#His Body The Canvas: Short Story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sugar-petals · 2 years

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The Canvas (m)⎮𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕!𝚓𝚓𝚔

/ - CANVAS (n.) a tattoo client or professional ink model.

pairing. › dancer!jungkook + female tattoo artist!reader

❞ SUMMARY. jk serves as your canvas for a renowned LA tattoo competition. experienced in keeping it calm, you lift the trophy by giving him a full torso makeover. the prize money and glory is yours, plus his new tattoo couldn’t look any better. so, what are you gonna do with all that?

MASTERLIST | [READ IT ON AO3]

↳ WARNINGS/TAGS. slow burn, femdom undertones, ponytail jk, friends to lovers energy 💕, smut + slice of life, jk is buff and shy (...and a sucka for pain 😛), warning for needles obviously, profanity, jk earns money as a camboy, riding, sub-ish koo {terminology note: `skin break´ ≠ injury, but blank skin space left between ink bits}

word count. 14k

↦ CARO’S NOTE. happy 5th year blog anniversary — gotta celebrate it with a story! you will find a lot of tattoo slang and the various schools of practice in this, but it will be explained along the way. enjoy, and thank you for all the support over the years 🐯

✪ PS. in the banner you see a famous tattoo artist, miss ryan ashley and her partner. it’s just for the aesthetic 😄 the reader insert doesn’t look like this, her description is vague as always :)

„Turns out we got actual money to blow!“

You overlook the six tied-up cash stacks on the makeshift plastic table, presented in a small iron case. In between, a massive champagne bottle: Unopened, because neither of you drinks. And, to be honest: It would not be necessary, nor pleasant in today’s oppressive heat.

The shaky nervousness from before the contest, far gone. Only adrenaline remains. And a jumping joy that makes Jungkook cover his face with both palms flat.

„I still can’t believe it!“

Since it’s his first time doing something like this, the whole event has left him increasingly weak in the knees. Jungkook really did look surprised when the results were announced in bright screen colors and the room was in absolute shambles. Standing ovations, even a couple cameras, big noise, everything.

„I know, man,“ you reply. „Wild day.“

„We did it.“

„Yeah. We can definitely be satisfied.“

You sitting down after all that maneuvering around on stage and behind it — it felt like a good way to cool off. Standing before an audience for two hours was something not to be underestimated.

Thank God there was an actual aircon back here. But still, there’s so much excess energy in your body. You can’t help but turn and turn the metal trophy in your hands, and kick your feet ever so lightly at the thought of really taking it home this time. Jungkook can’t settle on a chair at all. He’s just pacing around not knowing what to even do with his hands.

„The competition… They were so strong,“ he puffs out — the tone loaded with genuine respect rather than the much stricter attitude of discernment shared among today’s attending pros, yourself included. „They really preferred yours and not the tiger. Or the guy with the Leonardo DiCaprio portrait. That’s incredible.“

„Maybe. I think we got a better rating because yours healed so well,“ you gaze over your work again. The masterpiece of ink on him. You’re carrying a certain admitted pride in your words, but also relief. This has been one of your most ambitious tattoos in all the 15 years you’ve been in the game. It’s seriously been a journey.

In fact, the preparation cost more time and effort than inking a month’s worth of regular clients. Yes, daily practice was one thing. Competing, another. Especially with a model like that: Jungkook, whose performance had been nothing short of electric and stellar. On the ink bed, and on stage alike.

Even your fiercest opponent trying to impress the judges with their wannabe surrealistic tiger didn’t stand a chance against the level of 3D shapes and shading you created on his body. But the decision of the jury seemed close regardless, maybe for dramatic effect, so you retired backstage overjoyed. Where, and you really feel like you did his body justice, his tattoo looks just as vibrant under more crisp and cool energy-saving lamps overhead.

„Yeah, it really did heal nicely, though,“ he pats his solar plexus, almost massaging it. „It feels good.“

You bet it does. Jungkook is the type of client you would describe as— well. Very healthy.

Your mind would add some more colorful adjectives to that. But that string of thought really does stay at the back of your brain where some of your naughtier tattoo ideas reside as well. Which, and you were fine with that anyway, was certainly not the topic of today’s contest. Which rather wanted artists to show off their clean lines and some pretty harmless motifs, mind you.

Sure, the process of contests was always a little different. You didn’t care much. Some tattoo awards had the artists ink their models literally a couple hours beforehand. Others did a speed challenge on-site. Mutually nerve-wracking, but it was doable. Artists with a tight schedule did the same in their personal studios, after all. Canvasses would walk on stage with red blotchy skin all around the tattoo. This show, however, placed emphasis on longevity, the final result. To be prepared until the last detail, Jungkook had walked up in your downtown studio ten times beforehand.

As of now, a highly stylized XL rendition of Jungkook’s Doberman graced his torso. An illusion of color, created by brush strokes in ink rather than an exact replica of the polaroid pictures he had given you. Bam was a pretty cute pet dog, but also a very lively sight to see. Since you had insisted to watch Bam in motion like a live study, Jungkook brought him to the parlor more than once, which added to the hours you had spent together.

He was quite a majestic, eye-catching, streamlined dog. You had often tattooed smaller portraits of pets. Their faces usually, but not the entire animal, on a whole upper body for that matter. People usually wanted other tattoos to take precedence, like a landscape design. It took you five hours to come up with a dynamic winding pose. One that showed Bam in a slightly right-twisted bird’s eye perspective. Not in actual brown that was true to the real-life dog, but black, adding to the feel of a severe-looking brushstroke painting. Which apparently left an impression with the judges.

„And, the jury wanted enough contrast,“ you cuff your shirt on either side. „Was a good idea we went just as dark as your hair. Wouldn’t have worked as well otherwise.“

„It all fits together really well, I think. It’s become a bit, how do you say. One with me.“

Although you wouldn’t blurt that out like a preschooler, you do think so, too. Jungkook stood out among your clients as one of the cutest, with a body that was nothing short of meticulously sculpted. A waist that shocking, you’d never seen it. Even some of the bodybuilders you had tattooed didn’t have this kind of hourglass. Perfect to pick up on some carefully planned artistry, and easy on the eye anyway. However, nothing you’d say to his face.

Yet.

Who knows. You keep your expression neutral enough when he’s around. All day, you paid special attention to maintaining a stern composure in general, given how it was such a hasty crowded event to begin with. Not that competition would always favor the stern, but it sure helped with focus.

„To be honest,“ you put the trophy onto the table now, „The judges don’t splurge their points if it’s some muddy shit. The tiger paws looked pretty washed out from some angles. Your tattoo will fucking pop in any lighting. It has to.“

Bam was as eye-catching as a tattoo as he was in real life. You paid special attention to adding enough solid black. Contrast always needed a certain amount of courage. On your side, and a client’s.

Even now, in the solely artificial lighting of this shabby backroom, the heavy blocks of extra strong ink on his ribs, sternum and stomach create a nice interplay with the shape of his upper body. Unsurprisingly, Jungkook didn’t remember to put his top back on yet. And why would he bother. It’s been piping hot in the valley districts since 9:30 AM. So hot, a couple palm trees on your way to the contest site have been looking crispy.

„That’s one of the best parts,“ he nods, all while toweling down his neck from all the sweat. The stage had burning hot overhead lights and the audience number was breaking the four digits. Stressfully enough, in terms of decibels as well. Jungkook walked offstage with you saying his ears were reeling for a solid minute. It was more than necessary to get away from all the hustle and bustle after the supposed celebration was dispersing.

„Glad you like how it turned out, then. Took a lot of risks here.“

„I, uh. Really gotta thank you though,“ Jungkook proceeds to retie his little wavy ponytail, plucking the crown and baby hairs that went astray on stage back in.

He leaves some side bangs to the front, which is what you once remarked looks the best on him with his current hair length. Little did you know he’d take this so seriously, but you haven’t seen him without a hair tie since.

„You invested so much time,“ he continues. „You couldn’t take so many other clients because of me.“

„Time doesn’t bother me that much,“ you shovel some money bands into the bulky grey rucksack you drag out from underneath your chair, then take out some bottled sparkling water instead. This backpack has been both your lifeline throughout the day. „Those weren’t the easiest sessions, that’s what I mean. But you made it through.“

„Yeah,“ he smiles. You can tell he is a bit flustered by the money.

„The other clients can honestly wait. They know I do competitions from time to time. The regulars, at least.“

A dozen people sure said they missed you. Some newbies at the studio resented you for spending your „efforts and talent on one singular canvas“, but as today’s MC of the show had said: It’s for the greater good of a career to pursue contests, and helps a tattooist to be out there. „It’s an adventure!“ was the cheesy contest tagline. Not to mention that an artist who was good enough… would meet attractive people as a `pleasant byproduct‘ as one of your fellow West Coast contestants had joked backstage.

You had rejected that mentality beforehand. Craft came first. Ironically, it was you who simply searched for the right skin, motif, and proper frame who ended up with someone attractive indeed. Those things always happen if you don’t search for it. And it was an adventure, sort of.

Jungkook didn’t exactly pass out when you moved up to the rib with your tattoo gun, but damn. He was bleeding. In essence, the first appointment turned out to be a three hour groaning session. Since he already had a complete and partially reworked sleeve, it appeared like another tattoo following many. But the second visit was so intense, it had your canvas screaming out loud at some point — albeit he stubbornly refused to take a break. `Keep going… I can handle it.´

You usually did mid-range tattoos as your specialty, but his one was gigantic and painstaking. How he muscled through that psychologically, at his tender age, you’re not sure how. After the session was done, you would hang out eating pizza in the shaded backyard of the studio, listening to pop music and talking about tattoo shows as if nothing had happened.

„You mean, it was demanding?“

„Oh yeah,“ you screw the bottle open. „Demanding is the word. I mean, count the elements. That’s almost 150 sepearate parts to fill out.“

„Right.“

„If you want a tattoo to look like a real ink stroke, you need to consider how the separate hairs of a brush would behave. The color needs to be, sorta— like disconnected. I’ve freestyled a lot of it.“

That’s also a reason why you’re sure the tiger didn’t win, and Jungkook got full points. Which surprised you more than him, something that caught you off guard in a peculiar way, even if you were endlessly happy, of course. That Jungkook was sure that you had winning potential was definitely an emotional pat on the back.

Your New York-based opponent sure did ace the Old School American style. It had some pretty memorable turquoise highlights that made the other competitor’s trendy watercolor freestyles look boring, and his canvas was beautiful. But: In your eyes, the design didn’t have an elaborate sketch behind it, and tried too hard to be East Coast.

To their demise and Jungkook’s gentle content, the judges ruled that your tattoo had 99% razor-sharp edges and a smart construction of the design: „You’ve done your studio justice.“ Because Jungkook looked promising as a canvas and he was kind as a person, you were willing to sacrifice some things to approach that level of hard perfection, even if it was `just an edgy tattoo of a random guy’s pet´ as some of your rivals had criticized you arriving on stage.

It took you three days to draw it all beforehand, and one to make a stencil that could even remotely fit on a body as curved as that. You didn’t wing it. Got creative. Stayed up. Talked a lot. Played around with the dog. Filled in every blank, and calculated every skin break to make actual sense from a distance. Jungkook had an unbreakable patience, too. Making the tattoo a big deal and taking it this far was worth the extra eye-squinting hours.

„It was fine by me. I’ll have this masterpiece for life,“ Jungkook rubs his stomach, almost as if he could caress the motif. He really does genuinely like it.

„You will. Those colors won’t fade anytime soon.“

Three weeks of successful healing time proved the durability of the tattoo and the raw diligence of preparing all this. It all went by in a hurry. The whole competition was a sequence of travel, rehearsing, check-ins, and finding some suitable lotion to oil Jungkook up with since you quickly ran out of what you brought along. He was okay with you touching him like this. Jungkook said, since you had been under his skin, being simply on it was not the slightest inconvenience.

You did over a dozen contests before. You wanted your canvas to be shining bright in front of the discerning jury. Oil would add a gleaming touch to any tattoo, and helping Jungkook apply it was more than gratifying — not just artistically. You gotta drink a big sip on that.

„Amazing,“ he continues looking down on himself, his eyes really telling how exhausting the show was, but how rewarding. The 6’3 guy who got an entire sleeve and snake motif looked like an amateur canvas next to your model. Sure, the micro tats of some other competitors weren’t exactly precise and outstanding either so it had been easy to move to the Top 10, but when a tattoo artist was talking big game, big motif, big color, they better deliver.

„So— what do we fancy for the evening,“ you wave your backpack left and right, letting the cash tumble around. „Bowling? You’d be killin’ it. Buying some clothes? Or maybe we’ll go to an expensive club. You dance on the tables, I watch random people. You know, to judge their bad tats.“

He’s laughing at that. You’re sure you’D just be watching him move at best, he’s a dancer professionally — but anyway.

You continue listing ideas, but Jungkook sort of gapes at all the options without saying anything. He’s from a modest home like you were, the big city overwhelms him, as does the fact that you won 20,000$.

„You know what,“ the bottle wanders back into your rucksack, half empty. „We probably don’t have the energy to just straight up throw some big balls at a couple bowling pins, eh.“

Jungkook laughs again.

„Guess not. Would all just land in the gutter.“

„And shopping, that’s running a marathon. Maybe we can go to the club next week. What if we just sit on my terrace and watch some clouds? Back to the roots. I always do that to get inspiration.“

Jungkook perks up. You already invited him to your house before. It was a quicker, gentler recoloring session on a pretty dull rainy morning. To make sure he was competition ready, you carefully retouched some of his existing tattoos. His oldest, dearest ones. That’s how he got to see the Grey Room. Your art atelier, so to speak. Why grey? Because you don’t smudge — and the chair will prove it. Messy tattooists won’t go far, that was your opinion. Buying a black tattoo chair was an excuse.

„Hm, why not, I mean,“ he stumbles over his words, but you can tell he’s interested.

„Okay,“ you get up from your creaky chair, collecting the rest of your stuff, and he helps you with it. „It’s a done deal. You’ll see more of the house. The food is all prepared. Like, to perfection.“

During his recoloring session, Jungkook had to catch the bus right after, plus another client, Namjoon, came in for a lengthy consultation. It was all about whether you’d be sending Namjoon to an aesthetician for a laser treatment, or try to cover up the botched crooked rose on his pecs with a bigger design to one-up your precursor, this absolute idiot of a ‚line artist specialist‘. Your ass. It’s a crime to soil a person’s skin like that. Namjoon came in completely devastated and in need for help, so Jungkook quickly left. It ended up being the latter option, you tattoed a big fat 3D bonsai tree across the rose.

You only got back to Jungkook two days later, checking how his color was healing through video chat. He had stripped down enough for you to see the progress, and you tried your best to be professional, analyzing the next steps. Which had you excited, he always recovered exceedingly well, but you were both in a busy phase. Yet, you really couldn’t complain about not having him around. This tattoo and contest was a once-in-a-lifetime two-people project. It felt like being an Italian designer, taking your flagship testimonial to fashion week.

„Food?“

„I had Yoongi handle the ice cream maker this morning,“ you put on your shades, ready to go with your backpack filled to the brim. „But don’t tell anyone, lest my house gets robbed again. Banana flavor, by the way.“

Jungkook strangely doesn’t look as happy as you thought he’d be. But then again, not so strangely. Once the needle is inside and the first drop of ink settles in, you can read a canvas’ mind. It’s a connection that cannot be explained.

„Okay,“ is the lukewarm reply. He shoulders his own cross-body bag without really checking it once. Since he forgot his tank top, you hand it to him. It takes a couple seconds to register at all.

„Something not right?“

„It’s just, I wondered,“ he fumbles with the bag’s kinda tucked-in zipper. „You have— a boyfriend? Yoongi?“

„Ah, him,“ you chuckle. „No, Yoongi is my personal chef.“

„Oh, I see, the chef. I just, um.“

Jungkook looks wildly flustered at that realization, trying to find an excuse of looking away by fixing his ponytail, and rubbing his neck. Almost as if he got caught red-handed.

„And assistant. And the one who cleans my pool. And he schedules all my clients unless I do it myself. Yoongi handles everything on demand basically, so I can do this,“ you point at the surrounding hallway after opening the backroom’s lanky door.

A big red banner reading - LOS ANGELES ANNUAL TATTOO AWARDS - stretches well across the wall, and the area seems completely swept of people.

You did spend quite a lot of time talking backstage after you gave an interview for the local press while Jungkook posed for the camera — despite his first time doing this, like a natural.

„Seems like the competition headed home already,“ is your dry comment, but you’re not that surprised. It was too warm to linger in this building complex for any longer than the show lasted. You didn’t even register how stuffy the air was since you got so carried away together, talking. Although you would have loved to talk to some of the attending experienced masters, maybe it had been a good idea to dodge the hype.

„They really did hurry home.“

„That’s what we’ll do as well. Fifty scoops for each of us. Yoongi always makes a generous amount of ice.“

„Wow, it’s really all taken care of then,“ Jungkook finally manages to stuff the tanktop back into his bag, absent-minded. He hasn’t even considered putting it on, then. He’s too busy admiring that you have such a thing as a personal assistant and cook. The two of you tread down the hallway, causing a bit of an echo.

Jungkook looks at ease learning that Yoongi is more of a janitor. You give him the side eye, which he shamefully returns with a nervous laugh.

„I figure you like banana. And walking around like Abercrombie and Fitch.“

You point at the mauve-colored tank top that’s hanging out of his bag, caught by the zipper.

„Oh, oops!“ it finally clicks with a big flinch. He’s really been half-naked all the time, and only now makes an effort to pull the crumpled little piece of clothing back on. „I didn’t notice! I think the tattoo makes me feel dressed, um.“

„Car’s gonna be piping until the A/C runs full throttle,“ you head the way to the motor park, sandals randomly clacking onto the heated concrete. „Next thing you know, you’re gonna chuck your jeans into the Malibu beach waves and don’t even notice.“

„No, no worries. I uh, I’m back to behind the scenes mode,“ Jungkook’s giggling to himself, trying not to make it too obvious that he was quick to react.

„Took you almost half an hour,“ you say through a big grin, getting out your dangly car keys with the miniature plush bunny attached to it. Flashback to last month, Jungkook bought it for you as a thank-you present after he heard you mope about always overlooking your keys.

„Dancer thing,“ he says, sounding wildly apologetic. „I usually don’t wear that much.“

„Talk about getting naked,“ you both settle in the car, a block of heat hitting you in the faces. „You can use my shower to scrape off all that oil. There must be some kind of special cleanser I got, the one with the light green stripe on it.“

„Yeah, it’s gotten so sticky—“ Jungkook turns to check his back. „My shoulder will smudge that oil on the backrest… sorry.“

„I’ll leave the seat cleaning to Yoongi, he likes looking after the car,“ is all you can comment, kick-starting your car. What follows is the deep humming noise that the engine typically emits when the LA heat is extra crazy. „You can turn on the radio over there. It’s kind of a one-hour ride from here. You said you sing pretty well?“

The now switched-on A/C blows his tanktop around the way it wants. Maybe L.A. is cooking today because Jungkook is out here.

Rolling into your garage, you realize you’ve brought home everything: Except the champagne bottle. Fuck it, the heat in the car would have done weird things to the oh-so sparkling content, and putting it in a flash freezer at home would have resulted in a fizzy explosion that would leave Yoongi with some high ceilings to scrub. Treating yourself to some cold juice sounds much better. You have no interest acting out drunk and passed out on the floor in Jungkook’s presence. And in case an impromptu tattoo happens, alcohol is the last thing you want in his blood. The same goes for everything more than just a tattoo.

The metal trophy, which is elegantly shaped like a stencil and lighter than you thought, is more important. After parking, that one goes straight to the Grey Room award wall. You’re chugging the rest of your bottled water in one whole go. Sitting next to him had your eyes averted from the street more often than not, which in and of itself was a bad idea — but who knew a traffic jam could be a nice thing, especially if it took two hours.

Jungkook is busy otherwise. Exhausted from the black seat’s stored warmth, he exits the car moaning out loud at the heat outside. And, from a later-day sun having grilled the right-hand side of his body. Through the car window, all the way. His body is chilled from the A/C, almost freezing down the sweat on his tanktop, at least that’s what it felt like, until you noticed he was shaky and dialed it down. Jungkook is actually a little hoarse from singing his heart out. That will fade in a minute, though, he says.

While he takes that so needed shower, you dig through an absent Yoongi’s clothing rack, built into his assistant wardrobe. Since Yoongi is on the smaller side, there aren’t too many options, but you guess he’ll survive.

Feeling much better now, Jungkook winds up dangling his legs into your garden pool fifteen minutes later. That is, with extremely tight tennis shorts and otherwise nothing on, yet again. The white of the fabric might be opaque, but his thighs are big enough to let either leg ride up. Yoongi can be glad he buys so much stretch material, otherwise, those shorts would be bursting at the seams.

Unlike during the way home from today’s show, the yellow-pinkish color of the sky is finally worthy of a tattoo artist’s eyes looking at it. The white pillars of your terrace frame the outlook effortlessly like a little arcade, and the pool water feels like it has been cooling down significantly around your calves. No smog, no direct sunlight, no skylines. You’d not allow Jungkook to step even one foot in your backyard topless as he is if the sun was still high up. His tattoo had to be carefully preserved.

„I do like banana. Anything banana.“

He licks up a drop of surplus ice cream from the back of his thumb. It’s all melting in record time despite the 9 PM cool approaching. You both have to be quick. Luxury problems — at the expense of your waiting lemonade. Which you told Jungkook to feel free to pour up for the both of you during your own bathroom break some minutes ago. You changed into something even looser, put your base cap on, and the ice was already getting a little too creamy under the poolside evening glow.

„Mmh. Self-made ice cream is a whole ’nother level,“ you twist your cone. Mainly, to take off the melting edge of your scoop with the right corner of your mouth. „Cools the vocal cords, does it.“

„Seriously didn’t sing that much in a while,“ he cracks a smile, and you can tell he missed having free time like this.

„You’re not out of the loop, though. I could have taken you to America’s Got Talent and we still would have won. Hell, the Masked Singer. Dressed as a Green Raccoon. Or a fencing man. Lord knows what. You got a beautiful voice.“

Jungkook almost chokes on his ice cream at the mental image of that.

„I guess I’d rather be dancing,“ he shakes his head, „and walking around at a tat con. I’m really nervous about that one.“

„We can chill, that’s four weeks from now,“ you sip on your lemonade eventually, swallowing an ice cube that has melted down to a peanut-sized chunk. „You’ll get used to your new look by then. And everyone is out there, it’s packed. They all wanna outdo each other. We’ll blend in somewhere. Even if it’s probably not gonna be much cooler and we’ll still look like glazed donuts. We might as well leave the oil at home.“

Which didn’t sound to unrealistic. You’ve had Yoongi book the two of you for a tattoo convention display down at Hacienda Heights. Body Art Expo — one of the biggest events in the area. You could finally showcase your latest craft and meet some of your role models. This year, an influx of famous contemporary Japanese masters was guaranteed.

The overarching theme was announced to be traditional horimono craft. You’ve been dying to set up a little booth and take Jungkook with you to see the best of the best, and also flaunt his own frontal tattoo.

„Yoongi might as well park an ice cream truck for us there,“ he jokes.

„You’ll definitely need ice indeed after I go buckwild and give you a whole beginner’s hand poking treatment.“

„Hand what?“

„Hand poking,“ you laugh. „Tebori artists don’t really use automatic needles with some exceptions. It’s all done manually. You prick the skin by hand. Even the tattoo needle you have make on your own.“

„Like DIY, completely yourself?“

He got you started on one of your favorite topics. Well, well.

„Yes. It’s like a small wooden or metal stick. It has a grouping of needles fastened to it by string.“

„Oh… so that’s why— by hand.“

„Yes. And it doesn’t stop there. A machine has say, nine to 35 needles. My favorite tattoo gun has 22. Japanese traditional can go as far as 42. That’s why outlines are so difficult to do in that technique. And the gradients. Those are fucking hard. Getting a tebori tattoo is expensive with good reason.“

„42 needles!“

„Depends. It actually bleeds less. You feel relaxed after a session. The whole thing is like. Eleven inches long, bit more. The artist has ultimate control over how deep it locks in the coloring fluid.“

„Um, yes,“ is all he can say staring.

„The artist will use a sponge to pick up the ink, and drive the stick in by hand. Hence they call it hand poke. A full-body tattoo can take a year to complete. But the color has the best saturation. The needles are thicker, you can put lots and lots of ink under the skin that way.“

Which is why you’re so interested in it. Six years plus until you’d be able to fully practice that technique on someone. It’s your goal for your later career. To have your own tattoo family, apprentices, and letting the art live on through your canvases.

Maybe settling in Japan itself to learn from the best, or remaining overseas. As long as you’d be able to hand poke a clean line like a true master and sketch properly, artfully, just as the craft demanded. Time and place wouldn’t matter.

„You said that Japanese tattoos work with woodblocks, right?“

„It’s inspired by woodblock carving art,“ you nod, pulling out your phone. Plenty of pictures to show him, over 600, if not more. You shade the display with one hand and sit closer to Jungkook, swiping through the gallery.

„The actual design is painted with soot ink beforehand,“ you keep on explaining. „Like, a phoenix. A river, with flora. Some scenes of a kabuki theatre play. Or a goddess figure, that’s pretty common.“

Jungkook does look as hooked as you are. And— as a side note: He smells damn good from the cleanser you gave him. That shower must have been thorough. You sort of don’t smell it anymore when you use it, but when it mixes with his scent, that’s a whole different thing.

„That’s so cool… Would you do that on me?“

„Jungkook,“ you raise your brows at him. „That technique takes years to learn. With a mentor— And endless copying practice of their grand pieces.“

„You even need a teacher and copy what they do? That’s crazy.“

„When we go to the fair, I might get my hands on a bamboo needle to see how it’s like to hold. But I’ll probably just stand there and watch in awe just like you.“

„Wow. We’ll really be able to see a lot there.“

Jungkook’s posture appears significantly less tensed-up now, and you know you took his nervousness about the convention by directing his mind to a new idea. That he asked you to give him a traditional-style tattoo by hand without even hesitating has left an impression, but you try not to let your face show your respect. Most canvasses would be skeptical, frightened, or completely dismissive of the technique. Jungkook is nothing short of sexy, it’s literally right next to you — but it’s his open mind that makes him interesting.

„I know, right. But you still might be lucky getting a Japanese tat from me.“

„Really?“

He almost jolts up, which makes his left thigh rub against you by accident.

„Okay, I can’t just walk up and hand carve an entire body suit into your skin. Right. But you can actually do parts of horimono with, you know, automatic needles and stuff. Many traditional studios do outlines by machine these days, and only the coloring or shades by hand.“

„They do it both?“

„Pretty much. Hybrid tebori. The art of doing precise lines by stick is recently dying out. If we use the gun instead, for everything? You can still get a goddess tattoo like an original motif. It does take practice and immense research. But it’s doable with modern machines and an excellent design.“

If you think about it, Jungkook might just be the perfect canvas to dive deeper into Japanese tattooing, even more so than you already did. Not being able to do it the manual way would irk you, but you can work with what you have.

„Any suggestions where?“ he looks across his body, traces his hands, deliberating. „I mean, it could go anywhere for me. But, I mean you should choose where it fits the best.“

You do know a perfect spot, in fact.

The slimness of his hip makes it so that an ascending motif would widen up perfectly on the shoulder area. On the other hand, the extreme curve of his spine could easily warp the design when looked at from afar, so that had to be carefully considered. It’s all a matter of adaptation. You can already see details of this next project form before your inner eye, still.

„Your back is completely virginal, so. What about that.“

„Right, of course!“

„And that’s where you find a traditional placement anyway.“

Some proper skin breaks between the shoulder blades, maybe some more grey towards the waist level, putting in more contrast across the shoulders and neck… it all starts to form in your head. Fuck, Jungkook’s neck is actually your dream target area. Front and back. The underside of his jaw as well. Peak difficulty.

A pet peeve for many of your colleagues in the field because the skin is so delicate and hard to put a design on. Many people just say fuck this shit and freehand it completely. But to you: Sweetest spot you can think of. If he’s good to go, you’ll ink him with his neck hung from the edge of your tattoo furniture one day with an extra anesthetic. Maybe some kind of animal or interlocking pattern. It’s gonna look fucking awesome.

„Would you like, actually sketch something for me?“

„Sure. Or we’ll work together with a master who will design something with ink on paper to suit your body perfectly. We still need an entry piece for next year’s tat awards.“

„But I only want your stencil,“ he finishes biting off the lower half of his ice cream cone, looking pretty disgruntled at the idea of someone else being in charge of his back. You would rather consider an expert, but you can see his point. Everything on his body should look coherent, as in one singular handwriting. And you heard it. He only wants your stencil or nothing at all.

Of course the back has to match the abs and the pecs. Only a consistent style would ensure that Jungkook’s tattoos would come together as an aesthetic whole that carried your signature, which was not just something a show jury would appreciate. It was a just because thing.

„Fine by me, it’ll just take longer. And we do color.“

Which means, more time spent in the Grey Room, where you would keep all of your treasures. The inner city studio you share with your colleague, Taehyung, who was more of a Neo Traditional and portrait enthusiast. He also did blackwork just like you. That meant the present ink supply was either batshit crazy colors and dark shades only. Hence, you set up your own extra coloring studio at home to specialize.

„Love the idea!“

„So it’s a done deal, huh. We’ll do the project in the Grey Room by then, I’m thinking.“

It needs a different atmosphere and lighting to really get the most out of the hues. And: You created this area to make a canvas open up and relax. With your technique and shading style, coloring in the big areas was always a real pain in the ass for anyone with skin that wasn’t super thick.

Taehyung’s philosophy was always to ‚paint‘ his clients in a suave and fleeting way, whereas your approach was always go hard or go home. Jungkook could handle it, and his skin was rewarding to work on when it came to recovery. You can tell he’s more than excited.

„Really, thank you for this…“

„If a couple months work sounds like fun to you, we’re gonna walk up with another 20,000€ price money next year.“

You are starting to enjoy this idea of Jungkook being a tattoo muse, sort of like the faux Greek statues and busts that you had Yoongi put up around the garden when you moved in here. A lot of tattoo artists you were friends with were inspired by the renaissance, and you could see the appeal. That Jungkook was a walking Greek aesthetic with his curls and decadent body really does fit well into your home, now that you think about it.

„I have no problem hanging out here at all,“ he’s munching, tongue in cheek. „Your house is amazing. I bring along some groceries and such when you’re too busy. If, if you want.“

„Really?“

„Long as you can sketch in peace. I like doing laundry and those things.“

„Yoongi will appreciate it. More time for cooking his latest creations. You’re already renting out his clothing, we can cut him some slack there, huh. Doing a full landscape and figure will take us twice as long as with your ribs.“

And those were already insane to do. The skin was behaving almost like paper in some bits. Only the fact that he works out decently enough has probably saved Jungkook from losing his mind then and there. His back is going to be much easier to tattoo.

„A background landscape as well? “ he drops his jaw. „This is genius… Maybe we should do it later this year, September or so.“

„Good call,“ you blink. „Gonna be a bit colder. And you’re gonna be a birthday boy. A tat’s always a nice gift to yourself.“

The reality is: Most tattoo artists would kill to secure a canvas that was so patient. It was a biased view, but Jungkook would not just be a wanted man in his dating pool (which he already is, he’s told you about a lot of concerning things in his DMs) if he graced the cover of `Inked´ magazine.

The whole ink world would come running. You already brace yourself for the storm of showing him off at Body Art Expo. He would be noticed. Today’s experience showed his potential. People found him likable and sweet, and the muscles got them going. You worried if Jungkook would have to be protected from too much attention in the community. It wouldn’t be long until you wouldn’t be alone in a cool-down room. Today’s show wasn’t the busiest, but an Expo would be. People would absolutely bother him. Rather than asking you about your tattoo journey, or anything else constructive and useful.

„I’m really getting a back tattoo,“ Jungkook is buzzing with energy, splashing around water with his feet. His voice is just fine by now, only a hint of raspy at best. The energy low of the backstage room is pretty much forgotten.

„I’ll sit myself down with some books and I’ll get back to you next month with a first rough draft, yeah?“

„Can’t wait!“

„And after that,“ you shoot him a warning gaze more jokingly, „I’m sketching for your legs, too. Maybe with a realistic thigh tattoo. Or with some big red highlights and otherwise black only.“

„Woah! Red and black?!“

„Anything’s possible. Though, you know. Only if you want to, of course. I’m just brainstorming.“

But those thighs basically scream for ink, oh my god. You can’t even hold yourself back. Was he actually okay with that? By the looks of it, Jungkook didn’t have a single problem with you planning out his whole body’s new design.

„I have nothing against being a BLACKWORKS gallery,“ pats his thighs the most innocent way you could imagine. „I know I’m in good hands.“

BLACKWORKS was the name of your tattoo parlor, carrying with it the color you had specialized in. Ironically, setting up the Grey Room was the exact opposite, making a space to dabble in color. It was sort of the bane of your existence. One or the other, both, or alternatingly? Your sentiment changed with every larger project or every other client.

„Well, thank you. Any further questions?“

„I um… I don’t want to sound rude, but.“

„You don’t sound like it’s anything offensive, though,“ you lower your shades to squint at him.

„What are you like planning,“ he kneads his palms against each other, „I mean, with the prize money? I was, you know, just, uh curious. You always create cool projects and stuff, that’s why.“

„Oh that? We need that money for all the fucking ink you’ll be wearing!“

„Help!“ he squeals out, just as joking now.

„Seriously though. You’re gonna be my most expensive canvas. Taehyung spent a fortune finding the right pigment for all the True Black that went here,“ you point at his chest. „Only the highest quality Acrylic components in there. No metals, no allergens. No nothing.“

„Is it organic? That’s so Los Angeles,“ Jungkook giggles into his hand, trying not to make some organic this, organic that joke most probably.

„Better than having that shit in your lymph system. We don’t want that.“

„Thanks, you’re looking out for me.“

No toxins for your canvasses. And nothing you don’t know the effects of. More clients gotta get some education about this.

„Just duty. And LA sucks, I don’t care. Cheers.“

For the last sip of lemonade, you toast, and Jungkook reiterates that he’s feeling very much in safe hands — especially now that you offered him a sofa place to sleep on.

It’s really too late to drive him home. The highway ride would take ages, the traffic is even more terrible at this hour. Returning at like 2 or 3 AM would set you up for a lackluster sleep routine. He’s living alone in his flat so there’s nobody to inform, he’s not urgently missed and needed for something. That there’s no one waiting for him always surprises you.

That Jungkook is his own best roommate and doesn’t cohabit with his parents, all in a decently well-off part of the city on top of that — not the most flashy one, cozier, but still — tells you that he must dance pretty damn well and knows how to live life. He probably thinks the same about you anyway, although he keeps on saying you work too much for your own good, which might have a grain of truth.

You do wish you lived a bit like him. Then again, you’re well aware he has a hard time sometimes. Going by pictures he showed you, the flat he has isn’t a bad one at all. You don’t charge him for the tattoos, obviously. They’re competitive entries based on your decisions, not commissioned pieces. He offered pay, but you rejected the eight hundred bucks.

On a day where he let his guard down after three hours of conversation, Jungkook told you he’s selling his pics and videos between otherwise casual sentences. That was about two month ago. He didn’t say what pics and what videos, but you were beginning to connect the dots.

All the signs, they were there. The way he undressed, the way he was aware of how he came across, the way he was so photogenic. You worked extra hard on getting the clarity of the tattoo right. It’s one thing to look at black ink pigments in daylight or below the artificial lighting of a studio, but on camera, it’s absolutely a different thing.

Why he opened up to you, you don’t know. It was inconsequential. He didn’t mention it again, and it didn’t look like he was observing your reaction to it.

There was no telling what his shy tone of voice was supposed to say, or his intent, and you guess it all had many meanings at once. Maybe he just said it to say it. To get something off his chest. Jungkook often hesitated to vent, but he was honest telling you that. If anything — he trusted you enough to do so.

„I’ll just give you one of these at this point,“ you weed through your closet, pulling drawers, checking metal hangers. Eventually, Jungkook catches a white sporty tee that you’re tossing him, and lays down on the white king-size couch in the center of the living room. 11 PM. Sunday tomorrow. None of you caught a heat stroke. You’re both not that tired yet. There might as well be something left to do. So… Well.

„Have a good night’s sleep then,“ Jungkook smiles, already half settled— about to put on the shirt. You gotta stop him in this tracks somehow before he’s dressed again.

„Maybe it’s still time for a little treat,“ you say, wiggling your eyebrows at him, which he reciprocates with unbridled surprise.

„Did Yoongi put some other desert in the fridge, or—“

You shake your head.

„No, no. Something else. Actually, way else. Wait here, Jungkook.“

„O.k.?“

„Heading back in just a minute,“ you turn your head across your shoulder. „Look at my drawings on the wall or something.“

He does, gazing around the spacious room that is actually pretty bright and light at this hour. The team that did the electrics in here were absolute top tier in their field, although the house did not pass as 100% interior art. Rather, the tall walls were clad in big unfinished pen sketches and other blackwork ideas behind frames, mostly showing anatomical poses and various animals from all around the globe. Looking up, Jungkook got lost in a painting that showed a distorted self-portrait of you while drawing something on a table. Art of the artist doing art.

„You need to get yourself some of this,“ you interrupt, posturing yourself in the doorframe upon returning. Jungkook’s head twists in record time. His confusion is more than visible all across his face reacting to what you’re holding up with your right hand.

„Is that… Is that— Lubricant!“

Someone looks pretty damn flustered right now and it’s not you.

„Oh my god Jungkook,“ you shuffle closer to the sofa, thoroughly amused. „Actually read what’s on this tube. Here.“

You hand the mysterious black item to a very panicked mess of a weekend guest.

„Aftercare cream?!“

„Read on.“

„…for protecting tattoos.“

He just looks mighty exasperated now. Oh Jesus.

„Come on. It’s not some kind of after-bondage ointment,“ you laugh. „Just plain ole tattoo balm, okay. Nothing BDSM going on here.“

„Yeah… Yeah.“

„The whole thing’s pretty much a vibrancy serum, healing cream, moisturizing lotion, et cetera. All in one. That is considered a treat in my book. Treat as in skin treatment.“

„I uh, should have figured.“

Jungkook’s knee-jerk reaction has him crouching together in a gullible pose on the sofa, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. Broke a sweat for a minute there, did he.

„Your tattoo had a lot of stuff going on today. Oil and sun and sweat and chlorine, too. We’re not gonna let it rest unprotected tonight. There’s some regeneration it has to do.“

As per the contest rules, tattoos need to be fully healed to enter anyway, so today he’s not been freshly inked under the UV rays outside. But it’s still better to apply cream to support the tattoo as it is. And exposing Jungkook’s dirty mind for the sheer fun of it.

„Am a bit of a dummy,“ he hands the lotion back to you.

„The clean air around here has you wearing tennis shorts… and your mind in the gutter, does it,“ you snap the tube open, squeezing a generous double dime-size amount into your palm. It’s not like you didn’t check him out all day. Two minds in the gutter? That’s twice the fun.

„Sorry.“

„Don’t be. Now let me work it in, I’ll do that for you. The shirt needs to wait for another minute again. Fine by you?“

„Okay!“

„Then relax. It needs to be spread out properly.“

Running your hands across one’s favorite canvas should be considered a therapeutic method for any tattoo artist out there. You need to listen to a lot of shit, discuss a lot of shit, compete against a lot of shit, and draw a lot of even more shitty shit. It’s only fair you get to enjoy the silver lining as well. Savoring what you all do it for: Enjoying the aesthetic and the feel of the skin.

Jungkook is as pliant as ever accepting the treatment, and the balm does what it’s supposed to do. Seeping in, refreshing the skin, cooling it off. You knead his body in broad strokes of your palms, making sure the coverage is even. The tattoo again proves its bold winning ways shining bright even under the low ceiling lamp, and you again congratulate each other. No scabs at all, and the whole jury convinced. You beat a tiger, the watercolor dudes, tiny tat mania, Leonardo DiCaprio, and the tall snake bloke. The result was a memorable rendition of a pet dog that your client could not get enough of. What more could you really ask for.

Jungkook visibly hums under your touch and seems to react with cozy noises having his sides massaged. You’re careful with the ribs, his sensitive area. You’re totally not lingering on the pecs for a little longer. Your mind revolves around the thought of sitting down on his thighs to unpack the real treat and finally ride out your craving.

„What if we,“ you start, „You know. Actually use some lubricant. Here on this sofa.“

„Huh—? Really? In a way that…“

Jungkook awakes from his half-slumber that your hands had so calmly induced. In fact, he goes from sleeping beauty to wide alert in two seconds, propping himself up from the sofa cushions. To meet you face to face — he’s incredulous. Well, you aren’t exactly feeling coherent either, which surprises you, too.

„Sure! I mean. If you want to. There’s some of it in the other room that I can fetch. I figured we might. Just for fun, and… We know each other for a while now. To me it would be nice. Nothing fancy, just. We just do our thing if we like it. I’m still your tattooist. I wished we could sleep with each other at some point. I didn’t say anything because we had to focus on competing. Sorry for that.“

„Please, please don’t.“

„I preferred to make it about work until we sat at the pool today. If we’re fucking… It should be a comfortable moment where we really got to know each other already. You were pretty shy. So I was careful, right, although I’ve been teasing you anyway, I don’t know what you thought about that, if that was funny or not. But you know, the heat of the moment.“

„Don’t worry, I liked it.“

„I also didn’t want to make it look like I was trying to get in your videos for money or just because you do them, or mess with your personal business. I know this is a separate thing. So I was more, uh, asking casually. With the conventions and our projects, I want nothing to change there.“

„No, of course.“

„If we make this a big deal, I thought it would be risky. When I ask you this, there’s always the chance that it gets weird, people are being particular and act different when getting intimate like that, no matter if the night is good or bad or boring. But to me, I thought, after all our sessions being the way they were we had a body feeling for each other that was more progressed than just having sex. And I was curious how it would be naked, how we’d be catching up. Because you’re really hot to me… I really want to be on top of you. I waited so long to say this. God, fuck, Jungkook.“

„Yes.“

„Hm?“

„Yes, I want to. I’ve… been thinking about it as well.“

It’s a bashful confession that comes with a lot of baggage off his shoulders, you can tell. This all has been simmering underneath the surface. At least you managed to spill it all out yourself. Drawing a 3D face was infinitely easier, tattooing an inner fucking lip was easier. But now he was in the know, if he wasn’t before.

„Makes two of us,“ you twirl at his curly bangs with one digit finger. „Should I get it? And some other stuff. So we’re safe.“

„I, I have some protection in my bag,“ Jungkook goes on stumbling over his words, clearly not prepared for you touching his hair so playfully. „Just a minute. It’s upstairs. In the shower.“

Standing up, you both separate ways with telling, loaded glances. Jungkook couldn’t climb the stairs any faster, his expression is so sheepish. You really fucking did it. You asked and he said yes. Damn, hell yeah.

Walking into your dark bedroom, you pick up a non-fragrant wet wipe to clean your hands from any tat cream residue, although you’ve really worked it into him. Every last corner of his torso. The sleeve as well.

You constantly taught him how to take care of his arm and the other tattoos, but this was a new one. Jungkook will keep the healing cream, you’ll gift it to him. It’s high-priced stuff, but why’d you care. Your home tresor now holds a whopping 20,000$ in cash, and you can topple into your bed happy and content after knowing you own the L.A. tattoo scene as of today.

Jeon Jungkook, he was truly a standout client. Picking up the bottle of lube from underneath your bed, you couldn’t believe you just make the step to breach the professional, invisible wall of being artist and canvas. The excitement gave you a nice gut feeling that was similar to walking up at the show’s venue this morning. You’d have him on the couch, you’d get some fucking dick tonight, no sketching, no planning, no phone calls, no nothing.

You bring a large towel that Jungkook puts under his back and legs, protecting the sofa. Two water bottles, too, there he goes. Although you don’t want this to be the most sweaty exercise of all time, you both have to stay hydrated. After such a stuffy long day, anyhow.

He looks hot chugging it down up to the half-a-litre mark, and you drink from your own bottle with one hand pulling down your pants to the knees. He helps you remove them across your ankles, and he leaves two little kisses on your lower shins. It’s the first time feeling his lips are on you, and it’s a peck just as unique as you thought it would be.

When you hook your index fingers at the top of his shorts, you notice that Jungkook already fitted a blue condom inside his pants.

He didn’t want to do it in front of you and make it awkward, or expect you to touch him just for practicality first rather than touching him for sensuality first. Obviously it could be hot rolling it down on a guy, feeling up what would be inside of you, the whole girth. But safe to say he knew what he was doing. Jungkook didn’t want to compromise you. With all your thoughts that you had, that was a subtle act of reassuring.

Since you brought along the lubricant, you could still get to enjoy having your hand wrapped around him, spreading the heavy liquid rather liberally, feeling it melt around him. You wiped your hand on the towel and climbed up to his lap while Jungkook was kicking off his pants with a hip-to-knee coordination that you haven’t seen yet.

It dawns on you. How could you forget what he usually does. He wasn’t just a dancer by profession, but at heart. Those things were hard to suppress or not do. Just like you couldn’t look at Jungkook without feeling inspired to create tattoos. Which, and you couldn’t lie to yourself, his bare skin was desperately begging for, it was so inviting. You already saw him more than scantily clad, but with his shorts down, his waist and hip showed themselves in their best light. You loved his body shape.

And damn, it felt so good to finally be naked in that summer evening heat, feeling the A/C lightly tickle up your spine and neck from behind. It cooled down your back just right, and you chucked away your underwear for it not to lay around on the sofa. Although the lube was more than enough to go by, you gathered some saliva in your mouth to spit on his dick. It made him twitch and moan, „Yes please.“

There was no need for any aperitif, you weren’t in the mood to go through any foreplay. Jungkook looked delicious enough to have you on edge, and the lubricant would do the rest to make him gliding inside even smoother. You squatted over him and aligned yourself, got comfortable in stabilizing your legs this way.

Jungkook closed his eyes and only looked when the tip was way in, approaching the mid-length of his cock squeezing inside of you. Of course you were still a little tight, but some positioning would change the angle for the better. Jungkook asked if he could use his hands and got green lights from you. Judging by how they were slightly dry on your skin and the scent they had, Jungkook soaped them down when he was picking up his cross-body bag from the bathroom some minutes ago. Everything by the book.

One on your hip, the other playing with your clit, you began to realize just how good he was with his beautiful fingers. It wasn’t just you having the manual skills in this relationship. He was remarkably cautious and had concentrated eyes. So far, you enjoyed that Jungkook was more observing rather than staring, and had such a nice ring to his moaning voice as if he was a singer.

From your perspective, seeing his tattoed fingers curl between your labia and his tight chest muscles moving right along made you crave more cock inside. It slid in almost naturally with the stimulation that came from his fingertips. Jungkook’s voice went right along with it, describing in sounds rather than words what the situation was like.

„That’s really good, stay in that spot,“ you told him, and added a slight up and down to your movement on his dick. Only a slight drag on his shaft made it harder to push him inside further, but that was likely because he had been growing in size a little more.

Learning how to tattoo meant studying some architecture as well to be able to pull it off, and in your case, you soaked up all historic Greek building styles there everywhere. If you were to describe Jungkook as a column, it would be Doric. Full in the middle, definitely not Corinthian in length, actually more Roman Tuscan which was full and convex with a slender, triangular tip that extended toward a nice curving girth the further down you went to the middle.

„So pretty. Your dick feels good.“

„I really hoped you’d like it.“

Meanwhile, he had less circumference at the base. Which you found pleasing to the eye, and pleasing when you sunk down on him fully. That meant squeezing down some lube which would squirt on his balls and made your labia extra slick and juicy, stretching on the sides of his shaft like soaked little lips.

A bit would splatter to the side and smear across the lower side of your ass. It pulled threads when you were reaching the lowest point of your bounce, which alerted Jungkook’s usually waist-bound hand. He had noticed that you felt discomfort with it and wiped it flat to the side in one go.

To your surprise, he gently licked across the sides of his fingers to clean it up. Jungkook licking his tattoos had to be something you didn’t know you needed and one of the top five things happening today. The innocence but quick efficiency with which he did it, priceless. He didn’t stick out his tongue that much, just a decent fourth of it. His calm and naughtiness spoke of low performance anxiety, which you attributed to him being camera-savvy, doing his solo videos.

Still, going balls deep had Jungkook whimpering through his teeth with his eyes closed again, an immense tension spread across his face. Even his left hand on your clit briefly stopped. He had to accommodate to being inside, so you wouldn’t go on moving until his features would relax a little more and he sighed out. It was all fully in the moment and you loved to continue moving up once he was okay again.

Jungkook and you were comfortable with one position for now. In your head, you have a thousand things just like a full-body tattoo would look like, but in reality, you can only ink one thing at a time. Perfecting his little quickie would pay off much more than bending each other around. He had been hectic enough going up the stairs, he had been nervous and confused all day. You had so many ups and downs of adrenaline yourself. This had to be deliberate.

Although you told him he didn’t have to if he couldn’t do it, you found yourself asking Jungkook to give you some understated hip work. Just to begin meeting you halfway, to press his balls against you softly, to create some more lewd noises — and to see his whole body go like clockwork so you would see his tattoos dance above his muscles.

Since he observed you well, Jungkook amped up the stimulation enough for you to feel your pleasure starting to build up fast like a coil waiting to be undone, at its very peak of feel-good. The thought of having a climax right on his dick was spurring you to move, chasing the high and needing the smack of your ass against the jerk of his desperate thighs.

„Keep going… I can handle it!“

Jungkook sounded like he was about to cry, which told you he must have cum inside the condom. Hell, he was moaning so passionately, it could have been at any point in time. Going by his usual policy, he didn’t want to put pressure on you or mess up your own timing. He left you to do your own thing, just like you said you wanted. Lord knows he might have popped a pill in the bathroom to keep his dick up for long enough.

All you knew was, the suction created by you riding him very roughly at a high pace kept him erect, leaving you space to cum on his sloppy dick before Jungkook would enter a post-sex delirium. It was sudden and left you clenching up, heart rate thumping and a huge wave of release making the round through your torso. You squeezed him tight, he reacted by slowing his waist down. That way, you could savor the orgasm without disturbance, and leave your eyes shut for a moment. Jungkook helped you go from squatting on the heels of your feet to the knees, coming much closer to him now and leaving him buried deep.

„Fuck, so good!“ you plant your hands on either of his shoulders, cooling down. The A/C continues to release a calm stream of air into the room, which is deeply needed. You can’t believe it’s already happened. Or, how fast it could happen once you asked this way. He gave himself away freely without expectations, Jungkook went along like a champ.

You stay seated this way for a long time. Relaxing. Up until you both have normal breaths, up until your sleep hormones are kicking in. You glide off his dick with Jungkook’s help, him kissing the inside of your thigh while you lift it across his face.

Jungkook insists to stay on the couch, he doesn’t want to move or just come along to the bedroom he’s never been in out of nowhere. He mumbles that he’ll somehow get himself to the bathroom in ten minutes, it’s okay, he doesn’t want aftercare just more to drink. And a little snack from the fridge, maybe.

He cleans you up with love and care, then discards the more than ruined condom that had to endure being soaked from either side, outside, inside. It didn’t rip, but it looks as mushy as it gets. You really fucked the shit out of him. Everything wet and full of lube. Although it looked messy, it didn’t feel like it. Jungkook was effortlessly good in bed and immediately grasped what you wanted. The fully wet condom was a mere testament.

Seeing just how drenched and mixed up everything was, though, Jungkook points to his bag, you pull out a flat paper box.

„Yeah, just to be sure,“ you nod and pop the contents on your tongue, downing the little pill with a bunch of water. Jungkook probably made the cutest babies ever, but your whole stomach was your former first teacher Boa freestyling the absolute madness of an impeccably scaled dragon in every available color that was your lucky charm, so that wasn’t happening.

Where stretch marks would mean a ruptured masterpiece, a whole C-section would give you a thousand years of bad luck for chopping off the dragon’s feet. It would be an aesthetic crime for someone aspiring to perfection, and you wouldn’t want to draw the wrath of Boa for the sake of a kid you had zero time for to begin with.

Come to think of it. Your conservative neighborhood would probably call the cops if they learned about how the eccentric tattoo artist raving about ‚hand poking‘ and homoerotic Greek culture all day had a lovechild with the Doberman chest guy whose main source of income was shaking his ass into a camera.

So — Jungkook himself was more than just prepared. Even if he didn’t look nor act like it, he had his sex life together. Hacks, contraception, technique, hitting perfect pitch on his moans, everything. This guy was a professional in a way that you would tattoo abstract art. You admit to yourself that you tasted blood despite 85% of California men not doing it for you, and that included the majority of model canvasses. Jungkook had something completely unoffensive and pleasing about him. Something intricately submissive that was worth exploring.

Even if he came too early, he didn’t complain about it or give himself a hard time, or get in your way with it. If anything, it let you know that Jungkook liked what you did. You felt complimented that he reached his climax so easily with you, though you have to ask why he wanted to remain in the living room when your bed was much less improvised than the couch.

„Not making it a big deal,“ he says, smiling a little at you. „Nothing much changes. You’re my tattooist.“

And he’s right. He would have slept here if you didn’t fuck. The couch is big and comfortable, anyway.

While you get dressed in the bedroom, you hear him sneak upstairs. Using the tap, and you hear the clothing dryer being switched off.

You’re already tucked in when a little „thank you for todays session 🐰“ text lights up on your phone screen, followed by „and congratulations 🎊“. You reply with a „right back at you“ and call it a day, recounting today’s events in your head with an excited feeling. Good one. You even forgot you actually had a phone. Today felt like the longest 24 hours of this year.

Jungkook gets comfortable with a cold drink on the living room table next to him. Even if he’s not getting the hang of this house yet, that’ll do. He’s closing his eyes at some point. Everything that’s happened feels like it’s locked into his body. Big show, big lights, photoshoots, karaoke, brainstorming for the future. The two of you need some well-deserved rest tonight. He’s not going anywhere, and you’re not going anywhere.

The heat of the summer nights in this part of the town is reliably stable. Still, you left him the shirt in case he still needs it. Yoongi will take care of breakfast before either of you wake up tomorrow, and the kitchen will be clean as day. A nice thought to hold onto, as well as the confetti raining down on stage. And that fact that you just hooked up.

„Rise and shine my queen,“ resounds the upbeat voice of Yoongi. You always twist around under the duvet for a solid minute, then realize every time that it’s just your phone alarm sounding off like that. On a grumpy day, you once told Yoongi to record something that will get you out of bed, and this was the result. By the time you’re waking up, though, your house is all prepared. Yoongi took off for errands already.

After handing Jungkook an illustrative traditional tattoo book from your little house library to get a feel for possible designs, you sit down together. At the kitchen counter-turned-bar-turned-breakfast-table, Jungkook is fresh out the shower in a bathing gown he found nearby. Again — a garment way too short for someone with tempting legs like that.

On him, it’s basically a mini wrap dress. Not to mention the cleavage, where his tattoo is boldly peeking. Crisp edges, deep color, the black consistent. Not to brag, but you want to pat yourself on the shoulder for that job. It looks just as scrumptious as the little buffet that awaits the two of you.

„How’d Yoongi react to the tennis pants on you?“

„No idea,“ Jungkook ruffles his hair, damp and strongly curling. „Probably didn’t even register that it was his clothing at first. I was sleeping anyway when he arrived.“

„Right, he comes in around 5:50,“ you pick up a brimming sandwich, stacked with lettuce, bell pepper, and extra-layered vegan cheese. „You just saw him leave or so, right.“

„We said hi for like ten minutes when I woke up,“ Jungkook gets busy putting cherry jam on a croissant, „and he congratulated us.“

„I sent him a link to the interview we did after the competition.“

Your group chat is just a cat picture, event info, and meme dump at this point, this was one of the more serious entries. You know Yoongi for too long.

„Then I asked if he also got tattoos from you,“ he stirs his tea, and a little smile rises. Of course he had to ask that. Yoongi was plastered in freestyle 3D tattoos and song lyrics. „Then he told the story about how he started working here. So that was hilarious.“

„Abbreviated, though.“

„Abbreviated?“

“Yoongi never tells the full version where he freeloaded getting a portrait of Holly on his underarm. He didn’t have the cash, but we were college friends. I almost fell for the trick when he wanted a matching one for his girlfriend. As an exchange, he was cooking here for a week. I ended up hiring him, he’s really good at those things.“

„I was still so tired, I think I didn’t quite pay attention to the story anyway,“ Jungkook laughs. „After he showed me his knuckle designs up close, I was thinking about how I got my own.“

„Hand tats are different gravy,“ you fill up an empty glass with extra orange juice, one eye still in Jungkook’s cleavage. „Probably ’cause you see ’em all day.“

You think he does notice your gaze tracing his body. But you never know when Jungkook is terribly shy or ready to flirt the house down when he does that one wide-eyed expression.

„And then Yoongi said, I should just put on his stretchy sweatpants from the lowest drawer? I didn’t really know where that was.“

„Oh right, he doesn’t use that drawer anymore. That chapter is closed.“

„Anymore?“

„Yoongi stopped playing golf. He had his shoulder messed up in an accident.“

„Oh no…“

„Five years ago, I think. He got hit by a delivery car a mile up the lane. Never fully recovered.“

„Ouch…“

„So all that golf stuff is unused. Might as well steal a polo shirt and socks from there as well. Down the hallway, last door to the left. I make sure nobody eats your croissant in the meantime.“

He’s giggling. Golf clothes, it is. The morning is significantly cooler, you can feel it in your bones. A welcome refresher.

„Sucks. Sorry about Yoongi’s injury,“ Jungkook gets up, which loosens his belt a little too much. The bathroom gown really is falling apart left and right. You can see his thigh exposed, all the way up to the right hip. Your dear guest tries to hold everything in place shamefully with two hands, then pulls the belt now twice as tight. „Down the hallway, last door, left, correct…?“

„Yup.“

Off he goes with bouncing hair. You browse through the tattoo book while obliterating your sandwich, shifting your brain back into business mode. Shit, why’d he pick that short fucking gown instead of a regular damn towel.

In the assorted picture part of the later chapters, you find some beautiful ornaments that would literally, and you can tell right away, work so well as a frame for his back tat. Some almost naturalistic shapes, and either clouds or wind on top. Maybe even both, most deity figures in the book had several elements surrounding them. A playground for anyone who knows what they’re doing. The sketch was going to be fun to make, and interesting once it came to application.

You already put in an extra hour for Namjoon’s bonsai cover-up. Jungkook’s September appointment would be twice as intricate and dynamic. Because of the sheer overwhelming size, anyway, and Jungkook’s body shape presenting the challenge of tweaking the design’s perspective. Now that you’ve seen him stripped down all the way — maybe you do have a better understanding of him even more so.

You shiver at the thought of an unskilled tattoo artist ruining a beautiful physique like that, especially across such a large area. Thank God Taehyung sent him to you after realizing that ‚suave and fleeting‘ was clearly not what Jungkook was looking and suited for. JK’s first tattoo had been a simple refresh of some letterings on his sleeve, and the heart on his hand. A month later, he was ringing you up again.

„I think you’re the one. I have a shoulder bit that needs a touch-up. And maybe… you have an idea for the right underarm.“

What surprised you, Jungkook has never been the one choosing the tattoos. He quite liberally had you picking it all— and even without his request, you’ve now been coming up with motives to add on.

Laid-back as he is, „you do you, all access“ is all he thinks about that. Jungkook does an impromptu trust fall into your tattooing chair every time. To be honest, you could never. Boa was the only one you’d confide in like that because she knew what your taste was like and had the best technique you knew. When she told you that she’ll be moving to San Francisco and you were ready to open up your own parlor, that your 5-year education was complete, you cried, it was the best and worst day of your life. Maybe, she’ll be hosting at the next convention.

The road to San Francisco was a 6-hour drive, you do see her every other month at least. Hanging out at her own gigantic studio was one of the best things to do on the weekends. But it sometimes feels like she’s missing in presence and advice, still. Hell, you text Boa almost every day. You like all her Instagram posts, she sends you almost every larger tattoo or notable smaller ones she did on clients, so you could study the way she did it.

Just when you ended a session contouring Bam’s ears and eyes and paws, Jungkook once met your former mentor when she dropped by on a Friday evening at BLACKWORKS. Boa was depositing some ink and needles that she didn’t need, and she said well, maybe you could those try out if they work for you. However, she refused to give you any counsel. Boa insisted you had to figure out Jungkook for yourself and own up to that. Knowing her, Boa was always 90% right about the things she said.

So, all else aside, she would be the only person you’d allow making a surprise design on you. But anyone else? You’d tell your tattooist when and how and why to fucking move the needle one split inch to the left and to the right, even if they were tattooing your back and you couldn’t see a thing. In your deepest sleep, you could feel and hear and smell an idiot not filling out a corner properly.

You’d tell them exactly when to switch colors, disinfect their tools on your own, and not allow a single deviation from the stencil. Or else you’d instigate a general lawsuit to shut down their studio, good riddance. And Jungkook was the precise opposite of that.

Switching colors? He didn’t even care about those things. It was all about lying down and letting it happen instead. Taehyung once remarked to you over a very strong coffee: „He’d still think you’re cool if you ruined him entirely“.

The vast majority of your clients would rather give you their idea and you execute it for them. Point blank. Modify it at best. Maybe correct it a lot or give a second choice of the same aesthetic. Say, you’ve had this lady Hyuna come over, she wanted a cute teddy bear, but the area on the leg was better suited for an elongated cotton candy motif, so you both went with that and put the teddy bear on her shoulder blade and her husband got the same one later.

But you never got someone begging for you to decide it all to the last millimeter. Not even the canvases that flirted with seasoned contestants at the show were ready to surrender their skin this way. If someone wanted to kiss their tattooists’ ass? They’d rather spill out the most dramatic speech of praise on their work. At this point, you’re sure Jungkook likes you in a way you don’t yet understand, or never experienced.

Even the most trusting veteran clients of yours wouldn’t act like he would, and even canvasses of absolute genius tattooists would come to the revered maestros with their own suggestions and some big no-gos. Jungkook’s `do what you want, and only you can touch my body´ attitude has almost made even Taehyung’s eyes fall out. And Taehyung’s seen a lot of unhinged clients over the span of his career.

It was quite obvious to you that he’d be your award show canvas for more than just one gig. He had the kind of enthusiasm and an empty space on his legs and back. His dance background had also given him the gift of even subconsciously presenting himself well in front of crowds because of his posture and way of walking.

In a way, you were almost too happy that Jungkook came back for more now, and he was trusting. You’d reward him with poker straight edges and extra time for creativity. For some reason, you were biased, and that already happened way before you slept together. Jungkook would spend the birthday of his lifetime getting his back tattoo.

While you ponder, there’s some noise from the other side of the house, and he’s returning.

„Did he mean those?“ a little question poses from the entrance of the hallway, and it’s Jungkook standing in the frame all dressed up.

„Sporty!“

„Yeah—“

„Can you still feel your circulation or not?“

„I needed to try several socks until it felt comfortable,“ he giggles, in typical manner, and does a little spin for fun.

Even though you’ve seen Jungkook’s naked back a thousand times in your studio, in fact you know every hair of peach fuzz on it, you’re carefully surveying it now more than ever, painting a tattoo across the bones and muscles with your eyes. Maybe his ass was next in line after the thighs, by the way. You’d run out of conventional space anyway.

„And I always thought Yoongi’s feet were pretty large. Turns out yours are bigger than his?“

„I can’t really explain it either, maybe the socks ended up in the dryer somehow?“

Yoongi really is quite a bit smaller than Jungkook. Formerly just a normal fitting piece, the polo top is pretty much a muscle shirt now. Preppy fashion runway? No, he can make your house look like a gym outfitter. The light-colored pants — it’s obvious he’s not wearing anything underneath. That silly riffled waistband is holding on to dear life. He couldn’t even tie a ribbon with the strings.

„Turn this place into a laundrette, I don’t mind. I’ll leave you in charge of the washing machine next time. Yoongi bought enough fabric softener last Wednesday.“

„I saw! Cotton candy flavor.“

He might as well be a tailor, too. Most of the clothing construction threatens to fall apart at the widest point of his thighs, at least the slender calves fit in these pants. But: It stretches, and he’s got something on.

You drop your empty juice glass into the sink, alongside your plate and sandwich knife. Your wink is far from unsettling to him.

Jungkook doesn’t want to wait until Yoongi returns to take care of the dishes. He also hand-washes his clothing from yesterday in the sink. It’s funny seeing it hang and sway dry outside, but the approaching sunshine heat promises that he’ll be good to go soon enough: With proper underwear.

For the time being, you pour some water into the fridge’s icemaker and give Jungkook a house tour. There’s finally someone you can play table football with. On the first floor, where you arranged your luxury woman cave five thousand. Yoongi could only play the defense with one arm, so you had to rely on random color tattoo clients being down to square up against your national team after a consultation. It was more fun to play with a friend.

Powered by his now-tied ponytail, Jungkook is actually too good to play against, which you notice being five-nil behind. Regardless, you `magically´ recover at seven-nine, right after he whines how a stray lash keeps poking in his eye.

There is no stray lash to be found when you check up close, but you still enjoy looking in his eyes. Jungkook was definitely blessed with some of the most reassuring bambi-like eyes. That deep reflective hazel tone looks better than any pricey brown ink of yours ever could.

Nature, after all, is the best tattooist.

read it on ao3

[dom!reader MASTERLIST]

note. thank you for reading to the end <3 i hope i got you dreaming of back/chest tattoos for jk now 😂 i love this topic, it was really intricate to write and i hope you enjoyed!

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts #bangtan #sub!jungkook #dom!reader #kpop smut #+ yoongi makes a cameo as a chef #kpop fanfic #sub!bts #sub!kpop

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ddeonuswhre · 3 months

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤI just want to feel your touch.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ SeonWoo x M!Reader.

Author's Note: I took a break (+ I was so sick for like a week and never touched this again, sorry.) Aside from that, this is the first time I've ever thought about writing things like that.

Summary: You and Sunoo were in your bedrooms after recording for En-o'clock.

Genre: Smut straight, fluff, spy(?

Warnings: This may be a fairly short story :b

His hands gently caressed your nipples while his kisses traveled every centimeter of your stomach, his tongue seemed to be that expert guide that carved a path to your hip, teasing you by separating from it and once again avoiding any contact with your skin. You, on the other hand, decided to open your eyes in surprise and desperation, you longed for the black-haired man to take control again of what seemed like an attempt to have sex as a stress reliever. You could hear his laugh after he looked at you out of the corner of his eye and again his hands now moved to your pants, beginning to slowly lower the zipper. You tried to help him but only received a slap that left the skin of your hand red.

ㅡTurn around.ㅡThe raven exclaimed and you just nodded while you leaned on the bed with both hands and placed your knees on it. Feeling his caresses was like touching the sky without even trying so hard and he knew that, that's why he tried to hold your face whenever he could or run the tips of his fingers all over your body before doing anything else. Your thoughts and comparisons were interrupted after feeling your pants go down and as soon as they slid to your knees, the other boy would begin to gently lick and kiss your entrance, his hands were guided to your member to take it with his right and put caress the tip with your left palm.

That beautiful boy could only smile at the way your moans adorned part of his room and the way your body arched every time he managed to gain access to your entrance with only his tongue, you were a canvas that he always loved to create. "You sound too good, too good for me." Those were the words that were your trigger, you were looking for a better way to be able to resist and be able to endure his constant caresses longer, but it was inevitable for you to cum after he approached your ear and with a light hoarse voice, agitated by his constant licking and his way of holding his breath to avoid letting out some obscene sound that could easily leave the room.

ㅡAll I had to do to make you come... was say that?ㅡ

You felt so embarrassed and it was very noticeable, your ears were quite red from what your boyfriend had commented. A soft but contagious laugh came out of you after he did the same. You somewhat relaxed after you turned around and he could sit you on his lap, you didn't want to leave all the work to him so you looked for more ways to help him, as well as removing his shirt carefully so as not to damage the microphone. Both mouths joined after a few seconds and he would gently remove his penis from his pants, beginning to rub it between your buttocks. You really still didn't mention that after several months where you only spent your time touching each other or simply doing a "favor" for another, this time you would genuinely have him inside you. The mere thought of it made you moan, taking in the flesh that was slowly entering between your buttocks.

Your hands found their way into his hair as he too began to move better, lining up his tip against your entrance. The need to go slowly was immediately lost when he started squeezing your glutes with some force. Luckily, your moans were masked by the sounds of music being generated by the friction of both of your mouths. Sunoo's moans made you harder as his grip on your hips tightened. You can only moan his name and beg him to hold you tighter as you grip his hair. Sun was enjoying the feeling as his thrusting becomes sloppy. His teeth dug into one of your shoulders after he had increased the way he rubbed against you, his bite causing you to come once again, caring very little now if you stained his pants.

Sun's moans became louder as he came without warning between you, continuing to move until you both orgasmed. You were desperately searching for a way to catch your breath while he stopped squeezing you. Your mind is still trying to catch up with your body as Sunoo falls onto the bed next to you. Maybe they didn't have a more direct interaction this time, but without a doubt this is one of the moments that you will never be able to get out of your head, their marks wouldn't leave you so easily either. "I promise I'll make it up to you another time, M/N." You simply nodded with a carefree smile as you stroked some hair that was on his forehead to look at him. His hair is a mess, and stuck to his forehead from sweat, he looks so radiant that you don't want to stop seeing him like that. "Don't worry about it, it's not necessary." You answered him, slowly sitting on the edge of the bed, to arrange your underwear and start looking for your clothes themselves.

You slid the pants over your legs, Sun stood up, keeping up with you and slid his own equally, there came a moment where he stood behind you and wrapped a hand around your waist to make you fall against him on the bed. It was a moment just for you, something intimate that you just enjoyed having with him without the others messing around. He gave you sloppy kisses on your neck while you both laughed, you loved hearing his laugh and seeing him happy, even more so if you were the one who gave him that. He runs one of his hands through his hair as you both lay in bed and Sunoo runs his thumb over your cheek as he gives you the biggest smile you've ever seen.

The only thing that both of you didn't know is that Jake was standing in the hallway, who for half an hour had been recording the two of you while he masturbated watching you rub each other with so much passion and love.

#kpop x male reader #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #enhypen x male reader #gn reader #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #kpop boys #kpop fanfic #enhypen sunoo #enha sunoo #kim sunoo #sunoo x reader #male reader #gayasf #kim seonwoo #sunoo

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s1llydr3amscape · 11 days

Text

Maybe it was the friends we made along the way!

My security breach cast re-imagined when we first got the posters and merch leaks!!! I changed them into ocs because after seeing their in game designs I fell in love <33333

Another reason why Vanny is my fave is because I don't have to design her clothes /j

Extras and ramblings under the cut :

Zoomed in because I drew them on the same canvas like a goober :

Many reasons why I chose to make the way it is are cause hehehehe

-I didn't like Roxy at first because off that funko leak being a reused model of Foxy. So I made her a hyena recolor using his model because I think they're cool, yet I still kept the fact she's the shortest because of Foxy in fnaf 1 being the shortest!!! And it did sorta happen with her being his replacement 😭She has short hair because I think one of her main appeals would be she would change up her hair every other week.

-Freddy is a moon bear because I miss Lefty. Also cuz I thought Fazbear Ent developed enough technology so that they could change colors during the night/dark like in the posters making them blacklight/neon. Also once again I miss Lefty and Also Nightmare. He had blue eyes freaky like that because I think FazEnt was developing new technologies to recognize guests by having their main stars test them out. And it did happen in the game so yay!!!

-I genuinely didn't think Bonnie would show up because off the leaks but at the time everyone designed their own version off him and so did I!!! I made him white and brown as a homage to Vannys help wanted mask. The blue streaks in his hair also relates to my Vanessa design. Reasons for this is because with how advanced the AI it was to trick them into thinking they were eachother friends. Why because the heartbreak would've been catastrophic.

-Chica didn't change much but I added brown because I love the color brown it is my top 1 color with purple following behind. Also because I love gradients I fucking love gradients you bet your ass if I add gradients I could <333 She has feather hair like that because off Big Bird I saw in a short fnaf sesame street horror yt video and that scared and gave me nightmares because of this one scene of a lady giving birth to his kid??? Idk it scared me alot. She's my favorite tho <3333

-Monty didn't change except he had circular glasses because I wanted him to match with Roxy as the newest additions to the Fazbear brand!!! Also man I wish one of them was a drummer but I couldn't decide between if Roxy or Monty would get it. I also didn't know Roxanne would be racing and gave her rock climbing. Reasons cause imagining her chasing you being able to climb walls would be scary. My only wish Is that I made his snout longer I want you to be able to hold it like a weapon

-They all have eyelashes because I think that is epic!!!

-Freddy is the tallest. Bonnie and Chica are the same height and Roxanne is the shortest

Might redraw them in my oc world version (if anyone would be interested it's basically also a robot story with my old fnaf oc's now turned rivals to Fazbear Entertainment) and not simplified but my other wips need me they are calling for me they are telling me to finish them and I must!!! Probably

And here's my older art after we got to see the game and the designs are wack oughhh :

They would've fought with my pink yellow blue Vanny design!!! Which is the only one I redesigned because I love Vanny to much... You can see her pre-design here and oughh Pink Vanny <3333

-If you look closely Vanny has a Dino looking tail!!! And that's because I thought hey imagine each time we defeated an animatronic she'd sew a piece off their body onto her suit! So when we killed Monty she'd scavenged and get his tail!!! With Chica she got her chicken feet!! And with Roxanne she gets her teeth!!!

-Why because I associate her with Pinkamena cupcakes so much. Also to add onto my previous statement with Bonnie looking like her old mask. She changed her suit in the final act to solidify herself as the bad guy (final boss) who had been using the animatronics for his own gain.

-Man I never draw Chica with her head bow now that I think abt it same with Vanny's whiskers god what was I thinking!!!

Also sorry they're oddly cropped I watermark my stuff to remember what year I made them in and my old username is bad 💀

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #fnaf fanart #fnaf au #glamrock freddy #glamrock bonnie #glamrock chica #roxanne wolf #montgomery gator #my art #the seals sanctum

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infinite-orangepeel · 8 months

Text

“get too close to your muse & you, the artist, will lose all ability to decipher one shade from the next on your palette. keep your distance…”

fall quarter begins at the curly roots of eddie munson’s ineffable head, runs its’ labyrinthian course through passageways of blue veins & black ink, & ends at a set of hairy crimson painted toes.

steve finds himself squandering every waking moment of his lifeblood & attention somewhere, egregiously, in the middle.

“say you’re drawing a bed of flowers,” his professor lectured a few weeks back, “what happens if you put your nose in the middle of those flowers & try to recreate the details on your canvas? you come up with color and shape, sure, but it’s blurry—isn’t it? it’s a big blobby blur of nothing. that’s not very good life drawing, i’m afraid.”

flash forward to the present—

the bed is firm but comfortable. reminding you of its’ presence.

it doesn’t encourage daydreaming &, yet, steve is ignoring the better advice of his mentor & pressing his curious nose directly into the bud of an all too striking flower.

he knows the intimate contact could kill the rose, is aware of the thorns lining the stem, but he can’t stay away.

he’s struck by fear and temptation and self-loathing and a beauty that stings like a slap across the face.

eddie’s his roommate, his friend, his muse for the most important project of steve’s career as an art student.

& getting too close is lethal, so he creates a sort of optical illusion.

designs an environment in which he can pretend they are star-crossed lovers in a broken world that won’t let them be together. in which touch is a small death each and every time.

steve flits to eddie like a dragonfly to water—

never touching.

never spending too much time in his orbit before making up an excuse to leave & jerk off to the smell of old cigarettes in the bathroom.

everything he really wants to say sits in the back of his throat like a painful, malignant lump & gets spat out onto his sketchbook in a tragically romantic exorcism.

doing the dishes next to him is enough to drive him insane.

drawing him, butt-naked, is another story.

“is it supposed to be so….erotic?”

eddie arches an eyebrow as steve traces the outline of his cock into his sketchbook.

“it’s not that erotic,” steve says, blushing into his charcoals, “besides no one will know it’s you. it’s art.”

art is supposed to be weird & naked. now, hold still, & let me draw you.”

it’s definitely erotic.

there are roses—de-thorned, for safety—shrouding eddie’s dick & leaving a trail of pink petals across his pale thighs.

eddie’s hand is draped over his head; exuding a certain brattiness, lust, boredom—

as if he’s lying there because he wants someone, like steve, to stumble upon him & use his body the way it so clearly needs to be.

his lips are parted on the precipice of whispering some filthy secret into steve’s ear while milking him like a simple farm girl with nothing better to do.

fuck.

he can’t be this close to eddie without losing his mind.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

it’s just a body. just limbs and a huge cock and—

eddie’s quiet for a little while which is rare for him, before he pipes up again.

“what if we painted the flowers together?”

steve wipes the sweat from his brow, drops his pencil, and looks up at eddie across the mattress. working overtime to avoid staring at the erection sticking out amongst the bouquet of roses.

“the piece isn’t supposed to be very colorful. i’m going for muted tones. that’s why i picked the pale pinks and whites.”

eddie giggles a little and, it’s so cute, steve has to pinch his own thigh through his shorts just to maintain composure.

“i don’t think you’re understanding—the colors wouldn’t change much. except for some more white, if you catch my drift,” eddie pumps his hand over his cock several times and mimes cumming stop the petals, “might look cool. might get you extra points with that asshole professor of yours. you’ve said he likes ‘shock value.’”

“i—i guess you’re right. that’s a pretty….different and unique….um….idea. yeah.”

it’s like this that steve strips naked and clambers as close to eddie as he can possibly get without laying a finger on him. adhering to the rules—keeping a particular distance between artist & muse.

they lay side by side. sunlight streaming in through the blinds & bathing eddie’s spindly fingers in gold as he touches himself.

“harrington, don’t act like you haven’t been dreaming about this since day one,” eddie snarks, “i’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. your eyes are gonna burn holes in my ass if you’re not careful. touch that pretty cock of yours, lemme see you.”

before steve can do anything about it or change his mind, he’s got a fist wrapped around his own cock and the other hand pinching his nipples. left and right, back and forth, dragging his nails through the hair sprouting around them.

“didn’t think you thought about me like that,” steve whines, watching as eddie edges himself methodically—

moving faster, slower, squeezing at the base, thumbing over the slit, cupping his balls, slapping the insides of his own thighs until they match the pink petals.

“i like a little pain,” he comments when he catches steve’s wide eyes, “and i’ve always was hallucinating the first time i walked into this room and saw you on the bed—thought i was going into the light and seeing an angel.”

“you’re so full of it.”

“i’d like to be full of you,” eddie breathes against steve’s neck, not allowing his lips to pass the barrier, “but i don’t know if you can handle me, big boy. you’re blushing like a nervous little schoolgirl.”

“am not—”

“are too, &, you’re about to cum just listening to my voice. it’s so crystal clear. look at you—fucking yourself so stupid.”

eddie looks so beautiful.

laying there like a forsaken god locked out of heaven.

steve’s been so good about keeping his hands to himself, about keeping his nose out of the flowers, but desire and temptation are stronger than any amount of remaining willpower he has.

he grabs eddie’s shoulder with his freehand & kisses him until they’re both seeing stars.

celestial explosions of pleasure & truth & this thing that’s been growing violently between them since the moment they first met.

“i’m cumming. i’m gonna—fuck steve, it’s gonna be on the flowers—i hope that’s okay—”

they cum in tandem over petals of pink and white and thornless stems.

steve gets an A+.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @neverlandwaitingforme @swiss-cheeze

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theslut4smut · 7 months

Text

𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗿𝘁 | 𝗵𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗷𝗶𝗻

𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗴𝗼𝗿𝘆: fluff & smut

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: hyunjin uses his wonderful artistic skills to make his sweet y/n realize how beautiful her body is when she becomes ridden with insecurity

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 4.5k

𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲𝘀: afab reader, curvy/heavier/plus sized reader, insecure reader, sub!reader, i don’t even wanna say softdom!hyunjin… he’s just the sweetest and mushiest little gumdrop that is trying to make you smile and cum simultaneously, terms of endearment, lots of “i love you” ’s, some tears, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, sweet ol’ missionary 🥹, USES YOU LIKE A CANVAS!!!

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: this was requested!! to the sweet little baby anony that requested this, i hope you don’t mind that i added more of an overall body insecurity. of course i will still mention hyunjin loving that big ol’ booty like you asked, but i felt the story would be too short with just that.

i’m a chubby fat girl myself, so this should be ✨ healing ✨

also!

my second hyunjin story! and it’s another insecurity reassurance one 🥺🤧

_____________________________________

you peek into the somewhat messy room. canvases of different sizes leaned against the walls, used paintbrushes in tubs of water, tubes and buckets of paints scattered along the floor.

hyunjin’s safe space.

the room he’d go to when he felt overwhelmed or stressed, excited, inspired.

you look over to him sitting in his chair in front of a large canvas, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he twists and twirls the brush in between his fingertips.

he was so handsome like this.

you make your way over to him and hold up the bowl of fruit you had prepared for him in his line of sight.

he snaps out of his focused state. “ah.” he says, smiling excitedly before putting the brush down.

he places an orange slice into his mouth, closing his eyes and letting out a hum of approval. “fruit is always so much better when you give it to me.”

you laugh softly. “all i do is cut it.”

“mm, well you’re a great cutter.”

you give him a playful eyeroll before turning to look at the progress of his creation that only had a few strokes near the bottom.

“what is it gonna be?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

he takes the bowl from your hands and sets it on the desk in front of him. “a surprise for you.”

you look at him with wide and sparkling eyes. “for me?”

“don’t act like i haven’t made you hundreds of them already.” he says, laughing softly as he wiped his brush on a stained cloth.

“i know.” you start, turning back to the painting. “but it makes me feel so special every time.”

he places a hand on your bottom, rubbing his palm on it in circles. “you are special.”

you feel your body stiffen as he continues to touch you. as much as you loved hyunjin’s affection, you had been struggling with insecurity for the past couple of weeks and it was causing you to not want to be felt or even perceived by him.

of course he had respected the lack of intimacy the two of you had shared in recent time, not questioning the excuses you had when you stopped moments that were becoming intense.

it made you feel miserable. not allowing yourself to kiss, caress or savor hyunjin the way you so desperately craved.

hiding yourself behind baggy clothing of either yours or his just to not be seen. eating only enough to survive instead of what was satisfying.

you knew that you didn’t have to hide yourself away like this. being a larger girl was something you were always self conscious about.

and despite those insecurities, hyunjin did nothing but show love and admiration for them.

you were one thousand percent certain that you were loved and that he would never see you the way you see yourself, but it was just too hard to fully accept.

you reach around to his hand that was still playing with your bottom and interlock your fingers with his, pulling it up to kiss his knuckles.

he closes his eyes and smiles at you.

“i’m only allowing you in here because you can’t tell what it is yet.” he says.

you giggle.

he grabs you by the waist and turns you around to look at him.

he pats his thigh as he looks up at you. “c’mere, baby.” he says softly.

“no, it’s okay.” you say, rubbing your lips together as you try to keep your composure.

he shakes his head as he furrows his brows. “you love to sit on my lap while i paint.”

you begin to pick and pull at your fingers as you think of excuses.

“i can’t watch you, it’s a surprise.” you stammer.

he sighs with a laugh as he shakes his head again, grabbing your hand. “i’m just placing the base color today. you won’t be able to tell.”

he begins to pull you into him, puckering his lips to kiss you.

“i-i don’t even wanna see that.” you dig your heels into the groan.

“angel, it’s fine.” he says, using more of his strength to bring you closer.

“hyunjin, please!”

he immediately stops, giving you a concerned look.

“i’m not sitting on you, hyunjin. i cannot sit on you.” you exhale deeply as you place your hair behind your ears and cross your arms over your chest.

he lets go of you, placing both hands on his knees. “you don’t want to or you can’t?”

you close your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. “i… can’t.”

he leans closer, poking his cheek with his tongue. “and why can’t you?”

“i’m… ”

“you’ll hurt me because you’re too heavy?”

you bite the inside of your cheek.

he sighs as he rubs his temples and closes his eyes. “god, y/n.”

he shakes his head as he looks around the room.

“what have i told you? what have i done to ever make you feel like you’re not able to relax and accept yourself?”

“it’s not anything you did, hyunjin.” you say softly.

he stands up and pulls you into him, caressing your hair as you lay against his chest. “i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

you move your head, your chin pressing into him as you look up into his eyes.

“i think you’re so perfect. inside and out.”

you smile sweetly as he continues.

“everything about you, i adore. your smile, your laugh, your voice, the way you hold me.” he kisses your forehead softly. “i don’t care what you think, your body is gorgeous. desirable. it’s beautiful because it belongs to you. and anything that has to do with you is everything i’ll ever want.”

you close your eyes as you shake your head slightly.

“yes.” he says, holding your face with his hands. “you don’t have to believe me for it to be true.”

“i know you mean it, but it’s been so hard.” your voice cracks slightly.

“baby.” he wraps his arms tighter around you as he places kisses into your hair.

you squeeze onto him desperately, feeling as if you hadn't experienced the sensation of his body on yours in ages.

all of the horrible and intrusive thoughts that had been clouding your mind for the last several days were finally silent as he held you in his embrace.

there was no need to ever feel insecure with a lover like hyunjin, but it was so difficult sometimes. it was clear he meant all of the praises he gave you. whether it be for your looks or what made you you. quirks, traits, habits.

you felt guilty for it not even being that serious. you were confident in who you were. you were never one to make jabs at yourself or feel incompetent. you gave yourself grace for making mistakes and congratulated yourself when you accomplished a task.

it was purely physical. you hated the way you looked.

life would just be so much easier in a smaller body.

and you knew how much that upset hyunjin too. he always talked about how cheap it was to value or prioritize appearance over well being and personality.

looks alter and change as time goes on, and it's such a waste of time to spend the years of your life that are filled with the most freedom and opportunity worried about whether or not people find you attractive.

you knew it wasn't important, but there was also a part of your mind that couldn't accept that it was okay to not stress about what size you were or the number on the scale.

you were always so close, yet so far.

the hardest part had to be the lack of intimacy. you wanted to throw all of your cares away and just let hyunjin have you the way he wanted, but something always held you back.

you missed his touch, the way he smelled, the feeling of the two of you becoming one.

you couldn't bare to go a second longer without him.

"hyunjin." you huff breathlessly as you dig your nails into the grey sweatshirt he was wearing.

he pulls away and looks down into your pleading eyes staring back up at him.

he places your hair behind your ears before pulling you in with his hand placed on the back of your head, ghosting his lips over yours. "can i take care of you, baby? i just want to make you feel better."

you let out a soft whine as you nod slightly.

he grabs your hand and pulls you beside him as he clears the tools and brushes from his desk.

he turns back to you and places his hands on either side of you, causing you to hold your breathe.

he notices, letting out a small sigh. "i can lift you, angel. you don't need to be scared."

you release a shaky breath as you looked down at your feet.

he redirects your gaze back onto him, cocking an eyebrow. "may i please?"

you fold your lips in before exhaling through your nose and nodding.

he smiles happily, lifting you up from the floor. you can feel your heart rate quicken as you watch his toned arms flex. it had been too long without him.

he places you onto the now clear surface, running a hand down your clothed body.

even with the barrier between the two of you, you could feel the jolts of electricity run through you.

you let out a soft moan.

he chuckles softly, pecking your lips. "can i take off a few layers, princess?"

you squeeze your eyes shut tightly as you nod.

"awe." he laughs an empathetic laugh as he caresses the side of your face. "it"s been so long, hasn't it, baby?"

"yes." you whine.

he begins to undress you, maintaining eye contact as he does.

"is this why you've been avoiding our special time?" he asks, rubbing his hand over your soft skin.

you nod as you pout.

"oh, baby." he coos. "i'm so sorry i didn't bring it up. i just assumed you wanted your space."

he stops inches away from your lips. you feel his breath fan against your face. "let me make it up to you."

before you can respond, his lips are on yours.

you sigh into the kiss as he gently pushes you to lay on your back.

the cool surface against your bare skin makes you hiss slightly, but you’re too distracted to pay that much attention to it.

he remains standing as he continues to make out with your soft and lust swollen lips.

“i missed you, my baby.” he says in between the smacking of your two mouths.

you let out a soft whine. “missed you.”

he giggles that cute giggle of his at how worked up you are just over kissing. it's been some time since the two of you had shared a moment like this.

he pulls away to admire you. the way your soft and supple skin glowed under the gentle morning sun that spilled in through the open window. stray pieces of hair that framed your red and pleasure covered face beautifully.

"hyunjin." you say, soft and needy. "i don't want all of the build up right now. i need you so bad."

he laughs through his nose before leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. "i never want to deprive you, angel. just let me savor and take my time with you the way you deserve."

you let out a whine as you close your eyes and squeeze your thighs shut.

"you're just so... breathtaking." he says.

you keep your eyes shut as he continues on, trying to calm down as you feel yourself become more and more aroused.

"all of the art i’ve seen in my life, whether it be mine or someone else's. it could never, ever compare to you, my love."

"hyunjin-"

"ah." he stops you with a finger against your lips. "i wont argue with you. you cannot change the way i feel."

you can hear him shuffle through something on his desk before he begins to speak again.

"i've tried to encapsulate your beauty so many times before, but it simply cannot be replicated. no one could create your perfection on a canvas."

he's silent for a few moments before you feel cold paint touch the surface of your skin.

you gasp sharply as your eyes snap open.

"shh." he coos, using your chin to pull you in for a kiss. "i can't show how beautiful you are through a painting, so let me try it this way instead."

he leans down to kiss your exposed tummy, causing you to slightly push his head away.

his big brown eyes look up into yours.

“y/n, let me be creative with your body. have you see it the way i do. there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

he uses the pads of his fingers to gently outline the shape of your curves with the light pink shade, his eyes sparkling with love and admiration as he did.

“look at how beautiful this is, my love. the way you were created.”

you glance down yourself. even though it was nothing but simple tracing, he always managed to make things look so good. whether it was a sneaky doodle of you on a coffee shop napkin or a quick sketch of the sunset on the horizon, it was never sloppy.

“i love how full and soft you are, baby.” he starts, moving his fingers up to one of your nipples and swirling the paint, causing you to slightly twitch and sigh. “sensitive, too.”

he gently places his hands on both of your knees before spreading your legs and slightly lifting them to your chest.

you make an uncomfortable noise before turning your head away.

“what is it, my love?”

“i don’t like that.” you say softly with a slight crack in your voice.

“don’t like what?” he leans into you as he places a strand of hair behind your ear, observing your upset expression.

“the way my stomach does that.”

he furrows his brows before pulling away and looking down at your tummy. he places his hand on it before looking back up to you.

“the way it doubles into rolls, i- i hate that.”

“my tummy would do this too if i were in the same position as you.”

“hyunjin, that’s not the same. yours is not nearly as big as mine.”

he blinks at you without saying a word before dipping into more paint, swirling colors near your lower tummy and thighs.

you whine again.

“your skin being able to stretch and move to accommodate your needs is a blessing, angel. not something to feel distain towards.”

he begins to trace tulips and dandelions on your left thigh while gently kneading your right.

you huff and sigh as he does, not being able to handle his close proximity to your most aching part.

“i love the way your tummy folds like that.” he says, looking up from his doodles on your skin, cocking a single brow. “it reminds me of how good and spread i have you for me.”

your chest begins to rise up and down quickly at his words, causing you to grab onto his arm in desperation of some sort of stimulation.

he smirks proudly to himself, knowing the effect he has on you. “and these thighs.” he leans down to gently peck the soft and plush skin, making sure not to smudge the fresh designs. “thick and enticing. the way they force me in between them once you can’t take anymore.”

you gasp as you begin to squirm.

“yeah, pretty girl? you love suffocating me with these when i’m making you shake and cry, don’t you? the way i dig my fingers into them as you press into me harder and harder? completely disregarding my oxygen intake as i devour you. feeling you just let go. twitching and spasming all over my tongue. you love that, huh, my angel?”

“h-hyunjin.”

“shh.” he coos, leaning down and brushing his lips delicately against yours. “you have to stay calm for me, baby. we haven’t even started yet.”

he pulls away from you before resuming his previous actions.

“you just get so excited, huh?“ he begins to trace his fingers closer and closer to your heat, but never to the exact spot you needed him.

you nod quickly, letting out a huff.

“but so patient, too.”

you open your mouth to plead, only to be cut off by the feeling of his breath ghosting over your swollen bud.

he looks up from your slick and eager heat with a deep desire in his eyes, his pupils slightly blown out.

“why don’t you do that thing that i love so much, hmm? just crush me in between them. show me how you’re able to let go for me.”

you gasp as you feel yourself beginning to pulse and contract on nothing.

“can you do that for me, pretty baby?”

“y-yes.” you whine breathlessly.

without another word, his lips connect themselves onto your sensitive clit, causing you to squeal as lapped up the juices you were already starting to secrete.

his fingers quickly find their way inside of you.

you let out a short and quick squeak as he pumps them in and out of you rapidly.

“oh-“ you grab onto his wrist, the sensation already being too much.

“pretty girl.” he says breathlessly against your skin as he continues to split you open on the two digits while simultaneously sucking onto your mound. “taking my fingers so well.”

you clench around him as you begin to feel the knot in your lower tummy form.

god, it’s really been far too long.

he can feel how close you’re becoming as his eyes pierce into yours.

he quickens the pace.

small trickles of your arousal begin to fly and shoot out of you before you’re full on squirting into his large hand.

“that’s it, baby. mix those colors for me.”

your hand quickly covers your face as it burns red, feeling humiliated at just how fast you came undone.

and just as he wished, your thighs slam into either side of his head with a thud, causing a muffled moan of his to vibrate throughout your core.

cries and moans of his name fall past your lips as he helps you through your intense orgasm, rubbing your thigh reassuringly as he did.

your legs twitch and shake as he continues.

a warm and soft kiss from his full and pouty lips grounds you a bit as your climax reaches its end.

you didn’t even realize he was no longer buried face first into your needy cunt.

you let out an exhausted sigh.

he disconnects from the kiss and pulls his dripping fingers out of you before rubbing the mess you made for him all over your body, swirling the lilac and mint green paint from the lower half of you in a beautiful way.

you look up to the ceiling while you regulate your rapid breathing as he begins to open another can of paint.

he whistles a tune to himself as he dips into the pale yellow, allowing you the time to become fully present for him again.

your head feels fuzzy and filled with love as it all sets in for you.

it’s been so long without hyunjin and the pleasure he’s able to bring you.

he was always so patient and delicate with you. like you were his little flower to nurture and protect.

you feel tears already beginning to prickle at your lash line.

he walks over to you with a sweet smile as he continued to stir the fresh paint with his finger.

“you back, baby?” he asks sweetly, his voice filled with tenderness and warmth.

you hum in response, still not being able to form words yet.

he sets the paint down and leans in to peck your forehead.

you grab onto his sweatshirt, letting out a whine.

he chuckles under his breath before softly caressing the outer part of your ear with his thumb. “you want me to take it off?”

“mhm.” you tug at his collar as you try to pull yourself closer to him.

he obliges, pulling the puffy top over his head and leaning back into you.

you take your turn to show hyunjin how you feel through art, dipping into the paint and tracing small hearts along his abdomen.

he smiles at you endearingly as he hums happily, rubbing his knuckles along the sides of your waist and hips.

he re-coats the now dry paint, using his long and slender fingers to stain the surface of your skin, twisting left, right, up and down to make different shapes and patterns.

“this color reminds me of the light you bring into my life. like my eternal sunshine even on the cloudiest of days.”

you bite your lip, once again feeling the overwhelming bubble of emotions trying to fight their way out.

his praise was never anything surface level and simple such as: “you’re beautiful” or “you make me happy.” it was always so much deeper and more passionate.

“when i see you, it’s like there’s no such thing as pain or heartache. nothing could ever phase me with you in my presence.” he says, taking his non-paint covered hand to stroke your cheek softly.

you sniffle a little as you place both hands on either side of his face and pull him in, noses touching.

“you know that, don’t you? how much you mean to me?” he asks.

you bite your lip as you try to suppress an upcoming cry, nodding your head. “yes.”

he places his hands on both of your hips before turning your body to face him as he stood before you.

“don’t ever think you have to deprive yourself from me. i will always be here to reassure you. in any way, my love. with my words, paintings, my tongue, fingers.”

you shiver as he whispers against your neck.

you pull him into a kiss by his hair.

“love you, hyunjin.” you stop to let out a soft and needy moan as he nibbles at your jawline. “i love you so much.”

he lifts his hips up before finally entering you, causing you to throw your head back as you let out a long and high pitched moan, your fingers turning white as you grab onto his torso.

“look at me, baby.” he says softly, pulling your head back up.

he exhales deeply before pressing his forehead onto yours, pounding into you harder and filling the room with the sound of your two bodies becoming one.

“take me, take me, take me.” he says, breathing heavily as he devoured you with his eyes.

“oh- oh my god.” you dig your nails into the flesh of his back desperately, wishing you could be even closer to him than you are right now.

“mhm.” he groans, grabbing onto your face as he kisses you, smearing paint onto your skin.

“you’re so beautiful, angel. so perfect. you were created so divinely and with such grace. i’ll never stop thanking every star that you’re mine. all mine, my baby.”

you begin to flutter and pulse around him, gasping as you arch your back. “hyunjin!” you whine.

“give it to me, baby. you’re so gorgeous when you come undone for me.” his voice becomes more desperate and filled with whimpers as his thrusts begin to falter and lose precision.

the two of you hold onto each others faces as you both unravel onto and into one another, moaning loudly as you reach your peaks together.

“ah! i love you, i love you, i love you.” he says through gritted teeth, fingers bruising your skin as he fucks in and out of you.

you stop fighting back the tears that so desperately want to escape and allow yourself to cry softly as you lay your head against his shoulder, slightly twitching as the waves of pleasure crash over you.

he exhales deeply once he’s finished, lifting your head up to meet his gaze as he smiles at you.

your face is pink and stained with a few blots of mascara, hair slightly untamed. but to hyunjin, it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“you did such a good job, angel.” he says, caressing your cheek tenderly, wiping your tears with the pad of his thumb.

you smile as you bat your sleepy lashes up at him.

he changes both of your positions, switching the two of you to lay on your sides as you spoon each other.

“thank you.” you say softly to him.

he runs a finger from your forehead, to your nose, over your lips, down to your chin before tilting his head to the side. “you don’t need to thank me, baby. i’ll always be here to help you see the beauty in you that i do. i promise.”

your face turns a light shade of pink as you look down. he lifts it back up, smiling that precious squinty smile of his before kissing your lips soft and delicately.

“let’s just stay like this for a little while.” he says, closing his eyes as he rests his chin on top of your head, pulling you in closer.

“hyunjin, i’m not napping on your art desk.” you say, pushing yourself away from him and giving him a sassy look.

he groans dramatically, throwing his head back. “i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”

you giggle softly as you get up from the desk, looking down at your bottom with a sigh. “ugh, it’s so big, hyunjin.” you say, shaking your head.

“hmm. let me see, baby.” he says, giving you a concentrated and serious expression as you turn around for him.

he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, causing you to look back at him. “what is the point of- ow!”

you spin around, rubbing the cheek of yours that was stinging with burn of his slap. you feel something wet on your hand, realizing that it was paint.

you gasp. “did you just put paint on my butt?!” you try to hold back your laughter, wanting to seem upset with him.

“that’s what you get for speaking poorly about your body.” he says, wiping his paint covered hand.

you cross your arms and pout up at him, causing him to sigh and pull you in for a hug.

“i’m sorry, baby. i’m just teasing. but i meant what i said.” he says, poking your side slightly. “no more negative comments, alright?”

you sigh. “okay. ow!” you push yourself off of him and smack his chest at yet another swat against your bottom.

“and that one was for me. i just can’t get enough of this thing right here.” he says, squeezing into your butt roughly with his hands.

you shake your head, turning to walk out of the room, hyunjin quickly following behind.

“that handprint on your ass is amazing, angel. i should take a picture of it with my camera.”

“will you shut up?” you snap, scoffing as you fight back a smile.

“or better yet, i’ll use it as inspo for my next piece!”

“shut up!”

#stray kids #stray kids smut #hyunjin #hyunjin smut

138 notes · View notes

shadeysprings · 1 year

Text

The Princess of Asgard

—Loki x F!Reader

Summary: Your supposed vacation on Asgard takes an unexpected turn.

Warnings: kidnapping, non-consensual arranged marriage, betrayal & violence.

A/N: Written for @lokisgoodgirl as they've been wanting some Dark!Loki recently. Ngl, I do miss writing him. Un-beta so may be meh.

Your feedbacks and reblogs are highly appreciated. Support Content Creators! And I hope you guys enjoy! ❤️

The tears continue streaming down your face as you stare at your reflection in the vast mirror hanging on the wall. The emerald gown you were forced to wear shimmers beautifully against the light of your chambers and you wish you could appreciate such a delicate garment, to bask at the regality being laid upon your feet.

But you can’t, not even a shred of happiness can be found within, for such gifts have come with a price, one you know deep down you cannot pay.

You blame your naivety, for it’s what brought you into your situation in the first place. The excitement burst from you when Thor and his brother, Loki, invited you to see their home. The stories of Asgard have held a vice on you since you were young, mesmerized at how beautiful the images scholars painted of a place they’ve never seen before. And being given that opportunity, to witness what no one else on earth has, was too irresistible not to take.

“What are you wearing?” Loki asks upon seeing you when you open the door, his eyes trailing down your body before stopping at your face.

“Oh, am I underdressed?” You ask, looking down at the graphic tee and canvas shorts you put on that morning. “I just thought of dressing light since it’s summer here.”

“Not at all, darling.” He smiles before ushering himself into your room along with a stout middle-aged woman with stacks of fabric nestled in her arms. “But I was thinking you would dress like an Asgardian during your stay here.”

The woman, who Loki introduces as Thyra, lays the assortment of fabric on the foot of your bed, dresses of silk and satin, looking delicate to the touch. You look up at Loki, eyes wide in disbelief and awe.

“Take your pick.” He instructs but nears the emerald dress all the same and runs his fingers against its skirts. “But I personally think you would look good in this.”

You scan the garments, the gold and beige sitting idly on the mattress, both in the same cut and style. Only the emerald dress stands out from the bunch, looking regal and elegant. But regardless of his suggestion, your eyes still land on the beige, hand reaching over to caress the silk before taking it.

“But this would look more in season, don’t you think?” You tell him, a smile playing on your lips. He smiles back but you can’t help but notice how it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Though after that morning, the dresses presented to you were all of the same color, emerald fabrics dancing against the lights of your room, leaving you no choice but to wear the green thrust upon you.

Your first week on Asgard was spent touring the palace and the outer grounds, Loki always at your side, arm intertwined with yours as he introduced you to his friends, along with the other lords and ladies in Thor’s court. A feast was even thrown in your honor, and even if you found the extravagant event fun and entertaining, the way you were regarded by royals and commoners alike threw you off guard.

But it didn’t stop there. Even after the feast, people bowed at your wake and called you princess, the title off-putting considering you were not close to such status, a mere civilian and average citizen on earth.

You thought they were doing so to show respect to the king and the prince’s visitor, but that one-morning exchange with Thyra, when she entered your room without your permission and started laying out a dress on the top of your bed, told you otherwise.

“It’s unheard of in all the realms for a princess to dress herself.” Thyra says in disbelief when you try to dismiss her. “I would not want the prince to scold me for not doing my work accordingly.”

“Oh—but I’m not a princess.” You tell her with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Not yet.” She simply responds before bending low and turning to leave.

And that chance encounters with Lord Fandral as you walked through the corridors of the palace alone.

“Are you lost, princess?” He asks.

You don’t understand why you’re being addressed as such. Is it customary to give visitors of the royals such titles?

With your brain too muddled with errant thoughts, you choose to brush it off and ask Loki later why they are treating you as such, you give the golden lord a smile and ask him where you can find the kitchen.

“I’d be happy to escort you, princess.” Lord Fandral says with a smile as he offers his hand for you to take.

As the days turn into weeks, the once magnificent palace felt all too suffocating; with Thyra’s constant insistence to serve you, the whispers you heard from the servants as you walked past them, and most of all, Loki’s indifference each time you asked him why you are being treated in such a weird way.

Until that day, all the answers were finally laid at your feet.

“Darling, Thyra has told me that—what are you doing?”

You don’t spare Loki a glance, irritation filling your senses as you pack all your things. “I’m leaving. I thought visiting Asgard would be great but things here are just fucking weird.” You spit, shoving your clothes in your duffel but stopping when Loki places a hand over your bag.

“You will do no such thing.” He says and you scowl up at him, but your anger shifts into curiosity, and your spine shivers when you see the seriousness in his emerald eyes. “You’re not to leave Asgard until I say so.”

“Why?!” You push his hand away and try to grab your bag but he latches onto the strap, pulling it completely from your grasp, and throws it on the ground. “What the fuck?! You can’t keep me here, Loki! I’m telling Thor and you won’t be welcomed back to the compound!”

“Go on then. He’s in the throne room right now.” He says, moving away and gesturing to the door. But the tone of his voice, calm and resolute, has fear crawling up your skin.

Yet still, you push on and walk past him, marching yourself through the halls as you try to navigate your way. You sense Loki following behind, but give him no mind, though once you find yourself lost, his chuckle resounds in your ear and you stiffen when his hand rests at the small of your back and whispers, “Just through here, darling.”

He leads you through a set of double doors and you look ahead to see Thor sitting on the throne, Mjolnir laying inanimate at his feet while addressing the people surrounding him.

His eyes meet yours and he smiles, dismissing his subjects when you march up to him. But the friendly smile fades when you stomp up the steps, a frown playing on his lips. “My lady, you seem to be in distress.”

“Hell yeah, I am.” You almost shout, pointing an accusing finger at Loki who stops at the foot of the steps. “Your brother is being an asshole. He said I can’t leave Asgard without his permission.”

Thor looks startled at your words, eyes shifting to his brother and then to you. “But why would you leave Asgard when you’re to be wed?”

You stiffen at the word. Wed? What does he mean? Your eyes dart to Loki who casually stands by the steps before climbing up toward you. He reaches for your hand but you quickly pull away, your eyes focused on him before looking at Thor who stands from his seat.

“Have you not told her, brother?” Thor asks, but his eyes remain on you.

“Told me what?!” You respond in a rush, panic rolling through your veins.

“I was supposed to while we ate breakfast but she banished her handmaiden and I caught her packing her things.”

Thor sighs but chuckles after. “Loki, you know midgardians are more unrefined in these situations than us.”

“I took your word into account, brother. Thought I would break it to her gen—”

“What the fuck are you both talking about?!” You shout, anger and fear mixing within you. “What the hell is happening?! What are you not telling me?!”

“Do you want to tell her or should I?” Thor asks his brother and Loki simply grins, giving a solemn bow to his brother. Thor faces you, blue eyes serious yet full of mirth. “You’ve accepted my brother’s gifts, have you not?”

“Gifts?”

“The dress.” He waves a hand in your direction and you look down at the green silk hanging from your shoulders. “You wear his colors, you’ve accepted his invitation to come home with him. Your chambers, adjacent to the prince’s, and a handmaiden for you to use as you please. Each one deserving of a princess.”

“But—” You stammer and shake your head. They can’t be gifts, you never even thought them to be; simply thinking that everything was part of Asgardian culture and you were not one to question their way of life. “I didn’t know they were gifts. I thought they—”

“I thought you were a smart girl but you’ve proved me wrong, little one.” Thor laughs and waves to his brother. “Enlighten her with the situation, we can’t have a scene played before the court on the day of the wedding.”

“But what if I decline?” Your voice trembles as you speak, body shaking as everything starts to make sense; why everyone calls you princess, Loki’s looming presence, and Thyra forcing you to wear the dresses instead of putting on the ones you brought with you. “I should get to decide, shouldn’t I?”

“But the decision has already been made,” Loki rebuts and you take a step back when he steps closer. “And it is seen as treason and punishable by death to go against the will of the royal family.”

You blink slowly, the air leaving your lungs as you try to process all the information that has just been said. You can’t get married, Loki may be handsome but you have no feelings for him. You feel betrayed, played with, and the pain feels too overwhelming as you saw the brothers to be your friends.

Why would they trick you? What have you done to merit such devious intent?

“It will be easier once you’ve had some food in you, darling.” Your eyes meet Loki’s when he stands close to you, his hand wrapping around your arm, thumb gently caressing your skin. “And realize that being my wife would be the best thing that has ever happened to you.”

You don’t want to agree. What the hell do they know about what’s best for you and what’s not? But you don’t fight back, instead, you nod and allow Loki to take your hand, bowing your head to Thor before following his brother out of the vast throne room.

But as soon as you pass by the doors, the guards closing them at your wake, you stomp down on Loki’s foot and clench your fists before thrusting it towards his neck, making the god stumble back while he chokes.

You don’t waste any more time and run as fast as you can, sprinting through the halls and staggering down the stairs. Several servants squeal in shock at your wake but you give them no mind, set on finding your way out of the palace and towards the bridge that you once crossed when you arrived.

Several footsteps stomp behind you and you push further, urging yourself to run faster. You can hide in the forest once you leave the palace and plan from there. All you want now and all you can do is get away from Loki and his brother and hope that you can find someone to help you and take you back home.

But you grunt when something solid catches your waist, your back pressing hard against a surface that you soon realize is someone’s chest. You try to pull away, clawing on the arm that restrains you to set yourself free, but you whimper when you feel the edge of a blade pressing against your neck, tilting your head back to avoid being cut.

“I will not be insulted by your insolence, darling.” Loki drawls against your ear. “I have been very patient with you, I have been kind. You do not want to test these waters only to end up drowning.”

“Please, Loki.” You cry and hiss when he breaks the skin, the metallic tang of your blood wafting in the air. “Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends.”

He chuckles and you let out a breath when the blade leaves your neck. But such reprieve is lost when his fingers wrap around your throat, his nose trailing down your temple and to your cheek then pressing a soft kiss against your skin.

“Well, darling,” He breathes, feeling rather than seeing his grin. “You thought wrong.”

Quickly, you wipe your tears away when you hear the door of your room open. You keep still, hearing soft footsteps pad through the open room and into the bedchamber, your body going stiff when you see Loki’s reflection in the mirror and resting his hands on your shoulder.

“I hope those are happy tears, darling.” He says as he greets you with a kiss on the cheek. “Today is a joyous day and I expect nothing but.”

You stay silent, unsure how to respond for you feel the opposite of happy. You’re trapped, kidnapped, into a foreign land, and betrayed by the people you’ve spent years who you trusted, and depended on to keep you safe.

Your eyes then shift to the side when Loki holds up a necklace with an emerald crystal hanging by the chain. He takes the liberty of clasping the chain around your neck, whimpers leaving your lips when his hand grazes the tops of your breasts, his finger caressing the jewel that sits on your cleavage.

“A beautiful present for my bride.” He whispers, the words stabbing your chest and you can’t help the tears from spilling once again. His brow furrows, turning you from the mirror to face him and you look down when he cups your cheek. “What’s the matter, darling? Do you not like it?” He asks. “I can get you another one, a bigger one if that’s what you want.”

“I want to go home.” You blurt out and cover your face as you sob against your palms. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

Loki then pinches your chin, making you wince and you drop your hands to your sides when he lifts your head and forces you to face him. A breath catches in your throat as you’re once more filled with fear, seeing his green eyes glow dangerously and the mischievous smirk forming on his lips.

“But darling,” He breathes, “You are home.”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springdandelixn-archives and turn on notifications.

#loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #dark loki #dark!loki #dark fic #mcu #au #the princess of asgard

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ai-musclebound · 4 months

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> Adone's story <

Once upon a time, there was a young man named Adone who ventured into a dusty antique shop. He came across an old oil lamp covered in a thick layer of dust. He picked it up and started wiping the dust off. Suddenly, as his hand brushed over the lamp, smoke escaped from it, forming into an extremely muscular genie.

"Finally, I am free!" exclaimed the genie. Adone was overwhelmed and stuttered, "Who are you?" "I am a genie doomed to be trapped in this lamp forever until someone comes to free me. – At least I'm free until I fulfill your three wishes," explained the genie with a broad grin.

Adone could hardly believe what he was hearing. "I get three wishes?" "Yes. But be warned, choose wisely! – And take your time, so I don't have to go back into the lamp immediately," warned the genie.

Adone thought for a only a short moment: "I want to be like you! I want to become incredibly muscular! I want to be the image of the perfect man!" The genie looked somewhat displeased, "Unusual for someone to express all three wishes at once. You could have given me some time of freedom. But alright, your wishes are my command!"

Adone was confused, but then he felt his muscles swelling and spreading over his body. He was overwhelmed by the sudden change and could hardly believe how muscular he was becoming. But then, as he moved, he noticed something strange. His skin felt oily, and when he tried to touch it, it smeared like fresh paint on a canvas. "What's happening to me?!" exclaimed Adone in panic.

"Your wishes are coming true. You will be 'the image of the perfect man' in an oil painting, you will be 'ridiculously muscular,' and you will be 'like me' – trapped as a genie for eternity – just in the oil of a painting instead of the oil of a lamp. But look on the bright side: Someone rubbing your enormous muscles is much more likely than someone rubbing my lamp."

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storiesbyrhi · 10 months

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TO BREAK A COVENANT Eddie Munson x Reader 8,877 words

Warnings: horror, body horror, blood, gore, horror genre imagery, nightmares, self-inflicted cutting injuries (not as a result of mental illness/distress though), angst, death, this is a sad story.

Synopsis: Eddie came back from the Upside Down, but it's not through with him yet. A short horror story that will hurt. It will bleed and feed and rip you apart.

Author’s Note: There was exposition I was going to write into the story, but I feel like it messed with the atmosphere. So, quick recap: Eddie lives, helps save the day, and is publicly exonerated. Vecna was vanquished; El closed the gate. Wayne is staying with a family friend since the trailer got rest in peace’d.

He was back from that place. Eddie had returned from the Upside Down, but barely. His breath was a death rattle. His skin pale and clammy. His blood on the wrong side of his skin. He was back from that place, but he was still closer to the afterlife than this one.

For two days he sweated through the thick canvas of the triage tent’s cloth cot. The stitches were hastily sewn, pulling his wounds together in ways that would guarantee painful scar tissue. Eddie’s body seemed to cope better without an IV of fluids and antibiotics. Doctors were too busy with the immense task of saving Hawkins to think twice. If the town freak didn’t want the help, so be it.

On day three you took him home. Well, not home. You took Eddie to Steve Harrington’s pool house. It had a bed and a bathroom and that was enough. King Steve wasn’t exactly a friend but he felt like safety. He’d been the one to drag Eddie out of hell. He’d been the one to sit down and try to explain everything to you, even if Dustin did a better job.

All night you held Eddie. He didn’t speak. His beautiful eyes didn’t sparkle. He’d stopped sweating, crying, shaking. You were terrified to fall asleep, the image of waking up to a cold and lifeless Eddie haunted you. Of course, you were exhausted, and the Sandman took you before midnight had struck.

In the morning, day four, Eddie was up before you.

“Baby,” you gasped, immediately crawling to where he was sitting with his back against the wall the bed was pushed up against. When you took his face in your hands his skin didn’t feel any warmer. His gaze focused on you though, and he smiled. “Hi,”

“Hi sweetheart,” he croaked.

You let out a deep breath and felt the sting of tears. “I thought-”

“Come ‘ere,” he interrupted.

You carefully got as close to him as possible without pressing against his wounds. Eddie’s hands settled on your hips and pulled you closer. His legs were stretched out in front of him and you were straddling his thighs.

“This doesn’t hurt?”

“Doesn’t hurt,” he mumbled. He was lying, but not in the way you suspected. It wasn’t the bites and stitches. It was something deeper. It was bad. Not poison bad. No infection bad. Something else. Something otherworldly. Something Eddie was desperately trying to ignore. And you, you were his perfect distraction.

“I love you,” you told him.

“I love you too,” Eddie whispered.

The food he tried to eat came back up. He couldn’t warm up, no matter how many blankets you piled on top of him. And, he was cagey about letting you help change the dressings on his injuries. Eddie went into the bathroom alone, returning after too long, looking pathologically dismayed.

However, each day was a fresh covenant. With who, you didn’t know. A god or the capital-G God. A teenage superhero named Eleven. Some other force. Whoever. Whatever. Each day was a promise to them that you would look after Eddie and love him harder than you ever had before.

As dawn broke on day five, the sound of a crow’s lonely caw woke you. Loud. Shrill. Reverberating through you. You sat up and tried to see through the room. When your eyes couldn’t focus, you realised it wasn’t darkness blinding you, but a silent snowfall of dark particles. Itty bitty flecks of dust and evil.

“No, no, no!” You scrambled around in the bed, searching for Eddie with your hands. The sheets were cold and you were alone. “Eddie?!” The silence hurt your ears as if it was blocking them through physical force. “EDDIE?!”

Stepping out the bed, your feet found a sticky, wet floor. Like it was quicksand, it pulled you down as you tried to move. “EDDIE?!” you cried out.

You got to the door of the pool house, hands shaking as you struggled with the lock. Ripping the door open, you propelled your weight forward, only to hit what felt like a wall. “Eddie!” Throwing your arms around him, you immediately felt his stillness. You let go and looked at him. Suddenly, you weren’t sure it was Eddie.

The whites of his eyes were completely gone. Somehow though, you knew the blackness was watching you. His nose was bleeding. Then, the noise.

It came from somewhere deep in him. A crackling groan. Low, pained. Muffled at first, until Eddie’s lips peeled apart and the sound found air. Wider and wider. Louder and louder. Eddie’s mouth split, a Dahlia grin amplifying the groan until it was all you could hear.

You tried to move but the quicksand floor glued you in place. Instead, you sobbed. When you felt hands wrap around you from behind, you screamed.

“Hey! Hey, hey! Sweetheart. Babe. Stop, stop. It’s me!” Eddie was shaking you from your sleep, his arms around you. “It’s a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Come ‘ere.”

You were heaving, the fear still coursing through your veins. Tears rolled down your face and you frantically looked around the room.

“Just a nightmare,” Eddie repeated.

The relief hit you all at once and you choked on it, coughing and letting Eddie hold you. He rocked you gently, kissing the top of your head. “S’okay. I got you.”

It took all day to shake the nightmare. You kept checking your toes weren’t sinking into the floor and the air for soot.

“It’s done,” Eddie reminded you again and again. “We’re safe.”

When night came and Eddie had gone another day without eating, you began to understand it wasn’t the threat of Vecna or the Upside Down that was unnerving you. It was Eddie. No food. Hardly any water. Long showers. Easy movement. His recovery was swift and miraculous and entirely unsettling.

You told yourself you should be grateful. This is what you had begged for. Prayed for. What you would have sold your soul for. Eddie, back in your arms, alive. The image of the black eyes from your nightmare wouldn’t leave your mind though. Nor, the sound.

If you dreamt that night, it was forgotten as soon as you woke up.

For three long seconds, you thought he was dead. Eddie’s face was void of emotion; his head lax on the pillow. Then he blinked slowly and his eyebrows pulled together in a miserable expression.

“Eddie?” you whispered. It was still early. Dark. Your body was heavy with sleep. “What’s…?”

He looked like he was going to cry. “Something’s wrong.” His voice matched your whisper.

You reached out and cupped his cheek in your palm. He was still so cold.

Eddie hated the look on your face. One part love, one part pity. That’s how he saw it. He loved you more than he’d loved anything in his entire life. More than music. Art. Books. He didn’t give himself the hypothetical ultimatum, but if he had to choose between you or Wayne, he’d choose you. So, telling you the truth was agony. “I need you to go,”

“Go where?” you asked innocently.

“Away. From me. Now.”

Confusion had always looked too cute on you.

You were trying to process the instructions but quite simply, couldn’t. When your head began to shake, Eddie swallowed. His throat was sandpaper dry.

“Something bad is happening to me. You gotta go. Go in the house, get Steve. ‘Kay? Tell him somethin’ is happening,”

“Eddie, wait, what do you mean? Slow down for a sec and talk to me.”

You went to get closer to him, but he had a tight grip on your wrist. It wasn’t suddenly. It was instantly. He moved faster than light.

“I… I don’t… think you’re safe,” Eddie warned through gritted teeth. He needed you to be smarter than this. He needed you to put it all together so he didn’t have to spell it out.

“Safe? From what? Ed-”

“I can smell your blood.”

Your breath caught and held. Eddie’s brown eyes seemed impossibly dark. Yours glimmered with dread. Still, to break a covenant was to curse yourself. You wouldn’t abandon him. He knew that.

“I can’t eat. Can’t drink. Hardly sleep… Sleepin’ less each day.” Eddie’s voice was shaky. His words calculated and concise. “I’m stronger than I should be,”

“Maybe we should go to a hospital and-”

“Look.” He lifted his shirt. His wounds were healed. The scars looked decades old and not nearly as terrible as they medically should have been.

When your eyes flicked back up to his face you realised how tense Eddie was holding himself. He was holding himself back.

“I’m… I’m so thirsty… Feels like… Like I’m fuckin’ turning to dust from the inside out… And I- I can smell your blood. Like… breakfast in fucking bed.”

You blinked hard. The imagery was unnecessary. Evil. But Eddie, your Eddie, wouldn’t hurt you. He couldn’t. He’d die before he could.

Unless, of course, he already had.

“Eddie, you’re not turning into a v-”

“Baby, I know how it sounds,” he growled.

No, no, no. Stupid. This is… Stupid.

It was a fair enough thing to tell yourself. It may have been stupid but… it was also Hawkins. Storybooks had been coming to life annually since 1953.

“Let me help,”

“No. Go,”

“What if-”

“Go!”

Eddie had never yelled at you before. It echoed in your heart and sent you tumbling out of bed and skittering along the floor. At the door, you stood halfway in and out of the pool house, looking back at Eddie. The smallest of nods from him and you were running.

Steve’s parents weren’t home. They had evacuated Hawkins when Vecna opened the ground up. Nobody commented on that to Steve. You made it through to the kitchen before stopping. What would Steve do?

Presumably, call the others. The Party. And, what could they do? Would they try to treat Eddie? Could that make it worse? What if Eleven was still being watched? What if the government, or whoever, learned about Eddie? What if they took him from you? Experimented on him? Hurt him?

Before you had time to second guess your decision, you were pulling a coffee mug from the cupboard and holding your arm over it. The knife in your hand was clean. Shiny. Reflective.

Stupid.

The cut hurt more than you expected, but you reminded yourself of what Eddie had been through. The blood dripped out slowly from your inner forearm, just below the elbow. You tried to angle your arm best you could, opening and closing your fist to pump the blood better.

You felt him.

Behind you.

Eddie had smelt your blood from where he was clinging to the last of his self-control. His six days of pretending this wasn’t happening forgotten. He’d followed the scent, the doors you had flew through on your way in left open.

He pressed his chest into your back. It was almost familiar, save for the lack of his warm arms embracing you and his chin resting on your shoulder. No, ‘Hi there, sweetheart,’ or ‘How’s my baby doing?’

You refused to let yourself be scared.

Eddie could smell that in you too.

The blood continued to fill the cup. A shot glass’ worth. Then two. Three. Then, a coffee mug warm and ready.

“Let me look after you,” you whispered.

Eddie’s hand appeared next to you as he slowly reached around and took the mug from the kitchen bench. When the weight of him pressed to you lessened, you turned to face him.

All his edges looked blurry, like he was in a perpetual state of vibration. His shoulders were hunched in and his head hung. Eddie had the mug held between his hands. You noticed, for the first time, that his fingernails had changed. They used to be thin, short, and bitten. Now, they were almost an inch long, pointed but not sharp. As if starving for a week had upped the keratin production in his body, all his nails were grossly thick.

“Drink it.”

That was it. Something snapped in him and he poured your blood straight down his throat. You watched as he tried to lick the mug clean, then use his fingers to get every last drop.

When he looked at you, you saw the change. The golden brown was gone from his eyes, replaced with black rimmed in red. His muscles stretched out, unknotting, and feeling brand new. Eddie stood tall, the neutral expression on his face only lasting for a brief moment before he frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

Panic, maybe. Or was it fear you were reading in his features? Or pain?

Eddie coughed, his hands at his mouth out of human habit. Something had been coughed out though. Blood. You thought it was yours, coming back up, but then he coughed again, sending more splattering onto the kitchen floor.

You looked down and saw that the red was dotted with white. Morbid curiosity had you immediately drop to your knees to inspect. If it came from Eddie, it didn’t really revolt you. As soon as you picked a white dot up you knew what it was. You looked back up at Eddie as he continued to cough, more blood and teeth spilling from his mouth.

You stood up at the same time noise from upstairs froze you and Eddie in place.

“Fuck. Fuck. Go back to the pool house. I’ll clean this. Go!”

In the blink of an eye, Eddie was gone and you were pocketing his blood wet teeth. Moving frantically, you grabbed anything with the ability to absorb and mopped up the gore. You heard Steve on the stairs as you threw the tea towels, oven mitts, dishcloths, and paper towel out the door, just out of view.

“Hey,” Steve greeted. He was in sweatpants and nothing else, serving as a point of comparison to Eddie.

Where Eddie was ghost white, Steve was tanned warmth. Where Eddie was healed angry scars, Steve was bandaged and bleeding. Where Eddie was in need of saving, Steve was human resilience, turning on the coffee machine and yawning.

“How’s he today?”

“Still sleeping,” you lied too quickly.

Steve didn’t know you well enough to gauge if you were being weird. And, if he thought you were, that was probably just your personality. It made sense to him that Eddie’s girlfriend would be, at least, a little bit freaky.

“Did you need something? Thought I’d do some laundry today if you guys wanna change sheets or whatever,”

“Oh, um, yeah. I mean, no. No, it’s okay. I can do it. You’re already doing more than enough.”

Steve snorted. “I’m really not… I kind of owe him, you know? We all do. Says he’s not a hero, but…” Steve shrugged. “Whatever.”

You watched Steve brew a weirdly specific cup of coffee. Almost scientific in his precision, he mixed half and half with an extra dash of cream into the coffee, then one heaped teaspoon of white sugar. He was not done. Half a teaspoon of brown sugar was added last. He seemed very pleased with himself.

“That’s just… milk and sugar,” you observed.

Steve looked into his mug in an eerily similar way to how Eddie had minutes before. “Yeah… So, ah, you good? Don’t need anything?”

Shaking your head, you offered a small smile. Your arms were folded tightly across your chest, simultaneously applying pressure to the cut and concealing its existence from Steve.

“Okay… Well, I’m gonna pick up Robin in a couple hours and head over to the school. So, if you need me to grab anything while we’re out, let me know.”

You nodded. He was vaguely suspicious, but ultimately none the wiser, retreating upstairs into his bedroom.

Working quickly, you put anything blood stained into a garbage bag and walked it out to the bins. The kitchen was wiped down and you made yourself a cup of tea. Your stomach flipped when you took a sip. You poured the rest down the sink before making your way back to the pool house.

Following the trail of blood and teeth, you found Eddie curled up behind the Harrington Pool Bar. He had his hands clamped over his mouth.

“Eddie,” you said gently and you knelt in front of him, placing your hands on his knees.

He looked at you. The brown would never return to his eyes, but for now, the red was gone too. Whatever was happening to him was happening fast. You’d counted the teeth in your pocket and the ones on the pool house floor. There were enough to know there were none left in his mouth.

“Are you still bleeding? Let me see,” you asked.

It didn’t matter if he was, you certainly were still bleeding. Eddie’s gaze flicked to your arm, to where the cut was crusting over but still weeping. You understood.

“Okay. Let me just-” And you got up and left him. In the bathroom you rinsed your arm and bandaged it excessively. You pulled a hoodie on before returning to Eddie.

With his hands still obscuring his mouth, Eddie spoke. “New… ones…” His voice was different. It reminded you of the time he dressed up as an orc for Halloween, wearing a set of plastic teeth that made his speech hard to understand.

There were no tears forming in Eddie’s eyes, yet his energy was undoubtedly one of sorrow. He made a whining sound and shook his head as you took his wrists to try to move his hands from his face.

“Eddie. Eddie, look at me… I will love you no matter what, okay? I love you.” You leaned forward and kissed his forehead in benediction.

Eddie’s hands dropped into his lap and his jaw unclenched. He opened his mouth just enough for you to see his new teeth. Perfect, sharp, and deadly. Designed to pierce flesh. They weren’t like anything you’d seen before. They had the uniformity of a shark. The impressive canines of a wolf. But the layout stayed consistent with a human, no gaps between each tooth.

Undeniably monstrous, but not repulsive. At least, not to you.

You kissed Eddie’s forehead again, then the tip of his nose, then his mouth. “We can do this. You’ll be okay… I’ve got you,”

“You gotta go,”

“Eddie, I already-”

“The thirst. It’s… It’s all I can think about. I don’t wanna hurt you,”

“You won’t. We’re going to figure it out. Figure out how much blood you need to survive,”

“Feels like I’m dying,” he whispered.

“Okay, so you need more. Here.”

You had only unwrapped a single layer of the bandage before Eddie struck.

On his knees and elbows, with your arm held in a vice grip, Eddie was drinking from your cut. His mouth was suctioned to your skin, the tips of his teeth pressing in enough to bruise but not puncture. Eyes screwed shut and noise drowned out by the loud beat of your heart, Eddie was lost for a moment.

You had been pushed flat to the ground, so remained there while you sorted through the sensation. The cut stung a little but otherwise, it didn’t hurt to have him latched onto you like a leech. There was no point in lying to yourself about the fear. You were terrified but the love outweighed the terror. And, there was a covenant to uphold.

Slowly, you brought yourself up into a sitting position. Eddie bristled at your touch, so you dropped your free arm in your lap and waited. When you felt woozy, you spoke again. “Eddie, you have to stop now.” You didn’t think asking politely would actually work, but you would be amiss not to at least try.

With your back to Harrington Pool Bar, you raised a leg and kicked Eddie in the side of his ribcage with as much speed and force as you could muster. It wouldn’t have been enough to knock him from you, but the speed caught him by surprise and he let go of you.

You snatched your arm back and held it close to your chest. “Eddie!”

He licked the last of your blood from his lips. The red was back in his eyes. A small rumble of a growl escaped from deep within him.

“It’s me.”

You held eye contact until Eddie nodded, pursing his lips together.

“You shouldn’t have done that,”

“I didn’t know how to make you stop,”

“No. Not the kick. You shouldn’t have let me… do… that.”

The morning sunshine was beginning to peek over the neighbor’s fence. As Eddie shifted on the spot, his hand landed in a patch of light. He looked down at it.

“Does it burn?” you asked.

“No, but it… I don’t know. Pins and needles.” He moved his hand then stood. Eddie looked down at you, holding a hand to your cut and losing the battle of trying to look composed. “I… I can’t help you up,” he said in a pained voice. Normal Eddie would have offered a hand and pulled you up. He would have hugged you close to him and spun you around. “I can’t… touch you,” Eddie tried to explain.

Getting to your feet was easy but lonely. “I’ll go clean up.”

you ran the cut under the bathroom tap for a while then re-bandaged it. You had to lean against the basin, your sense of balance still a little thrown.

When you emerged, Eddie had closed all the curtains of the pool house and returned to bed. His black eyes watched you walk over and get into bed with him. He shook his head again.

“I mean it. You need to go. The others will figure out what to do.”

If you hadn’t been there watching the change happen, you would have been shocked at the thing in the bed opposite you. The others… You would have to convince them he was Eddie, and not a monster wearing his skin.

“I’m scared to leave you again,” you told him. Glistening tears welled up in your eyes. You both felt it, the lack of action. Normal Eddie would have you in his arms by now. “Can I come closer?”

Your small squeaky voice broke Eddie’s heart. He gave in and made room for you. You burrowed in, head pressed into his chest, arms curled between you and him. It was cold but at the very least, he still smelt like himself.

“One more day, okay? That’s if nothing else changes.”

It wasn’t a negotiation, so you accepted his offer with a nod of the head.

All day you stayed in bed. No music. No television. No conversation. You hardly moved at all. Eddie held you all the way up to dusk.

“You need to eat,” he said. He’d not felt hunger pains himself, so he’d almost forgotten about food entirely. But he could hear the houses around him settling in for the night. Dinners being prepared and families reuniting. Eddie could hear entire conversations as though they were playing out in the pool house.

“I will,” you mumbled into him.

Eddie let you stay until he heard Steve’s car. “Steve’s home. Robin’s here too,” he said. “They’ve got burgers. You need to go out there, so they don’t come in here,"

"How do you know all that?"

"I can hear... uh, everything... Go eat."

The threat of other people being involved in… whatever this was… was enough to get you unfurling your body from his. You told him you loved him and that you would be back, and Eddie told you what you needed to hear.

He tracked your footsteps around the pool and into the house. Through the kitchen and into the lounge room. You sat next to Robin and lied about Eddie. You told them he was asleep and that you’d take his food to him later. A videotape was produced and the movie began.

Without you right next to him, Eddie felt slightly more peaceful. His mind let him think of things other than how satisfying it would feel to drink you dry. The peace was short lived when Eddie tried to scratch his back. At first, he thought it was an itch, then he shot up when it felt more like something moving in the bed. There was nothing there that he could see, but then he felt the tickling again.

He was at the bathroom mirror, relieved to see himself there. He turned around to inspect his back. “What the fuck?!” under his breath and a string of no no no in his mind. Next to each shoulder blade were deep, dark bruises. But not bruises, because bruises aren’t meant to move.

Eddie watched in horror as from the center of each black patch, a bump grew into a mound as big as his shoulder blades. From the mounds, something was trying to break free. Eddie could feel the pressure, like a pimple that needed to be popped or a rotten limb that needed to be severed. Whatever they were, they couldn’t free themselves from his back.

He started to mutter and haphazardly look through the bathroom cabinet for something to help. At first, it was painkillers, but then it was a blade. “Fuckin… Come on, come on… Please… Jesus fucking… Christ.” He sped through the pool house until he found a small paring knife in the bar.

In the bathroom, Eddie positioned himself with his back to the mirror and did his best to look over his shoulder. He tried to hold the knife steady, but there was no way for him to achieve his goal safely or precisely. He dropped the knife in the sink and crouched on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Eddie tuned in to you. The sound of you hungrily eating, laughing at Robin’s jokes despite the guilt it made you feel. He listened to you tell Steve to continue to keep Dustin and the other kids away, for now. “He doesn’t want them to see him like this, you know?” you explained.

Eddie blindly reached for the knife, grasping it, and bringing it to the floor with him. He took a deep breath, registered that he hadn’t been breathing in days, swallowed the thought, then began to slash at his back as deeply as he could.

His cold blood followed his spine down his back and formed a puddle. The pain was so white hot that if he still possessed the ability to, Eddie would have thrown up. He was so close though, he could feel it. A few more slashes and he’d done it. The pressure was gone and something slipped from him.

Eddie quickly stood up, holding the sink to not slip in all the blood. He turned and looked at the wreckage. He had to focus hard, almost squint, to make them out. At first, they looked like bones protruding from him. Then, they flexed and uncurled. Eddie let out a laugh. They were the most pathetic set of wings he’d ever seen.

Eddie’s head hung over the sink. He closed his eyes and tried the breathing thing again. While he could inhale, fill his lungs, and exhale, Eddie found he didn’t need to. A thought crossed his mind and he had no self-control left to offer rationality.

He filled the sink with water and plunged his face into it. For a while, he just stayed there, silently holding his breath underwater. Then, he purposefully breathed in. He could do it. Breathing water was like breathing thick, sticky air. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, but it didn’t hurt and it certainly didn’t kill him.

“Well, fuck,” he said amused as he stood straight, shaking the water from his face and hair like a dog. He looked up at his reflection again and froze.

The wings had grown. He could see the tips of them, whereas before they were as small as a common brown bat’s. At least he didn’t feel them grow. Little mercies, Eddie thought.

The back door of the house slammed shut. There was not even close to enough time to do anything about the murder scene of a bathroom. Eddie just waited, ready to calm you.

You appeared at the threshold of the bathroom, your eyes wide and mouth agape. Eddie listened to your breathing fasten. You looked him up and down, searching for injury, before your gaze settled just beyond him. He figured you could see the wings.

“I had to… cut… them free,” he said, not sure what the exact words were for a process he’d just discovered. “I felt something. Under my skin. There were these, ah, these lumps. They moved and…” Eddie ran out of words, both the exact and inexact.

“Show me.”

Deep down, Eddie thought this might be the thing to send you screaming out the door. Instead, you took a step closer, your bare feet touching the red puddle. Eddie tried to move to you and turn, but his wings got stuck. He looked over at the mirror.

Again, the wings had grown. They still resembled bat wings, but sharper and sicker looking, and bigger. A lot bigger. If he stretched them out, they’d reach longer than his arms by a couple feet at least.

“Come out here,” you said softly, taking Eddie’s hands and pulling him out into the main space of the pool room. Bloody footprints were left in your wake.

Eddie stood on the spot as you circled him. You looked closely at where the wings sprouted from his skin. There were no open wounds or signs that Eddie’s knife had assisted at all. Besides the telltale blood, it would have been like the wings had always been there.

“Can you… control them? Like, move them?”

“I… I don’t know.” Eddie spread his wings, unfolding them with ease. “Yeah… It’s like… another set of arms…” He brought them back in, let them settle as small as possible behind him.

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay,” Eddie echoed.

When you tried to clean the mess, Eddie wouldn’t let you. He could move so quickly that all the blood was gone in literally a blink. He’d washed it off himself too, clean sweatpants on. Then, he stood at the end of the bed. You had gotten in, curled up with a pillow hugged tightly to your chest.

“Maybe… Maybe we go tell them now. While Robin’s here,”

“What?!” you demanded, sitting up. “You said one more night! You promised!”

“Technically, I said ‘day’ and-”

“Eddie! You promised!” You could feel how severe the frown on your face was. Eddie’s face read as surprised. “What?”

“Nothing. I just… I didn’t think you’d want to… You know…”

You watched to scream at him. You wanted to be bitchy and ask what part of ‘I love you’ was he not understanding? You wanted to tell him that if the roles were reversed, he’d have no problems loving you as you fell to pieces only to reform as a monster.

“Get in the bed, Eddie.”

Eddie smiled, wide and happy. It was a very Eddie smile, despite the teeth. He climbed over to you and laid on his stomach, angled back a little. He watched you reach out and touch his wings with tentative hands.

“Almost tickles,” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, just on that part… The bone part feels like if you were touchin’ my arm or something, I guess.”

You nodded and kept exploring. You wedged his mouth open to inspect his teeth. You held his hand and tried to guess if your nail file would be strong enough to declaw him.

“Do you still want to eat me?” you asked suddenly, looking up at him with doe eyes.

The hesitation told you the answer, but you were glad when Eddie told the truth anyway. “Yes. But… It’s not as… urgent now,”

“Maybe we can deal with this. We could move somewhere far away. Out in the woods. Grow our own food for me. And you can hunt animals or something. Do you think animal blood would be okay?”

Eddie smiled sadly. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Worth a shot.”

Like the rest of him, Eddie’s wings were icy, but when you were cocooned in them, all wrapped up, your body temperature warmed you both. You fell asleep, still exhausted and emotionally wrecked. At some point during the night, it occurred to Eddie that he didn’t feel tired. It wasn’t that he was too anxious or wired to sleep. The need for it was entirely gone. He knew, somehow, that he’d never sleep again.

Seven days. Seven days had passed in a blur of blood and fear and devotion.

Eddie watched you mumble in your sleep. You were having another nightmare. He wanted to wake you up but Wayne used to say nightmares were where you battled your demons. Eddie hoped it wasn’t him you were up against.

When you woke, sweat sticking hair to the base of your neck, you looked more tired than when you went to bed. There were shadows under your eyes and you drank the pool house out of water, finding three water bottles to drain.

“I’m gonna go in and fill these up,” you said.

As soon as you were gone, Eddie was back in front of the mirror. He looked at his torso at the strange red line that had bloomed overnight. It was just below his belly button and about a 3 Musketeers bar long. Not exactly scar-like, more as if someone draw a perfectly straight line in red marker on him a couple of days earlier, and it hadn’t quite faded. For as long as it didn’t hurt, Eddie was going to ignore it.

“Robin slept over last night,”

“Yeah. I heard,” Eddie replied, coming out of the bathroom to sit on the bed.

You put your bottles of water on the bar and sat down next to him. “Well, I was thinking maybe we just start with them. Telling them, I mean. I don’t think everyone needs to know… At least not straight away,”

“Yeah, I guess… Guess that’s smart. No need to traumatise everyone all at once.”

You rolled your head to look at him, chin on his shoulder. He was still your Eddie. You sighed and stood up, pulling him with you.

“It’s going to be okay,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time.

Eddie nodded but his heart wasn’t in it. He held your hands and pressed his forehead to yours, forming a steeple of your bodies. “I love you,”

“I love you too.”

It was time.

When you left Eddie and went back into the house, Robin and Steve were in the kitchen fighting over the last of the half and half.

“You don’t understand, I can’t just use milk and cream!”

“It’s exactly what you can use because that’s exactly what half and half is, Steve!” You liked how Robin pronounced his name with the additional letter Es in the middle. “Tell him,” she ordered at you, pointing at Steve.

“I don’t want to be involved in… whatever this is,”

“Why can’t you just have tea? You have tea sometimes. Today can be a tea day. Plenty of tea!”

As tempting as it was to let them fight it out, you no longer felt that time was on Eddie’s side. You picked up a butter knife and glass from the drying rack and tapped out a sound to get their attention. When both their heads turned to you, twin confused expressions on their faces, you awkwardly put the knife and glass down.

“Do you… have an announcement?” Robin asked.

Steve nudged her with his elbow. He had felt this coming. There was something wrong about how you and Eddie had been holed up in the pool house for a week. You’d taken hardly any food but produced a weird amount of trash. He braced himself for whatever you were going to say.

“Something’s wrong with Eddie,” you told them quietly.

Robin imagined sadness. She had the images of Eddie in the Upside Down. His wounds. His pain. She imagined him hurting and scared and ostracised by the town. She imagined you meant he wasn’t eating and was disappearing into himself.

Steve imagined disease. Demobat bites getting infected. Something bad from the Upside Down in Eddie’s blood. No cure. No relief. A death sentence.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“Whatever happened to him… is changing him…” You could hear your voice and were annoyed. Too vague. Too spacey. You hated when a film’s protagonists finally got to explain everything, only to fuck it all up. You were fucking it all up.

“Changing how?” Robin prompted.

“He’s a vampire,” you spat out.

Robin almost laughed. She narrowed her eyes at you, then looked to Steve, then back at you. “What?”

“Didn’t we think Vecna was a vampire before we-” Steve tried.

“No. Nobody thought that,” Robin clarified.

“But the bats-”

“They weren’t actually bats though. We just kind of call them that because they looked like Earth bats but they were actually some other thing entirely…”

Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose and Robin turned back to you. Before she could ask, you offered the information.

“All his teeth fell out and he got new super sharp ones straight away. His fingernails are claws. His eyes aren’t the same. He can’t eat or drink anything except blood. And he has wings.”

She couldn’t help it. Robin laughed. Steve could tell it was one of her nervous laughs; the kind of laugh designed to fill in the silence left by shock or confusion or some other uncomfortable experience she was desperately trying to avoid.

“This can’t be happening,” Robin said, walking from the room only to turn around and walk immediately back in. She opened and closed the refrigerator then squatted on the ground, holding her head.

“Is he dangerous?” Steve asked. Where’s my nail bat?

“Um… No. I mean, I don’t know. Probably. Not right now,”

“What does that mean?”

You’d not expected to be understood, but you had settled on the expectation of kindness. Instead, you felt interrogated and judged. “He keeps changing. More things keep changing. The wings only happened yesterday. And he hasn’t hurt me at all. But… We don’t know… We don’t know what happening to him.”

Steve was hard to gauge. He looked almost… annoyed… Annoyed but at something low stakes. It was like you’d told him you forgot to pick up milk and now he can’t have cereal. Or all his good underwear were in the wash.

“Look, I’m just gonna ask, because we don’t know each other very well. And Eddie is new to all this stuff. I just… You’re not fucking with us, right?” He knew you weren’t. He knew before he asked and he knew as soon as he did and you looked like a kicked puppy. But he was floundering and imagining Eddie latched onto your neck like in all the horror movies he rented out.

“We need to call Nancy!” Robin declared, standing and reaching out for the phone attached to the kitchen wall.

Steve grabbed it from her hands. “No! No, no, we can… We can handle this. It’s fine… Didn’t need Nancy to handle the Russians, did we? We can do this. Scoops Troupe, you know?”

“I think Dustin and Erica would argue they are also part of Scoops Troupe,”

“Fuck. Okay. Stobin, then, right?”

That got her. She nodded at him and he nodded at her. They turned to you in unison.

“Show us.”

Their levity was reassuring. It didn’t wane when they followed you into the pool house. You sat on the sidelines as Steve and Robin were introduced to the new Eddie. They looked worried, but they snapped into their problem solving monster hunting roles quickly.

Eddie wasn’t so convinced, but he remembered how he felt when they found him in Rick’s boat shed. He wasn’t convinced then either. Yet, they had come back for him with Honeycomb and hope. They looked after him. They kept him as safe as they could. It was because of them that he survived and was exonerated. He had to trust them, even if their pulses were racing and they smelt like fear.

It was mid-morning when Steve and Robin got in the car to go find Nancy and Jonathan. From there, they would make a decision about who else needed to be involved. Eddie didn’t like the idea, but Hopper’s name was floated as a possibility.

When he couldn’t hear the car anymore, Eddie looked over at you.

“They’re a lot,” you said.

“Yeah… Buckley’s pretty much what I thought, but Steve’s…”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Way less of an asshole than he used to be,”

“Way less.”

You smiled and walked to Eddie. “How do you feel?” you asked him.

His head tilted to the side. “Weeeeeellllllll, I don’t feel anything moving abnormally in me…”

“So, maybe that’s it for the changes?” you dared to say out loud.

Eddie nodded, looking down at his body. The red line was longer, reaching hip bone to hip bone. He bit his tongue and moved to the bed. “What do we do while we wait?” he asked. He’d adapted to his new teeth well; his voice was almost entirely his own again.

“You sound like you have something in mind,” you replied as you followed him under the covers. You reached out to manually wrap a wing around you. “I think I like these,” you confessed.

“Kinda metal?”

“Very metal…”

You missed his brown eyes, but he was still beautiful in a Lovecraftian sort of way. “I want to kiss you,” you told him. “Do you think-��

“No. Can’t risk it,” he stated.

“What if you keep your mouth closed, like before?”

Eddie was known to be insanely stubborn, but equally known to give in to you. He crumbled like a house of cards.

You pressed your lips against his, let your noses bump together. One hand held his face and the other threaded through his hair. For a moment you could pretend everything was normal.

The morning slipped by thanks to channel surfing and the tiny piece of solace brought by the knowledge Hawkins’ best Demogorgon-fighting makeshift-weapon-wielding motley crew were coming to the rescue.

After your lunch of mac and cheese and Eddie’s of half a glass of your blood, the phone rang. Eddie was inside the house before you could stand. You ran to catch up.

“Let me talk to them,” you demanded, coming into the kitchen and holding out your hand.

Steve was mid-update when you took over. “Steve, start again. Please.”

He huffed but obeyed. “Nancy and Jonathan said we need to call in the big guns,”

“Hopper?”

“Yeah. And Joyce. She’s smart. They’re going to get them and bring them over,”

“Okay… Where are you now? What are you doing?”

Steve hesitated. “Uh, well, after the girls-”

You and Eddie both heard Robin snort at the phrase ‘the girls,’ like she, Nancy, and Joyce could so easily be put into the same category.

“-the smartest person we know is Henderson,”

“No! Come on, man!” Eddie yelled.

“He’s the one that always knows about… you know… Vampires and hive minds and shit. It would be dumb to not include him, right?”

Eddie looked pissed. He loved Dustin. Adored the kid. But he was just that – a kid. You, on the other hand, would sacrifice what was left of Dustin’s innocence if it meant saving Eddie.

“Okay,” you answered.

“Alright.” Steve sounded relieved there was no fight. “How’s everything there? No new… body parts?”

You looked at Eddie, who shook his head. The line was still growing longer, but Eddie had hiked his sweatpants up a little higher to hide it. You’d not spied anything different.

“So, more waiting,” Eddie concluded when you hung the phone up.

“Yeah. But, it's good news, right? He didn't sound freaked out. We’re going to figure it out.”

Eddie walked at a human pace back to the pool house with you. He wondered how you weren’t getting cabin fever. A week in the tiny room and you didn’t show any signs of needing a change of scenery. Inside, he watched you go through the stack of VHS tapes next to the television, looking for something worthwhile.

The bed was beginning to feel more like a nest, curving around him like home. He was glad to be back there. Eddie was thinking about pillows when he felt the ache in his gut. It was just a mild sort of cramping feeling and he mistook it for anxiety or anticipation.

Gremlins played on the screen, your comfort movie, and you got into bed with Eddie. He let you close, let your warmth take some of the chill he felt. The aching got worse and spread to his lower back. He wasn’t sure if painkillers would work on him anymore, but it was worth a shot. As Eddie went to move, he saw that you’d fallen asleep. You had always been prone to a late afternoon catnap. He slid out without disturbing you and went in search of anything to dull the ache.

You had lasted until around the time Billy tries to report the wayward gremlins to the police. Rolling into a dream, you found yourself in the woods behind the school. Eddie was sitting on one side of the table that sat out there. Chrissy Cunningham was on the other side. When you tried to walk to them, your boots were unable to move.

Their conversation was pulled from your memories; the things Eddie told you coming back now. “Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?” she asked.“Do you have anything stronger?”

It needed to stop. Eddie needed to get up and walk away from her. You screamed as loud as you could but it was like they were in a bubble. Dropping to the ground, you pulled your feet from your shoes, freeing yourself. You ran to the table, stepping on stones and branches as you went. When you slammed into the table, both Eddie and Chrissy were frozen.

“Hey!” you yelled, waving your hands in front of their faces. “Hey! Eddie!” Nothing. You pushed Chrissy gently, but at your touch, she burst.

Blood and organs, flesh and bone exploded all over you and the table. You shook on the spot, terrified and in shock. Eyes glossed over with tears, you turned to Eddie but he was gone.

“Eddie?!” you shrieked, spitting a chunk of Chrissy’s skin from your mouth.

Then you heard it.

Chewing. Slurping.

Step by step, you went around to the other side of the table to find Eddie kneeling on the ground, picking up pieces of Chrissy to eat. He was swallowing bits too big and you watched as they made horrific shapes when they squeezed down his esophagus. Eddie pushed his face into the dirt to lick up small pools of blood. He licked the legs of the old table and the leaves painted red.

“Eddie?” you whimpered.

His focus snapped to you. The blacks of his eyes crimson rimmed. His teeth razor sharp. He stood up, unsteady, grabbing the table for balance. Eddie rolled his shoulders back and unfolded his great wings, spiney and menacing.

When he got to you, he slowly took your wrist in his hand. He lifted your arm up and with brutal ease, snapped it. He pulled, twisted, and threw your hand, wrist, and half your forearm behind him, leaving a freely bleeding stump to drink from. All you could do was watch as he held your arm like it was a coffee mug and bury his face into the severed end of it.

There was no use in crying, so you just stood there until your body crumpled in on itself and everything faded to black.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were awake in the pool house and the sun was setting over Hawkins’ nicest neighbourhood. You sat up and looked around. “Eddie?”

No answer.

The door was open, so you figured Eddie had gone inside. Maybe the phone had rung or he wanted to get you more water. Laying back down, you listened to the sound of the small town, the only home you’d ever known. The buzz of cicadas. Cars in the distance. Normal voices talking about normal things, even then, with the 'earthquake' only a week in their past. The soundscape was benign and it made you smile.

After a couple of minutes, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and looked around. The chair was the first thing you noticed. There were two chairs that didn’t fit around the dining room table inside, so lived out in the pool house. One was knocked over. You frowned and stood.

Halfway to it, you slipped and went crashing to the ground, yelping in pain as your tailbone hit the floor. “Fuck!” You stayed curled on the floor for a moment, waiting for the presentation of other injuries. When it was just the bruised ass, you pushed yourself up to a sitting position.

Slippery. The word popped into your head as you brushed your hands against each other. You let out a strange, strangled sound best described as a whine. Blood. Blood was all over the floor. On all fours you scrambled to the bathroom. The carnage was everywhere.

“Eddie?!” you screamed desperately. Getting to your feet, you ran from the pool house, avoiding the slip n’ slide of blood. “EDDIE! ED-”

Choking on a gasp, you lost the ability to speak. To scream. To make any noise. You stood next to the pool, the warm concrete beneath your feet making your toes tingle. Suddenly, you could hear your heart in your ears. The ocean too. The vacuum of space. Roaring. Unstoppable. Infinite.

Eddie was splayed out on the ground, face down. Blood had seeped into the concrete and trickled into the pool, slowly turning it a shade of romance novel pink. He wasn’t moving but his face was angled away from you, so you couldn’t be sure if he was…

No.

Your entire body shook violently and threatened to overthrow your leadership any second, but you took a step closer Eddie and then another. It took multiple visual trips over his body to make sense of what you were seeing.

Something had hurt him. Something had pulled him apart. It’s the only thing that could explain it. The only thing that could account for how his torso was ripped away from his pelvis and legs. But then, he moved.

You froze in abject terror as Eddie’s arm suddenly jerked to life and reached out in front of him, pulling him along the concrete. The top half of Eddie’s body crawled forward, the last strings of veins and tendons snapping and dissolving as he seemingly pulled himself in two, no shadowy figure from the Upside Down to blame.

Eddie’s intestines dragged along behind him, like strings of cans on a newlywed’s car. Your breathing was coming in rapid small puffs and your eyes could not get any wider. The horror was so all-consuming, so visceral that you lost control and urine ran down your leg.

Eddie’s bottom portion laid at your feet, not moving at all. You looked over at the rest of him, halfway around the pool. Eddie came to a brief pause, only for his wings to spread and take over. They flapped, lifting him up from the concrete. Eddie’s spine hung from him, his intestines too, but nothing was falling out of him.

He turned to you, the look on his face so unfamiliar and so pained that it was hard to see Eddie in there at all. But he was there; a quickly fading shadow of the Eddie you knew. The Eddie who fed the trailer park cats and watched over freshmen and learned guitar chords by ear and loved so deeply he often gave himself headaches. That Eddie. Your Eddie. He was alive and staring at you, his eyes communicating in a silent scream, a resolute message to, by death or freedom, please, please, baby, please, break a covenant.

II.

The manananggal;

A mythical creature with its origin in Philippine folklore, considered to be a form of evil spirit. With fangs and bat-like wings, it has a vampiric appearance but is able to separate its upper torso from its lower body. The manananggal is a monster, hunting victims by night and favouring babies, newlyweds, and people who are pregnant, in love, or sleeping soundly.

It owes its name to the Tagalog word ‘tanggal’ meaning ‘to remove/separate.’ Tanggal translates literally to ‘remover/separator.’ Contextually, it translates to ‘one who separates itself.’

The manananggal can be vanquished by stopping the two halves from reuniting. When it is out on the hunt, find the lower torso where it sleeps. Cover with salt and/or garlic to prevent reconnection. Without its other half, the manananggal will perish in the morning sunlight.

End Note: I feel like happy endings are kind of my thing. Believe me when I tell you I was entirely devastated when the ending of this story revealed itself to me and it was not warm sunshine. I am really developing a love for writing horror though, so I’d absolutely adore to hear your feedback on this piece!

A huge thank you to my girlies; this fic was workshopped with the help of @pastel-pillows @hellfirehottie420 @word-wytch @courtingchaos @jo-harrington @chestylarouxx @somnambulic-thing and @fracturedarkness.

❤︎

Sources: Wikipedia, Mythus (Myth and Folklore Wiki), Cryptidz (Cryptid Wiki), Ancient Origins, and a Medium.com article. Art: Gian Bernal. Title: I recently read a novel called To Break a Covenant by Alison Ames and the phrase stuck with me. The plot of the book has zero relation to this story, I just borrowed the title.

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All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel

#Mine #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson/Reader

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