Even More Tattoos!
Chapter 15: Medicated Memories
There’s a few minor CWs for this chapter! overall I am really proud of it. Chapters with this kind of conflict just AWAKEN the drama king in me.
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tattoo artists au
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(Fancy suits pt. III)
prints are now available in my shop ⚡ pineapplebread.bigcartel.com
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Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers
Summary: The owners of the Howling Commandos Tattoo Parlor want to make you their best girl.
Word Count: Over 4k
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, flirting, tension, tattooed Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers (they’re warnings, okay?)
A/N: Welcome to my tattoo AU! The smut in this chapter focuses on Bucky x Reader, but future one-shots will also have Steve Rogers x Reader and Stucky x Reader. Beta read by the wonderful @mashep23. Thank you, lovely! Banner created by yours truly, but Bucky and Steve photos were provided by the talented @nix-akimbo! This AU wouldn’t exist without them. And divider by the beautiful @firefly-graphics!
18+ Please!!! Enjoy, lovelies!
Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers were trouble in the form of two handsome, intoxicating men. The owners of the Howling Commandos Tattoo Parlor had no business looking the way they did, especially Bucky. With his glasses, tattoos and metal arm, which somehow made him look more attractive, he was just your type. They both were. So you decided they were both menaces sent to torment your dreams and fantasies. And likely men who would break your heart.
As luck would have it, you always managed to see the two of them around town. Whether it was at the grocery store or grabbing a coffee, one or both of them were there with their leather jackets, subtle smirks and flirtatious banter.
"You stalking me, doll?"
"Always a pleasure to see you, sweetheart."
You even saw them at the gym, even when you changed up your routine. Watching their muscles flex as they did their sets almost made you fall off the treadmill on more than one occasion. You lost count of how many times you daydreamed about them taking you on one of the machines or in front of the mirrors. They had to know the power they had over you.
It would have been easy to dismiss them if they were jerks, but they were the furthest thing from it. You saw them on more than one occasion help your older neighbor with her groceries or walk her across the street. It always put a smile on your face when you heard them politely say "ma'am". And they assisted local veterans and their families without being asked.
That was another reason you fell for them. Not just because they supported the community, but because they made people feel safe and secure, They were just good, genuine men with a beautiful friendship. You respected it.
But you had to avoid them, if only to get them out of your mind. Naturally, that was when your best friend decided to drag you to their place of business. Mandy was excited to get her appointment. All of the artists who worked there were in demand and she had to book well over a month in advance. People even came from out-of-town to get their tattoos done. They were that good.
"Come on! I'm finally getting my first tattoo and I need you here," Mandy whined as she pulled you along the sidewalk.
"Why do I need to be here?
"Moral support. What if the needle touches my skin and I scream and run?"
"I would run after you to see if you were okay. Then I'd laugh," you teased.
“Like I said, moral support. I also thought it might be fun for you to see your two favorite hunks.”
You held back a groan. She teased you relentlessly the moment she knew you liked them. It would never end. “They are not my-”
“They are and I need you to get laid. If not for you, then for me.”
“So you’re my wingwoman?” you asked as you stopped in front of the shop, "The Howling Commandos" sign shining bright. “You don’t even like men.”
"I’m your wingwoman, best friend and I know how to appreciate the beautiful art that is Bucky and Steve," she smiled, checking the time on her phone. "Right on time."
You took a deep breath as you walked in after her, unsure of what to expect. It was the first time you had seen the inside of the shop, but it looked nice. It was surprisingly quiet and clean, one of the walls lined with photos of various tattoos in all shapes and colors. They were stunning.
"I expected more people," you said as you looked around.
"It's still early," Mandy said, smiling wider at the redheaded woman behind the counter. You didn’t see her around as often as the boys, but Natasha always turned heads wherever she went. “Hi! I have an 11am appointment.”
“Hi,” she answered, grabbing a form and clipboard. “Take a moment to read over and sign. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks,” Mandy said as she took it, sitting down to read and sign it.
“And you? Appointment or moral support?”
“Moral support,” Mandy answered for you, not looking up from the form.
“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you said, giving Natasha a curious look when she raised an eyebrow.
“Mmm. That’s too bad. The boys will be disappointed,” she said, smirking a little as she walked away.
“They...what?” you asked as she left the room.
“I’m of age. I’m not drunk,” Mandy muttered as she signed it. “What did you say?”
You plopped down beside her. “She said ‘the boys will be disappointed’ that I don’t have an appointment.”
“Maybe they are because they want to put their hands on you,” she joked, wiggling her eyebrows before she gave you a more serious look. “Or maybe they just like you.”
You didn’t answer her. It wasn’t a self-esteem issue. You carried yourself with a quiet confidence that you built over time. It had more to do with the fact that there were two of them and one of you. “Or they just want to get another client.”
“Give yourself some credit. You’re a catch. I know it. They know it,” she argued.
You stubbornly ignored that, clearing your throat. “So, you never said which one is giving you your tattoo.”
“I can’t remember. Both of them had awesome portfolios,” she shrugged, handing Natasha the clipboard when she came back in.
Giving it a once-over, she nodded. “Follow me to the back. There’s water for both of you. Bucky’s just washing up.”
You both got up to follow, seeing the empty station ready for Mandy. That answered which one she booked the appointment with.
“Will you hold my hand?” Mandy questioned as she sat again.
You looked at your friend, seeing a flicker of fear in her eyes as she looked over the instruments and ink. “Of course, I will,” you promised. You loved to give each other grief, but you didn’t want her to be afraid.
“Thanks,” she sighed in relief.
“It’s okay if you're nervous.”
You inhaled sharply when you heard Bucky’s voice. You could listen to it all day. Turning to look at him, you barely exhaled as he walked over. The glasses made his eyes more blue, more enticing.
“I’m not nervous,” Mandy lied.
Bucky was kind enough not to call her out on it. “Well, if you need to take any breaks, stretch, let me know,” he said gently, gazing at you before he went to get the stencil ready. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too,” you said after a moment.
"Am I doing you today, doll?"
You felt your cheeks get heated as you looked back at him. “I’d like you to,” you answered before it registered that he meant ink and not how you took it. “I mean, no. No. I didn’t make an appointment.”
He finished the stencil with a chuckle. “I’m sure we can work something out...make it fit.”
You swore his voice got thicker. “It?” you repeated, your mind drifting to a dirtier place.
“The appointment,” he said, amusement in his eyes. “Steve and I can squeeze you in.”
Mandy wiggled her eyebrows again as she watched the two of you and you didn’t know whether to laugh or shove her off the chair. “Not today,” you managed to say without your voice cracking.
“I’ll get a tattoo one day,” you said with determination, smiling when Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I will! And if you’re good, maybe you’ll be the one to do it.”
“You have no idea how good I can be, doll,” he smirked, making your breath hitch as he stepped closer. “No idea.”
Your heart rate picked up in your chest as you gazed at him, forgetting that you were in the parlor. You attempted to look cool and calm, but your body felt hot with him so close.
“I didn’t know you’d be in today, sweetheart. Which one of us is doing you?
The heat you felt in front of you was suddenly felt behind you. You tore your gaze away from Bucky to look over your shoulder, meeting Steve’s blazing stare. Why did they have to phrase it like that? And why did they smell so good?
“Neither of us, sadly. She doesn’t want it today.”
“What do we have to do to convince you?” Steve asked.
They were playing with you. And, frankly, you enjoyed it. Being the center of their attention felt good, even as your mind screamed at you that they were best friends and there was only one of you.
“If you two want to do her on your time, I support that,” Mandy chimed in, making all three of you look her way. “But I came here for a tattoo and I need her to hold my hand. You understand.”
“You’re right,” Bucky said semi-apologetically as he finally brought the stencil over.
You turned your attention back to Steve as Bucky quietly spoke to Mandy. His tone seemed to put her at ease. How were they so perfect? “You don’t have a client right now?”
“He should be here shortly,” he told you after he checked the time. “I’m actually glad you’re here.”
“You are? How come?” you asked curiously.
“Bucky and I were planning a game night with some of the gang tonight. Would you like to join us? Say around 6?”
“Yeah. I’d love to,” you smiled softly, his smile matching yours. “Should I bring any food or drinks?”
“Just your beautiful self, sweetheart,” he said, his fingertips brushing your arm. The small touch left you wanting more. “Buck and I will take care of the rest.”
“Hand!” Mandy shrieked, bringing you back to why you were there. For your best friend, not your libido.
“I’ll leave you to it. See you tonight,” Steve winked, nodding to Bucky as he went to his own station.
“So, it’s a date?” Bucky asked as you took Mandy’s hand, clearly having overheard what Steve asked.
“I guess so,” you answered, gasping when nails dug into your skin. “Mandy!”
“Less flirty. More moral support.”
“Look at it!” Mandy ordered as she kept checking out her arm in the mirror, twisting gently to see it from different angles.
“I saw it from start to finish,” you reminded her, though you were distracted staring at Bucky and how cute he looked when he concentrated. He was so gentle and noticed when you friend tensed up. “But it’s beautiful. The colors really pop. You did an amazing job, Bucky.”
He stopped his cleaning to look your way. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
You felt those butterflies again as he finished up, wrapping up Mandy’s arm and going over a few tips to take care of it. “I’ll leave a glowing review on the site.”
“I appreciate that. Thanks again. And, doll, I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, later,” you smiled, giving him a small wave as you went with Mandy to pay Natasha. She left a generous tip before taking your arm to leave.
"They totally checked you out," she whispered even though they weren’t there.
"No, they didn't," you whispered back. You were lying to yourself. They both did and you felt like you were on top of the world.
“You’re right. They didn’t,” she agreed, her words stinging and taking some of the wind out of your sail. “They eye-fucked you so hard that I felt the aftershocks. And I should just drag you back there so I can see it again."
"Voyeur," you teased, biting your lip. Was she right?
“They invited you to game night. That says something.”
“It says that they recognize how awesome I am at games.”
“Twenty bucks says one or both of them will do you before midnight tonight,” she smirked as you shook your head. “Afraid to take that bet?”
“Double or nothing that you get a date with Natasha before the weekend.”
You were a bundle of nerves for the rest of the day, tossing around whether you should cancel. The pile of clothes on the bed taunted you from how many outfits you tried on. Why were you trying to impress them? They knew what you looked like. And it wasn’t an actual date. It was game night.
“Fuck it,” you mumbled. While the dress you settled on was simple, the blue and gold lingerie underneath reminded you of both of them. Sexy, fun, the blue nearly identical to some of the paint on Steve’s motorcycle and the gold on Bucky’s arm. Maybe you would get lucky.
“Good luck! Have lots of orgasms for me!” Mandy texted you as you left.
“Love you, too.”
You shook your head with a laugh as you went to Bucky and Steve’s place. It wasn’t a far walk, though you could imagine them chastising you for walking over by yourself. They would probably walk you home. Some of their mannerisms were old-fashioned, which you appreciated. It was endearing.
Smoothing out your dress, you took a deep breath and knocked on the door. “Remember, it’s game night. It’s not a date,” you muttered to yourself before the door swung open. “Holy shit.”
Bucky stood there only in his boxer briefs and it took everything in you not to melt into a puddle of goo. His torso was littered with tattoos, one covering some of the scars on his left shoulder. You practically drooled as you openly gaped at him. Did you have any self-control?
“Looking good, doll,” he smirked, his gaze lingering on your breasts before looking over the rest of you. “Sorry. Stevie told you 6, didn’t he?”
“Yeah,” you huffed, swallowing. “Yeah, he did.”
“Game night doesn’t actually start until 8,” he smirked, stepping back to let you inside. “And Steve had to make a last-minute run to the store.”
“Oh?” you asked, brushing past him as he shut the door. “Why ask me over so early then?”
“So I could talk to you,” he said, leading you through to the kitchen. “Drink?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” you replied, setting your bag down on the counter.
For a moment, the two of you didn't speak. It was similar to the parlor, like you were in your own world as you looked at each other. It was like a magnet pulled the two of you closer, his smoldering gaze making you feel weak.
“What did you want to talk about?”
Bucky grabbed a beer for himself, taking a long sip as he regarded you. “You really have no idea why?”
You weren’t sure how to answer that. “Let’s pretend that I’m clueless.”
“You’re not clueless. You’re far from it,” he said warmly, taking another sip as you tried not to giggle at the compliment. “But I’ll spell if out for you if you’d like.”
“Please,” you said, unsure of what exactly he was about to tell you. All you knew was that he was extremely distracting in his lack of attire.
“In simple terms, doll, I’m into you. So is Steve.”
Your brain stopped functioning. Hearing him say it, a mixture of calm and firm, was something out of one of your dreams. Was it actually happening? “You’re both into me?”
“We thought it was obvious. All those times we bumped into you around town? The gym? Today at the shop?”
Thankfully, he didn’t say it in a way that made you feel dumb. He did sound a bit sad though, like the effort was for nothing. “But you two are best friends.”
“We are,” he nodded, setting his beer down. “Sometimes...best friends share,” he said carefully, looking cautious at your reaction.
“But...I’m…” you trailed off. Had they shared other girls before? Even if they had, why did they want you?
“One of the nicest people in this town with a heart of gold. You have an incredible sense of humor and loyalty to your loved ones. And you're so beautiful and sexy we’ve both walked around hard and aching when you’re near.”
You shivered as he took a small step closer. “Bucky…”
“Do you know how badly I wanted to spread you out on my station and eat your sweet pussy until you screamed? Maybe watch Steve fuck that pretty mouth of yours while I stuff you full of my cock?”
Your knees buckled, certain that your brain broke again as he moved right in front of you. “Oh, fuck.”
“Take you home and make you a nice meal before we start all over again," he continued, his hand splaying across your lower back as he pulled you close.
The rational part of your brain shrunk, but you managed to mentally question a few things. "If Steve wants this, too, why did you want to talk to me alone?"
"We didn't want to overwhelm you. We're a lot to handle alone, but both of us together are intense," he said, shoving his other hand between your legs. "Besides...I wanted you first."
You were wet the moment he said he was into you, but feeling his hand move under your dress? You were soaked, his breath tickling your lips as he leaned in. "God, Bucky."
"Tell me I'm wrong and that you don't feel something between us. That you don't feel something with Steve. Tell me and I'll stop," he breathed, his fingers skimming the top of your panties.
"Don't stop," you begged in a whisper.
Both of you moved, closing the small gap between you for a heated kiss. His tongue danced with yours, coaxing and stroking the fire within you. A kiss had never burned you alive, but the fierce passion between you had your body in flames. You still had questions, but you were certain that you wanted him. And you were tired of denying it.
The hand between your legs moved away, making you whine at the loss. "I'm just getting started."
Before you could respond, he lifted and set you on the edge of the counter. You hiked your dress up as he shook his head.
"Take it off. I want to see every inch of you."
The command made you tremble, but you quickly obeyed. "Should I call you 'sir'?" you asked as you pulled it over your head.
"We'll set up rules and boundaries with Steve," he swore, groaning as he took in the sight of your lingerie. "Fuck, this is gorgeous. I'm half tempted to destroy it...but I'll destroy your cunt instead."
Blood roared in your ears, your hands moving on their own accord to remove your bra. He moved forward the moment your breasts spilled free. When his hot mouth closed around your nipple, sucking and licking as his metal hand played with your other breast, you thought you'd lose it. You could barely lift your hips as he yanked your underwear down, but you managed as he still lavished you with his mouth.
"You really want me?" he rasped, the tip of his tongue flicking your nipple and making your gasp.
"More than anything."
"Then put me out of my misery and spread those pretty legs, doll."
You opened them, giving him full access to your warm wetness.
"Should I wreck you with my tongue first or do you want my cock?"
"Just fuck me, please," you pleased breathlessly, the hand on your breast sliding down to feel how aroused you were. "Please!" you said again as a finger slipped through your folds.
"Right here on the counter? Gonna make a mess for Steve to clean up?"
"Fuck, yes," you moaned as another finger slid in, feeling them stretch and ready you. If that was what he could do with his fingers…
"Condom?" he asked, slowly pulling his fingers out and licking them clean. You couldn't wait to feel what he'd do with his tongue.
"I'm on birth control...clean. I just need to feel you. Please."
"Fuck," he hissed, yanking his underwear down with a sigh. Your eyes fell between your bodies and you shook at the sight of him stroking himself. "I can't wait."
"Then put me out my misery and fuck me."
You tried to bury your face in his neck as he sank into you, but a hand gripped your chin and stopped you. Fuck, he was thick and the heat in his eyes made you flutter around him.
"I told you I'm gonna destroy you, doll. So watch me while I do it."
His hips rocked and you didn't dare deny him. You thought Steve would have been the commanding one in bed. What if he was, too? God, two dominant men ready to rip you apart at the seams? You could handle it.
"Fuck, you're tight," he whispered as you wrapped a leg around him. "Just like I dreamt you'd be."
You wrapped your arms around him, heady at the thought that this man dreamt of you and what you would feel like around his thickness. You clenched around him as he thrust, wanting to know every fantasy he had. You wanted to know everything. "You're thicker than I imagined."
"Fuck," he growled, the sound of your hips colliding making you writhe. It should have been uncomfortable, being fucked on a counter. But it felt like heaven. Like he had to just have you then and there.
He pressed his forehead against yours, your body out of control as he took what he wanted and gave it back to you tenfold. His body was in time with yours and you wondered how you resisted for so long. The tight wire you felt inside you was close to snapping.
"You're mine now, doll. You'll be his. We'll share with each other, but we're not sharing with anyone else."
"Oh, fuck!" you cried. Possessiveness wasn't something you thought would get you off, but you could hear how wet you were as he pistoned into you.
"You like the sound of that? Beings ours?" he grunted, moving to pepper kisses along your jaw. "Better get used to it."
"Say my name. Need to hear it."
"Bucky!" you cried, his hand snaking between your bodies to find your clit. Your hips bucked as he found it with his thumb, digging your nails into his back as you held on.
"Told you...I want a mess for Steve to see. To add to it. Every time we look at it, we'll remember that your pretty cunt left a mark for us to see."
"Please, I'm close," you gasped, so close to fracturing to pieces.
"You come when you want, doll. Just look at me when you do. Come."
Your mouth fell open, unable to keep your scream in as your orgasm hit you hard. Electricity crackled through your body, blinded by the bright lights behind your eyes. Your hips jerked as he fucked you through it, swearing under his breath in another language. He took mercy on you and moved his thumb away, his face twisting in pleasure.
"Fuck," he snarled, his thrusts animalistic as he chased his own end. The sound he let out was otherworldly as he flooded you, coating your quivering walls. The feel of his release inside you was addicting. You wanted more. So much more.
You relaxed as your breathing slowed, touched by how tender his kiss was. It wasn't rushed or frenzied. It was beautiful, like him.
"Wow," you exhaled, keeping your leg tight around him and smiling as he went in for another kiss. It was just as soft as the first. "I knew it. You're a menace."
"Both of us are," Bucky mused.
"I'm in trouble," you smiled before you heard heavy, deliberate footsteps.
"Here comes trouble," Bucky grinned.
Steve's eyes swept over your profile appreciatively as he entered the room, a smirk forming on his handsome face as he met your gaze. "I guess he really did start without me."
"Sorry, Stevie. You said I could," he reminded him.
The blonde nodded in agreement as he checked his watch, his eyes sparkling as he looked up. “I did. And we still have time before everyone else shows up.”
Yeah. You were in big trouble.
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𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (𝐈𝐕)
The Garden Thief
I Want You
Which As They Consume, Kiss
Waking Up In Vegas
All I Want
Oh My God They Were (Quarantined) Roomates
How To Care For Your Hybrid
Workout For Me
Fun And Games
Howling For You
Hold Me Close
Written In The Stars
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Needles and Ink, Pt 1
Lena doesn't usually make a habit of ogling other people's tattoos. Oh, she clocks them, certainly, her eyes catching on bits of colors and clean lines that peek out from underneath sleeves and collars, but she doesn't stare. But when she sees the long tail of a dragon coiled along a woman's arm, she can't help but fall into awe at the artistry of it.
Its bearer is a tall brunette with a side cut who stands in front of Lena in line for coffee one Thursday morning, oblivious to Lena's attention. Lena lets herself study the way the scales seem to move with the muscle underneath the skin, the way the colors still pop like new despite the fact it's fully healed. The technique is flawless, its placement precise, and while Lena sees the influence of the traditional japanese style, its been blended with a fantasy element that morphs the snarling dragon into something truly unique. Lena knows she'll never see anything like it anywhere else.
Lena only looks away when the woman orders, and then Lena herself, but when they bump shoulders at the cream and sugar station, Lena finds herself drawn to the art once more. This time, the woman catches her staring.
"You have beautiful art," Lena says, by way of explanation when the woman gives her a pointed stare punctuated with an arched brow. "It's spectacular, actually. Who's your artist?"
The woman smirks. "Kara Danvers," comes the swift reply. "She's based here in National City. You should check her out."
"I think I will," Lena says, pressing the lid of her coffee back into place. "Thanks. And again-- truly magnificent."
She leaves with a nod, and she does indeed do search for Kara Danvers in National City. She's immediately taken to Argo Tattoo's website, and when she clicks on the artists list Kara Danvers is featured prominently as the owner and head artist. Clicking through to her instagram portfolio, Lena sees example upon example proving the dragon in the coffee shop hadn't been a fluke: the woman has talent.
An insane amount of talent, Lena discovers as she continues to swipe through. A few of the features pieces adhere to traditional styles, executed impeccably and demostrating that this Kara Danvers both understands and respects where her medium came from. But more than half of the pieces are wonderfully illustrative, uniquely stylized regardless of the content. Mermaids, animals, flora... all of it beautiful, all of it mesmerizing.
When she sees a traditional koi, a good two years into the woman's timeline, followed by a slew of other Japanese style pieces, Lena knows she won't be leaving National City without paying this woman visit.
When Kara receives an appointment for a consult via her website, a quiet thrill runs through her. As the owner of her small two-man shop, she's lucky enough to rely more on commissions than walk ins, but she's not exactly booked up, so the prospect of a new client-- asking for her specifically-- envigorates her to the point of nervousness.
Kara clocks her client as soon as she steps into the shop, and her heart falls when she sees it's a woman in a business suit, crisply pressed and hair upswept into a tasteful bun. She didn't have a single visible tattoo or piercing beyond the traditional single lobes; Kara knew her type: something small, discreet. Maybe a flower. Or a tramp stamp, if she were lucky.
She'd been hoping for a bigger piece.
Still, she wears a genuine smile as she extends her own colorful hand towards the woman.
"Hi, are you Lena?"
The woman nods. "And you must be Kara Danvers."
"Sure am! Why don't you come back to my station, and we can talk about what you'd like to get."
Kara leads the way, and when the door closes behind them, it suddenly occurs to Kara that this woman is gorgeous. With dark hair and red lips, she cuts a striking figure in Kara's little work space. She struggles not to stare as she takes a seat on her rolling stool, and motions for Lena to take a seat in the tattoo chair.
"So, what were you thinking?"
"I'm in the market for a japanese style tattoo, content to be determined."
Kara nods with a smile. Of the traditional styles, japanese is her favorite. She can work with that.
"Okay," she says. "To be determined by what?"
"You, really. Real estate is a little limited, and I'd like your input on what would work with the overall flow and concept."
Kara's eyebrows lift on their own accord. Perhaps she judged a little too early. She should have known better than to jump to conclusions. This woman is definitely no stranger to the realm of tattoos.
She nods. "All right. Is it okay if I see what we're working with?"
Lena nods, rising to her feet. Stripping out of her blazer, she unbuttons her blouse with long fingers, and with each opened gap Kara realizes just how wrong she'd been.
There's a certain, unspoken line between a person who has tattoos and a person who is tattooed. Lena is tattooed-- from edge to edge, Kara realizes as the blouse is set aside. Creamy skin meets lines of color at collar and wrists, and bold japanese cloud designs descend to disappear below the waist of her trousers.
Kara sits back on her stool, gobsmacked as she takes in the whole of Lena. Limited real estate wasn't a euphemism-- there's only a single gap between Lena's left hip and extending to only halfway up her hip. The rest is all filled with traditional japanese imagery, all united by stylized backgrounds. Lena's not just gorgeous: she's a walking work of art.
"Wow," Kara utters. Her eyes flicker across Lena's body, taking in the dragon creeping up one hip and a foo dog guarding one shoulder. Lena turns, and a phoenix curls up her back with wings outspread, ready to take flight. "That's... beautiful."
"Thank you," Lena murmurs, weathering Kara's stare with warm patience. Kara finally blinks free of her trance, and focuses on the open space.
"There?" she asks. When Lena nods and lifts her arm to expose the area, Kara leans in for a closer look. As far as she can tell, it truly is a free space, not blending through from any other design. From the look of her other pieces, Kara knows she'll want something unifying, something that blends in rather than stand out, but beyond that, there's a lot she could do with the space.
"What do you think you could fit there?" Lena asks.
Kara shrugs, then pauses. She looks up with a grin. "Dude... you got a tiger yet?"
"Right leg. Sorry."
Damn. That would have looked so cool. But Kara quickly moves on. "Well, there's a lot we could do there, honestly, so it's really more about what you'd like."
Lena lets her arm fall with a small frown. "That's the trouble. I've already gone through most of the traditional images."
"Well... there's nothing wrong with doubling up," she points out, only to disregard the notion when Lena's nose wrinkles at the suggestion. "Okay, different question then: where you looking for an eye catcher, or more of a background piece."
"Either." Lena pauses. "Actually, no. That's a lie. I don't consider any of my pieces to be background, or filler. Each one is... a different exhibit. I want there to be something to look at."
Kara nods. "Yeah. I get that."
Her heart pounds, conscious of the way Lena stands unabashedly in front of her. There's nothing sexual about her stance or their conversation, but Kara finds herself wondering exactly what other images Lena has below the waist.
Clearing her throat, Kara turns and reaches for some trace paper and a marker. "How about I take a trace of the space, and I'll work on it for a couple weeks, and see what I can come up with."
Lena turns and lifts her arm again obligingly. When Kara leans in to press the paper to Lena's skin, she's acutely aware of the warm skin under her fingers and the light fragrance of Lena's perfume. Her mind races to think of anything else as she traces, and cycles through a variety of options on how to fill the space.
Suddenly, she freezes.
"What's wrong?" Lena asks, her voice low.
"A crane," Kara states. She looks up to meet Lena's gaze. "A crane would look beautiful here."
Lena's eyes widen slightly-- clearly, she hadn't considered it. But the next moment, her entire face warms into a blinding smile.
"So that's a yes then," Kara surmises with a grin.
"Yes," comes the swift response. "Yes, yes yes! I love it."
Finished with her tracing, Kara rolls back and returns the smile with a grin.
"All right then. I can work with that."
They schedule one session before Lena leaves National City. When Lena walks into her appointment two weeks later, though, her thoughts are turbulent and stormy. Talking with her mother never bodes well for a good day. Still, she manages to offer Kara a smile, barely, before the artist turns to her work station to reveal the two designs she came up with.
"I wasn't sure which you'd like more," Kara explains. "I figure the first one is more in line with your existing work, if you're looking for something for people to look at, the second one is a little more... dynamic?"
Lena scans the two drawings, noting that both are breathtakingly beautiful. The first is a solitary crane, its feet submerged in a spread of flat water. Its attention is fixated on the water, neck poised as though it might come alive at any moment to spear a fish.
The second image displays the same crane, only this one poised admidst a nest of reeds, where a trio of eggs sit. Kara's right-- the sinuous neck of this crane conveys a sense of motion, a mother waiting in watchful anticipation for her chicks to hatch.
Lena's eyes catch little details in both of them that she loves... the broken reeds that show where the mother crane harvested to make a nest, and the reflection of the still pond in the first. The mother crane calls to her, evoking an empathetic softness that almost makes her coo as she runs her fingers along the delicate lines. As soft and beautiful as it is, though-- as much as Lena might wish she were the maternal type... it isn't who she is. She's mother.
A predator, on the other hand, eternally on watch for opportunity to rear its head? Abso-fucking-lutely.
"This one," Lena says, pinching the edge of the first image between thumb and forefinger. "100%"
"That's what I like to hear," Kara grins. She sets the discarded drawing aside and rises. "Let me go get this on a stencil and then we'll get started."
Like the crane, Lena feels sharp as she removes her shirt and unbuttons her pants. Her mother's words prickle under her skin, distracting her from the touch of Kara's fingers against her skin as Kara first places the stencil, then guides her down to lay on her side.
"Are you ready?" Kara asks.
Lena hums in affirmation, already mentally dialling out. But instead of getting lost in her thoughts, the line of fire the needle tracks across her skin is punctuated by her mother's voice ringing in her ears.
Moving the company across the country wasn't supposed to be easy. Lena had expected to fight the board, the investors, her employees... She'd just hoped the one place she wouldn't have to claw tooth and nail would be her own family.
Not that her mother's opinion matters, Lena told herself as Kara continued to work her magic. Lillian never approved of her actions when she wasn't working for the family company-- why had Lena expected things to change now that she was? She should be used to it by now, but even so Lillian's disappointment stings even more than the buzz of the tattoo gun.
Lena doesn't realize she's crying until the tattoo machine goes silent.
"No," Lena coughs, her voice damp. "No, it's not you...."
"Let's take a break anyway."
They're barely an hour in, but Lena lets Kara wipe her down and tape some plastic wrap to the unfinished tattoo before helping her sit up. When Kara hands her a tissue, Lena accepts it with a watery smile. "Thanks."
Kara gazes at her in concern. "Wanna talk about it?"
Lena shakes her head, dabbing at her eyes. "It's just family stuff. There's been a lot going on, and absolutely no one likes what I'm doing, and it-- it's just a lot."
Nodding as though she understands, Kara rubs circles on Lena's knees with her hands, warm and gentle. "Sounds like it. I'm sorry things have been so rough for you. Do you want to reschedule?"
"No!" Lena shakes her head. This time, her smile is genuine as she dries her eyes. "Believe it or not, this actually helps."
"Yeah. I've heard that."
"I promise I won't blubber on you again."
"Hey," Kara says, wheeling back to her tattoo machine, "pretty ladies can blubber in my room all they like."
Kara freezes a moment later. "Wait. That came out wrong..."
"Did it though?" Lena teases, earning a huff of exasperation. "All right, fine. Best not to tease the woman doing permanent things to my body."
She's rewarded with the solid red flush of Kara's face and neck, as she quickly busied herself with refreshing her gloves and picking up her machine. Lena smiles again, this time small and satisfied. So Kara isn't completely unrattled then. Good to know she isn't the only one.
Lena settles back down on the table, and this time when the needle buzzes against her skin, her mind fills with thoughts of blonde hair and blue eyes, her mother all but forgotten.
"I love it," Kara hears from the mirror. She turns, and watches Lena admire her finished tattoo in the mirror. Not for the first time, Kara's gaze catches on Lena's near-naked torso, but for the moment she simply focuses on the wide smile that graces Lena's features.
"I'm glad you do. I think I do too." Stripping her gloves off, she begins to wipe down her table, still watching Lena. After a moment, she tilts her head. "How'd you find me? I mean... I'm glad you did, you're, well... a phenomenal canvas, to say the least. But I'm curious how you came to me."
Lena smirks, and something dangerous slithers down Kara's spine.
"I saw one of your works in the coffee shop. Dragon," Lena illustrates by tracing her own arm.
Kara perks up instantly. "Oh! You met my sister!"
When Lena smiles, Kara feels like the air got sucked from the room. It makes her feel hot and cold, like every nerve is firing at once. She likes it. She feels like she could look at that smile for a hundred years and never tire of it.
"Your sister, huh? Well, you should give her a paycheck for being an excellent walking billboard for your services."
"She already got a free tattoo!"
Lena laughs, and Kara nearly melts at the sound of it.
"Girl, you got it bad," Nia says after Lena leaves. Leaning in the doorway, she watches Kara try to tuck her payment into her jeans pocket, only to give up and shove the bills into Nia's hands.
"Put this in the till, will you? And I have no idea what you're talking about."
All Kara knows is that Lena had walked out without giving Kara her number, or vice versa. Kara had been too flabbergasted by her exorbitant payment to even think of anything else.
"Your rates are too low," Lena had said sternly. "This is how much I would pay a top artist in Metropolis, and it's what I'm paying you. Stop underselling yourself."
It was too much, way too much, but Lena had insisted, nearly twisting her arm until she accepted. But then she'd left, before Kara could even think to ask for a photo of the piece.
"A photo!!" Kara exclaims, smacking herself on the forehead. "I meant to ask for a photo! Damn it!"
Nia smirks. "Of her or the piece?"
"Oh, come off it. Besides, from how buttoned up she was, I bet she's not keen on people seeing her tattoos anyway."
Making a face, Kara lets it go. "Yeah, you're probably right. But still..."
But Lena had said her pieces were like exhibits, implying that she let *some* people see them. Resuming her sterilization procedure, Kara desperately tried not to imagine a lover admiring Lena in the privacy of their home... and tried even harder not to imagine herself in their shoes.
"You got work done?" James fires off as soon as Lena steps into his shop. Contrary to his tone, his smile is wide as he moves in for a hug. Lena receives him with a smile, but swats his shoulderblade to chide him.
"The warning text was a courtesy, James Olsen. Not an invitation for a territorial dispute." She kisses his cheek as she pulls back. "How are you?"
"Fine, fine. Come on, lets go back." He leads them back to his workstation, talking all the way. "I mean, a little less fine knowing you got a flash from some hot rod in National City, but fine."
Rolling her eyes, Lena steps into the room after him. She climbs onto James' table and stripped out of her shirt. Lena smirks.
"This look like a flash to you?"
Her answer is a long, low whistle. James leans in close, then even closer as he studies the work. "Is that... wow. Damn, girl, you found a good one."
"I know right?!" She leaned back, lounging while James prepared his gear. "I literally saw her work in a coffeeshop and got her name right then and there."
"So?" James snaps one glove on. "What's her name? I haven't heard of anyone doing work of that caliber in National City."
"Kara Danvers, out of Argo Tattoos."
"You got her insta?"
Lena hums, handing over her phone. James takes it with his bare hand, propping it on his knee as he scrolls through. The further he goes, the slacker his jaw gets. Lena just watches, smug.
"Damn. All right, okay. So, I got someone amazing moving in on my turf, no big deal." He hands the phone back and pulls on his second glove. "But for the next six hours, you're mine. Roll over, lady."
Lena obliges, settling on her stomach to give James access to his piece-- the great unfinished phoenix. It's been their project for years, sessions squeezed in when they both had the time. Lately, Lena's been the biggest constraint, practically living in the office since Lex's arrest.
Kicking his machine on, James leans in. "Okay, deep breath."
Lena inhales, and slowly releases it as the needle makes contact. This, she knows. This, she loves. She could take or leave the company, her mother's snide comments, the revilement of the greater public. But James' table is a safe place, and she's going to enjoy her time.
And if, Lena reckons as she relaxes into it-- if her mind wanders back to a certain blonde back in National City... who could blame her?
Kara swallows her bite of potsticker and answers the shop phone on the final ring.
"Argo Tattoo and Piercing, how can I help you?"
"Kara Danvers, please," says a male voice.
"Yup, this is she."
"Hi, Kara. This is James Olsen. I'm--"
"Metropolis' biggest tattoo artist," Kara coughs, shooting to her feet, lunch forgotten. "I know who you are. Um. Hi?"
James chuckles. "Hi. I know this is kind of out of the blue, but I've recently come across some of your work, and I wanted to reach out and talk to you about maybe coming out to visit Metropolis for a guest artist position at my shop."
Blinking, Kara chokes on her own spit. She coughs, pulling the phone the phone away from her as she doubles over. When she recovers, Kara stares at the phone for a moment before bringing it back to her ear.
"Um, Mr. Olsen?"
"Still here," he says amiably. "And it's James, please."
Kara breathes. "Right. James. Sorry about that, um... what was that you were saying? It sounded like...."
"I'd like you to come to Metropolis. I've seen some of your work, and I think you'd make a lot of people here really happy."
Kara takes one deep breath, then another.
"But you know what, how about we talk a little bit, and see if that aligns with what you're looking to get out of the business."
Talk. Kara can do that.
"Sure. Let's talk."
"Question," Winn asks, lifting one finger as Kara paces around him, "how could you freaking NOT go to Metropolis?"
"I have a shop here," Kara exclaims. "I have clients--"
"Kara. I say this with love, but... This place is practically dead. But with exposure like this? You'd be writing your own check!"
Kara takes a shaking breath, then turns to her sister. "What do you think?"
Alex holds her gaze intently. "I think you're in the red, and the crane tattoo was a taste of what you could be earning if you put yourself out there."
"You two are ganging up on me--"
"We just want what's best for you, Kara," Alex insists. She braces Kara by the shoulders and looks her in the eye. "You asked for our opinion. You know we'll take care of the shop while you're gone. What's holding you back?"
"I'd be working with some of the best tattoo artists in the country, Alex. What if-- what if I don't measure up?"
"They're not asking on faith. They've seen your art already-- they just want you to do it somewhere else for a month."
"Yeah," Winn chimes in. "And it's not like you'll be abandoning us. You're going to be raising a lot of publicity for the shop while you're there. Heck, I bet some clients will even follow you here to get tattooed if you run out of time in Metropolis."
Kara's still not sold. "You think?"
"We know so," Alex affirms. "Come on, Kara. How many other ways can we tell you to go before you'll believe us?"
Finally, Kara exhales, releasing the tension in her shoulders.
"Okay what?" Alex prompts.
Kara grins. Their enthusiasm finally sinks in, gripping her by the chest and refusing to let go.
"Okay. I'm going to Metropolis!"
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CodyWan Week Day 7: Tattoos @codywanweek
Cody’s Tattoos: Lots of water symbolism for Kamino (for all it’s good and bad), with hints of Polynesian and Norse tattoo styles for the cultures I’ve seen Clones pull from in solid colour to symbolise how they were probably gotten on Kamino where resources for individuality were limited. The stars for Cody’s dreams of the galaxy and going out there to serve the Jedi one day surrounded a stylised version of lightsabers for the jedi themselves and who he wished to follow into battle one day. The words “Glory Be/Be Glory” as a play on his name, a stylised sun for himself and a Mythosaur skull for Jango and Mandalorians in general. It can’t be seen here but he has a simple version of the Open Circle Fleet on his hand along with ‘212th.’
Obi-Wan’s Tattoos: the Open Circle Fleet symbol along his spine with a stylised sun/cog for Cody hidden under his arm where it’s safe and secret, much like Cody being his secret support. A simplified stylised version of the Republic symbol in a very minimalist fashion (probably gotten on a mission in some back-alley hole of the galaxy). However, it’s coloured in a traditional Mandalorian way though very few people know this. Both the Fleet and Republic symbols along his spin for them having his back, him being a protector of them. The small, delicate forget-me-nots for members of his lineage who’ve been lost to him for various reasons.
And that’s a wrap! It’s really hard to keep up with art week/month events and I’m so glad I actually finished all seven even if I’m a bit late because of work. Thank you everyone who participated and liked my stuff! Now I’m off to see if I can write some fanfics with some of my pieces lol
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For your AU prompts: I feel like we haven't had a Zimbits tattoo parlor AU in ages. Whaddaya say? :) - WrathoftheStag
oooh, I don't often think about that sort of au because I don't know much about the tattoo world, but...
at first, my mind directly went to baking is punk as fuck. like, jack being the tattoo artist with the full sleeves and the grumpy look, and bitty being his client requesting another overdone minimalist tattoo. and jack is kind of pissed off about it until he actually sees bitty.
but think about this:
jack enters the tattoo shop one day, the one shitty recommended, and behind the counter, there's this cute guy.
blonde, with a backwards white cap, deep brown eyes, and a loose tank top that showcases the sleeve on his right arm that climbs up his neck on that side. it's not a bunch of tattoos made to fit together, there's a real plan behind it, and it looks beautiful and elegant. it's one of those tattoos where the base is black and the drawings are white. there are some shapes, and a few other things jack recognizes: the thin white outline of a state on darkened skin (georgia? must be georgia, because there's a peach beside it), along with some florals, what looks to be a set of six little mountain peaks? they're just little open triangles. and some writing, black on white, on the inside of the guy's wrist.
bitty's tattoo (and tank top) definitely showcase his arms. like, he's strong. he still keeps himself in good shape, and he's definitely got biceps and shoulders, and a defined pec and chest jack can kind of see from the side.
"I'm here for a tattoo. the, uh, olympic rings?" - "oh, a real olympian, I hope?" - "actually yes." - "oh my. and where would you like it?" - "on... on my butt........ yeah, I lost a bet."
(bitty takes one look at said but and goes, "oh, lucky me. let me guess, hockey?" - "how did you know?" - "because if you were a figure skater I'd know your face, sweetie.")
bitty laughs, and they get jack in front of the mirror. bitty gets him to lift his shirt and pull his underwear down a bit.
"so when you say on your butt..." - jack, a bit panicked: "well, not on my butt, but... a bit above?" - "right here?" bitty asks, touching the small of jack's back, and a shiver runs down jack's spine. - "yeah, uh, that's good."
"by the way, I, uh- don't really like needles?"
so bitty gets right on his caretaker mode, reassuring jack and explaining the process to him, until they get him on that table.
jack notices, at some point, the only other tattoo bitty seems to have apart from the sleeve: it's a little rainbow flag, colored, this one, right under his left pec. it shows a little when bitty moves around his arms, the tank top with it.
"okay, honey, you're going to feel the needle in three, okay?" - "yeah." - "three, two, one... good boy."
(it's a good thing jack is lying down on his front, because fuck)
bitty chatters about everything and anything as he gets to work, and it actually helps jack a bit? he talks about how he got the shop, which is actually his friend's lardo. how he always liked to sketch throughout school, but never considered making a life out of it, even though it's only a part time job for now.
jack even gets to ask him what the tattoo on his forearm is, with the little letters and numbers he couldn't read earlier. "oh! they are conversion charts." - "conversion charts?" - "yeah, for baking! it's just simpler that way, you don't have to get your books out every time you want to calculate stuff." - "ha... sure."
"what about the little peaks?" - "oh! these are figure skates toe picks!"
bitty, in turn, doesn't really know who jack is, and that's fine by jack.
"I usually take photos of the tattoos I do, but you don't seem like the type of guy to be posting his butt all over internet." - "ha, no definitely not."
bitty is nearly done with jack, and jack is lying on that table wondering how exactly can he make his interest known, because he's definitely interested, but also chickening out about it, and it's not like he can come back and just ask for another tattoo to see bitty, because he's going to end up tattooed from head to toe without a date in sight and get a grip zimmermann--
he doesn't. he just leaves with the little pamphlet that tells him how to take care of that tattoo.
so he comes back, the week after, and looks at the heavy binders, for "tattoo ideas for a friend", because bitty was so good "he wants to recommend him". so he hangs around, then comes back the next week, and the week after that, to look at binders again.
and bitty is a bit confused, and walks up to jack and his binders one day. "what are you looking for, jack?" and jack lifts his head, and before he can stop himself, he just blurts out, "a date."
i'm not exactly sure how they end up together, but please imagine bitty on a red carpet with jack for some sort of event. just looking gorgeous with his perfect hair and his expensive suit, and the tattoos that are peaking out of his sleeve and his collar. the internet goes wild. jack zimmermann bagged himself a hottie. not that anyone is surprised, seeing his parents.
then they learn that bitty is a part-time tattoo artist, and that jack met him while getting a tattoo, and speculations run wild: where exactly is that tattoo? and no one being able to see it means, of course, that it's... probably something naughty. in a naughty area.
(until the day bitty posts quite the cheeky (literally) picture on his insta, with jack's permission. that definitely settles down any debate about the tattoo and its placement.)
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Dans ma peau
Making this a bullet fic because it's been in The List for centuries but I don't have the crayons to write anything atm
Inspired by the song "Que des coeurs" by MPL.
Geralt is a tattoo artist.
A young man comes in one day without appointment, asking for a simple heart with a name tattooed on his ribs
Geralt wouldn't usually accept this kind of stuff, it's stupid and boring, but he hasn't had a lot of clients lately. Yennefer says it's because he unsettles them, not talking at all when he's stabbing them with a needle
So he nods, and steers the young man towards the chair. The tattoo only takes half an hour. The man speaks the whole time.
He's back six months later. Geralt isn't surprised; that's what usually happens with these kinds of tattoos. What surprises him is that Jaskier (that's the name he put on the waiver) asks for another tattoo, with another name, instead of a removal, a cover, or a refund, like Geralt expected.
He doesn't need to say yes, really, business has been good the last few months, but something compels him to anyway.
Again, Jaskier talks the whole time. Geralt learns that he is a musician and a literature teacher, though he struggles to imagine the colourful, extravagant man teaching anything to kids.
It becomes a sort of routine. Once or twice a year, sometimes more, Jaskier comes back, and asks for another heart, another name. His body slowly becomes a canvas of his heartbreak.
Geralt can't help wondering why the man doesn't learn; few people make the same mistake twice, let alone a dozen times. His first guess is that the musician is just stupid, but with time, he learns that isn't true. Jaskier is brilliant, under all the peacocking and silliness.
One day, as he is placing the stencil on the thin skin of Jaskier's collarbone, he can't keep the question for himself anymore.
"You know you could have the old ones removed, right? Or I could try covering them, if you want."
"I know. I like having them with me, though. Our story together might have ended," he says, tracing his fingers along the name of one of his latest exes, "but I still loved them, at one point in my life. I don't want to forget that."
Geralt hums, not knowing what to say to that. His throat is tight.
"Well, you won't have any space left soon," he jokes lamely. A strange sadness fills Jaskier's eyes as he smiles at him, and they end the session in silence.
The ritual keeps happening, and Geralt starts speaking a little more when they see each other. Jaskier knows how to goad him into conversations. Yennefer looks at him weirdly.
Once, Jaskier doesn't come for a couple of years. It doesn't sit right with Geralt, for some reason. He tries not to think about it.
He also tries not to think about how relieved he feels when Jaskier walks back into the shop one day like he'd never disappeared, and asks for another tattoo. Says the last one proposed to him at a Five Guys
"A Five Guys, Geralt, can you imagine? I mean, it is my favourite place to eat, but I don't want my proposal memories to be filled with the smell of bacon grease!"
Geralt snorts and shakes his head, tapping Jaskier's thigh for him to stop moving as he starts on the heart.
When it's done, he pushes his chair back to give it a better look. That's when he realizes.
Jaskier is covered almost from head to toe in hearts. Of all shapes and sizes and styles - he told Geralt after the first few times that he could let his "artist's mind" speak and they've had fun finding original ways to draw hearts. There's only one spot left, Geralt knows, even though he can't see it: he knows Jaskier's body better than his own by now. It's on his right side, underneath his pec, where he's ticklish and sensitive.
"This one better be the one then, right?" Jaskier laughs when Geralt points it out.
Jaskier pays and leaves with a wave and a smile, but Geralt's world is all wrong suddenly.
Over the next few months, there are two parts of him warring inside, keeping him awake at night, his brain empty of all inspiration and motivation for his work. He wants Jaskier to come back, he's not fooling himself anymore about how much he likes the man. But if he comes back, it means he still hasn't found the one, like he's been prattling about since the first time. If he comes back, it'll be the last time. Maybe not the last time Jaskier gets his heart broken, but he'll have to find another way to commit it to memory, because his skin is already covered in ink. He won't need Geralt anymore.
Jaskier is back sooner than he's ever been. He usually calls beforehand now, since Geralt told him it'd be better if he had an appointment the first time. He hasn't called this time.
He comes just half an hour before Geralt closes the shop. Yennefer left early because it's hers and Triss' anniversary.
They sketch the heart in silence, Geralt feeling like his own is going to break to pieces at the smallest sound. Jaskier has a nervous energy about him, but he's strangely quiet as he takes off his shirt and lies down.
Geralt executes every step on auto pilot, jaw clenched. When his hands come to rest on Jaskier's ribs, he thinks he can feel his heart fluttering. He imagines he's stabbing it with his needle, pinning it in place for him to keep.
The heart is finished, and Geralt has to muster all his will to open his mouth and speak with a rough voice.
"Which name, this time?"
He doesn't want to look at Jaskier, because he's a coward. He'd rather die than watch the sparkle in his eyes as he says the name of his latest lover, the one he probably hopes is the one. Geralt's not sure his own heart would survive it.
But the silence stretches for too long, and he can't fuss with the machine and the inks and the needles forever, so finally he turns, meeting Jaskier's gaze with dread, and all he finds there is pure, unbridled hope.
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IUI - The Way I Love You
bear with me here folks
I know the Idiots are usually soft af. but my lovely spouse/fiance/soon-to-be-fiance and beta @dani-dandelino hit me with an idea and I added a dash handful of angst bc i couldn’t help it
Warnings: feelings of inadequacy, fear of breakup (no actual breakup I promise), miscommunication, drunk af Geralt, past shitty relationships, happy ending tho I promise, there’s tears but they’re happy I swear.
Geralt only ever got sloppy drunk when Jaskier was the DD. It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t trust anyone else, it was that he didn’t trust his drunk boyfriend not to goad him into something stupid.
The last time they’d both gotten fucked up outside of their apartment they woke up with three traffic cones and a “Speed Hump” sign in their living room. When they asked Triss what happened she sent them a video of them giggling as they tried to fit the sign into her trunk.
After hanging the sign in their apartment, they decided it may be best to take turns.
This particular instance, they’d dropped Triss and Yen off and were on their way home, Geralt’s head lolling against the window as he fought to stay awake.
“I’m not carrying your perky ass upstairs,” Jaskier laughed, snapping his fingers near Geralt’s ear.
Geralt grumbled but sat up straight and leaned into Jaskier’s outstretched hand, “Radio.”
Affectionately rolling his eyes, Jaskier pulled his hand away and flipped on the radio. Geralt immediately gasped and started singing along off key and slurred. The first time Jaskier heard Geralt scream along to Taylor Swift he’d been shocked, if extremely endeared.
“BUT I MISS SCREAMIN’ AND FIGHTIN AND KISSIN IN THE RAIN! IT’S TWO AM AND I’M CURSIN’ YOUR NAME! SO IN LOVE THAT WE ACTED INSANE, AND THAT’S THE WAY I LOVED YOUUUUUUUUU!”
Jaskier turned the volume down to a reasonable level when Geralt cranked it so loud his ears might start ringing. He rolled his eyes when Geralt started singing it to him, taking the shortcut home and trying to ignore the little pit forming in his stomach.
When the song ended Geralt turned the radio down and picked up his hand not gripping the steering wheel, “Jask?”
Even in the car, Geralt glanced around conspiratorially before whispering, “I have a secret.”
Fear flared in Jaskier’s chest but he took a deep, calming breath, reminding himself who he was talking to. His boyfriend thought secrets were fun. Mostly because Geralt’s version of a secret was keeping what he made for dinner a surprise until Jaskier got home. He’d even felt guilty not telling Jaskier he was seeing a therapist when they’d started dating. For all his gruff exterior and suspicion, Geralt really was an open book with those he loved and trusted. Jaskier had a very different idea of what secrets in a relationship meant.
“What’s that, love?”
Geralt giggled as he traced the edges of a magnolia on the back of Jaskier’s wrist, “That is the way I love you.”
Luckily for Jaskier’s car, they were rolling up to a stop sign. He had time to loose his breath for a moment and fight back the initial feeling of shame and anger with himself before he pulled his hand away and gripped the steering wheel as he punched the gas.
Through gritted teeth, he said the gentlest thing he could think of, “We don’t kiss in the rain.”
Geralt frowned, almost pouted at him, “I still love you.”
A part of Jaskier wanted to scream at Geralt, another part wanted to pull over and make him walk home, thankfully the loudest part reminded him the idiot was just drunk. He didn’t know what he was saying and he thought he was being sweet. There was also a good possibility he would cry himself to sleep in the passenger seat if Jaskier yelled at him and last time he tried to carry Geralt to bed his back hurt for a week.
“I love you too,” Jaskier sighed as he pulled into their parking spot.
He didn’t sleep well that night. Not because his sweaty, smelly, and fidgety boyfriend clung to him in his sleep, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about the ride home.
Jaskier had lived in relationships like that for most of his adult life. Hell, even in his teens. They were nothing but all consuming passion with no connection to support it and left both parties jaded and lost. When he left his mentor he’d sat in Yen’s chair for hours and hours, until his arm had gone numb, and the only thing he could think was ‘never again’.
And now Geralt thought he was being cute. The ridiculously meticulous and serious man was only ever sappy when he got drunk and now instead of reveling in it like he’d like, Jaskier was staring at the clock on his nightstand calculating how exhausted he’d be in the morning as the minutes ticked by.
Turns out, he was at least in the land of the living by the time Geralt shuffled into the kitchen with his hands in his hair and a pained expression.
“Feel like shit.”
Jaskier hummed in agreement as he sipped his morning tea and shifted in his seat to see better out the window.
After popping a few anti-inflammatories and nibbling on a cracker before giving up on food, Geralt lumbered up behind Jaskier and draped his arms over his shoulders, “What’s wrong?”
“S’nothing. I’m just being… touchy.”
Geralt pressed a light kiss over the hellebore tattoo on Jaskier’s neck, “I doubt it.”
Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as Jaskier laid his hand over Geralt’s arm across his chest, “I don’t want to lose this.”
“Why…? What makes you think you would?” Geralt was a little slower on the draw hungover, but he knelt next to Jaskier’s chair and rested a hand on his knee as he waited for a response. He only ever looked so worried when Roach had an abscess and it broke Jaskier’s heart. He didn’t want to say it and ruin everything.
After a deep breath in, he mumbled out his answer, “Do you really love me like that song?”
“What song?” Geralt breathed, his thumb brushing back and forth over Jaskier’s knee.
“The uh, Way I Loved You one.”
Geralt searched his face for a beat, the crease between his eyebrows only deepening, “Of course I do.”
“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed, biting his lip to keep it from wobbling as he forced all the air from his lungs in the hopes it would do something to stop the tears from falling. When it was clear he would lose the battle he leaned forward with his elbows on the table, hiding his face in his hands.
“You… don’t want me to?” Geralt sounded close to tears himself, but he didn’t take his hand off Jaskier’s thigh.
“No- yes! No?” Jaskier sniffed and wiped at his face but didn’t lean back to look at Geralt, “I- Geralt I can’t just fill a hollow relationship with lust. We ha- I thought we had more? But if you want the- the fights and the hate fucking- I don’t- Geralt I don’t want that. Not with anyone but not with you. Ne-”
“Hey, hey,” Geralt tugged at Jaskier’s arm, gathering him to his chest when the brunette melted into sobs, “I don’t want that. That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry I let you think that.” He cradled Jaskier’s head to his shoulder, pressing kisses into his hair between softly spoken apologies and reassurances. They stayed there until Jaskier’s tea went cold and his sobs were closer to little gasps.
Eventually, Jaskier lifted his head and met Geralt’s eyes, “H-how do you love me?”
Geralt licked his lips, his voice barely above a whisper, “Not- It’s not hollow.”
Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to Geralt’s, “Please?”
One of Geralt’s hands came up to cup Jaskier’s cheek as he took a deep breath, “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you… I never wanted to be romantic with anyone until you. You… You make me feel… safe. I’m never bored of you or numb or sick of you. This is the first relationship I’ve had where I bother to fight, Jask. I love you so much it makes me do things I never thought to do and I’m glad and I never want to change anything about us. Never.”
A shiver ran down Jaskier’s spine as relief flooded his whole body. His throat ached from crying and his shoulders were sore from holding all that tension in a way they hadn’t for years, but he’d never felt so good. Geralt loved him. Him. Not some tumultuous relationship or the sex or the drama of it all. Someone finally loved him for him.
It hadn’t really hit Jaskier till then. They’d said ‘I love you’, sure, but he hadn’t really believed Geralt, just like he’d stopped believing the string of selfish lovers before him.
“Thank Mellitelle,” Jaskier laughed, just on this side of hysterical as he tightened his grip around Geralt’s shoulders, “I fucking love how boring we are. And you. Fuck I really really do love you.”
“Even when I smell like my regulars?” Geralt teased, intentionally huffing a little extra and dosing Jaskier in his horrendous hangover morning breath.
Jaskier wrinkled his nose but smiled and kissed him anyway, “Of course.”
“Mhh,” Geralt pulled away for a moment, brushing his thumb over Jaskier’s crows feet in a silent request for him to open his eyes, “Can we go back to bed?”
“The crying does it for you, huh?” Jaskier chuckled, his voice was still weak but his laugh was genuine.
“I’m so dizzy, Jask,” squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head ever so slightly, Geralt plopped back onto his heels. If Jaskier hadn’t witnessed just how much he drank he’d say he was lying, but Jaskier was truly surprised he’d even climbed out of bed this morning.
“Mkay, up. Back to bed then.”
They settled under the blankets and tangled themselves back together. Geralt hummed, closing his eyes and squeezing Jaskier a little tighter.
New, happier tears threatened at the corners of his eyes but he pushed them down, opting to trace the corner of Geralt’s buttercup tattoo peeking out of his shirt, “I love you.”
Geralt took a deep breath in before he sighed out a rumbling, “I know.”
“No, Geralt. Really,” Jaskier laid his hand over the yellow and green ink, “I’ve said these words more times than I can count but I don’t think I ever really understood them until you.”
“I love you,” Jaskier’s interruption was far smaller and far more fragile than he had intended. His words just continued to spill out, “You’re steady and calm and I’ve never had that. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like and I’m constantly scared I’m gonna fuck it up…”
Comforting fingers ran through his hair as Geralt murmured his reply, “Me too,” Jaskier just squeezed his shoulder in a bit of solidarity and a bit of selfish comfort, “But I think we’re doing alright…”
“Well,” Geralt started, shifting so he was practically engulfing Jaskier, “we both still love each other, and...” his boyfriend pinched him when he trailed off, pretending to fall asleep in a way that always mad Jaskier giggle, “Ow- and you use the hooks by the front door.”
“I do, don’t I?” Jaskier sniffled, “And you used your words.”
“I’d use all the words for you.”
“All of them?”
Geralt really was drifting away this time, his words coming slowly as his arms relaxed and Jaskier felt their full weight over him, “Not well, but I would...”
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a mafia boss Ivan and tattoo artist Alfred au
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Designs on you
Jasonette July prompt 18: design
Marinette hadn’t made an appointment but the shop appeared to not be busy. Maybe she could get in pretty quickly. Shocking for how many positive reviews it had. There were a few negative ones but they just seemed like haters. They didn’t even seem like they had been to the shop. Maybe someone just didn’t like a tattoo parlor in the neighborhood.
The door made a quiet tone as she entered. She looked around. It was very clean. Not at all what she had expected from a tattoo parlor. She had only been in one once when she went with Alya. Marinette had chickened out. Alya was getting a tiny fox but Marinette didn’t want to do something little that she didn’t feel connected to. But she hadn’t been ready then to go for a larger piece covering her side like she was now.
She guessed the man who came from the back was the tattoo artist on duty. He was very tall with dark hair. He looked exactly like she would expect. His arms were muscled and covered in tattoos. She briefly wondered if he had any art under the shirt that stretched tightly over his muscled chest. She pulled her thoughts away and looked up at him. He seemed surprised to see her. Probably not surprised at business, but surprised at the tiny woman in dainty business apparel walking into the shop.
“You here to get a tattoo?” he asked.
“Yeah.” she said, a bit hesitantly.
He glanced down at the desk. “Did you make an appointment? I don’t have anything in the schedule. ”
“I didn’t make an appointment. I figured I would see what times you had available instead.”
“You’re in luck. I was supposed to be closed today so I don’t have anything scheduled.”
“That’s great. I won’t be able to back out.”
She laughed nervously at her half joke. He eyed her for a moment.
“Are you sure this is what you want? It won’t come off easily.”
“Yes. I made the design years ago. I just get nervous sometimes.”
He nodded and held out his hand to see her design. He looked it over for a moment. Then pulled out some paperwork.
“Standard paperwork for liability and care after.” he added. “It's a nice design. You must have been barely old enough when you designed it.”
“The first version I made when I was 9. I’ve updated it a lot since then. But I’m happy with how it looks now.”
They discussed the process and the design for a few minutes and he made a copy of the design for his records. He made a quick sketch as well for her to approve how he made her design for the transfer. He took her back to the studio room and prepped a space to get started. He made sure she had eaten and stayed hydrated that day and let her know that it would take several hours or they could split it into 2 sessions. She said she would rather do it all at once so he just let her know to discuss when she needed breaks.
Marinette flinched when he put his hand on her bare skin. Even knowing it was going to happen didn’t stop it from tickling. He paused while she worked on stopping her squirming so he could get the transfer applied to get ribs. She focused on holding still and expecting his touch. He seemed very focused on his work. She tried not to think about how nice his fingers felt brushing against her skin. Before he began he checked to make sure she was ready and had an idea of what to expect with how she would be laying and the best way to hold herself and breathe.
He was quiet at first and Marinette focused on trying to maintain her position through the stinging. She did her best to remain still as he moved from one side to the other. She was starting to feel stiff and she really wanted to shift but didn’t want to mess it up. She really wanted a break but he said it would be best if he could get a certain amount done before they took a break. She was pretty sure he could tell she was getting restless because his hand moved and put slightly more pressure on her than he had before. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back trying to think of how great it would look when he finished. It was only a few more minutes before he pulled away and told her it was a good time for a break.
She stood and stretched and he offered her some water and a granola bar to help her make it through the rest. She moved around and went into the bathroom to splash her face before she felt ready again. He recommended a few stretches she could do from a poster on his wall that would help her manage to make it through to the next break. He seemed distracted on his phone but when she finished he was ready again. She laid back in the chair with her side exposed as he started up again. It seemed to feel a lot worse when he started again. She stopped most of the noise she wanted to make and instead sucked in a fast breath. Then focused on blowing the air out slowly rather than shifting away.
“Good girl,” he said, before continuing on.
Marinette felt herself flush and she didn’t think it had anything to do with the continuing pain. She tried not to think about the pain but somehow she only noticed his hand as it moved to a different spot on her side. The gentle movement felt like a caress in comparison to the burning feeling left in the wake of the needle. Once they got back into the rhythm he started talking to her.
“So what made you decide that the art needed to go on now rather than later?”
“Well, I’ve wanted it for a long time, but I am making a dress that will show most of the side off. I thought it would look nice showing through.”
“That should do. Do you make a lot of dresses?”
“Yes, actually. I’m a fashion designer.”
“A dress showing off the side doesn’t sound like your everyday dress. Is it for something special?”
“I’ve been designing for a client having a formal event. He invited me to that as a way to expand my business because he was impressed with my work.”
“That should be nice. I like to display the work I’ve done, so if you get a good picture of the tattoo in the dress it could be a good thing for both of us.”
“I’ll make sure to do that.”
He suggested a final break not long later. He said like with the first break it would feel a bit worse right after but it would be easiest for both of them if they had a chance to stretch out a bit. She treated it much the same as the first one, just moving slightly more carefully with more of her side feeling raw. He seemed to be on his phone again, but also watching her a bit more than the first time. She still tried to do a bit of stretching and moving around until he headed back to the tattoo space.
She was prepared for it to be more tender when he started this time so she managed to keep her breathing in check. He moved quickly and carefully filling in the lines with color but also moved to conversation to distract her more quickly this time.
“You drew this when you were a kid still?” he asked.
“Well, the first time I did. This is just the version I settled on. I use it in my designs a lot like a signature.”
“That's some dedication. What made you decide on it?”
“A picture of my parents the day my dad proposed to my mom. It was in Paris, where I’m from, and the chestnut trees were in full bloom. I’ve just always loved the way they looked.”
“I don’t think I even realized chestnut trees bloomed. I guess I just never thought of it.”
“They have a lot of them in Paris. There is basically a blossom season in Paris but chestnut was always my favorite. I tried to confess to my crush when they were blooming back in lycee because I thought it would be romantic.”
“That doesn’t sound like it worked the way you wanted.”
“It was a disaster. I stumbled all over my words and he told me all about how he should bring his crush there. I ended up talking about fabric for 10 minutes before he finally redirected the conversation. When we left he told me I was a great friend.”
With the conversation suddenly going to a place Marinette didn’t like to remember she forgot to focus on her breathing and holding still. She made a pained noise and jumped, grabbing his hand without even thinking. He patted her a bit and rubbed her arm to calm her down. She caught her breath and refocused on her breathing. He waited until she was back into position and held the tattoo needle steady above her before he restarted.
“We only have a few more minutes. It will be a bit rough for you and you will want to move, try to refrain.”
She did well for another few minutes but then she started squirming again. He added pressure to help her relax but she struggled each time the needle moved. He pressed his free arm down on her and said.
“If you can't hold still, I will have to pin you down. I can't have you messing up all my hard work.”
Marinette froze and looked at him wide eyed. He winked but still held steady until she nodded at him to continue. She gripped the side of the chair and closed her eyes. She focused everything on breathing steady and within a few minutes he had stopped again. He spent a few minutes wiping away a bit of blood and ink before showing her the final look before he wrapped it carefully and explained the instructions for care. They went to the counter and paid. He suggested that she return when she wanted to add to the design; she had mentioned wanting it to travel down her thigh too.
“It turned out very nice. You might be my best side piece.” he said.
Marinette stumbled over her goodbye at that. She looked at him but his smirk seemed to suggest he knew exactly what he had said. She reentered the front of the shop and walked back to the counter. She held out a card for him. He took it with a grin. Their fingertips brushed with the exchange but he reached up and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing her hand and taking the card. Marinette met his eyes and held them for a moment before she turned and headed for the door, smiling.
@jasonette-july-event | @theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf | @vixen-uchiha | @trythisagainlove | @trippingovermyfeet | @tbehartoo | @adrestar | @zynna
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Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Steve Rogers x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers
Summary: Bucky dishes out some punishment and Steve is in his corner.
Word Count: Over 1.9k
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, edging, oral sex (f receiving), possessive behavior, slight D/s theme, tattooed Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers (they’re warnings, okay?)
A/N: Another part of my Howling Commandos Tattoo AU! I will not say when this falls in the timeline for now and I am not taking requests, but I couldn’t resist this ask! Beta read by the wonderful @sparkledfirecracker, but any and all mistakes are my own. Thank you, lovely! Banner created by yours truly, but Bucky and Steve photos were provided by the talented @nix-akimbo! This AU wouldn’t exist without them. And divider by the beautiful @firefly-graphics! Comments, asks, likes and reblogs are appreciated!
I have discontinued my tag list. Please follow my sideblog @navybrat817-sideblog and turn on notifications to see new fics! I will only post fics, writing schedule and updates there.
I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here or archiveofourown under my same username, it has been reposted without my permission. 18+ Please!!! By reading this, you agree that you are at least 18 years old. Enjoy, lovelies!
You were going to kill Bucky. At the very least, torture him. You had no clue how because you couldn't think with his mouth playing you like a song on repeat. He told you once that he could eat you out for hours and he was making good on that promise. Both of your boyfriends were champion pussy eaters and you thanked the heavens above for your blessings. Until today.
You lost track of how long he had been between your legs, stopping occasionally to give you water and wipe the sweat off your forehead. He also checked your binds, making sure they didn't hurt your wrists. It was a sweet contrast to the delicious torment he inflicted on you. And you would have been more than fine with that if he let. You. Come.
"Fuck, doll. Told you I could eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner," he said, his voice low and husky as his breath hit your folds. You wanted to twist your fingers in his hair, unsure if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. "But my cock is greedy for your hole, too."
"Then fuck me!" you whined.
"Not yet. I'm still hungry."
He gently circled your oversensitive clit with the tip of his tongue, groaning as he licked along your glistening lips moments later. He pushed two fingers deep inside you, plunging and curling to the point where your toes began to curl. You felt like you were trying to balance on a tightrope, but each time you got to the end you had to start over.
"Please. Fuck, please!" you begged when he slipped his fingers out, feeling how wet they were as he placed them on your trembling thigh.
"Still so wet for me, doll. You really do have the most amazing pussy."
"If it's so amazing, why won't you let me come?!" you snapped, blinking the tears from your eyes.
"You know why," he chastised, chuckling when you did your best to glare at him. "You may growl like a tiger, but you bite like a kitten. What's your word?"
The smallest smile touched your lips when concern slipped into his voice. He was good about checking in. "Green."
"Good girl," he whispered as he dipped his head back down.
He held your thighs apart so tenderly and possessively as his tongue lapped and swirled in soft caresses. Your entire frame shook as desire rolled off of you in waves, a hot, writhing mess as he continued to play with your cunt. The colors of his tattoos seemed even brighter as you looked down at him, crying out when he suddenly stopped again. His face almost had a glow to it as he smirked up at you.
"You want it so bad when all you had to do was be good," he scolded, sucking on your hard nub as your mouth fell open. He managed to do it slowly enough that the coil inside you wound tighter. How did it not snap?!
"I am good!" you argued.
"How long have you been at it?"
Your head turned toward the open door, amusement in Steve's eyes as he lazily leaned against the frame. You were going to torture him, too, for standing there and not helping. Once you got your bearings and came up with a plan.
"Hours," came the muffled reply of the brunette.
"Have you let her come?"
"No. Not once," Bucky replied, sounding pained.
"What did you do, sweetheart?"
You looked over at the blonde innocently. Too innocently. "Nothing!" you yelped when Bucky squeezed your thigh.
"Uh uh. What did we say about communication?" Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Fuck! Fine! I skipped lunch...and… breakfast?"
The blonde no longer looked amused as he slowly walked over to the bed, ignoring the slurps of Bucky lavishing on your twitching hole. "What do you mean you skipped lunch and breakfast?"
You shrank back at his thunderous gaze. You already received that same look from the brunette after he found out you skipped a meal. Your boyfriends hated the thought of you not taking care of yourself or not being cared for. And you felt guilty. "Work was...Oh, fuck! Busy!"
The bed dipped as Steve sat down, pressing a kiss to your warm forehead. "Work will always be there. You put yourself first," he whispered as you closed your eyes. You were still working on that. "Did he feed you?"
You hiccupped a bit, the pleasure you were so close to reaching just out of your grasp. "Yes."
"Mmm. She ate every bite before I tied her up," Bucky promised, giving you no reprieve as he held you down.
"Good girl," Steve whispered, moving his mouth to yours. As his tongue slipped past your parted lips, he somehow moved it in sync with Bucky's and you felt yourself tighten as you let your men devour you.
But just as you reached the edge, everything stopped. It. Fucking. Stopped. You wrenched your face away from Steve's with a frustrated moan. “You. Fucking. Bastard."
Tears must have slipped out because you felt fingertips brush them away from your cheeks, even as both of them smiled at you. "Color?" Steve asked.
"Green! It is so fucking green!" you swore, your chest heaving. How much longer would they make you suffer?
"It really is cute when you swear. C'mon, Buck. Give her your cock. I think she more than earned it."
Bucky made a gruff sound as he stood up, fisting himself as he took in the sight of you. You knew it had to be agony for him, too, to not be inside you the moment he had you bound. "You look ruined, doll."
"Ruin her some more."
You nearly sobbed in relief when his cock pressed against your entrance. You couldn't even push your hips forward to take him in, but he didn't make you wait as he slid inside you. The only sound you could let out was a whimper as he stole your breath.
His thickness stretched you to the limit as he hammered into you, his eyes not leaving yours. Your walls selfishly tried to keep him there when Steve leaned down to take a nipple into his mouth. You could only take so much as Bucky continued to bury himself in you over and over.
"There you go,” Steve said softly, brushing his thumb over the other nipple. Even those felt more sensitive to the touch. “Bet you won't skip a meal again. You know that makes us worry.”
“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, even though Bucky should have also apologized for edging the shit out of you. Edging drove you crazy when you didn't plan it in advance… which is exactly why he did it. What good was a punishment if you enjoyed it from start to finish?
“I’ll bet you are,” Steve breathed out, feeling him smirk as he went back to gently sucking on the hard peak.
You didn’t bother coming up with a retort, instead making sounds of unrestrained pleasure. It didn’t matter how obscene you sounded as long as Bucky kept snapping his hips. It felt like he was trying to fuck you within an inch of your life. He owed you that.
“I know, doll. I know,” Bucky said, a touch of sympathy mixed with his lust. “But it’s going to feel good when you come all over my cock.”
Steve turned his head away for a split second to give your aching nipple a break, his beard scraping along your skin. “Fuck, she really did leave some shine all over your face.”
“And the sheet,” Bucky said smugly.
“Fucking. Tattooed. Bastards,” you gasped, more than ready to break.
“You love us,” Bucky said, his eyes intense as you moaned in response. “Just like you love feeling us wreck your tight, pretty pussy.”
“Yes!” you cried, hearing both men moan as you began to shake all over again. “Just let me come, please!”
Steve reached down, circling his finger along your clit. He barely touched it and you still felt like you were on fire. “Think she’s really sorry?”
You struggled to keep it together, gritting your teeth as you felt that rising bliss. “I am sorry… that I worried you. Please.”
For a second, you thought Bucky would pull back and stop again… until he slammed into you so hard you screamed. It’s like he was determined to fuck into your mind that you were their girl and that meant being cared for… by them and yourself. Feeling him pound into your desperate pussy, your walls began to spasm. Spirals of ecstasy began to spread as tears fell.
“Bucky. Steve, please,” you begged as Steve’s finger circled your clit again.
Bucky took pity on you as his gaze went soft. “Come.”
The command was undeniable, tightening around the cock inside you as you finally climaxed. You thought you sobbed out “thank you” as you got lost in the haze, but you couldn’t be sure. Clamping down as his thrusts increased, you still felt every drag along your slick walls. You rode out the feeling of complete satisfaction and you took everything. Because you were their best girl and you were made to.
“Jesus, fuck, that’s gorgeous,” Steve groaned.
Bucky thrusts a few more times before letting out one of the deepest, sexiest growls you ever had the pleasure of hearing. Considering there were days you couldn’t keep either one of them from having you, that said something. Feeling him flood your insides as he shoved himself deep was a feeling you would never get over. It felt like heaven from both of them.
Steve already had your wrists untied as you attempted to catch your breath, kissing each of them gently before letting Bucky stretch over you. His breathing was heavy for a minute, feeling his heart thud almost as fast as yours. His lips met yours in a soft kiss after a few more minutes, humming when he felt you kiss him back. “Still with us, doll?”
You nodded, grounded by having them there as your high faded into oblivion. “Still with you.”
“Do you get why Bucky punished you the way he did?” Steve asked curiously.
You nodded again. “Because I know to take care of myself and I didn’t. And… the punishment was chosen to teach me a lesson," you said quietly, swallowing. Steve had a bottle of water at your mouth in seconds, waiting until you took a few sips before you continued. You were proud you could form words. “But I don’t skip meals often, which is why I was only edged for a few hours.”
Bucky smiled, kissing you again. “I love how smart you are. We just want you to take care of yourself. You gonna do that?”
“Yeah,” you whispered, keeping your eyes shut. You really didn’t mean to worry them. It was still tough to remember some days that you had people looking out for you. But you had a family.
“We’ll get you cleaned up and I’ll order a pizza,” Steve offered.
“We ate,” you grumbled, but you smiled.
“I’m still hungry,” Bucky smirked, making all three of you laugh.
Fucking tattooed bastards.
Hours later, Steve smiled as he walked into the bedroom. Seeing you asleep in Bucky’s arms, holding you like he couldn’t let go, was a sight to behold. He would have to draw it later from memory.
"What, punk?" Bucky asked as his friend shook his head.
"Nothing. Just… love looks good on you."
"Looks good on you, too, Steve. Looks good on you, too."
1K notes · View notes
𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (𝐈𝐈𝐈)
Little Surfer Girl
In This Paradise
Risk It All
Boyfriend Shirt ™️
Garden Rose Of Petals
Here I Come
Show And Tell
The Lottery Offering
There You Are
As I Told You
Will You Make A Mess Now
748 notes · View notes
Needles & Ink, Pt 2 (NSFW)
Lena slips in the back door of the InkSpot. She pauses just inside, absorbing the utter silence that fills the place. Gone is the thumping music, and buzzing of machines. Gone is the bustle of clients coming and going. It's completely and utterly still.
At nearly 4am, it's well past normal operating hours, even for the night crowd. Lena knows she herself ought to be in bed, catching as many winks as she could before her next morning meeting, but-- even after a day of committees and endless reports, Lena is absolutely wired. She'd known tugging on James' door would be a long shot, but when it opened she'd hoped her fellow night owl might be down for a late tattoo session.
Looking out across the darkened shop, though, it seems more likely that James has simply forgotten to lock the back door. She pulls out her phone, intent on teasing James into oblivion, but freezes when an odd sound drifts out of James' office.
It sounds almost like a moan, but when it's followed by another, longer moan of a different pitch, Lena realizes someone is humming. Someone in the office is humming a Bonnie Tyler song.
Total Eclipse of the Heart, to be exact.
Lena saunters silently to the office door and leans against it, taking a moment to observe Kara Danvers humming along to the music playing in her ears. She's bent over paperwork, and despite the hour and the solitude a soft smile graces her lips, pulling one to Lena's own face at the sight of it.
"You look good," she says in a low voice.
Kara jumps violently in her seat, jolting the entire desk with the force of her gasp.
"Oh my sweet baby Jesus!!" she exclaims, pressing a hand to her chest. When she looks up, Kara sags at the sight of Lena. "You scared me!"
Lena watches Kara remove her earbuds, and folds her arms over her chest, still leaning against the door frame. "Sorry," she purrs unapologetically. She smiles. "How are you? It's been a while."
"Good, good. I mean, I'm-- I'm in Metropolis! Wait-- you're in Metropolis! What are you doing here??"
Lena gives a tilt of her head. "Business. I may have moved my company to National City, but it still feels as though I do more business here than there these days."
"Right, um..." Kara suddenly looks nervous, casting a worried look past Lena into the hallway. "Sorry, but um.... we're kind of closed? Actually-- how did you get in here?"
Lena huffs a faint laugh. "Back door. James lets me slip in now and then. I was hoping he would have time for a quick session."
"Oh, um... I'm the only one here. Sorry."
"Don't be," Lena smiles. "It's good to see you. Is James treating you well? I don't need to yell at him, do I?"
"Oh, no! No, no, he's been great-- everyone has been really amazing, truly. I couldn't have asked for better hosts. I've been loving it here."
Lena nods, glad to hear it. Pushing off the door jamb, she lets her arms fall, clasping her hands in front of her. "Well, I won't keep you. It was good to see you--"
"W-wait!" Kara jerks to her feet, slamming into the desk yet again in her haste to keep Lena from leaving. Lena pauses, biting back a smile at her clumsiness. "James isn't here, but I am. Why don't we do some more work on your crane?"
"Oh, it's late--"
"No, I-- I mean, I'll text James to make sure it's okay, but... I'm down if you are."
Lena regards her for a long moment.
There’s something ethereal in the moments that follow. James gives his blessing, which Kara barely notices past the distraction that is Lena Luthor unbuttoning her blouse. Backlit by a halo of neon light, she looks like a hazy dream, long and beautiful and full of mystery even as she lays herself bare.
In deference to the late hour, Kara keeps the overheads off, and simply turns on her worklight. The spill of light pulls Lena’s attention to her, catching her watching. In the shadows, Lena smiles coyly.
“Like what you see?” Lena asks, casting her shirt aside. She takes a wide stance, presenting herself to Kara’s gaze in all her tattooed glory. Maybe it’s the late hour, but Kara allows her gaze to linger, charting a path from the stylized storm brewing at Lena’s collarbones, to the dragon that disappears down one hip.
“Always,” she murmurs.
Lena looks aside for a moment-- when she looks back, it’s with a heat that sends a bolt of desire straight to Kara’s core. She takes a breath that quakes in her lungs, and then suddenly Lena is there, tucking a wisp of hair behind Kara’s ear.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since our first session,” Lena murmurs.
A flush heats Kara’s neck and face. “Me either,” she confesses. “I mean. You too--”
Her blunder is swallowed by a kiss. Lena’s lips press against Kara’s, warm and soft and absolutely intoxicating. Kara lifts her hands, framing Lena’s face and pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. She’s rewarded with a muted moan, and Lena’s hands on her hips, thumbs brushing beneath the hem of Kara’s tank top.
“You are so beautiful,” Kara breathes when they part, panting for air. There’s an insistent throbbing between her legs, aching for more. Lena’s hand cups her gently, making her whimper.
“May I?” Lena whispers against her ear. Biting her lip, Kara nods. Only then does Lena unbutton Kara’s jeans with her long fingers, peeling the denim away to reveal her panties. Kara’s completely forgotten hat she’s wearing until Lena laughs, low and throaty in Kara’s ear.
The pizza panties. Goddammit.
“I love them,” Lena murmurs, reassuring her. “But I’d love them even better on my bedroom floor.”
Oh god. Kara envisions a clean penthouse apartment, spotless save for the mess of their discarded clothes. But here in the shop? Gross.
“Guess I’ll just have to make do,” Lena says, hitching up the legs of her trousers to kneel between Kara’s legs. In moments, Kara’s pants and panties are both below her hips and a warm tongue sweeps through her folds, collecting the moisture of her arousal in a single taste. Lena hums with pleasure before her thumb gets to work against Kara’s bare clit.
Kara quivers, nearly staggering as her body reacts. Lena’s hands brace her hips, steadying her.
“All right there?” she asks, playfully teasing. Kara whimpers with a nod. To her surprise, Lena guides Kara’s leg to rest over her shoulder, until Kara’s stretched and gaping at her very core. “Press against me if you need to.”
Kara nods again. She doesn’t last long. In mere moments she’s moaning and writhing against Lena’s mouth, shuddering as waves of ecstasy roll through her. Lena’s tongue continues to guide her through her orgasm, pressing firmly to calm her through the aftershocks. When she finally pulls away, Kara can’t bend down fast enough to kiss her own taste away from Lena’s lips.
“On the table,” Kara urges, pulling Lena from her knees. She hastily pulls her pants up, but leaves them unfastened as she quickly devotes her attention to the curves of Lena’s body. Lena doesn’t quite make it on top of the table. She settles for leaning against its edge as she kisses Kara soundly, her hands buried in Kara’s hair.
Kara kisses her messily, wet and sloppy, but Lena can’t seem to get enough. She only pulls her hands away to fumble at the back zipper of her dress pants, until Kara nudges her. “Turn around,” she murmurs.
Lena turns, and Kara carefully unzips her trousers. They fall to her ankles, exposing the rest of Lena’s tattoos. Kara takes a moment to admire them, kneeling to run her hands from Lena’s hip to her ankle, tracing the shape of the tiger clawing up one leg and the dragon coiling down the other. Even in the low light Kara can see the artistry, the mastery of the craft that has been inked into Lena’s skin. And there, curving around Lena’s ribs, a crane peeks out-- Kara’s own offering to the altar that is Lena’s body.
Unlike Kara’s pizza panties, Lena is resplendent in black lace. The fabric hugs Lena’s hips and ass in a tantalizing display. Kara can barely breathe as she stands and runs her fingers across the floral threadwork. Her whimper is eclipsed by a wonton moan from Lena’s throat, her hips pressing out and back against Kara’s hands.
Lena’s voice is heady, even breathless. It sends a shudder of delirium down Kara’s spine. How is this her life. But Lena’s need is real and evident in the heady utterance, prompting Kara to hook her fingers under the panties and delicately sliding them down Lena’s hips. Every inch of Lena’s inked buttocks steals Kara’s breath, leaving her gasping by the time Lena shifts plaintively in her heels. Finally, Kara cups Lena from behind, and when Kara finds arousal nearly dripping from Lena’s core, she swallows thickly.
“Relax for me, baby girl.”
Lena shudders, sending a gush of fresh warmth into Kara’s palm. Leaning forward, Kara slides one hand down to Lena’s wrist, pressing it against the table as she slips two fingers into Lena’s folds. Gently, she begins to thrust.
“Harder,” Lena gasps almost immediately. She shifts her stance until Kara’s fingers hit a new spot. Kara nods, catching Lena’s gaze when she turns her head to look over one bare shoulder. She increases her speed, adds just a touch more pressure, and is rewarded with a hitch in Lena’s breath. Soon Lena is moaning with every breath, her back glistening with building sweat as her body temperature rises.
Suddenly, Lena’s body shudders with a piercing moan, her walls clenching tight around Kara’s fingers. Just as she begins to come down, Kara releases Lena’s wrist to slip between her hips and the table to press her thumb against Lena’s clit, rubbing swift, furious circles until Lena crests again with a sharp gasp.
When she recovers, Lena turns against the table to loop her arms around Kara’s neck. Kara wraps herself around Lena’s bare skin, nuzzling against her neck, nibbling at her pulse point.
“You’re incredible,” Lena murmurs.
Kara hums against Lena’s neck.
“I’m not finished yet.”
Kara draws back to wipe her hair from her eyes. Lena lays before her on a freshly sterilized table in nothing but her bra and panties, looking sleepy and relaxed despite the blood stippling to the surface of her skin.
“You know,” Kara observes, “not everyone would follow sex with a tattoo chaser.”
Lena smiles. “Their loss,” she murmurs. “I highly recommend it.”
Forgoing the use of a stencil, Kara had freehanded the plumage of the crane directly onto Lena’s skin, and already she could see the bird coming to life.
Kara smirks. “Not everyone is a masochist.”
“Imagine tattooing while having sex,” Lena drawls. “Now that would be kinky.”
A laugh bursts out of Kara, earning a deep grin from Lena. With her hair loose and sweaty, Lena is a veritable dream-- to have her skin under Kara’s needle is an honor on a bed of honors. The atmosphere is slow and silky around them, like the world outside has slowed to a standstill without them. Kara savors every moment, lest it all slip away.
“So how has Metropolis treated you so far?” Lena asks, watching Kara dip her needle in fresh ink. She relaxes back when Kara approaches, allowing her easy access to the tattoo site. She doesn’t flinch when Kara resumes. “Still taking walk-ins? Besides me, of course.”
Kara grins, even as she focuses on what she’s doing. “You’re the first one I’ve taken in weeks, actually. Most people are looking for big, personal pieces, so the walk ins don’t really happen you know?” She pauses. “I’ve already started booking back at Argo, since my time here is already booked up.”
“Thanks.” Kara can’t help but blush. “But you know… something tells me I probably have you to thank for all this.”
Lena regards her. “Oh? How so?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re the only canvas I’ve worked on that James Olsen would have seen.”
Lena’s lips part in a silent ah. She regards Kara for a long moment, before reaching out a hand to halt Kara’s ministrations. With a single touch, she pulls Kara’s entire attention to her.
“I didn’t suggest anything, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Kara doesn’t respond, and thereby tips her hand: it’s exactly what she’s afraid of. That a top-paying client threatened to withdraw their business unless James agreed to take on an unknown artist from a strip mall in National City.
Lena cups her cheek gently.
“All I did was show James the work you’d done-- as I would for any piece I was proud of.” She holds Kara’s gaze, allowing her to see the truth in Lena’s eyes. “Anything he did after that is entirely on you and your body of work. Do you hear me?”
Kara releases a shaky breath, laughing slightly. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I hear you.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her arm. “Now lay back so I can finish.”
Lena does so, but her eyes don’t leave Kara. Kara can feel her gaze linger, until she’s too immersed in her art to be aware of anything else.
“This,” Lena says hours later, pressing cash into Kara’s hand, “is for the tattoo. Just to be clear.”
Without even looking at it, Kara tucks it away. “Good to know.”
“Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” Lena winks, earning a chuckle in return.
“Right. Absolutely. But you know…”
Kara tugs Lena closer by the hips, bringing their fronts flush together. Taing advantage of their proximity, Kara kisses her deeply. “You’re going to need some touch ups.”
Lena smiles against her, then kisses her again.
“Well, then…. I guess I’ll just have to see you again.”
“You will.” Kara creeps her hands playfully up Lena’s shirt, only for Lena to pull away with a good natured laugh.
“I have to go, but, ah… I’ll see you later?”
Kara watches Lena back away towards the rear entrance, a smile ever present on her lips.
“Yeah. You will.”
It’s not until long after Lena leaves that Kara realizes.
She didn’t get Lena’s phone number.
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Chapter One? For @lipsticksandcigarettes
It was ugly.
That’s all I could really say about it. Black, cold, ink on skin like pen on paper. It was a church, of course it was. Hadn’t my parents pressed my religion into me enough? My dad was nasty and forced Christianity upon everyone, my mom was sweet and kind and angelic, but also, unfortunately, dead.
Soul marks, were what my mom called them. They were supposed to match your soulmate, your twin flame. My moms didn’t match my dads, they never had, but she was still a hopeless romantic and fawned over my mark like it was beautiful.
“A Christian girl, it must mean.” She rubbed her finger over the stain as if it would smudge. “Maybe you’ll meet her at church. Oh, Dallas, you should come with me tomorrow to help set up, see if we can find her!”
Which was nice of her, really, but I had no interest in church. Or girls, for that matter, but there was no telling her that.
Anyway, my mom died soon after that, and I headed out of there pretty fast. I almost felt bad about leaving my old man alone with his beer and his thoughts, but I pushed the thought aside and got on the first bus out of Tulsa.
New York was wild. Rough and tumble, I met some of the fiercest people I’d ever known. I kept to myself mostly, I was still pretty young then and didn’t know what being alone gets you on the streets.
I went back to Tulsa four years later, church still burned onto my forearm. Not to my dads house, I found a place to stay for a while, a small lot on the poorer side of town where there was a bunch of trash and stuff. Didn’t seem like anyone ever went there. So that’s where I stayed.
It wasn’t long before someone else came to the lot as well. Kid about my age with long black hair that fell into his eyes and a skittish sort of act, as if I scared him. For some reason, I hoped I didn’t.
I offered him a cancer stick. He took it.
We became good friends, Cade and I. I’d never had much of a friend before, but he was a good one. We could sit in silence or he’d talk quietly to me, not about anything but about everything at the same time. I’d light a smoke and take a drag before offering it to him. He’d examine my face as if looking for something. I didn’t know what.
I met his gang, that’s what he called them. Darry, the oldest, tall and strong, who looked at me with part distaste and part concern, he made me feel small. Two-bit, the jokester, who laughed too loud and too often. Steve, who didn’t talk to me, he just looked and watched as if I was a study. Soda, the middle Curtis, who was fire and happiness and bubbles and laughter, too much and yet none at all. And Pony, the youngest, with a good head on his shoulders and a sharp wit, but he talked too much and loved too hard.
I hated it all. I hated that he had a family and all I had was him, selfish as it was.
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11 misc for lo and pat? im not saying tattoo au but your honor, they're married. also, tell your followers about the tattoo au
Logan stood in the doorway, shoes and coat still on, blinking down at the sight before him. Patton had left the shop early, kissing Logan on the cheek and hurrying home, claiming he had something important to take care of while Logan closed up.
“Patton,” Logan called, eyes glued to the creature on the floor. “Is the cat in a onesie?”
A beat of silence from the other side of the house, before something that sounded suspiciously like Patton dropping something in the kitchen. “Uh, no?”
Logan sighed, raising his eyebrow at the hairless cat now trying to rub against his legs, its face almost hidden under the hood of the ridiculous, brightly colored onesie that practically buried it.
The sweaters Patton insisted on knitting were bad enough, but this was starting to get out of hand. The cat looked like something out of a cartoon.
Footsteps made Logan look up, Patton hurrying down the hall from the kitchen, his apron splattered with fresh stains of various colors.
His husband smiled, purposefully not looking at the cat. “Hello, dear.”
“Patton,” Logan greeted, gently nudging the cat with his foot. “Why do you keep insisting on putting Peach in clothes?”
“Peach wears clothes because she’s cold, Logan.”
“We said you would knit her one sweater,” Logan said. “She now owns four. And this is not a sweater.”
Patton crossed his arms, and while Logan knew he would deny the fact that he was pouting, that was exactly what he was doing. “It covers her better than a sweater.”
“It’s a onesie, dear.”
“You’re a onesie.”
Logan sighed, carefully biting back his smile. “It is identical to your onesie—”
“I don’t have a onesie,” Patton argued, but he gave in at Logan’s eyebrow raise. “I haven’t worn it in months. And leave Peach alone! She’s cold!”
“You have knitted her four sweaters, and I know that there’s another coming in the mail.”
“She doesn’t have any fur!” Patton insisted, like Logan wasn’t aware. A hairless cat was the only breed of kitten they were able to own with Patton's allergies. “Are we just going to let her freeze?”
“We own blankets.”
“She can’t stay trapped under a blanket all the time,” Patton said. “She’s a cat.”
“I am aware,” Logan argued. “She is also the laziest creature I have ever met in my life. She’ll live.”
Patton’s frown deepened. “The onesie stays. She looks adorable.”
“Onesies are ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous!” Patton exclaimed, and Logan let himself smile as he turned to hang up his coat. “This is bullying. Don’t bully the kitten, Logan.”
“I would never,” Logan said, stepping forward to kiss his husband on the cheek. “I’m bullying you.”
Patton gasped and pushed Logan away, barely concealing his own smile. “We’re getting a divorce! I’m divorcing you. I’m taking Peach.”
“You put the cat in an awful onesie,” Logan reminded him. “The court will give custody to me.”
“I was taking care of her as the owner of a hairless cat should. The court will be on my side because you’re bullying me.”
“You own a onesie,” Logan said. “The court won't listen to you.”
“You own a onesie.”
Logan sputtered, stepping back to look at his husband like he’d lost his mind. “I do not.”
“Oh yes you do,” Patton said. “It’s in the bottom of your third drawer tucked under those black slacks you wore to work last week.”
“I...don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It is not.”
Patton’s expression softened, smiling as Peach demanded attention, and probably dinner, from the floor. “Would you like to match with me and Peach?”
Logan’s face twisted, and he quickly looked away. “No.”
“I can get you a matching onesie,” Patton said, voice light and teasing. “We could use them for the Christmas card this year.”
Logan hesitated. “We could.”
Patton stepped forward to take his hands, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “The onesie stays on the cat.”
“Fine,” Logan relented, pulling back to loosen his tie and take off his shoes. “Only if my onesie stays between us.”
Patton grinned, eyes lighting up with something that told Logan he’d already texted all of their friends. “Of course, dear.”
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When the hot older gentleman entered his tattoo parlor Peter honestly thought that he had walked into to the wrong building. But he had in fact come to Peter's parlor to get a tattoo done. Furthermore the gentleman he was handling it much better than Peter had imagined he would, better even than many others who had been tattooed several times despite that it's his first tattoo. All while being incredibly respectful of Peter's work as an artist unlike many who some through his doors. Peter soon found himself intrigued by the charming older man as he engaged him in conversation.
So much so that Peter found the time flying as they talked while he worked until the tattoo was done.
And if after the tattoo was done and paid for Peter found himself passing along his business card in case the other man ever wanted another tattoo with his private number attached, that was between him and Tony.
Tattoo au for @peterparkerbingo
bingo card below
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IUI - Pepperoni Delight
I had shitty frozen pizza for dinner and felt the need to do a thing. I missed my inked up idiots, what can I say? also im two weeks from the end of my AA and angrily throwing pencils at a sketchpad bc why the fuck do i need to take art classes for my fucking degree
Warnings: lol swearing? possible second hand embarrassment? idk yall its pretty chill
Geralt called Jaskier for the third time that night, opening with yet another apology when his new boyfriend picked up, “I’m so sorry. I just left the bar. Fucking bridal parties.”
A sweet peal of laughter rang in his ear as he fumbled with the keys to the bar, waving his fellow employees to their cars, “Geralt, I told you, it’s fine. I rescheduled the reservation. Just come over on your way home if you’re up for it.”
“I am! I’ll be twenty minutes tops.”
“I’ll start the pizza then,” Jaskier chimed.
Geralt did his best to fix his messy hair as he drove. When he parked in Jaskier’s lot he changed from his shirt that smelled of sour beer and acrid liquor to a sweatshirt that he’d made sure to spray some cologne on that morning. It passed the sniff test so he hopped out of his car and prayed he hadn’t spilled anything too horrible on his jeans or boots.
He was worried Jaskier wouldn’t hear his knock over the music practically shaking the door, but almost as soon as he stepped back and shoved his hands in his pocket it died and the door swung open.
Jaskier leaned on the doorjamb, giving Geralt an exaggerated once over, “Hey there good lookin.”
All Geralt could do was snort, a fond smile spreading on his face.
“I know, I know,” Jaskier giggled, reaching out his hand which Geralt took without thinking, “You look like you need a beer.”
“Mhm,” Geralt couldn’t help the way he melted, completely pliable for the chatterbox of a tattoo artist. He’d been smitten from the word ‘go’, but it only got worse the more time they spent together. In the last two weeks they’d spent all their free time together and it was already unimaginable to go back to the way he was living before. Jaskier set him at ease, he had such a carefree air about him that swept Geralt up and away from his day’s worries. By now in a relationship, he would usually be scrambling for a way to distance himself, but he found he was leaning in.
He only realized he’d been zoning out when Jaskier grabbed his hand and closed it around the cold bottle with an affectionate smile, “Bridal parties are that tiring?”
“Fucking exhausting,” Geralt sighed before taking a long pull from his beer, “and it was a big one.”
Jaskier pecked his cheek, “Good thing you’re all mine now.”
“Oh? What do you have planned?”
“Planned? Have you met me?”
Geralt smirked and shook his head, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist and settling his chin on his shoulder while he dug around in a kitchen drawer, “Hmmm”
Hours and two frozen pizzas later, they were entangled on Jaskier’s couch making comments on Wipeout that were more delirious giggles than actual opinions.
Jaskier lifted his head from where it was lying against Geralt’s chest, “Feeling better?”
Blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes, Geralt croaked out a small, “Yep. You and shitty pizza did the trick.”
The fog of impending sleep left his body immediately as he stared wide eyed down at Jaskier. For a moment he expected to be chewed out, maybe to have Jaskier scramble out of his arms to sit at the other end of the couch, but his boyfriend just raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side.
“I mean- fuck- the- good shitty. Not fancy,” Jaskier wrinkled his nose and Geralt couldn’t tell if it was affection or annoyance, “Just a.. Uh… lazy night in. With you. And not shitty pizza. Nice… nice pizza.”
It didn’t feel satisfactory but it was all Geralt could manage as an explanation.
“Nice pizza? Like a dog?” Jaskier licked his lips and Geralt didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous before in his life.
Jaskier’s mouth twitched in what could have been anger for one terrifying moment before he burst out laughing, burying his face in Geralt’s chest as he shook with giggles, “You’re so fucking cute.”
“I’m glad you think so…?” Geralt let out a hesitant laugh as Jaskier shimmied up his torso so they were eye to eye.
“I’m not insulted by your take on Great Value frozen Pepperoni Delight. If anything it’s quite endearing,” Jaskier assured him, placing a soft kiss to his lips.
Relief flooded Geralt as he kissed Jaskier back, “Mmm… Thank fuck.”
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@peterparkerbingo square fill for Lost a Bet
TW: Under-negotiated k!nk, paink*nk, tattoos, brief mention of smoking, e*plicit sm*t, very mild daddyk!nk
“You’re a bitch. You’re a bitch and I hate you.” Peter grumbles, nervously rubbing his hands against the cracked faux leather sofa cushions.
“You’re the idiot who thought you could out-pizza me.” MJ says, waving to her friend at the front desk.
“I was high, okay? How can you hold that against me?”
“Parker?” A man calls from a room in the back. “You can come on back, I’ll get you started.”
Peter flips MJ off and heads to the room the man disappeared into. It’s there that he gets a proper look at the tattoo guy, a six-foot-somethin’, bearded beefcake of a man with blue eyes and arms covered in tattoos and thick, dark hair.
There’s a prettiness about him that Peter wouldn’t expect from someone who half-way looks like he belongs in a biker gang. Long eyelashes and sparkling irises and the kindest smile Peter’s ever seen. He wants it. Oh shit, he wants it.
He’s always had a hard time being attracted to people, never quite learned how to talk to potential suitors. The only guys he’s been with were mutual friends, starting a relationship from scratch? That sounds terrifying.
“So what are we thinkin’ about gettin’?” The man asks with a sweet smile.
Son of a bitch. “A um, a tramp stamp.” Peter whispers.
“A tramp stamp.” He says louder, grimacing. “A small one, as tasteful as possible please.”
“Are you uh, you sure?”
“Yeah, I lost a bet about pizza.” Peter sighs, admitting defeat, this guy is out of his league anyway.
But then he laughs, Peter made him laugh. “Alright, I can do some kind of floral design right under the waistband of your underwear? That’s probably as tasteful as it’ll get.”
“Yeah, yeah let’s do that.” Peter says, nodding eagerly.
“Okay, let’s draw something up.” The man sits down in a desk chair and pulls out a piece of paper. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you. So you ever seen a porno where they’ve got barbed wire above the underwear line?”
Peter chokes on nothing, feels sweat threatening to leave his pores. “Yeah?” He squeaks.
“So I’m thinking something like that only it’s kind of a viney, floral thing, yeah?” Bucky says, starting to sketch something out. It’s finished in just a few minutes and Peter had the pleasure of watching it happen.
“Yes, yeah that looks amazing.” Peter says eagerly. Thank god, he’s not gonna have a trashy ‘blessed’ tattoo right on his asscrack.
“Alright, give me just a second.” Bucky gets up and leaves the room, gorgeously plump asscheeks moving with his steps. Peter thinks he’s gonna pass out, this guy’s probably gonna see part of Peter’s ass, because of course this couldn’t be easy for too long.
Bucky comes back with the drawing printed on a different piece of paper. “Okay, so you’re gonna lay down on your stomach and pull your pants about halfway down your ass, then I’m gonna clean your skin, put this on there for a guideline, then we’ll get started. Sound good?”
“Yeah.” Peter’s voice cracks.
“Hey, you can back out anytime, alright? No hard feelings, I’ll even return your deposit. This is pretty intense, I get it.”
“No! No, it’s okay, the alternative is letting my friend do it with her Ebay tattoo gun in her basement. And believe me, she would not try to come up with a pretty design.” Peter rambles, climbing onto the bed thing in the middle of the room.
Bucky laughs again, so Peter gets a little more confidence and starts to lower his sweatpants and underwear. Shit, what if he has a weird tan line? What if he has a pimple or a mole he doesn't know about? Fuck it. He gets them as close to halfway down his ass as he can manage.
“Perfect. I mean, the position, er, the um. Sorry, good, let’s get started. This is rubbing alcohol, a little cold.” Peter blushes and grins into the table hearing Bucky stumble over his words. He lets himself daydream a bit, maybe Bucky thinks Peter’s handsome too.
“Okay, applying some numbing cream.” Bucky says. It’s nice, being walked through the process, he knows the artist isn’t just gonna start buzzing away without warning him first. “Now the paper.”
Peter tries to relax, lays his forehead against his arms where they're crossed. Bucky is gentle with his touches, a contrast to his appearance that keeps throwing Peter for a loop. He’s nervous, never had a tattoo or a piercing in his life and all he can think of is the feeling of a needle, the idea of a million little shots in his lower back gets his head spinning.
“Okay, so everyone describes the feeling as something different, some people say it’s agony, some people say it feels good, whatever you feel is completely normal, just let me know if you need any breaks or if the position gets uncomfortable, alright?” Bucky says, sitting in a tall stool and adjusting some of the supplies on his tray.
“Yeah, alright. I’m ready, now or never right?”
Bucky chuckles. “Right. Okay, I’ll do one smooth line just so you can get a feel for it.”
To say Peter was unprepared would be an understatement, the sensation is almost like a scratch but incredibly warm. Not what Peter expected, but not the searing, sharp pain he feared. The sensation isn’t exactly what he was unprepared for, no. It was the high-pitched, porn-star-esque moan that fell from his lips.
Peter’s had sex with a couple people, two guys he’d had flings with. It was all very basic, doggy-style or missionary and although it hadn’t really crossed his mind until now, very much vanilla. He’d never been spanked, never been bitten or scratched during sex, leaving him oblivious to the proclivity that’s currently got him leaking and breathless while a man jabs a needle into his lower back.
The moan just- honestly, it just slipped out. He thinks for a second that maybe it wasn’t the feeling, just the surprise that he enjoyed it. But then another, and another, Bucky moves the gun a bit slower, presses a little harder, moves his gloved fingers against Peter’s skin, all within a split second and Peter is fucking whimpering.
“Hey, you’re shaking, you okay?” Did he not hear Peter? Is he pretending to ignore it? This is so embarrassing Peter thinks he might pass out.
“I’m good.” Peter moans. He tightens his hands into fists, nails leaving crescent-shapes indents in his palms.
“Oh, hey, no. That’s- a lot of people get like that. Hell, I get like that. It’s an intense feeling, warm, ya know? It’s alright, don’t worry.” Bucky rambles.
Buckyhornywarm oh dear god. “Okay.” Peter breathes, barely a whine underneath. Bucky keeps going and Peter bites his lip. He’s definitely gonna have to reevaluate everything about his presumed sexual awakening. He got it easy, being gay, just grew up that way, never even had to come out of the closet. Of course, that other shoe had to drop at some point.
Peter swallows around any sounds fighting their way out of his chest but it feels like it’s building. He tries to distract himself, thinks about finding a book on his kindle. Something like ‘So, you think you have a pain kink’, maybe ‘BDSM for dummies’ because this is not something he’s ever even considered.
There’s a one-inch spot that Bucky’s gone over twice, the skin feels infinitely more sensitive than the rest of the spots that they’d done so far -- which amounted to exactly two -- and Peter’s been holding his breath for thirty seconds. He lets the breath out, but of course, a moan comes with it.
He fights himself not to unfold his fists and dig his nails into the plastic covering over the bed. It all feels so much, he wants Bucky to touch it with his bare finger, rub over the raw flesh with his own skin. The fantasy brings another whine from Peter’s lips. His dick is so hard against the firm surface under him that it’s hurting too.
The moment Bucky’s tattoo gun inches over onto the middle of Peter’s back, right in the dip above his ass, Peter squeals, high in his throat and quickly moves to grip the bed. “You’re doin’ great.” Bucky says, sounding breathless but Peter’s pretty sure he’s entered a state of delirium and can’t be trusted.
Peter tries to think about anything and everything to turn himself off, or at least keep him away from climax, the time he walked in on May in the shower, the time May walked in on him in the shower, his physics final last year, but all he can think about is getting more tattoos from Bucky, where on his body it might feel even better.
Piercings, oh god, he wants to get his nipples pierced, maybe his- “Augh! Oh- oh!” Peter cries out, cock bucking up into the stiff plastic bed as he spurts into his briefs. The stinging stops, the buzzing stops and there’s a metallic clank behind him.
"Let’s uh, let’s take a quick break.”
“I am so sorry, I had no idea that I- I didn’t know!”
“Seriously, Peter, it’s okay, I just, I think we could use a second.”
Peter chances a look back at his tattoo artist and finds him sitting on his stool, breathing deeply with his face in his hands. The way he’s bent forward shows nothing, but then he heaves himself up and moves to get them water bottles and Peter sees it. The older man’s jeans zipper is straining, button puckered under the sheer force of Bucky’s erection.
Peter really shouldn’t be surprised, he just came, the room probably sounded like a porn set. As awkward and embarrassing as it was, he understands why the guy might be uncomfortable and a little aroused. He takes the water that Bucky offers him and leans up on his elbow to take a drink. “I really am sorry.”
“No, you’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for. I should’ve suggested a break earlier.”
“Is that- you said it happens all the time. Does um, does that happen too?” Peter asks, staring at the blue covering on the bed.
Bucky clears his throat. “No, no, that was a first. I mean, in my experience.
Embarrassment floods through him and furthers his arousal. God, how is he still hard? “I um, it’s still- I’m still gonna have a hard time. The- finishing didn’t- I-”
“Peter, it’s okay. Let’s just, I’ll just finish the tattoo, are you good to keep going?”
“Yeah.” Peter lays his head back on his forearms. The gun starts back up, Peter feels like he’s jerking off to a depraved porno, like the time he got off on some uncomfortably themed hentai. He lays there whining, feeling like an absolute creep while his dick stiffens up against the wet patch in his pants.
“You’re doin’ great, we’re on the last half.” Bucky says after a while.
Peter lets out a shaky breath, guilty-boner twitching at the sound of Bucky’s voice. He’s oversensitive, both his skin and his cock, he feels tears burning his eyes because he feels so drifty and soft, he wants to curl up with Bucky and- “Shh, you’re doin’ so good bud, careful, sit still. You’re doin’ great, I gotcha.”
Peter comes to, hears himself whimpering and crying. “Sorry.”
“Hush, you’re okay. You gotta stay with me so I can finish the tattoo.”
Peter’s pretty sure he hasn’t gone anywhere, but he nods into his arm anyway. The last few minutes are a little easier, he’s kinda numb all over at this point. When the tattoo is finished, Bucky wipes him down with something cold and Peter almost asks him to wipe his front, too.
“Did you already pay for the tattoo?” Bucky asks, setting down the wet paper towel.
“Yeah, I already tipped and everything. Why, does it look bad?” Peter asks.
“No, it looks good. I just wanted all the transactions out of the way before I asked if you’d join me in the back room for an hour.”
Peter gapes at the older man, lets his eyes roam those broad shoulders and thick chest, thinks about the massive bulge in his jeans when Peter came. Peter is still hard. He nods.
“I’m gonna need verbal consent, bud, I just ran you through the wringer.” Bucky chuckles.
“Yes, I’d like you to fuck me in a utility closet.” Peter says. Ten minutes later, Peter’s naked in a dark closet, lower back coated in second-skin, upper back pressed into a wall with Bucky holding up and spreading one of his legs. Bucky’s other large, calloused hand is between Peter’s cheeks, slapping his hole.
“You wanna feel it, huh? Like a little spice with your sugar, don’tcha baby?”
“Yes sir.” Peter gasps. “Fuck.”
“You have no fucking clue how sexy you looked, cryin’ and wailin’ while I drew on this sweet little body. God and that ass, plump little thing wigglin’ when it felt too good. Wanted to throw that fuckin’ gun out the window and shove my tongue up in you.” Bucky rambles, delivering slap after slap to the most sensitive part of Peter’s body.
“Yeah! Oh, god. You- ugn!”
“I what, baby?”
“You were hard!” Peter cries. “Wanted to suck on you.”
“Oh, baby, that’s so sweet. I’ve got another hole on my mind, though.” Bucky spits on his fingers and rubs them roughly over Peter’s hole before sliding one in. The stretch isn’t nearly as slow as it oughta be, the slick not quite slick enough but it’s good, the burn and ache of his hole stretching so efficiently.
Peter thinks this cannot be Bucky’s first time doing something like this, not with how good he’s making the pain feel. Two fingers later, Peter’s got tears running down his cheeks. “Please, oh god, please!”
Bucky shoves four fingers into Peter’s mouth. “Oh, I know, babydoll. I hear ya, get those wet so I can get in there.”
Peter gags and drools all over the hand in his mouth, has never needed so badly in his life, never felt so sexually compatible with someone either. Bucky pulls his fingers out and strokes himself before adding a glob of his own spit to the mix. Peter bears down, pushes out while Bucky pushes in because otherwise, there’s no way they could make it fit.
He’s being stretched beyond his ability to stretch, feels like he’s being turned wrong-side-out and it’s amazing, Bucky is amazing, with his grunts and praises being muttered lowly into Peter’s ear. The room is hot and humid, their bodies wet with sweat when Bucky lifts Peter’s other leg and gets both of Peter’s ankles on his shoulders.
Peter’s head spins with the wild display of strength, spins a little faster when Bucky bottoms out and quickly starts up a slow rhythm.
“Oh shit, babydoll, fuck that’s a tight hole.” Bucky groans, Peter agrees, he’s gotta be biologically too small to take a cock this big, but sure enough, it’s plunging in and out of him like it belongs there. “You like that? You like gettin’ fucked by a fat fuckin’ daddy cock?”
Peter fucking wails. “Yes, oh my god! Please, please fuck me so hard, uhhhn-”
“Son of a bitch, you’re so fuckin’ sexy baby, so sweet ‘n sexy for me. Gonna be wearin’ my art on your body for the rest’a your fuckin’ life. Next time I’m gonna bend you over that goddamned bed and rail you while the gun’s still on.”
“Yes, yes! Fuck, gonna- uh! Gonna get my nipples pierced, daddy.”
Bucky reaches one of his hands up and grips Peter by the back of his hair. “You’re a filthy little thing, aren't you? Innocent face with a dirty little cockslut mouth, ohh-h-h, you’re not innocent at all.”
Bucky is doing little more than slamming Peter into the wall with his cock, pounding in so hard that Peter’s stomach drops like he’s riding a roller coaster, thinks he might be.
“You want me to pierce your nipples, sugar? Slide a needle through these pink little things?” Bucky leans forward and bites one of his nipples so hard that Peter almost blacks out, cock spraying come up to his own chin. “Shit, that’s it, take it, gonna come, gonna fuckin’ come.”
A few more thrusts and a low growl later, Peter feels the thick cock in him pulsate while Bucky comes into his condom. Peter’s body feels like a wet noodle while Bucky wipes the come off their chests, presses a suckling kiss to the spot of come on Peter’s chin, then another to his lips.
Peter leaves the tattoo shop with a doubly aching ass and a new number in his phone, not for the first time, thanks god for good pizza and great bud.
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