#tattooed reader

[natimiles]

What is that? (a tattooed reader)

Summary: You tied your hair in a high ponytail that morning, and it was enough for the tip of your tattoo to be visible. You've had it for so long that you're used to it, and sometimes you forget it's there — plus, you forgot that they've never seen it before.

Words: 1716

Tags: reader have tattoos; platonic relationships; more like friendships; no pronouns for reader, but you wear a dress and have sort of long hair.

Can you tell I have favorites? Only Isaac, Mozart, Jean, Arhur, Vincent, Theo, Napoleon and Sebastian show up. Le Comte is vaguely mentioned.

If you're curious to see the tattoos, I linked their images in their respective descriptions throughout the fanfic.

“What is that, mademoiselle?” 

You're helping Sebastian with breakfast, moving around the dining room, but you’ve been feeling a strong stare for a while. You're already accustomed to everyone, so you don't mind. You knew that if it was Isaac trying to muster the courage to ask you something, he would eventually do it. But it’s Jean’s voice, and it catches your attention because he usually eats in silence; and he sounds unsure and curious.

You set Arthur’s coffee in front of him while you glance at the table and everything you and Sebastian made. Perhaps there's something he doesn't know, like when you baked him macarons, but today's menu is the same as usual.

“What is what?”

“That thing,” he points in your direction. 

Isaac, Mozart, Vincent, and Theo are already having breakfast too, but they pause to glance at you, curious about what Jean is talking about. You feel a bit self-conscious and briefly inspect your clothes. Did you spill something? Fortunately, no. 

“I don’t follow, Jean.”

“That thing you have here,” he points at his own back. “I’ve seen it since I sat here to eat, but I can’t understand.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and look over your shoulder, Arthur takes advantage that you’re still by his side to lean backwards on his chair and measure you up and down — and definitely stare at your ass.

“Stop it, perv,” you playfully spat the writer’s arm, earning a chuckle from him. 

“Ah, I think Master Jean is talking about your tattoo,” Sebastian tries to help, pointing at his own nape.

Realization finally hits you. Since arriving at the mansion, you've been exclusively wearing long clothes that cover almost your entire body. However, summer started a few weeks ago, and you've been feeling the full force of the heat. It's scorching every day, and at times, you wake up covered in sweat. You've been yearning for an air conditioner or even just a simple fan. So you bought lighter clothes recently — aka Comte bought you a whole summer wardrobe as a gift. What you're wearing today is just an off-the-shoulder dress, so the front and back necklines are a bit lower than usual, but not by much. However, you tied your hair in a high ponytail that morning, and it was enough for the tip of your tattoo to be visible. You've had it for so long that you're used to it, and sometimes you forget it's there — plus, you forgot that they've never seen it before.

“What is that?” Jean is even more curious now, evident from the way he furrows his brow.

“It's a drawing on my body, made with a special kind of paint that never fades. It's a form of art.”

“Really?” You've piqued Theo's interest in art. “And what is it?”

“Music,” and now you’ve piqued Mozart’s interest in music. He doesn’t really show it, but you know him well enough to see when he’s curious. “Well, kinda. It goes a little down my spine, but it’s safe to show. Sebastian, can you help me, please?”

The butler nods and approaches you. You turn your back and move your ponytail to the side for a better view, while Sebastian lowers your neckline slightly so the others can satisfy their curiosity and see it.

It starts just at the end of your nape and goes 5 inches down. It’s an all-black DNA drawing with musical notes on the middle lines, a representation of a metronome pendulum on top, and a treble clef at the bottom. The middle actually has the same number of lines as a music sheet, and the notes can be read as the first five notes of your favorite song.

There’s only silence for a few moments, and as you turn around, you see that they're still staring at you. You think Theo hadn't even blinked until now because he suddenly blinks a lot, and his eyes meet yours.

“It’s pretty!” Vicent smiles like the angel he is. “Is it a real song?”

“It is,” Mozart hums the notes, his eyes conveying that he knows it’s your favorite song.

You've told him once, when you went to the music room to give him an afternoon snack. You were already friends (kind of), so when you saw he wasn't there at the moment, you knew he wouldn't mind if you sat down and softly played it; so you did. The next thing you knew, he was barging into the music room to scold whoever had the audacity to touch his piano, but he stopped when he saw you. He may have asked you to write down the notes so he could play it with you.

“Oh, yeah, you played it for us in the last banquet,” Isaac remembers.

“Does it hurt?” Jean asked, curious again. 

“No, not anymore. It hurt when I was getting it done. Boy, that was one hell of a ride,” you laugh. “But it’s been years, so it’s all healed and okay now.”

“It suits you, hondje. Do you have more?”

“I do!” You beam at them, feeling all bubbly inside. It's lovely how they always show interest in anything about you and remember what you like. “It’s on my thigh.” You use the tip of your toes to put more leverage on your right leg, grabbing a fistful of the skirt of your dress. You lift it to show them your tattoo, but a hand stops you when it's reaching your knee.

“Nunuche, what the hell?” 

Napoleon had just woken up and was joining you in the dining room. Did you say something about your thigh? He was still a little sleepy, so he thought he heard you wrong. But then you grabbed your dress… What the fuck do you think you’re doing? He was at your side in the blink of an eye, gripping your wrists tightly and looking at you with a panic expression. It’d certainly be red in a second, if the loud slap sound was any indication. 

And that’s how you make vampires choke on their foods and drinks. You look at them, a confused expression on your face. Isaac spat his tea all over his plate and is now coughing to clear his throat. Jean dropped his fork, frozen in his chair. Mozart is blinking in a frenzy, his mug in such a tight grip on his hand that his knuckles are white. Vincent is blushing furiously, his mouth agape. Theo is actually amused, and you clearly heard Arthur complaining to Napoleon that it was just getting good. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, startled. 

“MC, just remember we’re not in the 21st century,” Sebastian says, clearly holding a smirk. 

You feel your entire face heat up. Oh my God! That was certainly an uncomfortable situation. But you were so used to them; they made you feel at home, so you didn’t really think about what you were doing.

“Oh, right, sorry,” You chuckle and blush under the intensity of their stares. “But it’s no big deal, really. Sebastian and le Comte have already seen it.”

“Say that again?” Theo asks as his gaze drifts to the butler, just like everyone else's. 

“It’s nothing weird!” You can almost feel the emperor’s grip tightening. Sometimes he was so overprotective — they all were, and it was both endearing and funny. You huff. “We were talking about the 21st century, and I told Sebas that I have tattoos and showed him. Simple as that. Lots of people wear clothes that show a lot of skin in modern days. Do you think I would lift my dress to show the tattoo when I’m right next to Arthur if it wasn’t okay?” You deadpan Napoleon.

“Hey!” The writer complains, but everybody ignores him. You do have a point.

Napoleon frowns, but slowly releases you. You look at the others and just from a look they know you’ll be mad if they freak out again, so they try to act cool. Keyword: try. They’re staring so much you think they’ll open a hole in your thigh, but at least they’re quiet. You lift the dress just a little more and your tattoo is finally showing. It’s colorful and about the same size as the other. There’s white fine lines connecting dots, forming the Leo constellation, with a blue-purple watercolor background.

“Yes, luv! Now that’s a good breakfast,” Arthur smirks and places his elbow on the table to support his head as he looks at you. He’s so glad that Jean started this conversation while you were still beside him. Napoleon purses his lips and glares at the writer, but he knows better than to start a fight. His nunuche wouldn't let him live it down. 

“What the fuck is that?” Theo raises an eyebrow. Don’t get him wrong, he likes the art, but he just doesn’t understand what it’s supposed to be.

“Theo, language,” Vincent scolds his brother. He doesn’t want you to think they don’t like it.

“Is it upside down?” Jean frowns and tilts his head, trying to get a different angle, but it doesn’t make a difference.

"It's the Leo constellation," you chuckle and glance at Isaac, knowing he would understand. He enjoyed stargazing and always invited you to join him, especially after discovering your shared interest — then he started rambling about physics and astronomy, and you were lost.

“Oh, the stars,” Vincent says.

"So," Theo begins, and you can tell from his amused tone that he's about to say something to make you blush, "you have one that resembles Mozart and another that resembles Isaac."

“No, no. It’d have to be an apple for Newt,” Arthur grins when the poor physicist blushes as red as… the mentioned fruit.

“You’re the worst,” Isaac mumbles under his breath.

You chuckle at their banter. “So that’s it,” you say, releasing your dress. “We have a lot of things to do. So finish your breakfasts quickly.” You clap your hands twice.

“Indeed,” Sebastian nods in agreement.

You have moments of silence after that and you go back to work, but you feel the stares the whole day. You know they still have so much to say and ask, but they stay quiet.

You have some “not-so-permanent tattoos” now — and they might have helped do some.

I don't have tattoos yet, but I really want it. I'd make the first one, but with colors.

Crossposted on AO3.

Masterlists

#MC has tattoos #vampires freaking out #tattooed reader #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp fanfics #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp theo #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp jean #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire x reader

[mykneeshurt]

I love your writings! Can I request the COD boys with a s/o who is covered in tattoos from the top of their neck to their ankles. Preferably where they usually where clothes that cover them fully, then for whatever reason they are wearing something like a tank top and shorts and they see their tattoos for the first time <3 thanks

I don’t see a lot of fics where the person is heavily tattooed, if any tattoos at all

My OC in Don’t fear the Reaper is heavily tattooed 😏 I’m poor so can’t afford any more tattoos at the moment, so im living vicariously through her. If you wanted Rudy and Alejandro let me know and I can add them in! Female reader!

Price

You and Price had been seeing each other secretly for a few months, ever the gentleman he kept the pace slow. Allowing yourselves to get to know each other before any hanky panky.

You usually wore a long sleeved layer with long trousers and your boots around base. Never really showing any skin, which Price didn’t mind, it was essentially a tease. Leaving your body and skin to his imagination.

That was until one night when you were in the gym, you couldn’t sleep so decided to release some endorphins instead. You were on the resistance bike, sweat dripped from your brow onto the floor. Music was blasting from your headphones, you were in your own world.

Price had just finished his paperwork which had kept him up past midnight. As he trudged to his room he walked past the gym and noticed the light on. As he peered around the door he saw you figure on the bike.

He couldn’t quite believe his eyes. There you were, sat in all your sweaty glory. You wore shorts and a sports bra revealing a multitude of tattoos all over your body. From your neck to your ankles. An array of art decorated every part of skin he could see. Black and grey, colour, black out ink, all of it. He wanted to trace his fingers all over your body to feel how the ink felt on your skin, to feel the art beneath his finger tips.

Feeling someone watching you, you spun around to see your Captain staring at you. Your gaze softened and beckoned him to come to you.

Soap 🧼

It was a rare sunny day outside so you decided to swap your usual long sleeved attire to a tank top. The jeeps needed attending to so you decided to take advantage of the hot weather.

You were elbow deep in an engine trying to find out why the engine light kept coming on, when you heard a whistle behind you. Turning round to give one of the troops a piece of your mind your eyes met Johnny stood open mouthed. ‘Yes?’ You asked somewhat confused.

‘Just never seen your tats before, steamin Jesus … they’re incredible.’ He stood and took in your neo traditional tattoos, a mixture of Japanese and Art deco ink littered over your skin. ‘They’re just tattoos Johnny. Christ’ you laughed.

‘Yeah but I ain’t ever seen you this … uncovered. Fuckin incredible.’ You felt a blush creep up on your skin as you rubbed your arms.

Johnny came over and started to map out each of your tattoos, telling you which ones were his favourites. You pointed out which one was your first and which one was your most recent. Which one had a story, which one didn’t, he took in every word as he stroked your skin.

Ghost 💀

You were in the changing rooms after a sparring session and you were getting ready to get in the shower. As you pulled your top of you suddenly felt a set of eyes bore into you. Looking up you saw Ghost, his eyes raked up and down your body. ‘Fuckin hell love, didn’t realise you had tatts.’

You smirked showing off your body, ‘what these?’ You winked at him. Your body was covered in a mixture of realistic and black work geometric tattoos. Looking at his half forearm sleeve you smirked ‘puts yours to shame don’t it.’ He let out a breathy chuckle ‘cheeky minx.’

You spun around so he could have a look at the tattoos on your back, realistic skulls, flowers, portraits all adorned you. He pulled you in close, ‘I suggest you get in the shower, get cleaned up and come to my room. I wanna take a closer look at some of these’ he winked.

Gaz 🇬🇧

You were sat in the canteen with Gaz one morning when a load of new recruits came barging in. As they pushed their way past your table one spilt their drink all over you. ‘Fuck sake!’ You yelled throwing your hands in the air. Gaz grabbed some napkins for you as you removed your top, luckily it hadn’t gone through to your vest.

As Gaz turned to give you the napkins he was met with your tattooed body. He felt his breath hitch in his throat, he didn’t think he could fancy you anymore than he did. ‘Where you been hiding them?!’ He gestured to your body ‘we’ve been seeing each other a month and you kept these beauties to yourself!’

Giggling you took the napkins from him ‘you never asked!’ You were covered in traditional old school tattoos, a death moth covered your chest which was surrounded by roses and hearts. He couldn’t take his eyes off his new found treasure in front of him.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #modern warefare 2 #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #captain john price x reader #price x you #captain price #tattoos #tattooed reader #request

[yaboyhoney]

Guzma x reader who has allot of tattoos on their body and a bunch of face piercings (septum, snake bites eyebrow pierced etc) nsfw or sfw doesn’t really matter

Guzma x Tattooed/Pierced Reader

Guzma sometimes gets a little itch, the kind where only getting a piercing or a tattoo can fix. After everything that happened in Alola, he wants a pick me up. As bad as he proclaims to be, he oddly doesn't go for drugs or drinks, though the urge is still there.

There's only one shop in all of Alola to get piercings and tattoos, which would be your shop. When he comes in, he's rather surprised to see you.

The last time you saw Guzma, you were an apprentice. You didn't have any piercings and tattoos at that time. But now?

You're wearing a crop top that shows off your arms. You're tattooed just about everywhere but your pretty handsome face. But on your face is where all of your piercings are. You've got a nose bridge, a double pierced eyebrow and a nose ring. Your ears are the most pierced but you also have a belly piercing as well.

Guzma didn't pay attention to you the first time he saw you but now? He can't take his eyes off you. You just look so cool! So punk and handsome!

Guzma tries to play it cool, play his cards right, and maybe get your number at the end.

Turns out he's gotta wait in line though. One of his team skull grunts got ahead of him and was getting something tattooed on their spine. You were just having a small break before you went back to work. Guzma asks if he can watch.

When you get down to it, tattooing the back of this grunt, you both stay quiet. But the guy you were tattooing lets out a shaky breath before groaning in pain, clenching his fist. You tell him, in your deep husky voice, "Good boy," and Guzma just about loses it.

He comes to find out that maaybe he's got a thing for praise. Maybe you can call him that too?

#guzma x reader #male reader #tattooed reader #pierced reader #pokemon x reader #my writing

[sugarplumsandmoonpies]

‘Walking Art’

Carlisle Cullen x female reader

Word count: 3.5k 

Summary: Carlisle is mesmerised by your tattoos, so you decide to surprise him with another one, dedicated to him.

A/N: okay so this is my first fanfiction in, like, oh god don’t even make me think about it. Well, it’s the first one I’ve written that surpasses Wattpad level, anyway. We’ve all gotta start somewhere! My writing is so rusty I’ve got Salad Fingers licking the screen. There’s a gap in the market for Carlisle fanfics and I’m here to fill it <3 and what I mean by that is I’ve read EVERY one and yet I need more????

Divider by the wonderful and very talented: @firefly-graphics x

Despite committing everything about you to memory, Carlisle is still fascinated by your tattoos. He isn’t used to them - although tattoos have been around for over five-and-a-half thousand years, he existed when tattoos were few and far between, and seen as a way to brand criminals; not as a legitimate art form and method of self-expression. He always finds a new one on you somewhere; just when he thought he found all of them.

The fascination stems from a lot of things, really. As a vampire his skin simply regenerates, and since tattoos are essentially considered wounds, the ink is rejected and the skin heals. There is something to be admired about tattooing - working on a living, breathing canvas with a multitude of textures and skin types, all the while managing to capture soft, intricate details and clean lines. Your tattoos are a thing of beauty, and he is amazed to see the pain you have endured for them. Many times he has stared at them, running his strong hands across them, delicately tracing them with his fingers. He loved how your tattoos capture exactly who you are and your interests. You’re a walking picture book. You’re a walking piece of art that he cannot take his eyes off of. 

He constantly asks you questions about each one; when you got it, what attracted you to that design, when you decided you wanted to get it, among many others - and you loved it. His interest in them warmed your heart, as your tattoos were really important to you (yes, even the less serious ones). Sure, some didn’t really have a meaning - but they don’t have to. And each time he asked, whether it was the first time or the thousandth, you answered them for him, never getting tired of explaining each one to him. You could talk about them for hours, and he would listen with bated breath each time.

For a while, you had thrown around the idea of getting his name tattooed on you. It wasn’t a big deal for you - you already had a growing collection anyway, what was one more? And you knew he was the one for you; he told you himself. You had always been a romantic and subscribed to the idea of soulmates, so when he explained that you were his, you couldn’t believe it. Not only were soulmates a real thing, but to know he was yours and you were destined to be together? Nothing could ever top that feeling. The constant reassurance that you two were made for each other provided security that nothing else could come close to. So having his name permanently etched into your skin wasn’t that much of a gamble for you.

Normally, you would share your ideas with Carlisle, letting him know what you wanted to get and asking for his opinion on certain designs and placements. He always supported whatever you wanted to get, as it was your body and your choice. He knew that your tattoos represented your interests and individuality, so he would love whatever you got, no matter what. But this time? You wanted it to be a surprise. 

Unfortunately for you, you were so giddy at the thought; you couldn’t keep it to yourself. The question was: who to tell? Edward could read minds, so he possibly already knew, but you doubt he’d be able to offer much. You felt like you needed another female perspective; ruling Emmett and Jasper out immediately. 

That left you with Alice and Rosalie. 

Although Rosalie was not thrilled by your presence at first, she grew fonder of you as time went on. No more coldness, no more ostracising, no more ‘mean girl’ attitude. And you know what? It felt great proving her wrong. But you didn’t hold it against her - think about it: how would you feel if someone brought a human into your inner circle? If it goes south, you have to relocate and restart in another place, unable to return for a generation.

Your relationship with Alice, on the other hand, has been nothing but smooth sailing; she gave you a warm welcome and became a trusted confidant soon after. She had this weird way of breaking your walls down straight away, and you were thankful there was someone who was fighting for you when you weren’t there, alongside Carlisle. Ultimately, although it could prove to be a relationship strengthener with Rosalie, you decided to confide in Alice. After all, she could see the future. Every time you came back with another addition to your body, she always said it was the exact tattoo she saw in her vision. But despite knowing, she always acted surprised and shared in your excitement. Plus, you didn’t want her finding it out on her own and accidentally letting it slip to anyone, especially Carlisle. This was some super, top-secret surprise shit.

You waited for the best time to approach Alice with the idea since you didn’t want anyone else to know… kinda hard since you were in a house completely occupied by vampires with super special powers. It took a few days, but you finally came across her in the kitchen on one of those rare moments when everyone was off doing their own thing, finally separated. She was leaning against the counter, hands pressed against either side of the sink, looking outside at the woodlands surrounding the house. You stood next to her, getting lost in the view yourself - until you were brought back to reality.

“So”, Alice began, “something on your mind?”. You could hear the smirk.

You kept your gaze straight for a few moments, before giving her the side eye.

“Who said I had anything on my mind, hm?” you questioned, stifling the smile that was beginning to show.

Alice turned to look at you, eyes locked on your frame. Her face was unreadable; you genuinely began to worry. But it didn’t last for long. Before you knew it, she began giggling, and soon her smile was uncontainable. She was beaming. 

“I like it when you tell me things, even if you know that I already know… y’know?” She said, playfully pushing her index finger against your shoulder. You had been made, but you already knew that from the start. 

“Well…” you began, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, all of a sudden finding your hands super interesting. You started to pick at your nails when Alice suddenly spurted out “tell me, tell me, for the love of god just tell me already!” You laughed at her, finding her excitement endearing and palpable.

“Okay, so basically I’ve been thinking about getting another tattoo…” you paused, “...on me”, you took a deep breath before finishing, “for Carlisle”. 

There was silence for a few seconds until you finally looked at her to see her smiling the widest, toothiest grin at you that you’ve ever seen - seriously, it looked like it pained her to do it. She began jumping from one foot to another, lightly clapping her hands together. 

“Where and when?!” is all she asked, oozing with joy.

You giggled at her, quickly grabbing her hands to stop the clapping before someone came in to check what was going on. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while - we’re soulmates and I want a permanent display for him on me”, you smiled at the thought of him, your heart warming and stomach filling with butterflies, “one more permanent than a wedding ring could be; I could easily take that shit off.”

Alice was getting giddier by the second, unable to contain her happiness for you. “That’s an amazing idea - I know he’s just going to love it! Have you found someone to do it for you? Is it gonna be your handwriting or? I need to know, y/n!” she shot at you.

You took a deep breath and gave her a knowing glance “of course I’ve found someone!” you laughed, continuing “it’s called one of the few tattoo artists nearby. About an hour-and-a-half out”, you sighed at the thought of the long drive there and back, “but those are the things we do for love, so”, you said while shooting her a quick thumbs up. “But I’m actually really happy I don’t have to wait that long for it, I’m already bursting with excitement as it is.” You danced your shoulders in a sign of happiness, your smile reflecting Alice’s.

You carried on, explaining “as for how it’s gonna look? Carlisle sent me a bouquet of flowers when we first started seeing each other - mmhm, they were gorgeous. And it had one of those… y’know... little cards attached to it? Well, he wrote me a cute ‘lil message on it and signed his name at the bottom. I kept the card for sheer sentimental value - I keep it in my wallet.” 

You chuckled at the memory, before turning away to look outside once again, “I’m a romantic, sue me.”

Alice squealed with delight, finishing your own story for you “so you’re going to use his handwriting?! Shut up, that is the cutest thing I have ever heard in my life!” She took your warm hands in her cool, yet refreshing, ones and shook them from side to side. 

“Oh, y/n. This is the most wonderful, romantic thing anyone could ever do, especially for him”, Alice sighed wistfully. “And it’s quintessentially you.” 

You both stayed there, basking in the joy of the situation and happy that you had someone to tell, finally. Alice let go of you, bringing you into a familiar and welcomed embrace. You two rocked back and forth together before she whispered in your ear “I just know he’s going to love this. I’m so glad you thought of this, it’s a beautiful thing to do”.

You hugged Alice tighter, a silent ‘thank you’ for her sweet words of encouragement and support. 

The day was finally upon you. You spent the whole night tossing and turning, unable to shut your mind off - unable to stop thinking about what you’d be doing the next day. Eventually, you managed to drift off, waking with a few hours of sleep under your belt and dark bags under your eyes. But the day was finally here, and that’s all you cared about.

You had told Carlisle you were going to go out and do a couple of errands; a nice cover for your actual plans. He gave you a loving kiss as you opened the door to leave, whispering a sweet “I’ll see you later, my love” into your hair. How does he always manage to give you butterflies no matter what he does? You felt his eyes on you while you walked down to your car - oh how you just wanted to spill the beans to him and bring him along with you to watch you get it done.

As you entered your car and started the engine, you gave him a quick wave goodbye before pulling out and beginning your journey. Looking back in the rear-view mirror, you spotted him still standing there waving you off. You lowered your window, waving back to him enthusiastically until you could no longer see him.

Rolling the window back up, you turned the radio up, hoping to hype yourself up with some stellar tunes. Honestly? You were really nervous. A good kind of nervous though - the one that borders on unbridled excitement. He’s the most important person in your life and you’re inscribing his name on your body permanently; it’d be worse if you didn’t feel anything.

It was dusk when you arrived back at the house. Exiting the car, you made your way up to the front door. You pushed the handle down and entered quietly, shutting it behind you. Taking your shoes off, you padded into the house and through the kitchen, where Alice and Jasper sat. Giving you a knowing look, you pointed to your covered wrist and smiled a big goofy grin at them. In return, Alice punched her fist in the air while Jasper shot you a thumbs-up with a big smile. You made your way past them and up the stairs, taking a quick detour to the bathroom.

You rolled your sweatshirt sleeve up to see your new favourite tattoo. On the outside of your wrist, under layers of clingfilm, was his name. The reality of it hadn’t quite set in, but it would soon. You carefully peeled off the medical tape and clingfilm, disposing it in the waste basket. Turning the tap on, you positioned your wrist underneath it, carefully rinsing off any excess ink before softly patting it dry.

You took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. Suddenly, you were very aware of the dull ache radiating from the tattoo. What you had done finally sunk in. 

‘Holy shit’. Your mind soon became assaulted with second thoughts. ‘What if he doesn’t like this? He says he loves my tattoos, but surely he has to since he loves me? What if he just doesn’t understand why I did this; will he think I’m stupid? This is a totally different ballgame - this is his name we’re talking about, for Christ’s sake! A bold, clear display of our relationship. There is absolutely no subtlety here!’ You were spiralling over thoughts that weren’t true but it was hard to be rational in a moment like this.

You quickly shook your head, almost as if you were trying to physically remove the thoughts from your mind. You focused on your feelings for him, and how you knew him well enough to know he would love the gesture; you felt peace. You felt reassurance. With your regained confidence, you exited the bathroom and made your way across the landing, walking up to the door to his study. 

You lightly knocked against the wood, your excitement rising by the second. 

“Come in”, you heard his smooth voice say from the other side of the door. 

Carefully opening the door, you slinked into the room, inconspicuously blocking your arm from his direct eye line. His study smelled like him; leather, pine and a little hint of citrus. It was so refreshing, so intoxicating; so Carlisle. You looked around the room. It was always so cozy in his office, thanks to the warm amber light the lamps gave off, and the little personal knick-knacks dotted around, showing a lifetime of experiences and interests. Bookcases packed full of various books and novels stood against the dark walls. Ornaments and photographs of his family were proudly displayed throughout the rest of the room. Across the room, Carlisle was settled in his plush chair looking over various files on his desk, the light from his laptop illuminating his face further. He lifted his head up, finally tearing himself away from his work. His eyes shined when he recognised it was you. Your whole body was immediately filled with warmth as he met your gaze.

“So, my love”, lord how you loved that name, “how was your time out in town?” he asked, standing up to properly greet you with a well-needed hug. But before he could get any further than the edge of his desk, you reached your hand out, signalling him to stop where he was. 

“I... actually wanted to talk to you about that.” 

Carlisle raised his eyebrow ever so slightly. “Oh?” he said, sitting back down in his chair.

You immediately realised that sounded a little more daunting than you meant it to, backtracking to try and reassure him that it was something positive. 

“Oh, oh no it’s nothing like that! It’s just, um” you paused; god why was this suddenly so hard to spit out? “Um… uh, well you see… erm…” 

The more you stuttered and fumbled with your words, the worse it got. You needed to take a deep breath before attempting to carry on. Carlisle, meanwhile, was staring at you in confusion and slight adoration. You were clearly nervous about what you were going to say, and it made him even more curious about what it could be.

‘Deep breath in and out, this is exciting news.’

You brought your eyes back to Carlisle. ‘It’ll be fine.’

“I went and got another tattoo” you managed to admit, finally.

Carlisle’s face lit up as he sent you his trademark swoon-worthy smile. 

“Do I get to guess what it is and where you got it? It’s my favourite part” he chuckled at you, clearly excited to hear of your new addition. 

You loved how, no matter what, he was always excited for you when you did something for yourself. You always felt supported when it came to Carlisle and you really treasured that feeling. 

“One guess this time”, you giggled “last time you wouldn’t stop until you got it.”

“You say that as if I didn’t guess it!” he pointed at you.

“Carlisle, we were there for half an hour and you needed hints! Never again - one guess!” you laughed at the memory, as well as his smug little face.

He leaned back in his chair, his index finger resting against his bottom lip. He looked away from you for a brief moment while thinking, before his eyes shot back to yours. “Flower chain, around your knee” he confidently said. 

‘That’s actually a really good idea, I need to note that down somewhere’ 

“Brilliant idea, but unfortunately not” you giggled lightly, “I think… it’s best if I just show you”. 

You made your way over to his desk, walking around to meet him at his chair. He turned to face you, your legs brushing against his bent knees. You leaned down slightly before bringing your arm to the front of your body, angling it so he could clearly read the word ‘Carlisle’ delicately etched in your wrist, in his beautiful handwriting.

Carlisle let out a soft, audible gasp. He took your arm, bringing it closer to his face, having to actively resist the urge to trace it the way he did with your other tattoos. He just stared at it. Disbelief, love and pride clearly written all over his face. If he could cry, he’d be doing it now. 

Finally, you spoke. “Well… how do you feel?”

Carlisle wordlessly stood up. He towered over you, looking so deeply into your eyes, you’re pretty sure he was looking at your soul. He took a moment, closing his eyes and basking in the moment, before opening them and meeting yours once more. He raised his hands and rested them against your cheeks, cradling you. You leant into his touch, savouring it like it was the last time.

“You did this… for me?” his voice was filled with adoration. 

You beamed up at him, proudly answering “Yeah, I wanted part of you with me forever” you lightly giggled at yourself “and what better way to have that, than with your name on me?” 

The way he looked at you nearly made you melt on the spot. You felt all warm and fuzzy at the sight of him like this. He was searching for the right thing to say, to convey how he felt at this gesture of pure love, but was unable to find the words. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you up. You squealed as you were lifted from the floor, wrapping your legs around his waist for extra support. He repositioned his left hand to hold your thigh as he nuzzled his head into your neck, breathing you in. 

“Thank you, thank you” he repeated into your skin. You basked in the moment, appreciating every second before Carlisle carried on. 

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me. If I could do it too, I’d have it done in a heartbeat,” he told you. 

Your heart filled with love and joy, words couldn’t describe how much you appreciated what he said. To know he would’ve reciprocated meant the world to you. 

Carlisle patted your thigh twice, signalling that he was going to set you back down. Begrudgingly, you unwrapped your legs from his waist, feet lightly hitting the hardwood floor. Once again, he was looking down at you.

He lifted his hand up, holding your jaw between his index and thumb, lightly stroking your cheek. You felt your cheeks heat up, unsurprisingly. Laughing warmly at you, he leant down, placing his lips on yours. 

‘His lips are always so soft’ you thought, allowing yourself to get lost in the kiss, unconsciously deepening it. Carlisle stood flush against you, your chest pressed against his own. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you so tightly and securely. He always managed to make you feel safe. 

He felt like home.

You both slowly broke away from the kiss, humming in satisfaction. “So it’s safe to say you love me having your name on my wrist for all to see?” you smirked at him. 

He pulled you back in for another sweet embrace, his hands slowly caressing your back, saying “of course I do. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

#carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen x female reader #carlisle cullen x y/n #twilight #carlisle cullen #reader insert #carlisle cullen fanfiction #carlisle cullen x reader imagine #carlisle cullen imagine #twilight imagine #twilight fanfiction #twilight short #tattooed reader #carlisle cullen x tattooed reader

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Tattoo Talk - Indiana Jones X Female Reader

Title: Tattoo Talk

Indiana Jones X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Students (Mentioned)

Requested by: @groovy-lady (Thank you so much for requesting again, I had a lot of fun with this! P.s. love the tattoos!)

WC: 1,666

Warnings: Pre-existing relationship, Reader wears a skirt, Reader has long enough hair to be pinned up, mentions of killing, mentions of death, mentions of slight suggestiveness, slight nudity (brief and nothing really shown?), a smidge of angst, and fluff

"Don't forget Michaelson chapters four and five for next time," Indiana reminded the class as he tapped the chalkboard, his students leaving the room in a hurry. "If you need any help or advice on these two chapters just ask." 

Letting out a sigh, Indiana rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand, taking off his glasses and setting them on his desk as he sat down in his chair. Leaning back, Indy grabbed the papers his students left for him, shuffling them in a nice stack before grabbing his glasses again and standing up. Adjusting his suit jacket, Indiana left his classroom, walking a couple of doors down and stopping at your classroom.

Looking inside, Indiana couldn't help but smile gently when he saw you; animatedly speaking about something. Opening the classroom door, Indiana shut it quietly behind him as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched you. You had been dating Indiana for almost a year now, and Indiana was loving every second of it. It felt good to be with someone who was so... Passionate about what they were doing.

"Now, Loki, the God of Mischief, had made a deal with the giant to build a wall around Asgard. In return, the giant wanted to have Freya as his wife. Now, it's said that the Gods didn't know that the giant was indeed a giant, funnily enough, and Freya didn't want to marry him anyway, so she asked Loki to do something; because it was his fault after all. So, Loki turns himself into a beautiful mare, gaining the attention of Svadilfari, the giant's stallion. Loki was able to distract Svadilfari, and off into the forest, he galloped after Loki, the gorgeous mare. Meanwhile, the giant is looking for his horse and tries to kill Odin, but Thor kills the giant. And nine months later, Loki had given birth to a wonderful eight-legged horse named, Sleipnir." You spoke, finishing your little lecture. "If you have any questions, please let me know. And good luck with your midterm presentations.  I'll see you all tomorrow!" Your voice rang out as you waved goodbye to the rest of your students, some of them greeting the other Professor as they left.

Indiana continued to watch you, pretending not to ogle over you as you turned to the chalkboard and began to wipe away your little drawings and notes. Your hair was up in a cute updo, while you were wearing Indy's favorite skirt. Indiana's lovesick sort of smile faltered slightly when he looked at your back, seeing something under your slightly-sheer shirt that confused him; making him curious. Turning back around, you brushed off your hands of any chalk residue before you clasped them in front of yourself, smiling over at your boyfriend.

"Hello, Indy. Didn't know you were going to step in for my lecture today." You greeted him as you walked towards him, reaching out to lightly touch his chest, admiring the man in front of you. Oh, how lucky you were...

"Sorry for interrupting, my class got out and I wanted to see you," Indiana replied, his hands automatically going to your waist.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. "Oh, no! You didn't interrupt anything important, I promise!" Indiana just hummed, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned down to press his lips against your lips. You sighed happily in the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pulled back first, smiling softly at him and kissing his cheek; Indiana sighed contently. "Was my lecture too long or boring?" You murmured, your hands slipping from around his neck onto his chest. "I feel like I ranted."

Indy tapped his fingers to an unknown rhythm on your waist, looking off as if to think, "Hmm, no no, it wasn't bad at all, doll. Quite the opposite actually." You giggled softly, leaning in to peck his lips quickly. "Hey, doll?" He began, a hum coming out of you as you looked up at him; head tilted to the side, "What's on your back?" He then asked and your eyebrows furrowed, as you tried to look behind you, your arm going behind you as you wiped your back. 

"I have something on me? Why did no one say anything?" You asked, slightly frustrated as Indiana just shook his head, reaching for your bicep to stop you.

"No, uh, your shirt's pretty sheer, honey." 

With that, your eyes widened and your face flushed, "Sheer?" You asked softly as Indiana nodded.

"Yeah."

You let out an annoyed sigh, your eyes rolling and your shoulders dropping in defeat. "Are you serious? I wouldn't have worn this if I knew." You complained, pouting slightly at Indiana. "So everyone's seen my tattoo?" You then asked and Indiana's eyebrows raised up on his forehead, eyes widening slightly.

"So that's what that is?" He asked and you nodded slowly. 

"Yeah, I have a couple of them."

Indiana's eyebrows dropped as he stared down at you confused, "How come I've never seen them before?"

You dropped your eyes sheepishly, fumbling with your fingers as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "Well, Indy, it's usually dark, and I steal your shirt in the morning..." You trailed off as Indiana nodded, feeling his own face warm as he thought back.

"Do you want to see them?" You asked abruptly, making Indiana jolt out of his steamy daydream, making him stubble over his words.

"W... What? Huh?"

You let out a sigh, glaring up at him, "Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Jones. Do you want to see them or not?" You asked, embarrassed and impatient; crossing your arms.

Indiana pressed his fist to his mouth as he cleared his throat, "Sure, doll."

You nodded, dropping your arms as you walked to the other side of the room, sliding the blinds closed as Indiana watched you, catching a glimpse of your supposed tattoo as he leaned over, pulling the door window's blind closed without looking. Walking back over, you began to unbutton your shirt, Indiana watching as his mouth began to dry. Pulling it off, you hold it draped over your arm as you turn your back to him. Indiana sucked in a breath as he saw it, jaw-dropping slightly as he took in the ink on your back; a large tree, its branches weaving and swirling around themselves, roots spiraling downwards; branches upwards. Though part of it was covered by the back strap of your bra, it had an ancient look to it. If Indiana found it pictured in an old book, he wouldn't be surprised. But, it was mesmerizing, to say the least.

The question floated on the tip of his tongue before you spoke, "It's Yggdrasil. The world tree; a giant ash that supports the universe. Part of Norse Mythology." You answered, hearing the quiet intake of breath as your boyfriend seemed unable to speak. You turned around, biting your lip when you noticed him staring at you in silence. "Uh... I also have two more..." Turning around to face him and open your right arm. At the underside of your arm, was what Indiana knew was a Norse Rune, from his time watching your lectures. This rune was a line with two shorter diagonal lines pointing downwards from the right side; engulfed in flames with a snake surrounding it, "This is the Rune, Ansuz. Odin's Rune." You then opened your other arm, with a different rune on the other side in the same place. To Indiana, it looked like a line with a triangle on it, with gloomy storm clouds and a lightning bolt, “This is Thor’s Rune, Thurisaz." You finished, looking up at Indiana.

He just looked at you, unblinking as he stalked forward, slowly reaching his hand out to take your arm in his. He gently ran a finger over your tattoo, outlining it as he started talking; you could hear the reverence in his tone as he talked. "These are... Incredible." He breathed out, still tracing over the tattoos, before trailing his hand down your arm and taking both of your hands in his as he finally looked into your eyes. "So, Thor and Odin?"

The anxiety that Indiana wouldn’t like your tattoos quickly fell away as you smiled up at him, the smile almost blinding. "Yeah, Odin and Thor. Odin is the God of War, and Thor is the God of thunder.” You stated matter of factly, and Indiana chuckled quietly at the look on your face as you started getting excited; your cheeks burned as you realized just how deep your feelings for Indiana went. "Um, well, I know it sounds sill-"

"When did you get them?" Indiana interrupted you, completely enraptured by you; as you bit your lip before you spoke up again.

"Thor Rune when I was eighteen, Yggdrasil at twenty-two, and Odin at twenty-four. I'm thinking about getting another one soon."

Indiana was quick to speak, looking down at you with excitement that you only saw when he found a missing artifact which really surprised you, "Could I come with you on the next one?" He asked, and you were quick to nod.

"Of course, you can hold my hand and everything." You teased, earning a playful glare from him as he rolled his eyes. You couldn't help but laugh, grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles softly as he smirked down at you. "Are we still on for lunch?" You asked, and Indiana nodded, taking your shirt from your arm, and opening it to you. 

"Of course, doll. In fact, lunch is on me." He teased, helping you put on your shirt, your arms passing through the sleeves as you giggled.

"You always pay for lunch, Indy." You gave him a smile in thanks, buttoning up the shirt as Indiana went over to your desk, grabbing your suit jacket and bag.

"That's because I love to spoil you, sweetheart. So... How do you feel about a surprise trip to Iceland?"

#requested #request #requests #requests are open #requests open #indiana jones x you #indiana jones x reader #indy jones #indiana jones #indiana jones x y/n #indiana jones x female reader #slight angst #fluff #norse #norse mythology #tattoos #tattooed reader #x reader #cute #x female reader #x you #x y/n

[scribbledghost]

Simon Riley who gets your initials tattooed over his heart, but not in the conventional way.

The idea of getting your full name spooks him, cause what if he gets captured and some enemy agent sees? It's just too much of a risk for him. But initials are safer. Twice as much if they're hidden behind roman numerals.

So he reveals his new ink one day, during a quiet moment a few weeks after he gets it once it's healed up. He explains what the roman numerals are (they correspond to letters of the alphabet: A would be I, B is II, and so on) and what they mean, and you spend so long marveling at Simon's dedication that it takes you a minute to notice something... strange.

"There's no number for my last name."

He takes your hand, puts it over the numbers, and puts his forehead on yours.

"That's cause I'm hopin' you'll let me put the number 18 there, love."

#the 18th letter of the alphabet is R #for. anyone curious 👀 #10000% the type to get one of those wedding ring tattoos too. you know he is. #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost scribbles

[aakeysmash]

Tattooartist!Sukuna who is so used to being ogled by girls that he’s on the verge of putting his 2 weeks’ notice in. He knows he’s hot, muscular, breathtaking even (like some girl said while sitting on the studio chair and trying to get in his pants), but people piss him off, both men and women. He wishes he could just ink them up and never see them again.

And when he sees you staring at him from across the room he’s sure you’re about to say the same shit every other girl has said in the past three years he worked at the studio. But he’s utterly surprised when, instead, you turn around and close the door behind you.

He waits for you to come back, because you do have a tattoo appointment, but you don’t. That’s why he presses his ear against his door to listen to you trying to reschedule your appointment when there’s another tattoo artist instead.

He gets out and leans on the door, making himself visible, and when the girl at the reception asks you why you want to reschedule you look at him while saying “I just don’t think he’s professional enough to make what I’m looking for.”

And now you’re pissing him off, because he’s good at what he does and he knows it. So he comes closer to you, trying to intimidate you with his height, and slowly challenges you saying how he will get your stencil done for free. If you don’t like it he will personally pay for your tattoo, no matter the price. You accept the challenge, tattoos are super expensive these days, what do you really have to lose?

And that’s how you find yourself in his bedroom getting pounded from the back, your fresh tattoo on your spinal column.

“Thought you said I wasn’t professional enough, mh baby?” He whispers in your ear. “Looks like you enjoyed the tattoo, yeah?”

Between moans you manage to slightly turn around and kiss him on the lips. While you’re still close to his face you smirk.

“Looks like you’re enjoying it more than me.”

You feel his dick jump at your provocative tone, and he picks up his pace while standing back up. He slaps your ass, hard, earning himself a squeal before feeling your pussy cream on his dick.

“Fuck yes I do.”

#sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna jjk #tattoo artist au #sukuna x you

[saddestsquid]

König & his demonic back shots are plaguing my thoughts 😣😣

Warnings: 18+, this is pure filth so like yeah🤨 König x female reader, p in v, just a short blurb ୨୧

Cause I know damn well this man would give the FILTHIEST back shots. Like you feel like your being resurrected every time he slams you onto his cock.

“Maus- oh fuuuuck…” He groaned, drilling into you with so much force the bed shook.

You were moaning and screaming into the pillow, your backside being held up completely by him. He manhandled you on his cock like a doll, mindlessly slamming into your cunt over and over like he was trying to fuck the demons right out of his body.

He reached down and circled your waist, holding you up with just one arm. With his free hand he rubbed at your clit, always making sure you feel good no matter how pussy-drunk he is. The man is just so big—it feels like he’s everywhere. If you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was reaching all the way down to your throat. The slight pain of him slamming into your cervix overwhelmed your senses and heightened the pleasure along with the feeling of him playing with your clit. You doubted either of you were making it there after this but you could have swore you saw a flash of heavens gates every time he plunged into you.

He spread your legs wider and angled his thrusts to meet that spongey spot inside you every time his pelvis met your ass with an audible slap ! Even the sound of the headboard slamming into the wall wasn’t enough to drown out both your noises. This was definitely gonna earn you a noise complaint—tho it was worth it for the mind blowing orgasm that washed over you when that coil in your stomach finally snapped.

You came all over his cock, leaving a sticky white ring around the base of it that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of every time he slid his thick cock in and out again. With a pathetic whimper you never thought you’d hear come out of a man of his size, he pressed into you as deep as your body would let him and came hard. 

So much of his seed was stuffed inside you that it began to flow out, dripping all over both of your thighs. Before you could complain, he collapsed on top of you, crushing you with his weight. It felt like being stuck under a city bus, but you just sighed and let him have this one.

#König bb come home #the kids miss you #I would literally tattoo his name on my forehead if he asked #konig #konig x you #konig x reader #konig x reader smut #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig mwii #mw2 x reader #cod smut #cod x reader smut #cod x female reader #cod fanfic #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #konig smut #cod konig #konig fic #blurb #cod blurb

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

********************

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

********************

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

********************

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

********************

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

********************

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #tattoo artist eddie munson #tattoo artist!eddie #teach me/show me Eddie #eddie my beloved #eddie x fem reader

[laudthingcat]

Thinking about tattoo artist!sukuna who rarely tattoos newbies since he doesn’t have the patience to deal with their fear, but who decides to make an exception the moment he lays eyes on you.

He approaches you and pretends to be surprised when you tell him that you’ve never got a tattoo before, as if everything about you didn’t already give it away. The arms and chest are clean, and your legs? The only thing covering them is a miniskirt that’s barely covering your ass. 

You look confident but he knows better, easily noticing the small (or not that small) details, from the nervous bite of your lip to the hardened nipples that are piercing through the fishnet crop top you wear. Considering that it is hot enough in the studio, there could be only two reasons for that, but he’s sure he can solve both.

Tattoo artist!sukuna is kind enough to help you decide on a tattoo and even helps you pick where you want to make it, suggesting that the best possible location for it would be your thigh<3

It’s no surprise to him when you stop him the moment you hear the buzz of the tattoo gun and see him getting ready to start. You’re tense and when simply telling you to relax doesn’t work, he comes with a suggestion.

So there you are, on your knees for a man you barely know, taking his whole length inside your mouth, twisting and swirling your tongue around it, completely cock drunk after seeing the size of it. Tattoo artist!sukuna has the kind of dick that makes your jaw hurt. He knows he’s big but seeing you struggle to breathe just boosts his ego past the limits. 

He grabs a hold of your hair and starts thrusting, going at full speed with the only intention of emptying his balls down your throat. Your throat is divine, so thigh, squeezing around his cock and making him moan. Your mascara dripping from all the tears when he keeps your head still, making your eyes roll back the moment he comes deep down your throat. 

“Swallowed it all like a good girl huh?”

Not getting a chance to recover, he starts fucking you against the mirror, the glass fogging from his heavy breathing as you desperately moan into his chest, holding onto his shirt and sobbing in utter bliss knowing that this is the best and fattest dick you’ve ever had.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head for a second time when he lifts one of your legs up and starts thrusting at an even higher speed, filling the room with nasty, wet sounds made by your abused pussy that soon after creams on his cock after swallowing all of his cum in. At the end of it all he grabs your face with one of his hands, giving you the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever gotten in your entire life, a string of saliva connecting your lips once he pulls away.

“You really took it all, like a good little slut”

Finishing the tattoo was an easy job for him after that since your mind was focused on what just happened and not on the slight stings caused by the tattoo gun's needles. 

He offered you a big discount, grinning when you asked if you can come get another tattoo the next week.

#sukuna ryomen #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #jjk smut #jjk reader smut #tattoo artist!sukuna #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryoumen smut #sukuna ryoumen x reader #it's.freezing.cold

[marvellous1917]

Icarus

(Part 1)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x tattoo artist!reader

Summary: you come home from work, only to find a mob boss in your house looking for your roommate.

Warnings: mentions of a gun, mentions of arms and drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, torture, swearing, tattoos, gambling, think that’s it

A/n: I’m a simple girl. Mob!Bucky makes my brain go whurrrrrr. This is pure self service because I have this tattoo lol. Been along time guys what’s up?

————

“Late night?” The deep voice came from the dark.

“Holy-” fear spiked through your heart from the unfamiliar sound, your arms dropping the bags and your back crashing into the closed front door, “-who.. who are you?” You asked the unfamiliar voice. Turning slightly you see the long haired, leather covered man sat in the dining room. His left arm rested on the table, the prosthetic shining, the light from the street lamp outside shining through the window. His face was half shrouded in darkness, the other half showed his eyes, a little confused but also amused.

“You’re not Caleb.” He replied, sitting back in the chair, tilting his head to the side and moving something that looked suspiciously pistol shaped off of the table and into the inside pocket of his jacket, you reached up and flipped on the light.

“N-no no, I’m not. I’m his roommate.” You said, finally registering who you were talking to. The now fully visible metal arm was a pretty big giveaway, if nothing else. ‘There is a mob boss sat in my kitchen, what the fuck’.

“What do you want with Caleb? Does he owe you something?” The thought was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Oh god no sorry forget I asked. Sorry... sir? I don’t-”

“I’m assuming from that reaction you know who I am,” He said, smirk on his face as he stood and moved closer, your back pressing flatter against the wall beside the door with every step he took.

“Of..of course I do, everyone in New York knows who you are..Sir” You replied.

“Hmm, I’m gonna take that as a compliment doll,”

“It is! Sorry! Congrats on all the… mafia shit.” Did I just say ‘mafia shit’ to a gangster.

The silence is awkward, his face blank and all you can think is ‘Oh my god I’m gonna die.’ His face twists into a …smile.. you think, y’know its hard to tell, fear has your vision all fuzzy.

He then starts to..laugh. He’s laughing? He’s actually laughing.

“Is this something you do before you kill people? You laugh, give them a false sense of security then shoot them?” You ramble quietly, confused at what’s happening.

He moved his left hand to rest on his stomach, the metal catching the light, shining right in you eye and it fully registered that, holy shit, James fucking Barnes, The Winter goddamn Soldier is in my house. This man is literally wanted by every law enforcement agent in the country, he’s in control of one of the most ruthless organisations in the world, they traffic arms and drugs and gun down anyone that gets in the way. Apparently, at least that’s what the news said. The stories about him though, way more upsetting.

The rumor was that after he left the special forces, he was captured by an organisation that wanted him to work for them. When he tried to escape the first time, they took his arm, and he was stuck working for them for a decade. The story goes that after he finally escaped, he tracked down everyone that was a part of it and killed them all, by himself. Alone. Just him. On his own. Then he took over their supply and demand and built his empire from the ground up.

“Oh god.. ‘congrats on all the mafia shit’, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while…” he pushed out while chuckling. “I’m gonna get that shit tattooed, I swear,” he said.

“I could do that for you,” it was out of your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Oh my god, shut up Y/N’ you thought to yourself.

“What?” He asked, eyes flitting over to yours, his piercing stare causing all sorts of feeling to rise inside your chest; fear, confusion, attraction. Attraction? What? Damn him and his pretty face. He’s a killer Y/N, remember that?

“Nothing, sorry” you answered, looking down at your feet.

“No what did you say Y/n?” He asked again, his voice more stern than before. If you weren’t so scared, you would have questioned how he knew your name.

“I said that I could give you that tattoo, sorry, just slipped out” you replied, unsure what his response would be to your completely unnecessary comment.

“Stop apologising would’ya doll, there’s no need.” He said, sort of sweetly, a small comforting smile on his face, the pet name causing all sorts of lovely feelings inside.

“Sor.. yes Sir,” you corrected yourself.

“And stop calling me Sir darlin, only my employees call me that,” he said, “well my employees and some others..” he said with a dirty smirk, causing your eyebrows to raise sky high.

“Sorry Sir,” you said quickly, not even thinking. “…shit.”

“Seriously doll, you don’t need to be so scared of me,” he stated, his right hand reaching out and landing on your shoulder, your muscles tensing for a second then relaxing when you saw the look in his eye, he was telling the truth

“Ok.. then can I ask why you are here?” You ask, some fear creeping it’s way into your voice despite his reassurance. He kept his face carefully still and he looked you up and down, the feeling of being examined was strong, like he was trying to decide if you were worthy of knowing his business.

“You got it right earlier, your roommate owes me something, and I came to get it from him,” he removes his hand from your arm as he spoke after a tense silence. He was being purposely vague, trying to gage your reaction, to see if you were really clueless or you were playing with him.

“It’s money right, I mean it has to be, what else could he owe you. I told him to stop freaking borrowing money I swear I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me..l”

“You’re rambling darlin, you realise that?” He cuts you off with a smirk on his face.

“I’ve been told I do that when I’m nervous. I don’t know how much Caleb owes you and I don’t know what the situation is but.. if you.. I mean..”

“What doll? What are you trying to say. I won’t be mad, I swear,” Barnes responds, one side of his lips tugging upwards at your mumbling.

“Could you give him some more time?”

He was not expecting that. ‘Brave little thing’ he thought.

“I mean I don’t know how long he’s owed you for but he’s getting back on track I swear, he’s getting better, he is, in-fact he’s at a gamblers anonymous meeting right now, and he has a job interview tomorrow so he can pay rent and pay back people he owes money to.” You rush out, trying to help your friend, “Of course he never told me that he owes money to a mobster but that besides the point” you add quieter, more to yourself than anything but Barnes still heard it. He chuckled and ran his flesh hand through his hair, pushing back the long strands out of his face.

“He does owe money to a mobster, quite a lot in fact so I’m gonna have to say no to that request darlin, I’ve given him long enough.” He responds, his tone dripping with authority, the Brooklyn drawl on the pet name he threw out made your heart beat faster.

“Please. Please just think about it Sir.. uh Mr Barnes.. Sir. Caleb’s had a rough go of it lately, he lost his father not too long ago and he’s been a mess ever since, if you could just give..”

“I already said no once doll, I don’t like repeating myself.” His tone was final, and even though his words were not that intense, the threat in his voice hung in the air like poison gas before slamming into your chest, the fear that had previously been quelled came racing back, sitting on your shoulders like a lead coat.

The silence stayed for longer this time, you eyes firmly fixed to the floor to a sound even the possibility of upsetting the man that had broken into your home.

“So you’re a tattoo artist huh? He asked, his low voice calming you some. Huh he’s trying to make me less afraid of him, what kind of ruthless criminal is he?

“Yes..um I am,” you answer, incredibly aware of the position you were in, better to go along with whatever he did.

“You got a flash book?” He questioned, genuinely interested.

“Uh yeah I do.” You reply awkwardly, not sure where this new line of conversation was coming from.

“Can I see it?”

“…sure,” the word came out as a question.

He nodded at you, and you took it as a sign that you were good to move. Turning slowly and moving away from the wall to your bag on the floor, you reach down and grab your flash sketchbook and hand it to him.

“Are all of these available?” He asked, flipping through the pages, taking in each design.

Seeing him like this, calmly looking through the sketchbook makes it very easy to forget who he was, a ruthless calculating Mob Boss, wanted for almost every crime under the sun.

“The ones with the X’s over them have been done before but could be repeated if someone really wanted it,” you answered, slightly more confident in yourself as you were talking about something you loved.

“This is Latin, right, what does it mean?” He asked, moving to stand next to you pointing to a design in the book, an alien inside a bottle of wine.

“‘In Vino Veritas’, it means ‘In wine, there is truth’” you say, “ I though it was funny, y’know.. ‘the truth is out there’..aliens..” you trailed off, not sure how to explain that design

He let out an quiet amused sound, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a trail of chills down your spine.

“This one is beautiful,” he said, pointing to a different design on the next page.

“Thank you, it’s Icarus, I have it tattooed on me, it was hard as hell doing it on my own leg,” you say, proud of the design you created.

“Icarus, what’s his story? I can’t quite remember, ” he asks.

“It’s a Greek myth y’know, Icarus and his father were held captive by King Minos in a tower, his father created wax wings so they could fly away from their captors. The father warned Icarus from flying too high or too low, but he ignored his fathers warnings and flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. It’s a moral story to warn against the dangers of complacency and hubris, but to me it’s just a tragedy.” You say, turning to face him, making eye contact with the man. He listened intently to the story, his face unreadable but you thought you saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe he related to the myth, a man that was once held captive, now with everything in his hands, in danger of losing it all if he flew too close to the sun himself.

“A tragedy huh? I don’t think there’s anything tragic about it. He was warned not to do something dangerous and he went and did it anyway, it’s his own damn fault,” he stated, something slightly argumentative in his tone.

He looked straight at you while speaking and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was looking into your soul, like his statement was some kind of test.

“I agree with the idea that he got what he deserved, but I meant it as a tragedy for his father. Creating something so pure for you and your child to escape from captivity, only for your child to ignore your warnings and pay the ultimate price for it. His father probably spent the rest of his life regretting escaping his prison because that was the action that ultimately lead to his sons death. It’s heartbreaking if you see it from a different perspective,” you say back, not really expecting him to engage you in a philosophical debate.

“Hmm.. that’s an interesting way to see it, I’m not really one for looking at different perspectives, mine suits me just fine,” he answered, the fact that this man was dangerous came screaming back to you with the look on his face, blank like he was devout of all emotion at that moment. You got the feeling he wasn’t speaking metaphorically anymore.

The tension was palpable, you not knowing what to say next and him deciding he was done talking for the time being. He placed the book down on a side table, and turned back to you. “Y’know what, I want it.” He said, confusing flooding your brain.

“Want what?” You ask calmly, not wanting to push your luck with the man.

“That tattoo, the Icarus one, I want it.” He answers, leaning back against the side of the table he was sat at earlier. His crossed his arms, which should have been intimidating, but for some reason the only thought floating through your head was Damn his arms are bigger than my head. Gimmie.

“You want the Icarus?” You ask, somewhat stupidly and he had just said that.

“Yes I do,” he answered simply, “Are you free tomorrow?” He asks, smile on his face.

“Umm not really, I have a few appointments tomo..”

“Move them, hell cancel them. Block out a spot long enough for me to get this tattoo.” He states, cutting of your sentence.

“I can’t do that, it’s too short notice and I could loose..”

“I’ll pay what ever you lose for cancelling the appointments. I’m getting this done, tomorrow.” He cuts you off again, a finality in his tone that warns you it would be pointless and probably rather stupid to argue.

“Uh..ok” you respond, shaking your head a little, still trying to figure out what just happened.

“Great.” He clapped his hands together and the sound made you jump. Barnes either didn’t notice it or just didn’t care. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh? Why do you want my phone?” You question.

Barnes just rolled his eyes, walked forward until he was stood right infront of you, toe to toe, staring down at you with a semi amused look on his face.

“How am I supposed to find out where your shop is if you don’t text me the location?” He said sarcastically.

Literally a million different ways, google it for starters, get one of your goons to find it, stalk me and follow me there.. c’mon man think. Obviously you kept these thoughts to yourself but Barnes smirked as if he could hear them anyway. Pulling out your phone and handing it to him you ask, “What time do you want to come in for?”

“Around 1-ish doll, that ok?” He asked, knowing that it is, as he’s already told you to move/cancel your other appointments.

“That’s fine by me Bar..Mr Barnes” you answer, slipping up, almost forgetting the level of respect you should probably show to the gangster in your home.

He calls his phone from yours, adding the new number to contacts in both phones, “there, now you can let me know the address of your shop.”

“I’ll sent it to you tomorrow.. unless you want me to send it now?” You asked he hands your phone back , uncertain of what he wanted

“Tomorrows fine” he answers, walking backwards towards the front door, “I’ll see ya in the afternoon doll,” he says while opening the door and mostly leaving until he pauses completely, slowly turning back towards you.

This is it, he’s been messing with me this whole time and now he’s going to shoot me.

“Tell Caleb he has 6 weeks to get my money back to me or I’ll be paying him another visit, ok doll.” He says, no question in his voice. He waits until you answer with a “Yes, Mr Barnes,” and disappears into the hallway outside your apartment.

It takes about 5 minutes for the shock to fully wear off, and it causes you to stagger over to the couch, fall backwards onto it an ask into the empty room, “What the actual fuck just happened?”

As soon as the question was out of your mouth , your phone buzzed in your hand.

James:

Don’t ever call me Mr Barnes again Y/n.

It makes me feel ancient.

I hate that.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #mob!bucky #bucky barnes #mob!bucky fic #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #bucky imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #tattoo artist!reader

[frogchiro]

JESUS OKAY I FINALLY GOT IT this has been stewing in my mind for like 2 weeks now and now I finally got it. Also this is specifically dedicated for my dear pookie @sant-riley thank you for the brain worm♡

Tattoo artist!Ghost who is just so huge and burly and intimidating. His tree-trunk like arms are covered in bold, black tattoos, his strong neck too and you could swear that another large intricate one was on his stomach too whenever his black shirt rode up.

And imagine you, a novice to the tattoo world and Ghost was initially kinda surprised that you came into his shop; it was known for big, bold artworks and someone as sweet and soft looking like you didn't really seem like someone who would get one, maybe he could figure something out for you.

So imagine the way Tattoo Artist!Ghost's heart rate spark when you asked him to design a delicate womb tattoo in that shy voice of yours ;; Simon swears he almost felt light headed from the way all his blood rushed towards his dick because in his mind with an added womb tattoo?? And your soft curves, broad hips and full thighs?? You will look like his own personal fertility goddess and Simon became determined to not only be the one to exclusively tattoo you, but also to win this girl over and become his♡

#kin speaks #i threw this together while sitting in a caffee #so i'm sorry if this is shitty and erratic #but jesus i had a spark of something and i had to put this down #tattoo artist!ghost #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

[daisiescomelate]

Prompt: Sukuna keeps getting tattoos because you keep kissing every inch of them.

Content: Mature, drabble.

div. plutism

He already had the dark lines running along his body when you met and they got a good amount of attention. Arms, legs, chest, back and face. And then one day he got a random tattoo after so long, a small thing over his chest that won him a peck every time he got off the shower.

He got a second tattoo after that because one of his friends saw that new one he got and asked him to accompany him to get one of his own. Already in the shop, Sukuna asked for a big piece on his arm that you traced every night in bed while waiting to fall asleep.

By the third one he started to notice the patterns.

If the tattoo was small it gained him butterfly kisses, and if it was bigger you took your time to trace every line. Kissing and kissing his skin. To get the line art, the details and the specs of color.

Then the third and the fourth and walking around the house without a shirt on were kisses garantied, and t-shirts stopped being a thing for him at home.

The neck tattoo was a great investment. Every time it caught your attention it gave him a solid thirty minutes of love and nibbles. You would climb onto his lap and trace the leaves and the roses and the skull with your lips and the tip of your tongue, and he would melt over the back of the couch or the pillow, keeping his head back and exposing his most vulnerable spot to you to bite and bruise it as you pleased.

At times he used his discovery to his advantage and with devious intent, like the quote that run from the middle of his ribs to his V line and down to his tight. It was a random line that you had mentioned in passing that you liked so he just put it there, and he shivered every time you kissed it letter by letter, rewriting every character with soft and warm kisses and pressing them with your teeth. No skips, no rush.

Yes, in the beggining he was trying to be hot about it and put more thought into what the pictures were, but he soon run out of ideas and even at some point it didn't even matter to him what the tattoo was. You mentioned you thought sharks were cool? Done. There is a type of flower that he noticed had caught your attention? Awesome. Some dumb lyrics that you kept repeating? Good enough for him. It saved him time and energy that way.

What was truly important? How would the lines flow over his body, where would your lips fall. Long lines dancing up and down, spiraling over him, thought-out for you to care for. Delicate, without rough edges so you would take your time.

A wink to one of your hobbies over his shoulder blade. A single feather of a bird you liked. A random drawing in your favorite color. A shrine because you had a date on a temple once. Of course he didn't tell you what they meant, and you couldn't tell because he was smart about it, only hinting at things in the images and waiting enough time for you to forget that you mentioned something before he got it, never picking something too obvious.

The picture didn't matter. Your breath over his skin, the sweetness of your lips, the way they locked your eyes all over him, were all the tattoos real purpose.

Ink, and ink, and ink, every tinted inch of skin was your conquering. A game that you didn't even knew you were playing, and where Sukuna was willing to give it all up.

#jjk #fanfic #ryomen sukuna #x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #fanfiction #sukuna x tattoos

[cupid-styles]

Oh fuck tattoorry piercing his girl’s nipples would be so hot specially with how much she loves humiliation that entire interaction would be so sexually charged

this took me FOREVER but I hope you enjoy!!!!

part of the tattoorry/plugrry world

word count: 3k

content warnings: piercings (mentions of needles), spicy but no smut

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Wait, you're being serious?"

Harry huffs out a laugh, sticking his chopsticks in the to-go container of veggie lo mein. "Of course I'm being serious. Why would I lie about that, dovie?"

His response, though not meant to make her feel bad, makes her shrug, a warm blush blooming over the expanse of her cheeks. She stuffs another bite of dumpling in her mouth, chewing it thoughtfully to save her from further embarrassment in front of her boyfriend. 

"Don't feel bad," he murmurs, his large palm finding the space between her shoulders, rubbing her sweatshirt-clad skin comfortingly. Her eyes stay glued to the television in front of them, where they're watching the newest episode of Ru-Paul's Drag Race per Y/N's request. (She's never watched it before and Jo, the receptionist at St. Mark's Social, told her she had to. Y/N's been steadily binging it for weeks. Harry pretends like he doesn't love it, but he's secretly just as invested.)

"Dove, look at me," he sighs, placing his food on the coffee table. She does, positioning herself to face him and flittering her eyes up to his face. He looks tired, but they both are. It's been a long week of work and school — however, Y/N was able to get an interview for the bookstore on campus, which ended up causing her a lot of stress and anxiety. It ultimately went well and they said they'd be getting back to her soon. Even if it wasn't the bookstore she wanted to work at, it was still a source of income that would hopefully replenish some of her savings and help her pay rent and bills. 

"I shouldn't have laughed, I'm sorry I did that," he says softly, "It's just a given to me, because of my work. Nipple piercings aren't otherworldly, like they probably are for you."

She shouldn't be nitpicking, but somehow that hurts just as badly. Sometimes, she feels like a child around Harry. It's as if he's lived a thousand lives in the adult world and she's just recently gotten to have a smidgen of those experiences. 

"It's not otherworldly," she says the word like it's an insult, and Harry has to press his lips into a line so he doesn't laugh, "I just didn't know people got them."

Clearing his throat, he forces himself to put on his professional piercer-and-tattooer face, "Yeah. It's something that anyone can get and I've done a fair amount of them. Semi-painful in the moment with a long healing time. They can look good on the right person, though."

That causes her eyebrows to nearly shoot up to her forehead. 

"What do you mean, the right person?"

"You're just a nosy little thing tonight, aren't you?" Harry fires back with a smirk. She goes to cower with deflated shoulders but he instantly makes a tsk-ing noise with his mouth, grabbing her hands to keep her close, "I just mean, like any piercing, it doesn't always look right on the person. Sometimes people get nose or eyebrow piercings and it's like, oh, that's fine. But sometimes it's as if their anatomy looks complete with the piercing — almost like it's meant to be there, if that makes sense."

It doesn't, but it only continues to pique her curiosity even more. 

"What about me?" 

"What about you?" Harry chuckles, using a hand to smooth her hair down. 

"What piercings would look good on me?"

He smirks at her little game. She plays this sometimes, and he assumes it only comes from a place of true wonder. When they talked about the drugs he's done before, she asked which ones he think she'd like. (None, except maybe for weed, but she has to get her anxiety under control before she tries it.) They went over different styles of tattoos when Y/N was interested in his work, especially when he explained that his are just a hodgepodge of designs, some with meaning, some without. (He said she can get whatever she wants if she decides on something one day, but he's particularly partial to a little "H" on her bum.) And now, she wants to know what piercings would fit her. 

"You can get whatever you'd like, dovie," he replies, "Just as long as I'm the one doing it."

She rolls her eyes and leans her shoulder against the plush of the couch cushion. "Yeah, but you're the professional, Harry! You know what would look best on me."

"Anything would, you're gorgeous."

"That's a cop-out answer and you know it!"

Harry laughs loudly and places his hands atop her shoulders, "Okay, okay. Let me think, dovie. I need to assess my client."

"Oh, you're being a professional now?"

"Shhhh!" he exclaims, and it only makes her laugh harder. He's already gone to that focused place, though, with wandering but fixated eyes and that small crinkle between his eyebrows. She feels bashful beneath his gaze, blinking her eyes as he analyzes her facial features. She's watched him work before, but for some reason, this in particular reminds her of the first time they met, when she sat in on him tattooing Mai. She remembers the way her stomach warmed and her core throbbed at his attuned facial expression, similar to how it is now.

"Okay," he murmurs. Slowly, he reaches up to gently tap at the side of her nose. "I think you'd look very pretty with a small nose piercing."

"Really?"

He nods. "Yes, but you're beautiful with or without, so it doesn't matter. Plus, I can't have my girlfriend looking cooler than me."

She's not surprised at the way he instantly returns to his teasing self, even if it's not exactly the answer she was fishing for. She watches as he leans forward to grab his carton of noodles. With her tongue peeking out to moisten her lips, she attempts to grab his attention again.

"What about...?" she glances down at her chest. Harry looks at her with a quirked eyebrow. Her form is currently swallowed up in a sweatshirt that's a few sizes too large, so she realizes she's not being entirely specific about what she's asking. "Like...?"

"Huh?"

She sighs frustratedly, "My boobs!"

"Oh," Harry's eyes widen, flickering down to her covered breasts, "You wanna know if you'd look good with nipple piercings?"

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip. She watches at the cogs turn in his brain, his gaze meeting hers a moment later. 

"Need to see 'em." he says decidedly. 

She huffs out a chuckle as he helps her peel her sweatshirt off, leaving her in a comfortable bralette. It's pale pink and sheer, but with Harry's hands splayed across her ribs, he still pulls the fabric down. In an instant, her nipples are stiff and peaked from the cold air, and she's attempting not to feel sheepish underneath his intense eyes as they flicker between her breasts. 

"I don't know why I'm even contemplating it," he says, though it's mainly to himself, "Of course you'd look hot with them. You're you."

He looks up at her with a goofy grin before pressing a kiss between them. She blushes.

"You think so?" she asks as her hand finds the back of his neck. He nods, eyes flickering closed when her fingertips play with the shorter, curly tendrils. 

"Of course."

"Would you do it, then?"

Harry's eyes shoot open. "Wait, what? I thought we were just... talking, I didn't think you were being serious."

Y/N shrugs, "I dunno, I kind of like the idea of it."

"Dovie... you only have your ears pierced," he mumbles, sitting up and reaching to gently touch her ear lobes, "If this is something you'd seriously want, I'd want you to think about it for at least, maybe, a few days, not just 10 minutes."

"I've never done anything impulsive, though," Y/N says through a whine. He understands it, and his face crinkles some at her request. "You've gotten tattoos while you were drunk! O-or given stupid ones to yourself!"

"I know, baby," Harry coos, "But those were stupid decisions and I don't want you to make the same ones. You're so much better than that."

She sighs dejectedly. He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks, then to her nose. 

"I get it, dove, really. And by all means, I'd rather you get an impulsive piercing than a tattoo. But the healing time is really long, and it is painful. I just don't want you to regret it or... or get mad at me, either."

Y/N's heart softens a bit, nodding her head as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. "No, I understand." 

"If you still want them in a few weeks or months, I'm more than happy to be the one to do it," he says softly, reaching down to give her hand a small squeeze. She perks up a little at that, and he smiles. "Just give it some more thought, okay?"

. . .

Harry really, truly thought Y/N would never mention the whole nipple piercing thing again.

It turns out, his girl is way more stubborn than he could have ever anticipated, because it's been four weeks since then and she still wants them. 

In fact, she's currently sitting in his little work zone, where he tattoos and pierces other clients. Not his girlfriend.

"Are you sure?" he asks for the thousandth time. In the time since she first brought it up, she's done tons of research, including asking Harry just short of a million questions. He appreciated her enthusiasm towards education, but talking about nipple piercings as soon as he finished up work wasn't always ideal. Still, though, he made sure to entertain anything she had to ask, even catching her looking up different jewelry styles and what it looked like on different people. 

And, as soon as Jo accidentally overheard Y/N talking to him about it, of course she offered to show her own. Harry wanted to bang his head into a wall as he listened to them excitedly chatter in the corner, right after one of his employees bared her entire chest to his girlfriend. It had to be some type of workplace violation, only Harry served as the closest thing to Human Resources at the shop — and, considering they sold weed on the side, he didn't think he had much of a case against Jo.

It just so happened that Y/N got out of classes early on Wednesday and Harry hung around the shop those days, making deals and doing boring business administration things. When she asked if she could come by to get her piercings done, he reluctantly said yes. 

It wasn't that he didn't absolutely love the idea of it — he did, actually, and his mouth nearly watered at the imagery it created in his brain. What he did hate was the thought of causing his girl any kind of pain. He was still in the camp of being fearful that she'd get angry at him if she didn't end up liking it. But her excitement towards it never wavered, and he would never be one to tell her no.

"Yes, I'm sure," Y/N replies, wringing her hands together in her lap. "I'm nervous, though."

"That's normal, dovie. Just try your best to relax, it's only me."

She nods as he shuts the door to give them some privacy. He never does that with clients, but he wants to make sure he's making it as comfortable as a process as possible — and, maybe he's keen on ensuring no one else gets a peek. 

He busies himself with sanitizing his tools, washing his hands, and eventually pulling a pair of latex gloves on. He wishes he could make it a more fun experience for her, but the whole thing is quite medical.

"You already picked your jewelry out, right?" he asks lowly. She nods her head as she watches on. 

"Mhm. I sent you a picture of it last week."

"Right, these simple pink barbels, hm?" 

The piercing jewelry she'd chosen were pretty spot on to Y/N's aesthetic of being uncomplicated and feminine. When he saw what she picked, he immediately told her that it would fit her perfectly. 

"Alright, I'm gonna clean them and then we can get started. Still feeling good?"

She nods again. 

"You gonna tell me if you're gonna pass out again, baby?"

She scowls, remembering back to fainting from her first ear piercing. The sour, twisted frown on her face makes him laugh. 

"That's still so embarrassing." she mumbles. On the newly cleaned workspace, Harry shakes his head, placing the sanitized jewelry and piercing supples down on it. 

"Not embarrassing. Cute, actually," he corrects, peeling his gloves off. "Okay. I'm gonna help position you, is that okay?"

"Do you do that for every client?"

He narrows his eyes at her playfully, "No, you jealous little fiend."

She pulls her sweater off, revealing a pale blue baby tee. He swallows as she lays back on the extended table, taking a deep breath to surely calm her nerves. He gently squeezes her wrist, hovering over her form as she gets comfortable. When she shoots him a small nod, he smiles, flipping her shirt up. 

"Okay, baby," he says, smoothing his hand over her stomach, "I'm sure you read this in your... insane amount of research—"

"Not insane."

He nods curtly, "Right, not insane," he quickly corrects. "Anyway, your nipples have to be hard for this. It helps with the placement."

She issues another silent nod his way but doesn't move to do anything. With a small smile, he gently cups her breast. 

"Do you want me to?" he asks, his tone dropping lowly. She's not quite sure what he's even asking to do, but she still provides an affirmative answer. It's not a second more before he's latched his lips around her nipple, her eyes fluttering back from the sucking sensation. It's messy, the way he alternates between each one so they're swollen with his spit, and her fingers find his long curls, tugging at them gently to press him closer to her chest. 

It feels like he's gone far too quickly, plushy, wet lips pressing a quick kiss to the valley between her breasts as he examines his work. Her mouth parts as she watches him bite his lip. 

"You're good," he pants out, though he takes a moment to adjust the growing bulge in his pants, "Need to... put gloves back on."

They're both a bit lust-driven now, but Harry's quick to meld back into his professional persona after snapping a clean pair of gloves on his hands. Y/N swallows as he analyzes her, feeling squeamish beneath his eyes. Wordlessly, he grabs a marker and places two dots on either of her nipples. 

"That's just for the placement," he explains, grabbing a mirror so she can look at where the jewelry would sit, "What do you think?"

Truthfully, they could have been completely wonky and Y/N wouldn't have noticed, let alone say anything. She trusts Harry implicitly, even if she still feels a bit hazy from the welcomed assault on her stiffened breasts.

"Good." she says with a nod, glancing up at him, "Looks good."

"Alright, baby," he replies. He turns to get the clean piercing needle from his rolling tray. "I'm gonna count down from three. I want you to close your eyes and inhale on three, then exhale on one. We'll take a short break after the first one, and then I'll do the second. Does that sound okay?"

"Mhm," she mumbles, nervously biting her lip. "Just do it, please. 'm gonna lose my nerve."

He chuckles and nods, instructing her to keep her eyes closed as he situates himself over her. 

"Okay. Three— there you go, dovie, big, deep breath— two, one."

She immediately winces from the sharp bite of pain, a noisy gasp falling from her lips. Harry silently cringes to himself — not because the piercing isn't perfect, but because he absolutely hates knowing he's the reason why she's in pain right now. 

"Keep your eyes closed, baby," he murmurs as he fits the jewelry through the first piercing, "Good girl. You're doing so good for me, hm? My strong baby."

She swallows harshly, hands balled into fists at her side. It's painful, that much is true, and she's beyond grateful when he finally finishes screwing the jewelry into place. She lets out a shaky breath and Harry coos, taking one of his gloves off to thumb her tears away. 

"Was that okay, dovie?" he asks worriedly, "We can always save the second for another day."

Y/N quickly shakes her head, "No, no. Just do the other one now, otherwise I'll never have you do it."

Harry repeats the process on the other side. The pain is just as bad, tears continuing to cloud Y/N's vision and roll down her cheeks despite her keeping her eyes squeezed close. He shushes her softly throughout it, his heart tugging. Once he's finished, he's quick to wash his hands, listening to her quiet sniffles. 

"I know baby, I know," he mumbles. He crosses the room as soon as he's done, sitting down next to her and brushing her hair back, "You did so good, you know that? 's all done, dovie, you're done."

She sniffs, batting her wet eyelashes up at him. "'s done?"

"Yeah, sweetheart." he says with a small, crooked smile. "You were so good. Took it like a champ."

"I didn't, I cried the whole time."

He chuckles and leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Do you wanna see them?"

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip as he stands to grab the handheld mirror. He helps her slowly sit up, hinging at the waist. He holds it up to her chest, both pairs of their eyes staring at her swollen breasts. His eyes flitter to her face to gauge her expression, scared that she hates them. 

"Wait," she mutters, cocking her head to the side, "Wait... they're kind of hot."

Relief floods Harry's system and he smirks. "You think so?" 

"Yeah," she nods, sitting up on her knees, "I know they're kinda puffy right now but... I think I like them. A lot."

Harry swallows harshly, dropping the mirror on his chair. Suddenly, he's surging towards her and taking her cheeks between his large palms, smushing their lips together like his life depends on it. It takes her entirely by surprise, and it's hurried and hot and desperate, so much so that she's panting into his mouth and gripping at his black tee-shirt. 

When he finally breaks their kiss, strings of spit still connecting their mouths, he keeps his forehead pressed against hers. Again, he glances down to get another look at her chest. 

"I love you so fucking much," are the only words he can utter out before he's pulling her jeans down to bury his head between her legs. 

#bestie asks #writing #tattoo artist h #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles one direction #one direction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fic rec

[casiia]

simon and how he would act if you have a back tattoo. he is in awe, tracing along the inked lines which send shivers down your spine. you squirm and tell him it tickles but he doesn’t even hear you, his fingers just mapping out the art.

he kisses along your back, starting from your shoulders all the way down your tattoo and ending with a soft kiss to your hip.

he’s squeezing your waist before sliding his cock into your gushing pussy. your wrist aching as you hold yourself up, your ass high in the air.

simon loves fucking you doggy, but when you’re fatigued, he’ll push you down and take you prone-bone.

he cums on your back, watching his thick ropes of sperm spurt out and add a shine to your tattoo.

#[ *ೃ༄ — 𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒. ] #i want a back tattoo #( 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 ᡣ𐭩 ྀིྀ ) #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader smut #simon riley smut #cod #call of duty

[tojisun]

a short snapshot of what being with simon riley looks like (in my eyes) 🥹🫶🏼

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #suns #do ignore the fact that the other pic w arms are tattoo-less #i need him sm i love him sm i miss him sm too???? #idk i need to read lengthy fics to shut my mind up