s been itching to get more. She doesn’t see skin on her arms anymore, she sees empty space, a canvas for Bucky to fill with his art. And if she could, she’d have him cover her entire body with it.
Of course, the fact that her favourite tattoo artist (his words, not hers... although she agrees with him) is the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen is also why she keeps rushing back whenever she can. And he's also a massive flirt. Yet although it’ll never amount to anything, it never does… that doesn’t mean she can’t spend their sessions hoping for it. That one day he’ll notice her, really notice her, and tell her he’s just as much in love with her as she is with him.
As Bucky gets to work, Y/N turns her head, watching him. Of course, a lot of her sessions are also spent oogling her tattoo artist. Multicoloured tattoos of various designs and sizes cover Bucky's arms, piquing her curiosity. She's always wanted to ask him about them, to tell her the stories behind them, what was going on in his life back then to make him choose that design.
The familiar warm feeling of love begins to pool in her gut again, and Y/N sighs.
There's a lot of things she wants to know about Bucky.
"I can see you staring, you know."
"Just checking you're doing a good job." She lies. Bucky rolls his eyes.
"Oh, please." He looks down at her, trademark smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "You use that excuse all the time. You just can't resist me."
Asshole.
Thankfully, Bucky soon drops it, going back to working on her tattoo. Today, he’s doing a piece that snakes up her arm and onto her shoulder, meaning he’s frequently getting up close and personal, more so than she’s used to. However, she doesn’t mind that at all. 
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As Bucky works, Y/N occasionally glances over at him, still watching him curiously. Both because she actually enjoys seeing Bucky at work, and because again, he’s gorgeous. Thankfully, Bucky doesn't seem to have noticed this time. Or if he does, he doesn't call her out on it.
Some of Bucky’s brunette strands escape his man bun, framing his face. Y/N has to stop herself from reaching up and tucking it behind his ear. Despite how close she and Bucky are, that gesture is too intimate, too close for them… even as he moves further up her arm and onto her shoulders.
At one point, she glances over again, not realising he’s a lot closer than expected. So much so that her skin almost brushes against Bucky’s hair. For a split second, a flash of pink crosses Bucky's cheeks, and she frowns. Was he...blushing? Because of her?
“Oh, sorry.” She murmurs, her cheeks burning. How does he even look hotter up close? “Just tell me to move back if you want… or just move me out of the way.” She jokes awkwardly, only adding to her embarrassment. Hopefully, this session will be over before she makes even more of a fool of herself in front of Bucky.
“It’s okay.” Bucky smirks, running a hand through his few strands of hair, a sight that makes Y/N glad she’s laying down to witness. “You’re perfect, actually.” He chuckles. “Don’t tell the others I said this… but you’re my favourite client.” He winks.
She swears this man will be the death of her some day.
As Bucky continues the tattoo, he suddenly goes over a tender area, and she winces in pain. “You okay? You’re doing great, but let me know if you wanna stop, alright?” Bucky says. Gritting her teeth, Y/N nods.
“I’m good.” She gasps. "I just forgot how much that hurts."
It’ll all be worth it. It always is.
At least, getting to see Bucky makes it worth it, anyway.
“Good girl." Bucky smirks. 
Fucker.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The remainder of the session passes in silence, and Y/N’s head swirls. If she told him the truth, laid her heart out on the line… would it be so bad? 
She braces herself, opening her mouth to speak. But Bucky gets there first.
“You know Y/N, we’ve known each other for long enough that I feel like we’re friends. So the trust between us is solid enough.” He chuckles, refilling his ink. 
In actuality, she and Bucky have known each other for almost three years. Not that she’s been counting or anything. And despite Bucky doing most of her tattoos, she’s been at the shop infrequently enough that she wouldn’t consider themselves ‘friends’. But the thought that Bucky considers them friends makes her heart do that funny thing it always does whenever she sees Bucky - when it somehow beats too fast and almost stops. 
God, she wants him so badly.
“Yeah, that’s true. And besides, you’ve been up close and personal with me a lot.” She chuckles, another batch of heat spreading across her cheeks. Bucky laughs brightly, and Y/N grins just as wide.
“You’re right, I have.” He nods. “To be honest, by this point I’m convinced I could say or do anything, and you’d say ‘yeah!’, tattoos or otherwise.”
“Yeah!” she giggles.
“Okay.” Bucky muses, looking up at her with a smirk. “Go on a date with me then.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
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nerdpoe · 7 months
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Bear with me I'm sleep deprived but underground tattoo artist Sam.
In Crime Alley there's a tattoo artist that costs a shitton of money, she brings the shop to the customer, and she is definitely a mad scientist or a meta or something.
The ink she uses is fluorescent, and can respond to the wearers need for the tattoo to be invisible or completely visible.
And rumor has it if she gets paid extra the tattoos will move on their fucking own.
Flowers bloom, animals snarl and blink, galaxies slowly rotate as they dance around the skin they have been confined in.
And Jason loves dramatic shit like that.
But when he tries to hunt her down to request one, he keeps unearthing more and more concerning things.
There are no camera sightings of her. No one can really describe her face.
Then the kicker.
When one of her customers let him have a piece of skin for a diagnostic and Lazarus Water (severely diluted but still) shows up, he knows he has to ask the Bats for assistance in finding a well renowned artist that, for all intents and purposes, doesn't exist.
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hypnogogyc · 4 months
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Coffee shop/Florist au
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luvit · 4 months
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fwb!tattoo-artist!soap who constantly finds new ways to mark you up and make your ex feel like a piece of shit for leaving you by sending him several pictures of the both of you together everyday 🫣
(gn!reader, mdni 18+)
reading this ask knocked the fuckin' wind out of my lungs. give me a minute ☝️😮‍💨
because that's exactly what tattoo-artist!johnny does for you holy shit. it didn't start out like that at first. your ex constantly talked down on your appearance. and as a final fuck you to your ex, you decided to go get those tattoos you've always been wanting. and johnny was more than happy to help you out with that, in more ways than one ;)
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johnny who is happy to do your first couple of tattoos, chats you up during your appointment to distract you from the pain. and is not subtle about the flirting either! lays it on pretty thick asking why such a sweet thing like you got dumped by a scumbag like you ex, hm? this your way at getting back? to cover your once pristine body in the markings of another man?
oh of course he's going to oblige. wouldn't be able to be restrained when he begged simon to take you on. got a warning to not scare you off too much.
but let me tell you little secret. johnny who has a bunch of piercings on his ears, his brows, and one on his tongue. because man wanted to . and you best bet that he's for sure going to offer you one as well. and then send a couple pictures to your ex to really rile them up.
the first couple of tattoos are fine. you do some posting on social media pages and you're sure that your ex and their friends can see it. how you look like you're thriving and living life now that you've been "freed" is how johnny likes to say it. but then when you get a couple more on your hips and your legs, johnny has you pose for him in some risque positions. putting you legs spread on the table to showcase that fresh ink on your thigh. he snaps a couple but frowns and says something's just now right.
all of a sudden, his large hand grips your thigh and grabs the meat of it. holds your thigh in a possessive way as he snaps a picture while standing between your legs. he hands you back the phone with a smirk on your face and you flush at how intimate it looks. you're about to protest saying that you can't send that when a reply from your ex is already on the screen. that bastard! johnny already sent it, oops :P
but then you see how much it affects your ex. johnny can't help but wear a shiteating grin with the way he squishes his cheek against yours to read the texts. the way he looks at you kind of makes you want to do more. which saves him the hassle of having to convince you.
so next thing you know you have a new bellybutton piercing and he has both tattooed hands on your waist while you're sitting in his lap. that whole picture took a long time to take because of his roaming hands all over your stomach, made you lift your shirt a little higher with the excuse that it would be more aesthetically pleasing when the real reason was he wanted to touch more of your warm skin under his hands. his hands are so teasing too! pinching you at the sides after you're done and swiping through the pictures with his arms still around your lap.
if you wanted a nose or even lip piercing, you bet that his hands are on your jaw. might even put his fingers in your mouth while taking a picture of the lower half of your face. finally allows his face to be in the picture too by putting it right next to yours so your cheeks are touching. hides himself in a way that he can't be fully seen but enough for your ex to see the possessive smirk on johnny's face. but his favorite photo from that one was where he'd pinched your cheeks together with a large hand on your jaw and had his tongue out and licking at the bottom of your lips. it was hard to forget the feeling of his piercing and imagining how it would feel elsewhere.
but, oh... you think you're addicted to the feeling of polluting you body all over with soap's markings. his claim on you. his tattoos, his piercings, his hands on your body. even a bite mark he left on your collarbone when you got a tattoo in the area. you've pretty much forgotten about your ex at this point as johnny is the one who manages the communication for you. as he chooses what pictures to send and how to reply.
he decides to up the ante when his ex tries to send back a picture of him in bed with someone. the one they told you not to worry about and it makes your blood boil from the audacity. which leads you to getting your nipples pierced. johnny's been waiting for this moment. can't wait to get his hands on you when you bring it up to him.
and he can't! he's been playing with your nipples for so long while you're sitting on his lap and trying not to moan. "gotta make sure you're ready, baby," is what he keeps saying while rolling your nipples between your fingers. can't help the way your hips shift around as he flicks them and pulls at them so meanly.
"sensitive one, aren't you?" he asks as your head's gone fuzzy when he starts leaving kisses all around your nipples. never on them because he claims he doesn't want to mess with it too much before he's about to pierce them so pretty. can't help it to lick a line from your chest up your neck and to your jaw. he's absolutely filthy as he keeps playing with you. can see how needy you've become. he's not doing any better either. you can even feel it when he bites your chest so it has your grinding into his bulge. has him shuddering and setting up his phone with a primal grin.
"how 'bout a video instead?"
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do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere (reblogs welcome!)
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