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swordsandholly · 2 months

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Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part Nine: The Expo

Your eyes widen to saucers as you climb out of John’s work van. The event hall in front of you is huge - the largest in the city. A big, glass dome with a high-end hotel attached. It glows in the morning sun. Lines of people have already formed out front. You passed them on your way around to the vendor entrance. It’s the twentieth anniversary for the Tattoo Expo, apparently, which means they expect massive crowds.

“I hate that Kyle couldn’t come.” You frown as a security worker hands over your badge. It’s fancy - heavy weight with brightly colored, neo-traditional graphics. Something about having the word VENDOR hanging around your neck makes your heart skip.

John sighs, heaving one of the boxes of his books onto your dolly. “Yeah. He tried but he couldn’t get his head out of the toilet long enough to do much of anythin’.”

You wrinkle your nose. Apparently he had caught some nasty stomach bug, poor guy. You thought about calling and checking in on him, but you worried that was too clingy. After… everything, you don’t want to come off as anything other than normal about it. Which you are. Totally normal.

At least Johnny was home for the day to help him out.

“Has Simon ever come?” You ask, titling the dolly pack to push into the convention hall.

John’s arms flex as he fights with his rolling tool box to get the handle back out so he can pull it. He just had to wear a sleeveless muscle tee, didn’t he? It’s rude, frankly. You look over his more rarely exposed shoulder and upper arm pieces - some more faded than others. Some more colorful, some better crafted. Part of you wants to reach out - to trace them the same way you want to with Simon. You want to ask him in detail about each one. Maybe he’ll let you, someday.

“Can you actually picture Simon in a convention hall?” He chuckles eventually, finally getting the toolbox rolling properly.

You laugh. “Guess not.”

The 141 booth sits in the center of the floor, surrounded by a few other big-name shops and figures in the community. You glance around at them, only recognizing a few. You don’t get much time to look around. There are only a couple hours designated for set up and you have to help hang all the flash options, get the cash box sorted, and be ready for the flood when it comes. You’ve mentally prepared for chaos, reading through pretty much every reddit and twitter thread you could find about convention disasters. You know that won’t happen here, and even if something did, John wouldn’t abandon you to it. Still, you feel better being mentally prepared for anything - no matter how unrealistic.

“Why do you still do these?” You ask, pinning one of the large flash sheets to the display board. “I mean - you don’t exactly have to get your name out there.”

“I enjoy them- the community. I was here when this was still bein’ held underground in an old warehouse.” John looks around, eyes scanning the rows of artists. He doesn’t share his thoughts, just stands there quietly for a moment with his hands on his hips. After a few beats he grumbles quietly, “Gettin’ old…”

You focus on setting up the front table where you’ll be stationed. John brought a few prints of work as well as several copies of his book. He brought a few signed ones as well, only selling them for about twenty more bucks than the usual price. You asked why he doesn’t mark them up more, but he just shrugged you off with a mutter of ‘I’m not all that’ before moving on to another task. You decided it was best not to argue that he is, indeed, all that. His books are literally filled until the late fall.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so proud of setting up a decently aesthetically pleasing display all on your own when you’re surrounded by real artists, but you still grin wide with your hands on your hips. It’s simple, with cards for each of the boys lining one sit and a roll of tattoo tickets for the day beside the cash box. The table cloth with the shop’s name looks nearly identical to the sign. One might call it lazy marketing, you find it charming.

“Somethin’ happen with you and Kyle?” John asks suddenly, back turned as he messes with something in his rolling tool box full of supplies.

You freeze, eyes wide and mouth dry. Did Kyle say something? You thought you’d been normal about it. Kyle hadn’t acted any differently - which shouldn’t have hurt your feelings - and you were sure you’d met him with the same level of normalcy. The past weeks race through your mind. Every moment, every interaction, picking each apart into threads in milliseconds.

“Uh, no? Why?” It comes out squeaky. Unsure. Lord, you really are a terrible liar.

John hums. He’s quiet for barely a beat, a moment that seems to stretch for lifetimes. You can almost feel your cells aging while you wait. “You’ve been quieter than usual around him. Just wanted t’make sure.”

“Oh.” Had you? You thought you’d been the same as always. Both of you totally moved on from… the incident. Well, except for those few times you caught yourself staring - zoning out while thinking about the way his lips pressed to yours. Imagining Kyle pulling you into the back room again. Another kiss with less nervousness and more heat. Actually bending you over the desk properly-

“Y’with me, love?” John snaps you back to reality.

“Yeah!” You jump and stutter. “Yeah. No. We’re fine. I’m… fine.”

You wonder if the giant guy in the weird homemade mask at the booth across from yours would smash your head in if you paid him. Let him free you from the torment of embarrassment. It had been eating away at you, if you’re honest with yourself, and now lying right to John’s face just feels… awful. He’ll find out. You know he will. Maybe he already knows as that was a test. Fuck if it was, you totally just failed.

The clock turns to nine, and you have no choice but to let that be a problem for your future self.

Something you realize rather quickly as the attendees begin to flood the hall is that John is a god here. People don’t meet his eye. They speak meekly, even to you, with voices low and faces flushed. The line for your booth stretches down the walkway as soon as the doors open - appointment tickets practically flying out of your hands. You overhear a pair of friends muttering about sleeping outside overnight to get in early enough for John’s booth. It makes your head spin.

You wonder if they’d still act that way if they saw him snoring open-mouthed at the desk in the back room mid-afternoon.

“Thought I heard 141 got a new front desk girl.” A syrupy southern accident lilts above you just as you finish selling tickets. He’s handsome. Blonde and blue eyed with a little scar gracing his cheekbone. Not much younger than John, you don’t think. Probably around Simon’s age.

You slip on your usual customer service smile. “Hello! How can I-”

“Graves.” John grunts behind you, not even looking up from the work in front of him. “What d’you want?”

“Just wanted to come see how you were.” The man - Graves - grins wide. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “And to meet your new front of house. Philip.”

You take the hand he holds out, giving a perfunctory shake and your name. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that John doesn’t like this guy, whoever he is, and you’re inclined to trust his judgement. You opt for basic small talk. “Are you an artist?”

Graves nods. “I own Shadow & Co. It’s a few blocks over from your place.”

Oh. You’d heard of them. They came highly recommended when you were looking for artists in the area initially. In the end you opted for John based entirely on vibes. The Shadow building is far too modern - to minimalist - for your liking. Too corporate.

“Y’know, we’re looking for a new desk girl as well.” Graves smiles. You do your best not to sneer at his use of desk girl. “We’re growing pretty quick - even if you wanted to split your time-”

“She’s full time with us.” John snaps - blatant irritation lining the edges of his voice. He still doesn’t turn around.

The blonde man pauses, glancing between you. Something passes over his eyes - some implicit knowing that you don’t quite get - but it’s gone just as fast as it came. He digs into his pocket, flipping open a too-new wallet and pulling out a business card. “Well, if you ever want to work somewhere more exciting-” you nearly laugh at that. “-give us a call, hm?”

You glance up to his face, then back down at the card. John’s tattoo gun continues to buzz behind you, but you can tell he’s slowed down. He’s listening. Before even really thinking you extend your hand, pushing the card he holds away from you.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m very happy here.”

Philip scoffs, dropping the card on the table. “Keep us in mind, yeah?”

He disappears into the crowd easily - blending in just like his shop’s namesake. Your nose wrinkles. You snatch up the card and tear it in two. “Dickhead.”

You think you hear John chuckling behind you, but can’t be sure over the roar of the convention.

The day flies by - people bustle by your booth. You run out of signed books just over halfway through - prints not long after. Your voice feels hoarse from talking to so many people. The hall has grown quite hot and you’re sure that your hair looks insane at this point. Either way, you’re having a great time. You get to talk to a with full body trash polka that you like for some reason. You get to meet one of the people involved in the stage competition - her massive thigh piece holding some of the best color work you’ve ever seen. All in all, despite the discomfort, you think this ranks in your top ten favorite days. Maybe top five.

“Excuse me?” Murmurs a voice so soft you almost miss it entirely over the roar of the convention. When you look up, you’re met with a painfully young face. Definitely not old enough for the 17+ entrance requirement.

“Hi!” You put on your warmest smile. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh, I was just…” They stutter, shifting in place. “I- Are there any signed copies left?”

You look them over, a too-familiar pang in your chest. You know those eyes, that anxiety. The jumpy way they look around at the people passing by and tug at their sleeves. Your teeth sink into your lip and you look over at the three blanks that make up your entire left over stock. Glancing over your shoulder, you see John finishing with his current client - giving the man a firm handshake before turning to clean up his station. There’s a fifteen minute break until the next one - his last for the night - and as much as you don’t want to take up his precious little time to set up…

“Let me check!” You squeak, shaky as you grab one of the blanks with all the subtlety of a brick over the head and cross the few feet over to where John sits. You lean over to speak in his ear, low enough that the kid won’t hear you. “John?”

“Hm?” He hums, turning slightly on his stool.

“Can you sign this one?” You chew your lip. “I know you had a set amount but this kid looks so…”

He glances behind you at the teenager in question, bashfully staring at their feet.

“I’m sorry, I know you need to set up for the next-”

John cuts you off by taking the book from your hands and standing.

“Thanks, dove.” He gives you that lovely, warm smile and rolls his shoulders before making his way over to the front table.

The teenager’s eyes go so wide you think they might pop out of their head. You decide to hang back and not interrupt their moment. John sets the book on the table and grabs a sharpie from your back up stash of pens. The kid mumbles something you can’t understand. John’s voice lowers as well. You can’t hear them, but you watch John scrawl something in the book and hand it over. He pushes away the crumpled, messy wad of cash the teenager tries to give him, shaking his head and saying something else that you don’t catch. The kid looks like they’re about to cry, a wide, wet grin splitting their face as they say goodbye and practically prance away.

You melt, shoulders slouching and what you’re sure is a very stupid smile breaking out across your lips. You don’t know why you doubted him for even a moment.

“What’s that face?” John scoffs, cocking a brow at you.

“Nothing.” You shake your head and re-take your spot at the table.

The ending of the convention is rather uneventful. Some of the other booths begin clearing up early. You take the time to count the cash box - which is absolutely stuffed to the brim. John rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck about five times in the span of a few minutes. Maybe you could convince them to do a company yoga class. It’s easy to see how tense and tired they get. You file that idea away for later.

Luckily most of the booth set up belonged to the venue and, since you sold out of books and prints, you don’t have haul those back to the van. All you have to take is John’s rolling toolbox and tattooing table. All things that easily fit in your bag and dolly. Thank god. Neither of you speak much on the drive back to the shop - opting for comfortable silence. Your ears ring ever so slightly from the noise of the convention hall. When you were in it, you hadn’t realized just how loud it was. John’s eyes are locked on the road, the slight glow from the setting sun warming his skin.

The sun just disappears over the horizon as you put the last of the equipment in the backroom - stacked rather messily but that’s another problem for future you. You’ve been working for a grand total of fourteen hours and, somehow, it still has yet to hit you. Adrenaline and excited energy still pulse under your skin.

John sighs loudly, crossing each arm over his chest to stretch them out. “Could really go for a scotch right now. You want a nightcap?”

Your cheeks warm, still riding high from the excitement of the day you agree easily. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He gives you a gentle smile, softened further by the low street lights. “Let me show you a spot.”

The place John leads you to is small. Local. You sit at the bar and take a moment to look around. Three pool tables take up half the floor space. It looks like a small tournament is going on - a white board showing the matches and who will go against who next. Two ski-ball machines are tucked in a corner beside the bathroom, currently taken up by two younger men who you aren’t completely sure are drinking age. The lights and music are both low. One of the bartenders is posted up on the opposite end of the bar with two other people watching Shin Godzilla on the mounted television. It’s cozy and oh-so very John Price.

You get an easy sipper, something fruity and sweet as a treat for the long day you’ve had. It’s nice against the warmth of the summer evening. A heat that’s only aggravated by the one that settles in your spine whenever the guys are around. John especially.

“Think that kid was a little young for the event…” You blurt in a poor attempt to make conversation.

John nods along. “Definitely.”

“That was really nice of you. I didn’t want to… I don’t know.” You murmur, unsure why exactly the words won’t stop. You blame the drinks and exhaustion. Seems realistic enough. “They just seemed so sad.”

“Wasn’t nice. Just the right thing t’do.” John shrugs. His words come slow, almost as if he’s unsure if he should say them. Though, you find it hard to believe he has ever been unsure about anything in his life. “I know what its like… to need t’escape. Lied about my age just to enlist.”

Your eyes widen. “R-really?”

He hums. “They didn’t care much back then.”

For some reason you never thought about John’s childhood - his homelife. You know he has a mom somewhere. Kyle let it slip a couple of times - said she’s a really good cook. John doesn’t volunteer information about himself often, you gathered that much. He’s worse than Simon, somehow, which says a fucking lot.

“Did-” you mull over your words. “You didn’t grow up around here, yeah?”

It’s a clumsy attempt at getting him to talk, but it works well enough. He nods. “Hereford. My mum’s still out there.”

Score. “Do you visit her much?”

John shrugs, chuckling. “When I can. I could move back home and it wouldn’t be enough for her.”

You snicker.

“She’s the best woman I’ve ever known…” He murmurs, eyes far away. It’s only for a moment, but they look past you. Defocused in a way that seems to out of character for the hyper-aware man.

Your faces are close. Hunched in like school kids exchanging secrets and gossip during recess. Your eyes dart from his to his lips and back. It’s confusing. All of this. The intimacy you have with each of them in these moments is overwhelming. You like Kyle - you liked kissing Kyle - you really shouldn’t be wanting that from your boss, though. A co-worker is bad enough but John… John is off limits. You know that. Even so, you find yourself subconsciously leaning just a bit closer, eyes roving over the freckles you don’t see standing further away and the grey flecks in his eyes. You think, for barely a millisecond, that he leans in too.

Until he sits up straight, tossing back what little is left of his drink. “Let’s head out. Could go for a smoke.”

You nod, swallowing down your thoughts and following him out of the bar like a lost puppy. You’d follow him to the end of the earth, you think. Even if it hurts that you can’t get as close as you want, you’d go anywhere for him. Yeah, that’s definitely the drink and tiredness talking. Part of you also knows that it is undoubtedly true.

John rounds a corner to the side of the bar. It’s moderately lit, a single street lamp just down the way giving you just enough light to see. You lean against the wall beside John, the exhaustion beginning to cling to your eyes.

“Are you?” John asks suddenly.

“Hm?” You hum, unsure of what he’s asking about.

“Happy here?” He cuts the end off a cigar he pulled from the silver box that lives in his back pocket.

In the low light of the alley, his pupils overtake most of his irises. Dark and intense as he looks you over from head to toe. You see it, suddenly. The god that the others do. He’s not as physically large as Simon, or as loud as Johnny, but he fills every inch of any space he enters regardless. You suppose you became so used to being in that radius that you forgot just how much presence he carries. You’ve wrapped yourself in it like a blanket. A shield.

Your cheeks warm and you shuffle your feet. “I… yeah.”

“Good.” John sighs out a cloud of smoke. “It’d be a pain in the arse to replace you. The boys care about you too much.”

You stare up at him. You can feel something on the edge of his tone - some weight that you don’t understand. There always seems to be another layer to the things he says. Implications that you can’t understand, context that you’re missing. Part of you wants to ask, needs to ask, but the words get stuck in your throat. What would you say? You’re not even entirely sure what you need to ask. You know they care about you, and you care for them in turn, so why does it feel like there’s something missing?

“Does the boys include you?” You blurt, one again wishing that big guy from the convention was here to smash your head in like wile e. cayote and the anvil.

He looks you up and down, slightly taken aback while you debate on bolting. “Thought that was obvious.”

You scoff, still flustered. “You’re hard to read.”

“Am I, now?”

You nod. A comfortable silence falls over you, despite the awkwardness surely emanating from you. Your lip catches between your teeth, eyes on your feet. “John?”

“Dove?” He tilts his head, once again leaning ever so slightly closer to you.

“Thank you. For everything.” You murmur, voice low and unsure. “It’s… it’s really good here.”

“Think nothin’ of it, love.”

You look up at those pretty blue eyes. They always make your chest ache with some deep hole you haven’t been able to pin down. At first you could blame it on wanting to do well - to be a good employee. It’s more than that, though. It starts in your chest and seeps it’s way through the rest of you. A want. A craving. That’s the word. You crave those eyes on you. The weight of his hands, the fortitude of him.

You’re not sure who closes the gap - whether it’s you or him - but either way it closes. It’s too natural for the context of your relationship. You slot together too well. It’s not like with Kyle. John carries an intensity with him that Kyle never could. His beard scratches not unpleasantly. His lips are warm - you can taste hints of scotch and his cigar. He smells of spice and earth. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders - unsure of where to put them.

This is wrong. It’s messy. You already lied about Kyle, which he’ll surely find out. If he hasn’t already. What about Johnny? Or Simon? Will they think less of you? Are you less for this? For impulsively kissing your boss in some back alley? Will Kyle be angry if he finds out? Your thoughts surge, all chaotic waves crashing against each other in an attempt to make sense of this situation you find yourself in.

John’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer into him. Your arms drape around his neck as you push onto your tips toes to meet him.

That’s a problem for future you.

A/N: Sorry this part took so long, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to escalate it or not but I want to get a move on with these boys

#poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #141 x reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price #john price x you #john price x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #fem reader #plus size reader #fat reader

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 14 days

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Hii!!! Your blog is literally so perfect. Love it.

Could you recommend some more angsty fics where either Derek or Stiles is really insecure and has low self esteem? Happy ending only, if that’s alright. I really appreciate it!

Aw thanks anon! There's already an insecure!stiles tag so I focused on insecure!derek.

The (Tell-Tale) Heart Doesn’t Lie by novemberhush

(1/1 I 100 I General I Sterek)

After a little gentle teasing unexpectedly hits a nerve with Derek Stiles is quick to reassure him that he knows there’s more to the handsome werewolf than just being really, really, really ridiculously good-looking.

I Know the Pieces Fit by shealynn88

(1/1 I 2,700 I Teen)

“Stiles?”

It’s Derek’s voice, quiet in the dark with the low hum of the pack behind him.

Derek's the hardest one for Stiles to understand. Sometimes he thinks…but then it becomes clear, it’s not like that. Derek tolerates him. Appreciates his loyalty, at least. The way Stiles appreciates the brave hiss of a kitten. Cute. Admirable. But not equal.

And Dwell Beneath My Shadow by lielabell

(1/1 I 8,695 I Mature)

Derek is not stupid. He gets why Stiles puts up with him. It's clear every time Stiles looks at him, the spicy scent of lust and arousal Stiles's body can't help but put off. It doesn’t surprise him. Not at all. Derek knows what he looks like, knows that his face and his body are more than enough to compensate for his shitty personality. Stiles wants him more than he is annoyed by him. Nothing more, nothing less. It's not anything to be amazed over, nothing to write home about. Stiles isn't the first-- and most likely won't be the last-- hormone soaked teen who has panted over Derek.

Cliche by adult_disneyprincess (orphan_account)

(2/2 I 9,305 I Teen)

It’s cliché as shit, Stiles thinks. The nerd in love with the punk. He figures he wouldn’t want Derek Hale so much if he didn’t have those fucking tattoos everywhere, didn’t give a shit what people thought about him, and didn’t wear those stupid leather jackets. They’re not the same jacket either, Stiles has counted at least four different ones that the resident punk owns

Cross a Canyon (with a broken limb) by theroguesgambit

(1/1 I 18,010 I Teen)

“You never graduated,” Stiles says, just to say it. To test it out in the open air. That's... huh.

Stiles spends his senior year battling troll-gremlins, taking on an unexpected tutoring job, and definitely not falling for a certain sourwolf (even though everyone else seems to think he is).

Defying Convention by rororowyourboat

(13/13 I 24,331 I Teen)

Stiles is a newly certified fully-trained Spark, and he's on the market to chose a werewolf pack to act as Emissary for. The biggest problem? Almost every pack in North America wants him, and he's supposed to choose a pack at the 3-day conference. But how's he supposed to get to know any of the likely candidates when they're just being so damn polite and respectful?

Derek and his sisters are at the conference with bleak hopes: their pack was decimated by hunters years ago and their caustic attitudes have turned away most potential applicants.

Rarity by peanutbutter4lyfe

(8/8 I 29,837 I Explicit)

Derek let's the guys throw a party for Stiles' 18th at his loft and instantly regrets it. During the party Derek starts acting strangely, his senses going wild. He reads the signs and thinks Scott is his mate. It drives him crazy when Scott doesn't feel the same, until he figures it out... with a little help from Peter.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 58,399 I Teen)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist.

Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope.

He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles.

“I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

You're stronger than you know by Littleredridinghunter

(15/15 I 234,195 I Not Rated)

Stiles survives his encounter with Gerard and his goons, but it isn't easy.

The pack are letting him down again, his dad is not speaking to him, his life is just generally falling apart.

Until he has to get a bronze dagger to kill a siren and his whole world gets flipped on it's head!

My summaries are rubbish but I hope you'll still give it a chance!

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #bamf!stiles #anon #fake/pretend relationship

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juvenillia · 10 months

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~ under my skin ~ John 'Soap' MacTavish x fem!reader [fluff/smut oneshot]

Summary: Johnny never wanted any more tattoos. Memories and people were more important to him than a little sketch on his skin. He didn't need those to be reminded of what he hold dear, because he kept all that in his heart. This opinion somehow changed when he met you and suddenly he found himself with five fresh tattoos that meant the world to him. Because these five tattoos reminded him of something he wanted to stay for eternity. The ink holding a meaning deeper than the bare eye could ever see.

a/n: this one was supposed to be a sweet short oneshot about Johnny falling for his tattoo artist but somehow it escalated very quickly and it could've been even longer but I stopped right there (for now)

tw/cw: tattooartist!reader, needles (ofc), tooth rotting fluff, smut, suggestive content, petnames, mentions of a past toxic relationship, flirting, mentions of angst, violence (but only the slightest, this is pure fluff), bestfriend!simon, comfort, love at first sight, pinning

wordcount: 10.4k [upps]

》 Read on AO3 《》 Masterpost 《

„C’mon Lt. Tell me,” Johnny bragged him for the millionth time today. They just arrived back at base after a draining operation, but as soon as Soap could turn his work brain off, he only had one thought on his mind. For three weeks there was one thing circling his thoughts and he had to pay a lot of effort to shove this one aside during the mission. Therefor he had no intentions in holding back anymore now. Three weeks ago, that was the actual day his world took a sudden turn.

Simon and he had to go undercover through London. Following a trace of a Russian insider who would lead them to their actual target. Nothing unusual. Something the 141 was used to it. Also, it wasn’t that uncommon that their trace led them to a well crowded area, where they needed to observe and find the target person. Usually, it would’ve been Gaz and Price going undercover, or some more rarely even Soap and Gaz, because they were simply the most unobtrusive, but this place literally screamed for Simon and Johnny to go. It was a tattoo convention. A place where numerous of eager artist presented their skills and works. A place where you found the most eccentrical looks. No one would bat an eye about the behemoth of a man Simon was, plus he already had numerous of tattoos covering his body. While Johnny on the other hand seemed to be just the guy looking for some new ones, next to his quite discreet one. They just blended in perfectly in between the many kinds of humans strolling through these halls.

That way they walked through the halls, keeping their eyes open to find their target. Price and Gaz stayed in touch with them over the comms, observing everything from afar, watching their six for just in case. They looked through all the booths, looked at every artist they could find. They didn’t know much about their actual target, only that he frequented a specific tattoo artist with a unique style. “Find the artist, find the man,” Laswell’s words echoed through Johnny’s head as he scanned through a portfolio of the booth he just stopped by. The works looked all perfectly made, with an amazing eye to details and such fine lines. Some medals and trophies placed next to their winning projects decorating the desk. If he ever would get another tattoo, he’d be sure to find an artist with that level of skill. Still, he really wasn’t into getting another one. Never found something with enough meaning to stay with him forever. In his job most of things were just temporally and those who weren’t, those were kept in his heart. No need to ink them into his skin. He absently browsed through the pictures of various body parts decorated with stunning grey and black artworks. His mind keeping track on the conversation Price and Ghost just shared when Johnny’s eyes just locked onto a picture of a back piece with which he was somehow familiar with.

“Something caught your interest?” a soft female voice dragged him out of his haze, but Soap only shook his head no. Closing the booklet in front of him as his eyes wandered slowly upwards to be met with a pair of bright eyes. Some of the prettiest he had ever seen sparkled into his own. Usually, he’d bring out a cheeky comment, a bold smile on his lips. But as his clear azure eyes stared into yours, no words left his throat. He was frozen in place, completely smitten. You gifted him one of your sweetest smiles, which just grew wider when you noticed another man behind the speechless Scot. “Simon!” you cried out, eagerly rounding the desk to give the man a quick hug, which he returned, somehow a bit tense. Johnny only blinked in disbelief at the two of you.

“Hey…” Simon gave your shoulder a quick pat before his eyes met Johnny’s. A warning hidden in his glare, something the Scot haven’t seen so often aimed at himself. Mostly at enemies while interrogation, but nearly never at himself. It made him swallow, before he calmed himself.

“I hope you aren’t looking for a replacement,” you teased while taking his beefy arm into your hand. Inspecting his tattoo sleeve, or better said your work from a few weeks ago. Letting your delicate fingers follow the black lines down to his wrist. Perfectly healed before he had to leave for deployment again. You always made sure he came as early as possible so that your art wouldn’t get destroyed.

“Why should I leave ‘e best?” he nudged you with his elbow, only the slightest, before you let go of his wrist. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. His eyes pinned at your figure. Softer than Johnny was used to it.

“Well, won’t argue with that.” You laughed, while pushing your hands into your hips. You wore a simple pair of black cargo pants. Pockets stuffed full of necessities for the day. Your phone, your vape, some little snacks, some business cards, a pocket mirror and your favorite lipstick, a small ring light for your phone, and stuff you could need at a convention. Headphones loosely hanging around your neck connected to your phone, and the crew tag hanging loose from your belt around your hips, where your shirt was neatly tugged into your pants. The simple shirt revealing your own tattoos on your arms. “Besides…” your voice got that teasing, nearly mocking tone again. “I’d kick your ass for cheating on me.” You punched his upper arm playfully. Knowing that you could never even cause him pain. That’s why he was one of your favorite customers, you could just pull through an eight-hour session without him growing tired or whiney. He would just sit it out, listening to your tea, sharing a quick smoke in between.

“’m sure ya do, sweetheart.” He smiled softly beneath the casual black mask. He just got dragged out of this private comfort as Johnny cleared his throat a bit too dramatic for Simon’s liking. “That’s John by the way.” A sigh left his throat as he pointed at his teammate who eagerly stepped forward to you.

“Friends call me Johnny though.” His smile reached his eyes as he reached his hand out to you and you took it, shaking it with a smile. Eventually his thumb brushed over your knuckles during the process.

“Pleasure to meet you. Heard already a lot,” you cooed, squeezing your eyes shut while crossing your arms in front of your chest. Johnny’s smile faltered for a second, thinking about the things his Lieutenant could’ve told you already. Hopefully nothing too embarrassing he thought. Just then you told him your name before he repeated it quietly. Letting its sound roll over his tongue, the same smile from earlier on his lips.

“Would love to chat with ya more, y’know, but...” Simon interrupted the scenery in front of him. His glance searching for the blue ones of his teammate, sending him a knowing glance. “work…,” he said in his usual stern manner but still calm. You only nodded your head.

“And I thought you would drop by to say hi. I’m violated, Riley.” You faked a shocked face before a chuckle left your throat. Simon’s glance softened at your statement. “My work’s also waiting.” You pointed to a guy with a naked upper body half and half-finished chest piece. “Some awards to bring home you know.” You smiled smug patting your flat palm against his chest. Simon only nodded; his brows relaxed.

Johnny couldn’t suppress his bright smile the whole time, his eyes watching every move you made. It amazed him how much at ease you were with Ghost, because Soap knew it took a lot for him to be comfortable around people. Especially civilians. But Johnny couldn’t blame him, you already got him hooked as well. That’s when something clicked in his head. “Wait a sec.” He pulled a picture out of his jacket. Simon tensed, as the Scot moved to show you said image. “Yer recognizing that style?” his voice was serious but somehow, he couldn’t suppress the adoration beneath it.

“Johnny…” Simon instantly had a scolding tone lingering in his voice. He knew from the beginning that he could’ve asked you about that specific artist. He knew you were quite known in the scene, having contacts everywhere, but he didn’t want you to get involved in all that his life was. Yes, he told you a few things about it. Especially when getting his own dog tags inked under his skin. You knew about some things he didn’t like to talk about. Especially when you decided to grab some dinner after a session, and he grew more comfortable around you. And with that he grew to become one of your closest friends. You knew many things about the ghost he was. You knew that his job was bone crushing and bloody. Still, he didn’t want you to get corrupted by it.

You ignored Simon and took the picture out of the Scot hands. Your eyes lingering on his forearm for a while - you called it occupational disease – before you investigated the work in the picture. It was nothing special for the unknown eye, but you saw anything that wasn’t traditional made. You saw every line that had a personal note in it. “Check out Mad Hatters studio, Misha I suppose. Could also be Sasha, he did learn from Misha though,” you stated while still looking at the picture.

“Thanks, bonnie.” Johnny’s tongue was faster than his mind as he once more caught himself starring at you. You looked at him, your face relaxed again. Your features were like a flame, warming him up from the inside as himself became a moth pulled to it all the way.

“Don’t even wanna know what you need from them. Good luck,” you said looking at Simon, who’s brows were ached in concern. You then turned back to Johnny. Your eyes once more clinging to the small piece on his arm. “I could do better.” You winked at him, the smug grin playing on your lips as you gave the picture back to the Scot. It caused Johnny to really start considering getting another one. He was that impulsive, and if there wasn’t that dumb job to get done, he would immediately jump onto your chair. Just to see how you would do it, just to see you more, feeling your delicate fingers running over his skin. Simon watched the scenery with an unsettled rumble in his stomach, as you walked back behind your booth and pulled some black rubber gloves out of the box. Smiling once more at the men in front of you and with a little wave you turned around to get to your model.

“Boys… focus,” Price cleared his throat and scolded them after watching the whole situation a bit longer than he should have in the first place. But still you gave them the needed evidence. You led them to the person they needed. So, the operation could process any further until they found their actual target three weeks later.

All those incidents leading us back to the day when Johnny didn’t stop to ask his Lieutenant about his tattoo artist. “Why’d ya want to know anyways?” Simon’s Manchester accent was thick as he rolled his eyes. He already knew why the Scot wanted to know. Simon knew that his teammate didn’t want any more tattoos. They had plenty of talks about it. Always when he came with a new one back from leave, Soap told him ‘not up to that Lt’. And suddenly he wanted to know your name and the studio you worked in, or better said own.

“I really want to get that one tattoo…alright. Made up ma mind.” Johnny’s nearly whiney voice pulled at the little strings that made his bag of nerves up. Simon was a patient man, especially when it came to his team. Still, he didn’t want to get you involved with more of his life. Knowing that Johnny would tell you so many stories that wouldn’t be meant for your ears. Knowing you too well, fearing that this could become more. “C’mon Lt. Please. Dinnea let me down!” Simon only rolled his eyes at him and wrote an address down. You could see his hesitation in his handwriting, but Johnny would find out this way or another.

And a few days later Johnny found himself in London, in front of a cozy looking studio. Warm lights inviting him in. A bell jingled sweet as he pushed through the door. The place lovely decorated with plants, fairy lights and some candles. Framed pictures of stunning works along the wall as he walked up to the counter. “One moment.” A familiar voice clung from the back to his ear and made him instantly smile. It was ridiculous how your voice was already imprinted in his brain from such a small encounter. “What a pleasant surprise. How can I help you, Johnny?” you cooed smiling at him. Relaxing your arms on the counter and your body weight on it.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” his voice was calm as he leaned against the counter, closer to where you placed yourself. “Gonna show me how ye can do better, bonnie.” The smug grin facing your figure. The first time you caught him off guard. This time he prepared himself.

You exhaled sharp, followed by a chuckle. “That’s not how it works, darling.” You reached to your side and pulled a book in front of him. “I have a tightly filled schedule. Didn’t Si told you how I work?” You raised a brow at him. Johnny only shook his head no, while the smile started to falter. Seeing the gloss in his eyes slowly fading made your stomach turn. Why did he affect you so much? “Damn idiot…” you pinched the bridge of your nose. You opened the book and went through the appointments of the next days. “How big you’re planning?” Your eyes scanning through the upcoming projects.

His eyes instantly lighting up again. He was like a puppy that just got told they were going to the park. It was adorable. “Well, as big as it need to be. But upper arm.” He pulled the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal his perfect toned arm and presented the area he thought of as placement. A veiny hand circling around the spot. Your eyes were pinned onto the flexing muscles as you felt a certain warmth creeping up your stomach. It’s not like you didn’t saw well shaped men rarely, but something about John MacTavish was different to say the least.

“Alright.” You slid your phone over. “Put your number in. I’ll see if I can fit you in the next days.” He eagerly took the phone and put his number in. Before you could say something or even snatch it back, he even dialed it to give himself yours. It made you chuckle as you took your phone back. You looked at the contact, there was only ‘johnny’ written with his number of course. “Lastname?”

“Already wanna take it, lass? I like straightforward.” There was that coquettish smile back on his face. His azure eyes staring into yours. “MacTavish, would suit ye though.” He slowly licked over his lips, as his eyes didn’t dare to avert from yours.

“You’d wish.” You typed his last name in. “Johnny is just a really common name, and you don’t want me to call the wrong one. Don’t you?” you teased, still a slight blush on your face. He shook his head no, while straighten himself up.

“Aye, would be a shame.” He placed his hand quickly onto yours which laid on the counter. Giving it a quick squeeze, before leaving again. “Waitin’ for yer call, bonnie.”

That call came like two days later. You managed to rearrange some appointments to clear a day for the Scot. Telling yourself that it was only because he was a friend of Simon. Not because you found quite a liking in the man and his flirtatious manner. So, two days later he was seated in your shop again. Upper half of his body completely stripped. He told you he was more comfortable with wearing no shirt at all, then pushing the sleeve up again and again. Yes, he could’ve just worn a tank-top but who were you to judge? He was quite a treat for the eyes. You just prepped his upper arm with the stencil as he told you a story how he tried to sneak into the military while he wasn’t even old enough.

“Simon was right, you’re unbelievable.” You smiled while smoothing the stencil paper over his arm. He stayed completely still, while his inside was trembling as he felt your delicate touch on his skin. Even with you wearing those gloves it gave him so much to enjoy. Desperate for more already.

“Hope he only told yer good things. Dinnea want ye to think bad of me.” He smiled sincere. His face turned to you, as you slowly removed the paper. It was close to yours, as your glance found his once more. The smile he wore reached his eyes and again you found yourself with the same warmth on your cheeks, your own lips tugged up in a genuine smile.

“Don’t worry. Only the best.” You chuckled while rolling with your stool a bit away to look at the outline of the work. “Take a look, if we can start or if you want to change a thing.” You took a mirror to let him get a proper look at the piece. “Speak now, or forever hold your peace. Because this is going to stay with you for eternity.” You were used to customers completely smitten by the stencil itself, but with Johnny it was different. His eyes were shining bright, as bright as his smile. But his eyes were more pinned on you, and not onto the future piece of art decorating his skin.

“Dinnea think of anything to change. Dae yer thing, bonnie,” he cooed, and it gave you that feeling in your guts again. Somehow you believed he didn’t even care about the tattoo itself. Still, he used something that fitted him perfectly. Well, as perfect as you could assume from Simon’s stories. And the following hours reassured you. With that you started to let the needles sink into his skin for the next seven hours. Black and white ink forming a masterpiece just after your liking while you listened to all the stories Johnny shared eagerly with you. Asking you many questions about your life beside the studio and customers. Asking about your family. You learned that he had two sisters and was really close to them as well to his mum. He shared openly so much information about himself, that you yourself kept talking about everything under the sun.

Sometimes he had to reposition his arm that you could reach a spot better. What led to a half hour of his calloused palm resting on your thigh. He couldn’t help but let his thumb stroke over the fabric of your pants. You’d lie if you said you didn’t enjoy it. With your job it came naturally to be close and kind of touchy-feely with your customers. But it wasn’t so common for you, that it affected you personally. Especially when it came so casually by him. He kept talking about that one time when his teammate, Gaz, fell out of a helicopter. Even if Johnny wasn’t there himself, he told the story so passionately that you believed you were there yourself while his thumb still caressed your thigh. His gently touch making your stomach tingle as you tried to stay focused.

Soon seven hours came to an end and a boar’s head was now engraved onto his upper right arm. Not like the usual animal portrait you so often had to do. No, it was indeed something more meaningful to him. Connecting the pride for his home country to his family, mixed with your personal note to give the tattoo a specific spice. Johnny loved it as he stood proudly in front of the mirror, investigating every line you made.

“It’s fuckin’ perfect. Bonnie, yer the best,” he exhaled while placing a quick peck onto the crown of your head while turning back to the mirror. His gesture left you breathless for only a second. Emotional outbursts after a finished session weren’t something you were unfamiliar with, but Johnny always added another note to his actions and words. A subtle undertone that gave you butterflies.

“Glad you like it.” You smiled putting on another pair of gloves on to clean the piece and wrap it up properly. “You know how to take care of it?” you said calm while placing the second skin onto the fresh wound. Johnny shook his head slightly and it earned him a chuckle. “Alright, the second skin stays on for like five days. If it loosens before, don’t break your pretty head about it. Then you wash it with usual water and cream it with special lotion. I’ll give you some. No gym, nothing to make you sweat more. No sunbathing and no swimming for the next two weeks,” you said reaching to your supplies to get a tube of tattoo med out. “You should drop by then to let me have a look. If we need to improve…redo some things, or if everything heals perfectly fine.”

“Lass could simply ask me out if ye wanna see me again.” He winked while pulling his shirt back on. His eyes never leaving your figure and finding a liking in seeing you all flustered. He was good looking; indeed, he knew the effect he held against woman. But with you it was different. He just wanted you to like him, to look at him like he thought he looked at you. Smitten.

“Not my kinda style.” You shrugged it off. What somehow demotivated the Scot. The whole time you were flirting back and forth with him, and when he discreetly asked you out, you turned so distant. He wouldn’t give up so easily though. Therefore, he was way too eager, but he called it a day. Paying you your loan and with that you somehow parted ways. The job was done, and you both went after your business.

Unfortunately, Johnny couldn’t stop by after the two weeks mark was passed. He got suddenly drafted in again, he just shot you a quick text.

Johnny MacTavish [09:03] Sry, bonnie. Works callin. Gonna make it up to ye ;)

You [10:36] Don’t ruin my masterpiece.

You [10:39] Come back alive.

Johnny chuckled silently after your second message arrived. Those three words gave him an unbearable urge to see you again. Already sitting on the truck next to Simon. “Ye couldn’t keep her away forever, Lt.,” he snickered, shoving his phone into the pocket that would stay off the fields.

“At least I tried…” Simon sighed half annoyed, but half amused. He knew both of you well enough to know, that you’d fit each other’s liking way too good. It was hard to keep up with one of you, but having both combined would bring him the death of his peace. But he was sure, that it wouldn’t become something more. At least he hoped. You had rules, and on top of the list stood: No flings with customers. Especially not after what happened with your ex. So, Simon was sure that Johnny would become at furthest a good friend to you, just like Simon did. He was as sure as he was that this operation would be easy and that nothing would keep them occupied for too long. But Simon was so very wrong about both.

The mission went south faster than Price could smoke his cigar. Kyle was the worst injured, while Johnny didn’t sustain any injuries. It made it clear again. Clear how dangerous the path was they were following. He loved his job; he wouldn’t change a thing. But to know that he almost lost his teammates, it made something to him. So, while sitting at the train station, that should bring him back to Scotland to spend some time to recover, he pulled his phone out.

Johnny MacTavish [12:29] Yer havin a free spot for yer fave Scot?<3

You [12:39] Drop by the studio tomorrow noon.

You [12:41] Sacrificing my days off for you. Make it worthy.

Johnny MacTavish [12:42] Aye!

And Johnny made sure to make it worthy. Instantly jumping on a train to London, instead of home. Booking a hotel nearby on the way and making sure to collect some stuff on the way. He picked up some good lunch on the way to the studio. Making sure to treat you right. He even thought about buying some flowers, but he didn’t want to make you somehow uncomfortable.

When he wanted to push the door once more open, it didn’t move an inch. Just then you walked up from the inside, unlocking the door and letting him in. “Hello there. C’mon in.” You held the door open for him to slide in. Locking the door once more after him, avoiding passing customers. “So, what’s the idea Mr. I don’t want any more tattoos?” you asked him mockingly, while he placed his stuff at the couch in the waiting area and unzipped his hoodie. You were used that customer often came back after the first one. Literally nobody stayed with only one of your pieces. For Johnny you were overly glad that he came back though.

“It’s even more special than before,” he said calm while pulling out a piece of paper and handing it to you. You took it in, and a little smile played on your lips. “I trust ye with it,” he added before his eyes met yours. You knew that look. It wasn’t the cheeky and playful smile. It was genuine, meaningful and he entrusted you with this, it made your heart flutter. So, you took your graphic tablet and get it to work out. Just as perfect as it needed to be.

You were seated on the couch in your waiting area next to him, while he kept telling your stories of operation and after-operation celebrations. He didn’t talk about the most recent one. You kept listening to his voice as you drew the outline for his next piece. He leaned a bit closer into your side, his head resting on your shoulder as he looked at the tablet. His talk paused. A smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You didn’t move, let him rest against you as you inhaled his scent. He smelled nothing like you’d imagine a soldier. Nothing like Simon when he came to the studio. He smelled just fresh. His mohawk holding a scent of balsam in, but also like a tone of green apple. “Something to fault it?” you asked calm.

“Yer dae even better.” Johnny let his head linger on your shoulder while his eyes scanned over the screen. There was shown a hat, a cap and a skull in your original style. Something so insignificant to others, but something so important to him. You sketched it out and prepared the stencil as he stripped his shirt once more. You stood in front of him as you looked at the piece from the last time. Checking if anything was damaged, a satisfied smile on your lips. Just then you prepared his left chest for the three symbols. His hands twitched as you stroke over his chest, and he just wished for you to ditch those damn gloves. His eyes pinned down to your figure, as you wore a little smile, while your fingers worked over his chest.

It took another good amount of time to get this piece done. You took more breaks this time. Sharing some of the food he brought, and many laughs, while he laid on the flat bed and your next to him. Carefully going after the lines of the stencil, while his arm slipped around you and his hand lingered on your waist so often during the process. You didn’t mind. Neither of you said something about it, just enjoyed the company, the closeness as you shared some more chats. But sooner than later this session come to an end. That way you found yourself standing next to him, observing his face as he looked at the latest addition in the mirror. A smile playing on his lips. It wasn’t like the bright and toothy ones; it was heart melting and genuine. Something so meaningful. “Tapadh leat,” he said a bit absently. It made you raise your brows. His eyes finding yours, while his hands finding your waist. “Thank ye,” he repeated for you to understand, and you smiled, while he didn’t dare to pull you closer. His huge palms only squeezing your side a bit as you stood in front of each other.

“It’s my job, Johnny,” you said calm. And he shook his head no, while he once more squeezed your waist what made you tilt your head in confusion slightly. But you didn’t give it another thought. You wrapped his tattoo up; he pulled his clothes on again and you went to the front desk for the check out. You broke down the skin routine once more with him, but he interrupted you.

“Go out with me,” he said abruptly before you could even say something more. His voice was desperate, but at the same time so gentle.

“MacTavish…” you sighed while your own heart ached. You had your rules. A rule you broke once, and it was the worst decision you ever made. Simon had to help you back then to free you from the stalker your ex-customer and ex-boyfriend was. And with his leaving you lost many regular customers and friends. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it again, even if you knew that Johnny would be different. Even when your heart screamed to just say yes to him.

“Otherwise, I need to come back every time on leave to get another one.” His voice gave you some hints of a joke, still you weren’t so sure about it if he really was joking. His eyes were filled with a certainty, a determination. You averted your eyes.

“I am sorry…” you said calm. But he only declined it. His face a bit defeated, but still something told you he wasn’t done with the thought. Simon told you once how stubborn this man could be, so you steeled yourself, hoping that you wouldn’t give in. Even if it would be hard when those azure eyes literal begged for you to do so.

“Gonna stay ‘n London for three weeks. If ye make up yer mind. Ye ken how to find me,” he said while leaving your studio.

You exhaled deeply after closing the door after him. Waving after him as he crossed the street. His eyes still bright as always. You cleaned up the studio and went to the front desk for a last time today. As you flipped you through the bills to put them away something different caught your interest. A little paper neatly folded between the notes. You took it and unfolding it. It revealed a sketch of your own face. It was a unique art style, and it made your heart ache even more. Under the sketch was something written in a sloppy handwriting. ‘nae stunning as the original’ You pressed the paper to your chest, while a desperate chuckle left your throat. “John MacTavish…you’re gonna be the death of mine,” you said calm to yourself as you put the drawing into your personal journal.

“He came for ‘nother one?” It was a few days after your gripping encounter with the Scot when Simon was seated in your studio again. Working to add a new part to his back piece. You only nodded, even if he couldn’t see it. “Ya like him, don’t ya?” The Brit said calm. You paused your work for a second. Not answering him was answer enough for Simon, what made him chuckle deeply.

“Si…” you exhaled while continuing your work. You wanted to say so much about that topic because he was right. You liked him. He already reserved a place in your heart for himself and the last days were only filled with that god damn genuine smile of the Scot. You found yourself often at night looking at the portrait he gifted you. Asking yourself how long you’d be able to turn him down.

“Tomorrow, drinks at yer place.” It wasn’t an offer, more like an order and you sighed. Not like you and Simon didn’t spend some time of sessions together. You were close after all. Drinking and talking or just watching some stupid shows together at your apartment. Even if the thought of you meeting his teammate still annoyed Simon, he couldn’t bring himself to watch two idiots pinning for each other when it was way too obvious. And even if he wouldn’t admit it for anyone to hear, seeing two of the people he liked the most falling for each other, it made the coldness of his own heart melt. You only needed a little excuse to ditch your rules. Even if Simon hated to break those. If it meant that you could finally be happy again after your ex, he was willing to help.

Lt💀 [17:09] 1900 at the studio

John MacTavish [17:11] What yer up to Lt?

Lt💀 [17:15] Don’t ask stupid questions.

Johnny knew better than asking more questions, so he got ready and made sure to be punctual. It was Sunday, so the studio was indeed closed as he stood in front of it at 18:56. As Simon walked around the corner, wearing all casual sweatpants and a hoodie, Johnny was even more confused. The Brit had a plastic bag from a nearby grocery store in one hand. “C’mon Johnny.” He punched his shoulder playfully while walking around the studio, aiming for a door in the side alley.

“Mind fillin’ me in, Lt?” he arched his brow at him while trailing close after him. Hands pushed into the pockets of his denim pants. Somehow, he felt overdressed next to the way too casual look of his Lieutenant.

Simon looked at his watch, waiting for another minute to pass. So, it was actual 7 p.m. and he pressed the button of an intercom. “It’s Simon for tonight,” he said, shooting Johnny a glare who only looked more confused but raising his hands in defense. The door started to buzz, and Simon pushed it open, signaling Johnny to follow him. Climbing some stairs before they found themselves in front of another door, which already stood a gap open. So, Simon naturally walked in, kicked his shoes of and Johnny followed his lead.

“Hello there,” you chimed while walking up to give Simon a quick hug, which he returned before ditching his mask. Your eyes switching to Johnny who just wore a stunned smile. He had thought of many things to happen tonight, but not to find himself in your apartment together with his Lieutenant and a various beers and whiskeys.

You all shared some good laughs, some amazing and catching stories. You told them about some cringe customers and very hilarious stories they shared with you. Johnny and Simon entertained you with sharing stories of their daily events. Johnny didn’t know what excited him more, the way he saw his stoic superior so at ease around you. Joking, laughing and even open so much. Or the fact that you were seated next to him, somehow always having one of his limbs touching any part of you as his eyes were glued to your lips.

It was an easy-going evening when you all had way too many drinks. You were just on the way to bring some empty bottles over to the kitchen when you could hear the teasing voice of Simon once more. “For a lad, that didn’t want any more tattoos, ya fast with getting’ new ones,” he joked, and Johnny only scratched his neck. His cheeks tainted red, mostly from the alcohol running through his system you supposed. “Ya know, Kyle even bet ya’d get a trump stamp if necessary.”

Johnny let out a wholehearted laugh. To be honest, if his whole body was already covered in tattoos and this would be the only way to see you again. He’d do it without hesitation. Hesitation was something you didn’t know today either. Just like that you walked over to the Scot. “Real talk now.” Without a warning you sat down, straddling his lap as your arms found his shoulders. Johnny only swallowed, sobered up so suddenly as you pushed your body weight onto him. “If you ever get a tramp stamp and I am not the person to do it… we won’t have a shared future darling,” you said mockingly, while your hands found some loose strains of his hair. Simon only laughed as he leaned back in the armchair, sipping on the beer in his hand. Watching the scenery in front of him in amusement.

“Bonnie, yer the only one for me. Ya ken,” he said while his beefy hands found your waist, helping to stabilize you on top of him. His words held much more meaning in it than you’d realize in your drunken state. His heartbeat quickened up as your fingers played with his hair. The redness of his cheeks rose, just like a certain tightness in his pants. He just hoped to not scare you away. But he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hide it, you simply had to feel it the way you were seated just above the bulge.

You only laughed. Eventually you felt his arousal, eventually you just chose to not pay any attention to it. “Then let’s do it,” you joked, leaning a bit back to look at him properly. He looked flabbergasted back at you.

“Sweetheart, yer drunk,” Simon cooed, and Johnny literally forgot that the Brit was there until this very moment. At this point, he felt somehow embarrassed but also thrilled at the same time.

“Darling. You’d be able to kill a man when drunk. Aren’t ya?” you tilted your head to the Brit with a devilish smile. Simon only sighed, and your smile grew. “See! And I can tattoo then.” You laughed, turning your attention back to the Scot, who by now started to let his thumbs stroke over your waist, drawing lazy circles into the fabric of your top. “What you’re saying, love?” your mischievous smile aimed at him as your eyes pierced into his.

“Fuck it. Let’s dae it,” he said. The alcohol running through his veins was the main reason he agreed, but how could he deny you, when you were so beautifully seated above him. Hands stroking a long his neck and hairline what sent shivers down his spine. His mind was hazy, and he didn’t care for any consequences.

“That’s my boy!” You laughed while slowly standing up. “Benefits of living just above the studio.” You reached for the keys to the studio and signaled the men to follow you. Just a few minutes later you found yourself in the studio downstairs, everything prepared for this very spontaneous and somehow dumb idea. If you’d be sober, you’d never agreed on it. Giving a tattoo to a drunken person is indeed very unreasonable. The body tend to bleed way more with alcohol rushing through it. Quite apart from being drunk yourself. But who said that you made wise decisions in the whole process?

Johnny was positioned on his stomach on the flat bad. His shirt gone once more, and his pants awkwardly pulled down to reveal the required spot. Simon was seated next to you, as you started to draw a tramp stamp freehand on his lower back. For this part you ditched the glove and Johnny couldn’t be happier about it. At the same time, he found himself in quite the misery. This tattoo session giving him a literal hard time, while Simon talked with you the whole time and Johnny only felt your delicate skin onto him. Simon laughed from time to time about the design or the muffled groans the Scot let out. Johnny was certain that Simon did fairly well know about his misery.

In your current state the tattoo took way longer than it would usually have been. But you didn’t mind. The delicious view in front of you made it easier to pull through. And now while your mind was flooded with those inappropriate thoughts, you couldn’t suppress the longing the Scot caused deep in your heart.

“What’d you think, Si?” you placed the tattoo gun down and looked at the artwork, wiping the excess ink away. It wasn’t your masterpiece, but you were more than satisfied.

“Bloody ‘ell. ‘s perfect.” Simon laughed, while looking at the lower back of the Scot.

“Lemme see.” Johnny carefully stood up and walked over the mirror. You haven’t talked about a design, he trusted you to just do your thing and the face he just wore made it so worthy. Even if he would’ve been pissed seeing it. “Haud yer wheesht!” Johnny stood in front of the mirror and looked over his shoulder to see a squiggly tribal leading to the center of nothing else than a unicorn.

“You don’t like it?” you walked up to him, standing just in front of him as he faced you again. There was no regret in his face, only a smile on his lips before he started to laugh wholeheartedly. He pulled you close to his chest as he kept laughing and you just joined him. Placing your hand gentle on his bare back as you started to giggle yourself. It felt way too comfortable.

“Wait a damn minute.” It was Simon who interrupted the scenery. Pulling you a bit away from him. Not forcefully, not to cause any harm. He looked stunned at the chest of the Scot, while his hand was still placed on your shoulder from his earlier action. “Ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he said with disbelief in his voice staring at the three familiar icons on the bare chest in front of him.

Johnny only smiled at him. “Surprise.” His hands stayed at your hips, as all of you three started to laugh at the situation. One of your hands pulling at Simon’s shirt what led to a tight hug shared between the three of you.

Time passed and you haven’t heard of one of them in the next months. You were used to it through your friendship with Simon. But now it was different. It bugged you more than before. Of course, you always did kind of worry for the man, but now there were two men you struggled about. You needed to fight the internal urge to shoot him a message. Asking if he’d be fine and safe, but you didn’t. Not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of him.

It already turned fall when and you started to decorate the studio. The whole place screamed Halloween now, but it wasn’t enough. One of your favorite seasons and it needed to be celebrated right. It was already quite late as you received a text that your appointment for tomorrow cancelled due to sickness. You hated last minute cancellations because you wouldn’t find any replacement. But this time it was somehow fine. The last days were so stuffed full that you could actually look forward to a day off. So, you made plans to go shopping for even more decorations. Enjoying a day off just for yourself. Well, that was your actual plan. A plan that got thrown over as soon as you noticed a familiar face walking through the front door. You turned around and greeted him with a bright smile. Relieve settling in your bones to see him again. He walked strictly up to you and only stopped a few centimeters away. “Johnny.” Before you could even say anything more, he pulled you close to his chest, and you completely engulfed in his embrace. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, as your hands found his back. Drawing lazy circles on his back.

You didn’t know how long you stood there. You didn't know how long until you spoke again. “I can make you some tea and we can talk. If you want to,” you offered with a soft voice, your hand still caressing his back through the thick layers of his jacket.

“Need something stronger.” Was his only response. So, you closed the store and brought him upstairs. He instantly sank down on your couch as you grabbed the bottle of whiskey and purred him a glass. “Thanks, bonnie,” he said calm while taking the glass. You sat next to him; your eyes filled with concern. The usual smile washed away from his face.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Johnny,” you literally begged him. Your hands finding his thigh, what made him look at you. His eyes were still the same azure ones you fell for, but somehow, they looked pale. He looked drained and tired.

He leaned closer to you, until his forehead was resting against yours. Eyes closed, while his hand found the back of your head. “I was scared…” His voice just above a whisper. A quiet confession. “so fuckin’ scared…that I wouldn’t be able to see you again.” His fingers stroked through your hair as you closed your eyes. Trying to suppress the sudden burn you felt in your eyes. His honesty broke your mind and the sheer thought of not being able to reunite with him anymore, it broke your heart. But he was here with you. He was safe with you. Still, you were only friends. You shouldn’t feel those things for your friend.

“I am here, Johnny.” Your voice was soft as your palms found his chest. “I am not going anywhere.” You added a little reassuring tone before he pulled his head only a centimeter away from yours. His blue eyes somewhat brighter than before, staring in yours. You melted right there as his other hand discarded the glass to reach out to your cheek. Your eyes were glued onto the gaze he gifted you. His eyes filled with adoration as the corner of his lips slightly tugged up again.

“Please…” His thumb stroked over your cheek before it took a gentle grip of your jawline. “Let me kiss you.” His glance darted between your lips and your eyes, waiting for your response with anticipation. The slight movement of your head giving him permission was the only thing he needed. Instantly closing the gap between you, as his lips brushed over yours. Gentle and soft, and still you could feel how he held back. The hand on the back of your head pulling you closer. Your hands found his neck as your melted into his touch. You broke away for a second looking into his eyes once more. They were blown with lust and endearment. No way you could retreat anymore.

“Johnny…” Your voice was soft as you pulled him back. You slowly leaned down on the couch and he immediately followed you, hovering just above you. “I am not a person for a one-night stand.” Your voice cracked a bit, but the smile on the Scots face reassured you instantly.

“Who said I’d leave ye.” He connected your lips once more. More eagerly, more lust filled, and you followed his lead. Taking a tight grip onto his neck. If you thought he was hard in the drunken state a few months ago, you were wrong. Nothing compared to the need he felt right now, growing every second as his kisses grew sloppier. Openmouthed wandering down to your neck. A moan left your throat as his teeth gently sank into the soft flesh of your neck. You could feel how everything in you screamed to take him. To feel him.

He leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing his perfect shaped body. A body you had seen so many times before during his appointments, but now everything felt different. He played with the hem of your shirt before he helped you strip out of it. “Like a goddess,” he praised while his calloused hands roamed down your body. Followed by passionate kisses and gently nibbles down to the waistband of your pants. “Let me taste ye hen,” he plead while toying with the hem of your pants.

“Go on, love.” Your voice was filled with so much adoration, it sent electric jolts through his body. He started to fidget with your trousers to free you. Just as your pants landed on the floor, you could feel the cold breeze brushing against the hot spot between your legs. His finger carefully brushing over it. Your panties already soaked, what made him groan with anticipation.

“’st tell me when something feels wrong,” he said soft before pushing the black lace aside to let his mouth take care of your cunt. As soon as he let his tongue slid through your folds you already arched your back. Another groan was heard as his hand took grip of your hips. He ate like a man starved, while you cried out his name. Johnny had to pull himself together not to cum right there as he tasted you. Everything in him screamed to let go. He couldn’t wait any longer. Not when you were so pretty spread only for him. He stood up, liking over his lips as you looked at him. Your chest heaving. “Cannae wait any longer. ‘m sorry, pet.” He unbuckled his belt and discarded his trousers, followed by his briefs. It made his hardened member jump against his stomach. You parted your lips at the sight. He was an average man, but still shaped like an image out of your wildest dreams. He climbed back on the couch to hover over you. Leaning on one arm, the free one was between your bodies. His hand guiding his cock along your folds. Your hand found his back as your eyes locked again.

“The impatient man you are, John MacTavish.” Your smile enlightened the passion within him even more, as he let the tip slid through your entry. Teasing you with a mischievous smile. Your nails digging into his back as your breath got caught in your throat. “Johnny…” You whined into his mouth while he kept it occupied with his heated kisses.

“Who’s the one impatient now, mo ghraidh?” His smug grin only grew as his lips caught yours in another kiss as he pushed himself inside. You cried out while he gave you some time to adjust. He ditched everything, the prep, the foreplay, he needed you right now and for the loving woman you’re, you couldn’t even try to protest, as it already made you feel that good. You wanted to be good for him, and only him.

“Takin’ me so good,” he praised while pushing deeper in. Feeling your plushy walls around his length already sent him into an abyss. It took him a bit longer to fully button out, letting you adjust to his seize. Showering you with more praise and kisses. As your body started to relax more he started to move. Rolling his hips against yours, letting him slip out and in again. “Hells bells…,” he cried out as he thrusted into your tight hole. His hands holding you tight against him. His forehead pressed to your temple.

Both of you knew you wouldn’t last long. The longing, the desire that grew over the time so huge that it became unbearable anymore. But he promised you that it wouldn’t be just a casual fling. He promised to stay. All the pent-up emotions leading you to the edge so soon. “I’m so close.” He didn’t slow down at your words. Rather pushing his pace up as he felt your walls pulsating.

“I ken.” He kissed your forehead, as your nails dig deeper into the skin of his back. “’st let go, for me.” He assured you while he pulled himself together. Your hands forcing him impossible closer to you as you felt your walls clenching around him as he rocked against that spongy spot inside you. You nodded fast as you buried your head into the crook of his neck, while he pushed his body weight onto you. Kissing your temple as he went deeper and slower. Rolling his hips to keep pushing at that same spot.

The heat building up as it felt unbearable anymore. He pushed you over the edge and you could feel how his length started to twitch inside. You only nodded before he could even ask, while your head stayed pressed against his shoulder. Your orgasm washing over you so hard, that tears started to form in the corner of your eyes. Completely clouding your mind. Somehow, you had to compensate the overwhelming sensation, so your teeth found his neck and you bit in his flesh as he painted your walls white. A deep groan leaving his throat as he rode out his high. You only loosened your jaw as your tongue could sense the taste of iron. You fell back as he collapsed on top of you. He placed another kiss onto your temple. “Dae so good for me, mo ghraidh,” he cooed while your hands clung to his back.

“Will you stay?” your voice was low, brushing over his skin. Somehow scared that this wasn’t real. That his promise wasn’t real. That he wasn’t serious. Even if you knew deep down that those eyes couldn’t lie. And even if they did, you were too addicted of him, you would just accept it that way.

“Inside ye?” The smug grin that reached his eyes was finally back on his lips as he propped himself up a bit. You punched him playfully.

“No, you idiot. In general.” You looked into his now softened eyes. He placed another kiss onto your lips. He slowly pulled out and gently stroked some damp hair from your forehead away. He didn’t need to answer that. Actions were louder than words. He made sure you took a relaxing bath together and afterwards just cuddled up in your bed.

“I’m nae goin’ anywhere.” He kissed your temple while pulling you in his chest. Spooning you and you just curled yourself up, clinging to the strong arm around you. Already on the way to drift away with him being all around you. You couldn’t even wish him sweet dreams anymore.

The next morning felt unreal. As you woke up you found the side next to you already empty. A sigh left your throat as you walked into the living room. After your actions of last night, you slept in nothing more than a fresh pair of panties and his shirt. You stopped in front of the mirror in the hallway to your living room. It looked hilarious how big his shirt was on you. A smile crept on your face as you noticed a low humming.

“Mornin’ bonnie.” Johnny came out of the bathroom, instantly pulling you close to him again. He only wore his briefs. A sight you never wanted to miss anymore. His tattoos by now perfectly healed.

Suddenly something different caught your interest. “I am sorry.” Your eyes wandered to the mark you left on his neck. It was slightly bruised, and you could clearly see an imprint of your teeth. Johnny looked at you and then at himself in the mirror. Examining the spot on his neck and a smile crept on his lips.

“Dinnea need to.” He turned to you, pulling you close to him once more. “Tattoo it.” His words rolled so easily over his lips. You blinked at him in confusion. “’m nae jokin’.”

“Johnny… that’s…a confession…quite possessive”. You tried to find the right words which was hard. You didn’t even know what you actually were, and he wanted you to tattoo your bite mark onto him. Maybe it was like a kink to him? Maybe he was just that cocky. But he didn’t give you space to let your mind wander any more.

“That’s the whole fuckin’ point.” He placed a kiss onto your forehead. “I want the whole world to see who I belong to.” Your heart skipped a beat at his words. It was his way to show you, that this indeed wasn’t just a one-night stand. A love drunken smile crept on your face.

“You’ll regret it sooner or later.” You stated while your fingers brushed over the mark.

“But what if…” He placed a kiss onto your head. “…what if I dinnea.” He smiled at you, watching how your eyes scanned the spot.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I am yer eejit.” He corrected you without hesitation. “If ye let me though.”

You pushed your face into his chest, and he wrapped his beefy arms around you. “Let’s get some breakfast first.” Your voice nothing more than a mumble against his chest, which vibrated due to his laugh, nodding before following you into the kitchen.

Did Johnny spend his whole time on leave at your place in London? Eventually. Just as he got a text from his Captain he left with a sad look in his face, but he promised to return safe. He now had a reason to return. Was the time on operations harder? Not really. You worried as much as before, but now you were officially allowed to text him or Simon to look after each other. Did he get teased by Gaz for the new tattoo found at his neck more than the tramp stamp? Equally Simon would say. But Johnny didn’t mind because both held a unique and deep meaning in his heart. Just like his love for his home country shown through the boar on his upper arm, with what he also had the connection to his family on him. Just like the tattoo symbolizing his teammates, his second family, just above the spot where his heart pumped in his chest. And for every man that would mock him for the tamp stramp he’d flash them in the gym, he only smiled wide, giving them a wink. Knowing that this tattoo marked the start of one of the best things happening in his life. An evening with two of the most important people to him. An evening that he’d forever cherish.

At this point John MacTavish was sure that he was done with getting tattoos. He had the things that were most important to him now immortalized onto his skin. But sometimes this man was in the very wrong. Because about two years later, he found himself once more surrounded by the buzzing of a tattoo gun. Two years that were spent in the fields with his team to make the world a better place. Just to return into your arms at the end of the day. In those two years he never regretted any line you placed onto his body. And he never would regret the fifths tattoo he was just about to get. It was different than the times before.

He was surrounded by his teammates, and your closest friends. Really just the closest of the inner circle. Keeping it as discreet as possible. The big day with everyone would be postponed to another date. But as always, Johnny wasn’t a patient man, so he wanted to have something beforehand. Something just for both of you before he had to go save the world again. That way he wore a casual decent but still traditional fit. The red and blue of his family’s tartan painted his kilt. The same tartan the scarf had you wore around your shoulders. A decent dress below, as you let the needles sink into his skin once more. His hand in yours as you tattooed a simple line around his ring finger. A similar one you already had on your hand. The first and only tattoo the Scot would ever give someone was now around your finger.

Just as you finished you kissed once more, while smiling at each other like the love drunken birds you were, as everyone around you clapped and cheered at you. Your studio filled with so much love and joy like never before. A moment you will always look back to in awe.

“I told ye, MacTavish would suit ye.” He teased while holding you close. His words nearly drowning between the noises of your friends and family.

You punched him playfully against his chest. “I love you too, eejit.”

“Don’t they have to say like I do or anything like that,” Kyle mumbled over to Simon, who just shrugged but smiled at the couple, now husband and wife, in front of him.

Even if you were glad that all the important ones were here around you, in the end only on person mattered to you. And that was the man holding you close in his embrace as he leaned his forehead against yours like he did millions of times before. Every night wondering if he’s alright. Every day waiting for his return. Every nightmare you endured. Everything was so worthy, just to have him close next to you and see him smile down at you. And everything started with a tattoo he never even wanted in the first place. A tattoo that led to four more. A tattoo that gave him a life with you by his side, because from the moment he met you, you went under his skin and there was no way he could ever escape it. Not that he even wanted to.

taglist: @cooliofango @ghostslillady @bunnyreaper @anothersimpsblog @kitkatscabinet @starry-eyedblog @yawnderu

#johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod x reader #soap x reader #soap smut #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #call of duty #call of duty smut #call of duty fluff #soap fluff #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish

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takikojou · 2 months

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15th July - Jared's quotes

I'm picking his famous heart-with-a-star symbol as a quote, since it stands for Always Keep Fighting, You Are Enough and many other positive mantras Jared gave us.

I got this tattoo on my arm as a statement for myself. Thanks, Jared! ❤️

That's my arm in that photo taken at the convention in Düsseldorf last May. :)

#jaredweek #happybirthdayjaredpadalecki #jared padelecki #appreciation post

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thewritersaddictions · 11 months

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Day Twenty: Lady Alcina Dimitrescu + Mind Control/Body Modification

You really can't remember how you managed to get a tongue piercing. When it had happened? Where, or if the lady of the house knew about it.

It had been her daughters. Her beautifully crazy daughter had dragged you out and into the booming town of the village below the large ornate castle.

Bela, Cassandra, and Danelia all just wanted to let loose. The hot, sticky summer days gave ease to their entrapment during the freezing winter months.

They flittered and floated around the town. Bar hopping from one place to another as the day went on the looser we all got. Until we ended up at a tattoo parlor. The four of you had all gotten matching tattoos.

Little bugs that had wings to fly and a little sun to fly towards. How you managed to be the only one laying on your back. Tongue pressed between a pair of cold forceps. A quick sharp pain as the three watched you like hawks.

Just like that, you had a piece of shiny jewelry in your mouth. A ball on each side of your tongue that felt weird at first. They all cheered for you as the four of you walked out with a gleeful attitude.

You played with it in your mouth until you and the sisters arrived back at Castle Dimitrescu.

Days, weeks went by. You were really sure what your relationship with the lady of the house was. She liked you as a pet, but she yearned for you while you were gone. She saw how good you were with her naughty daughters. It was a sticky situation. Your tongue swelling went down, then it just became a part of your everyday life. The feeling of something pressed underneath your tongue, but also above it pressed into the roof of your mouth.

It wasn't until Dimitrescu had a written note sent to your bed chambers. Inside is her beautiful cursive writing, it said. "My dearest, I know that I've been ever so busy with things lately. I feel as if I haven't seen you in ages, so come to my chambers tonight. Kisses Y/n." Dimitrescu letter read.

Even just here words on the paper had your stomach twisting in knots of anticipation, and lust. Your relationship with the lady of the house wasn't conventional by any means. You had at one point been a simple maid, your job title had then been switched to a caregiver for the girls who were madly in love with someone new to play with.

From there things grew. You were once again switched from the girl's personal handmaiden to Lady Dimitrescu's personal handmaiden. Your relationship changed after that your heart burned with passion for her, and so did hers. Once again you were put into an odd place. Dimitrescu didn't want you to ever leave, but she didn't want to keep that title above your head.

You tie your robe around your waist and make your way toward her room. You barely have to knock on her bedroom door. A silky voice travels through the wooden door. "Come in." You push open the door. "Oh Bubba, you came," Alcina murmurs as she sits up on the bed.

A much larger robe wrapped around her. Her hair is out of its tight curls, and she looks warm as coaxes you over to her. "Of course, I came my lady." You said as you walked over to her.

She shook her head, "What have I said about that Bubba?" Alcina asks you. You still to this day had a hard time calling her by her name, Alcina wasn't what you had been taught to call her. My lady slipped out at least once or twice when it was the just two of you.

"I'm sorry my… Alcina." You whisper. Alcina grabs onto your cheeks, cold hands in contrast to your warm, and already blushing face. "Smile for me, Bubba." Alcina loves it whenever you smile. Wild light that explodes from your toothy grin, it goes straight through her and into her heart.

Your face breaks out into a glowing smile as you snuggle into her touch on your cheeks. Alcina just stares at you for what feels like ages. Aclina scans over your brightest features to the lines on your forehead and near your eyes. She drinks you in literally taking you in for everything you can give her from just a little ole' smile.

Then her eyes catch something. A glint, a metallic shine on some sort. Alcina doesn't think about it until the fire's light makes it shine even more. Her face contorts, and yours follows suit. "Y/n?"

Alcina never really says your name, but when she does it means she is serious. You echo her, 'Alcina?" You whisper back to her. "Open your mouth for me, Bubba." She demands of you. Her eyes go wide when you open your mouth and stick out your bedazzled tongue.

"What is this shining in your mouth?" Alcina doesn't sound mad, hell she doesn't even have an emotion on her face. You swallow as Alcina takes her cold hands off your face. "Well…" You start off. Alcina has yet to take her eyes off the rhinestone on your tongue. She watches it move as you tell her the story of the girls wanting tattoos, and how they had bet you to get a tongue piercing.

"You aren't mad are you?" You ask Alcina. Her yellow eyes flash quickly with hurt, and then she's back consoling you. "My sweetness I'd never be mad at you for something like this." Alcina reaches over her thumb grazing over your bottom lip.

You two stay like that for a few moments, before Alcina says what she's been thinking since she caught the glimmer. You see the smirk on her face, and then her words hit your ears. "You know Y/n I've always wondered what it would feel like me on." Your face goes hot with a blush.

Thinking up all the scenarios that Alcina could be talking about. "Do you wanna…" You can't get the words out. "Do I wanna what sweetness?" Alcina is ever so a minx. "I… you…" You bit your bottom lip searching for the words. "I wanna…" You don't even finish your thouhgt before your delved in. Crashing into Alcina lips.

The kiss is searing, in a hot sort of knee buckling way. Alcina wraps here long fingers around the back of your neck, and when you lick her lips for entrance into her mouth she moans. It only pushes you further. Hands burhsing up agasint soft robe fabric. "Take this off me please." Alcina begs you. You never seen, or heard Alcina so desperate for touch.

You follow her request. Stripping her of the robe, throwing it off into the room. She stands there so tall, and so bare. Her skin lights up with goosebumps as you trail your fingers up and down her curves. She moans at your light touches. "Don't tease." Alcina warns. "I'm sorry… I just like touching you is all." You murmurs as you leave a litter of kisses on your way up and down her body.

That's before Alcina picks you up and shifts the both of you towards the soft surface of the bed. She lays you ontop of her. Your own robe gives way, showing off the shorts and tank top you wear to bed.

Kissing up and down Alcina jaw and neck. She hard grips harder when you suck a little bruise on her skin where the shoulder, and neck met. You follow down her collar bone down between the valley of her breasts. Her hands shifts landing in your hair. You suck yet another bruise between her breasts. And when you look up to fancy your work. Alcina is already on the verge of bursting with lust.

You get back to work. Licking up her kiss, kissing the little but best spots for her. Everytime you lick Alcina skin she whines, and moans. "Oh fuck Y/n, you dont… oh hell you don't know" She can't get her words out.

It's not until you shimmy yourself between her large thighs, and are face to face with her dripping cunt. You take a quickl glance up at her. She yellow eyes are blown out with lust, her cheeks are red with a thick layer of blush.

"Don't make me…" You don't let alcina finish when you lick a sticky strip from her leaking hole to her clit leaving it kiss when you come up. Your hands come spreading her apart. Dripping further down onto the fresh linens. You blow cold air onto her cunt. She shivers and moans at the action.

You can't hold back anymore. You care not for rhe breathe you need as you stuff your face into her wet, dripping cunt. Everythng just feels right, and damn the encoramanet that you hear from above you have you wishing you could get some sort of relief out of it as well.

You licks around her swollen clit, and a harh hand come to tug at your hard pulling you. Using you for Alcina own plesure. You are no longer fucking her with your mouth. Rather she's fucking you with her cunt. When you do manage to slip a set of fingers into her cunt she's tight as always. Sucking you in as your pull out and push them right back in. "Oh sweet fuck!" Alcina moans out, her head is thrown back and her eyes are shut tightly as your lick her clit the rinestone tongue peicing hitting it just right.

Two fingers itching just the right spot to make Alcina vision go white with passion. Her cunt squeezes your finger tight as she moans out loudly and cums all over your face. Your face is drenched, down to your tank top.

When you come up from between Alicna thighs she's worn out unable to lift her head and take a look at you. "Alcina, did I make you squirt?" You aks your voice husky and deep. she graons and shake her head a little.

You shift moving up to lay next to the worn out lady of the house. It's silent for only a moments time. "You must know my dear that I haven't felt that good in such a long time." Alcina says as she looks over at you. She looks so content, calm for the first time in a long time. "Thank you my sweetness." Alcina murmurs. "Of course." You get up grabbing your robe, and wiping down your face before getting a wet cloth and cleaning up between Alcina thighs.

when you go to leave her chambers, a small tired voice calls you back. "Stay with me?" Alcina asks you don't dare ignore, or deny her.

Completed on: 08/01/23

Posted on: 10/20/23

Kinktober 23- @lanad3lreyscokewhor3 @homelanderscumdump @hummusxx@chvnsdimple @vvitzvafflezvv @lokisivy @claud-blood0703 @iliketoreads-stuff @all-that-glitters-is-treasure@clearscissorsbonkgiant-blog @lxonix--ac @piecesofx @mortallyswimmingpainter @playwithfire99 @fucak @everythingneytiri @lovetheos @xxxxxoseungxoooo @durazopato @hotpead42069 @oddseabiscuit @capoda @witching-hour @viviwows @lover103 @alexlovesfiction @katiecat10 @electricfans @jianasmind @max-505 @powerbun21o @the-horny-simp @missy420-0 @jaq-dav @arescosplays

Resident Evil Master List // House Dimitrescu Master List // Kinktober '23

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corroded-hellfire · 1 year

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Attend the Tale - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie proclaims to theatre nerd!reader that musicals are too happy for him. You then tell him the tale of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Note: This is partially because Gaten is currently in the show on broadway, yes, but also because it is one of my favorite musicals of all time and I myself am a huge theatre nerd.

Warnings: spoilers for Sweeney Todd, which has dark themes including bloody violence, murder, and cannibalism.

Words: 2.3k

Hawkins High School likes conventional. It likes when things make sense. For instance, it made sense when Chrissy Cunningham was nominated for Prom Queen, and Jason Carver for Prom King. It made sense that Nancy Wheeler was on track to give the valedictorian speech at graduation at the end of the year. What didn’t make sense—at least from an outsider's perspective—is you and Eddie.

Eddie Munson was all metal, band t-shirts, chunky silver rings, long wild mane, and tattoos. You are not metal. You are costumes, makeup, rehearsing lines and practicing songs for an audition. A theatre nerd, essentially. At night, Eddie blasts Metallica in his room, while you’re playing Andrew Lloyd Webber and attempting to hit the high notes in Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again. The two of you looked like opposite sides of the spectrum. But in reality, you were two sides of the same coin. Both passionate about the music that moves you, embodying the looks of your respective niches.

When you met, there was an initial clash between the two of you over use of the drama room. Yes, it was used for Hellfire meetings, but it was the drama room and Eddie shouldn’t have thrown a fuss if you had to come in and grab a costume that had been left in there earlier. Once the original ire cooled, the two of you found you gelled together quite nicely. Only someone else who has that deep appreciation for music can understand what it’s like to feel the music in your very soul, in every beat of your heart, and every breath you take.

Though there wasn’t a crossover appeal with each other’s music, both you and Eddie could appreciate and respect the other’s taste. Eddie would blast metal in the van on the way home from school, so you’d come to learn some of the songs and point out your favorites to your boyfriend. When the two of you were at your house, a Sondheim or a Rodgers & Hammerstein record would be playing in the background as you makeout on your bed.

Eddie had seen you in the last musical Hawkins High had put on—Into the Woods. The dark take on multiple fairy tales had drawn Eddie in more than he thought it would. Obviously, he had only gone to see you—dragging Dustin along because the curly haired boy was the only one willing to accompany him—but he ended up being honestly impressed by the talent and hard work it takes to put on a show. Hearing you sing as Cinderella had almost moved Eddie to tears, something he would never admit to a soul. But Dustin had noticed and told you when Eddie had gone to the bathroom after the show. You recognized the same dedication and effort in Eddie when you saw him performing with Corroded Coffin.

After you begged Eddie to play The Sound of Music cassette you just bought while you’re driving around one weekend, he comes up with a thought that astounds you.

“You know, musicals are just too happy for me. Everything is always okay in the end, and everyone sings and dances and it’s happily ever after.”

You’re staring at him for a good minute before he notices. He raises an eyebrow at you in question.

“That is so not true!”

“Babe,” Eddie says, knocking the rings of his right hand against the van’s radio. “We’re literally listening to a show that has singing nuns and nazis. And guess what? Everything ends tied up with a bow.”

“First of all,” you say, flopping back in your seat with a huff. “This is based on a true story. So, sorry that the real Von Trapp family escaped the nazis. Secondly, there are plenty of dark musicals. You saw Into the Woods!”

“Yeah, it was dark for fairy tales. I listen to metal. The witch cursing a family doesn’t quite cut it as ‘dark’ for me.”

“West Side Story? It’s tragic!”

“Tragedy and darkness aren’t really the same thing,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I mean, they can be. But they literally have gangs prancing down the street. Sad story, sure. But I wouldn’t say dark.”

You purse your lips in the way that Eddie finds adorable as you look out the window. A cheery song about favorite things playing isn’t helping you come up with any dark musicals.

“Aha! Phantom of the Opera,” you say, turning towards Eddie. “Kidnapping, murder, disfigured character. Dark enough for you?”

“Eh,” Eddie says with a shrug. “The opera part kinda cancels it out for me.”

Just as Eddie’s pulling into your driveway, your face lights up with an idea. Eddie notices it as he pulls the keys out of the ignition, the jingling of them breaking you out of your mini trance.

“Sweeney Todd.”

“Who?” Eddie asks.

“Sweeney Todd!” you repeat, as if just hearing it again will make everything clear to Eddie. Both of you get out of the car and you fumble to get your house keys out of your bag. “The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.”

“Did we switch subjects, or…? Should I know this Todd dude?” Eddie asks as he follows you inside. He kicks his shoes off next to the door just as you do, and you toss your bag onto the closest chair.

“It’s a Stephen Sondheim musical,” you say. “Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.”

“A demon barber?” Eddie asks with a laugh.

Spinning away from him and his dismissive chuckle, you stroll over to your collections of records. Nimble fingers pick through them until you find the one you’re looking for. Eddie just watches as you move to the record player and load up the album. The opening notes start slow at first, then gaining volume, with a haunting quality to the melody. It sounds eerily like music you would hear at a funeral. Then a piercing noise—a scream? a scrape? —slices through the air, startling Eddie. He won’t let you know it just yet, but this already has him intrigued.

Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd

His skin was pale and his eye was odd

He shaved the faces of gentlemen

Who never thereafter were heard of again

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, a smile curling on his lips. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

“It’s bloody and gory,” you say, jumping onto your couch. Eddie chuckles as he watches your socked feet move over the gray overstuffed cushions. You hold your hands out in front of you, fingers splayed as you begin to summarize the show in a melodramatic voice. “Sweeney Todd—who is actually named Benjamin Barker—returns to London after being wronged by a judge many years ago. Judge Turpin stole his wife and daughter. Like, literally stole. Not like he seduced her or something, he straight up took her and had her husband sent away.”

Eddie wrinkles up his nose and crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s creepy as hell.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” you say with a devious smile. As you continue on with the tale, the music playing in the background, you keep walking across the couch, jumping to the adjacent couch as well when you come to the edge. Eddie watches you, an adoring look in his eyes. “So, Sweeney stays with this lady, Mrs. Lovett, who has a pie shop. And he starts up as a barber again, with the goal of getting the judge to come in so he can…” You run your finger across your neck, imitating the slitting of your throat.

“Does he stick the bastard?” Eddie asks, jumping up on the couch you just vacated.

“Hold on, hold on,” you say, shooting him a smirk. “This other dude comes in and recognizes Sweeney back from when he was Barker, so Sweeney kills him. When he and Mrs. Lovett are trying to figure out what to do with the body, she comes up with an idea! But is it too much? Never, for this twisted pair!”

Eddie laughs as he listens and watches. Your eyes are wide, a crazed look there as you describe the warped tale. Even if he wasn’t genuinely enjoying this debauched plot, he would’ve been thoroughly amused by your performance.

“They decide to get rid of the body by grinding him up and putting him in the meat pies!”

“Ugh,” Eddie groans, face full of disgust. “That’s morbid.”

“Told ya,” you say with a proud smirk. “But they don’t stop there. Every man who comes to Sweeney’s shop becomes the new flavor of the day. And the people love the meat pies. They keep selling out of them.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, holding his hands up in front of him. “I concede. This is a dark musical.”

“Thank you,” you say, offering him a dramatic bow. “The dead bodies do not just come out tap dancing or some other cliche, cheesy shit you accuse musicals of. Although now that I’m thinking about that, it would’ve been cool.”

“So, how’s it end?” Eddie asks, jumping over to the couch you’re on.

“Oh, no, no, no,” you say, shaking your head and backing a step away from him. “You’ll have to listen. Wait! See! They’re about to tell you.” You hold your finger to your lips, telling Eddie to be silent so he can hear the final lyrics of the song.

Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd

He served a dark and a vengeful god

What happened then, well, that's the play

And he wouldn't want us to give it away

Not Sweeney

Not Sweeney Todd

The demon barber of Fleet street

Eddie steps forward and tugs on your waist until you’re flush up against him. “You seem to really enjoy this creepy shit.”

“I haven’t even told you the rest,” you say, cupping his face in your hands. “There’s the judge wanting to marry the daughter he stole as well. A beggar woman who goes around asking men if they wanna fuck her. And then there’s Antony and Toby who are precious boys.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says with a laugh. “Might just have to borrow this record.”

“I thought you’d like it,” you say, a satisfied smirk on your lips. “I know my boyfriend’s taste.”

“Yes, you do,” he mumbles as he leans in and presses his lips against yours. The two of you share lazy kisses for a few minutes, just standing there on your couch in the middle of your living room. When you finally break for air, Eddie rests his forehead against yours and lets out a small laugh. “Who would’ve thought I’d find a girlfriend who can match my theatrics?”

“I think I outdo your theatrics, thank you very much,” you say. “In private, anyway. I know I can be my true, authentic weird self with you.”

“I love your weird self,” Eddie says, hands roaming down to your ass.

“And I love you.”

Eddie grins and presses a few more kisses to your mouth.

“Are there any duets in the show?” Eddie asks. “Could learn it and we could sing it together.”

The way your eyes light up at his words has his heart stuttering in his chest. He’d never admit it, but he’d memorize all of Sondheim’s compositions if you wanted him to. Anything for you.

“Yeah,” you say, voice the quietest it’s been this whole time. Before continuing, you clear your throat and blink your eyes a few times. “My favorite song from it is a duet. It’s the one where they decide to put the men into the pies. It’s called A Little Priest.”

You quickly hop off the couch and stop the record. Carefully, you turn it over and place it back down. Your eyes scan the track list printed on the record’s jacket to find the right spot. Placing the needle back down, a surge of pride flows through you as you hear it start playing exactly where you want it to.

Seems a downright shame…

Turning back towards Eddie, you try to emulate Mrs. Lovett. Kind of crazy, but even crazier for the man in front of her. That part you have down perfectly. The fond look Eddie is giving you makes your tummy all fuzzy and your head all light. Knowing that not only can you be completely and unabashedly yourself around Eddie, but that he actually loves you like that still boggles your mind.

The song is funny, filled with puns and jokes, and you sing through the lyrics with ease. As the long song comes to its end, you step up on the coffee table and use it as your stage. Closing your eyes, you throw your arms in the air dramatically as if you’re riding a roller coaster.

We'll not discriminate great from small!

No, we'll serve anyone,

Meaning anyone,

And to anyone

At all!

Eddie claps as you finish belting the last note, and your face warms at his praise. A shy giggle escapes you as you curtsy on top of the table. Your boyfriend hops down from the couch and wraps both of his arms around your legs. He flops backwards so he’s lying on the couch, pulling you along so you’re on top of him.

“You’re so damn cute,” Eddie says.

“Takes one to know one, Munson,” you say, finger coming up to boop the tip of his nose.

“I feel like I’m gonna have to take you to Broadway as a graduation gift,” Eddie muses.

“Baby,” you whine, shaking your head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“You don’t wanna take a trip with me?” he asks, jutting out his bottom lip in his most adorable pout. The big cow eyes only add to it.

“Of course I do,” you say. “Not letting you buy me a trip for graduation, though!”

“Fine,” Eddie says with a sigh. “What if it’s a gift for both of us? We go up together over the summer? Huh?” He grins and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “You, me, whatever shows you want, then a nice big hotel bed at night. I won’t pay for everything, I promise.”

A giggle bubbles out of you and you rest your head in the crook of Eddie’s neck. “Sounds perfect, Eddie.”

“I love you, my little theatre nerd.”

“I love you, my adorable metal head.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson x theatre nerd!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction

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bisexual-horror-fan · 1 year

Text

It happened. Let's talk about it under the fucking cut.

Hello! I am here to regale you with the tale of how my Saturday at Fan Expo went! So it started with how I could not fucking sleep the night before. Fitful, I kept waking up over and over and finally got out of bed before nine. I hung around for a while, did a face mask, painted my nails, showered, got ready and into my fit for the day. We departed slightly after noon and grabbed some food and made our way to Toronto. We get there and park in the usual place and make the couple block hike to the convention centre, the check in process went smoothly and then, it was time to shop around.

We went from the North building to the South building, much more interested in checking out niche’ vendors and artists’ alley, I was in there for less than an hour before I had to break away to run to the photo op. Mr.Bex gives me a kiss on the cheek and told me, “Try not to cum in front of them.”

“Easier said than done!” I called as I run off. Now, last year it took me forever to get back to the North building, so I left with an hour before my time I had to be there. On the way, I see a Ghostface in a very cute almost magical girl outfit, short flouncy skirt and a bedazzled pink mask. I am looking at them, they see me looking, and they give me a pose and a peace sign, I grin and give one back, a super fun moment. I get to the North building and the photo op space in less than twenty minutes. So that means I get to toddle around the dealers floor. I do so, take in some cosplays, contemplate some purchases, they had an old full sized classic Scream one poster for twenty bucks, but I passed on it.

Finally, it’s time to go get into the actual line. I’m in line 13, in the first group for the Matt and Skeet time slot, and I made like six friends while in line. Everyone was very into my outfit, one girl had a tattoo on her arm that said, “My mom and dad are gonna be so mad at me.” We were all losing it. Another girl was there with her partner and she was in a 600 dollar custom fitted movie accurate Ghostface costume, with the glitter fabric and all, it was shockingly impressive. She especially liked my shirt and was impressed by the fact I made it, and asked aloud, “Why don’t they make shirts like those and sell them?” I laughed and told her, “Well, I’ve considered it, I won’t lie.”

It is a surreal experience listening to this assortment of hot gothy early twenty-something scream fans, many who came from whole provinces away just for this, just to be here for them, talking about how hot they are and how down bad they are while I stand next to them, having written a couple of hundred thousand words about the characters they love in question. I almost told em I wrote fic, almost.

While waiting around, Matt ended up coming out into the line-up space?! There was a fan in a wheelchair, and he wheeled em back personally while chatting them up and giving high-fives, he was five feet from me. The photo op starts late, I don’t care, it’s fine. We scan tickets, drop bags and then are in the same curtained off space as them, they let in small groups at a time to keep it moving smoothly. My heart is fucking pounding. We make it back, there was a family in front of me, their middle kid was dressed as Ghostface and their baby was in a scooby doo onesie and Matt held him for the picture, so cute.

Our especially extra Ghostface friend from the line was right in front of me, and then it’s my turn. I make sure my extra shirt is pulled to the side, Two Boys Are Better Than One proudly displayed, and I move. I greet them with a “Hi!”

Skeet gave me a very cool sounding “Hey” and Matthew made eye contact with me and gave me a polite nod with a, “Hello.” That I can only say was said in a very him way.

I asked, as I was moving in, “Can I be in the middle?”

And Matt had this expression with that sort of half smile he does, brows pinched together as he nods, telling me like it should be obvious, “Oh of course.”

I get in between them, and Matt’s hand is on my shoulder, Skeet’s hand is on my lower back and my hand is on Matt’s lower back and my other hand holding onto Skeet’s side (and fucks sake he is firm.)

I got an extra second because the photographer directed me to lower my head, so I wouldn’t get glasses glare, I assume. I revel in the extra seconds and contact, the picture is snapped, and I break away, without thinking I sort of pat Skeet’s side, and he returns the gesture and tells me, “Good job.”

Skeet fucking Ulrich told me good job.

Bury me now. I am done for.

I get my bag, I get my picture, I get it framed, and I go find Mr.Bex. He and I leave the con, we get back to our car, and then go to a tattoo shop where my friend Mel gave me my You Might Be The Killer tattoo. We drove home, I slammed several slices of pizza, and now I am writing this for you!

It was. Fucking amazing, I loved it so much, it was more than worth every penny. Now I can officially say, I am That Cunt that wore a shirt baring my super pornographic smut fic’s title on my tits while getting a picture with the two guys who inspired it all.

And speaking of inspiration, just you wait to see the fic I am going to write after this.

#TBABTO #Two Boys Are Better Than One #FOR LIFE #BHF face #I had SUCH a good day #FUCK #I AM SO DEAD

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hsjazebel · 3 months

Text

THE CALL OF FATE

Word count: 3184

A/n: I'm so sorry to have made you wait so long for the second part of ink hearts, but I've been busy studying and counting the days until the exams are over.

Summary: Y/n returns to the “Ink Hearts” shop for her first tattoo.

main masterlist | ink hearts masterlist

The light of dawn filters through the ivory silk curtains of Y/n's sumptuous family home, delicately caressing the antique furniture and period ornaments that adorn the rooms.

The enveloping scent of jasmine and amber wafts through the air, mixing with the distant sound of bronze bells swinging gently in the internal courtyard.

Yet, despite the beauty and opulence that surrounded the villa, Y/n's soul was filled with a palpable agitation, a sort of restlessness that had haunted her ever since she woke up.

The imposing walls and refined decorations seemed to imprison her soul in a golden cage, isolating her from the outside world and from her own inner essence.

Her thoughts were imprisoned by the memory of her meeting with the tattoo artist in the "Ink Hearts" shop, like fragments of a dream that slowly dissolved when she woke up.

The figure of the tattoo artist, shrouded in an aura of mystery and charm, stood out clearly in Y/n's mind, with his penetrating green eyes that burned like burning embers in the darkness of the night and the hard gaze that seemed to pierce the armor that had built around his heart.

Every detail of the encounter unfolded in her mind like a vivid and haunting painting: the monotonous sound of the tattoo artist's hum, the intense scent of ink and soap, the firm touch of his deft hands as he traced the outlines of the design on his skin.

Yet beyond the surface of skin and ink, there was something deeper and more enigmatic that trapped her in her invisible web.

As Y/n gazed at her reflection in the golden mirror of her bedroom, her towering walls seemed to beckon her with a quiet whisper.

The family mansion, with its sumptuous rooms and ornate corridors, was both a golden refuge and a golden prison, where Y/n felt trapped between her family's expectations and the rebellious desires of her own heart.

The memory of meeting the tattoo artist in the "Ink Hearts" shop tormented her like an obsessive melody that she couldn't get out of her head.

The image of that man with the mysterious gaze and skilled hands had crept into her mind like an obsession, reawakening desires and emotions that she believed were buried deep in her soul.

The morning wind delicately caressed the petals of the flowers in the villa's garden, bringing with it the fresh scent of spring.

As Y/n approached the window, the warmth of the spring sun caressed her face, contrasting with the cold inside that consumed her.

The days following the meeting with the tattoo artist had passed in the shadows of her thoughts, while the image of that mysterious man danced in the recesses of her mind.

The family home, despite its sumptuous beauty, increasingly seemed like a foreign and oppressive place, where social conventions suffocated any glimmer of authenticity.

Yet, despite the weight of her family's expectations, Y/n felt the irresistible pull of the "Ink Hearts" store. It was as if an invisible force was pushing her towards that place of mystery and forbidden promise, a calling that resonated deep within her soul and that she could not ignore.

Every night, while the rest of the world slept, Y/n found herself immersed in her thoughts, tormented by the memory of her encounter with the tattoo artist.

His hands trembled with excitement and fear at the idea of returning to the tattoo shop, but she knew she could no longer resist the pull of the fate that had brought them together.

With a heart full of hope and uncertainty, Y/n mentally prepared herself for returning to the "Ink Hearts" store, knowing that what she would find there would forever change the course of her existence.

——

The "Ink Hearts" shop exuded a mystical and enveloping atmosphere, permeated with the persistent smell of ink and the monotonous melody of tattoo machines.

The walls were decorated with bright artwork and intricate designs, while soft light filtered through the windows, casting shadows on the time-worn wooden floor.

In the heart of the shop, the tattoo artist stood intent on his work, his deft hands dancing expertly across a living palette of skin and ink.

His dark hair fell softly over his broad shoulders, while his focused gaze reflected the determination of an artist immersed in his work.

As Y/n crossed the threshold of the store, a feeling of excitement mixed with fear wrapped around her like a cloak. Her eyes immediately fell on the tattoo artist, attracted by her magnetic presence and aura of mystery.

With her heart pounding in her chest, she slowly approached the counter, unsure of how to start the conversation.

The tattoo artist looked up from his work, his green eyes shining with an intensity that sent shivers down Y/n's spine.

A thin smile danced on his lips as he looked at the young woman in front of him, aware of the disturbance he aroused in her.

“Here again,” the tattoo artist said in a deep, enveloping voice, breaking the silence enveloping the shop. “What brings you to the ink realm this time?”

The tattoo artist's words resonated in the tense air, revealing a world of hidden meanings and unexpressed desires.

As Y/n tried to find the words to respond, she realized that this second meeting would only be the beginning of an even deeper journey into the depths of their souls.

The tattoo artist continued working without looking up again, but the heavy atmosphere between them was palpable. Y/n felt rejected and helpless, but she knew that she had to face her contempt if she wanted to find out more about him.

"Can I ask you something?" Y/n asked, trying to break the ice.

The tattoo artist made a sound of disapproval before replying curtly, "Depends on what."

Y/n felt a lump in her throat, but she persevered. "I'd like to know more about your tattoos," she said, her voice shaking. "And maybe about you."

The tattoo artist looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and irritation, but then shook his head slightly. "It's none of your business," he replied dryly, returning to his work without giving her anything else.

Y/n felt rejected, but she couldn't suppress the fire of her curiosity. She had to keep digging, even though she knew the tattoo artist wouldn't make it any easier.

Y/n was silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the tattoo artist's words like a boulder on her chest.

It was clear that her presence was unwelcome, but she couldn't let her disdain stop her. She had to find out more about him, even if it meant facing her coldness.

The tattoo artist, after a long moment of silence, let out a heavy sigh.

"My tattoos have stories to tell," he said finally, the tone of his voice soft but full of meaning. “But they are stories they are not ready to share.”

Y/n felt a shiver of emotion run through her as the tattoo artist spoke. It was as if she had just opened a door to a world of mystery and fascination, and she couldn't resist entering it.

"It doesn't matter," she said with a light smile, ignoring her evasive response. "I can wait."

The tattoo artist looked at her with a mixture of surprise and admiration, as if he hadn't foreseen her response. Then, with a nod, he returned to his work, letting the tense atmosphere resolve itself into the silence of the shop.

Y/n found herself surrounded by intricate designs and works of art that captured attention with their dark beauty. The vivid colors and finely delineated details seemed to dance under the soft light, creating an aura of magic and promise.

As she explored the store with curious eyes, Y/n felt transported to a world of infinite possibilities. Every drawing, every tattoo told a unique story, a fragment of life captured in the eternity of ink. It was as if each feature had a voice of its own, whispering ancient secrets and hidden desires.

Then, suddenly, the tattoo artist stopped in his work, looking up at her with an intensity that struck her straight to the heart. His green eyes shone with a bright light, revealing a vibrant and magnetic energy that immediately attracted Y/n's attention.

It was as if the tattoo artist possessed a magical power, capable of hypnotizing her with just a glance.

“I have an idea,” the tattoo artist said, his voice soft but filled with infectious determination. “It would be interesting if you were the subject of my next tattoo.”

The tattoo artist's words rang through the air like a promise of adventure and discovery. Y/n felt a wave of conflicting emotions hit her as her heart pounded in her chest.

The tattoo artist approached with a determined step, his penetrating gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her shiver. "What do you say?" he asked, his voice soft but firm.

Y/n felt her breath catch in her lungs as she struggled to find the right words. It was as if the world had stopped around them, as they found themselves in the center of an atmosphere full of promise and possibility.

With a deep breath, Y/n met the tattoo artist's gaze with determination. "I'd like that," she said in a firm voice, letting her smile reflect her inner excitement.

The tattoo artist didn't smile, but his green eyes sparkled with an aura of promise. "Are you ready for an adventure in the kingdom of ink?" he asked with a challenging tone, as if he were proposing a trip to an enchanted place.

Y/n nodded, feeling a shiver of excitement run over her skin. She was ready to completely abandon herself to the magic of tattooing and the mysterious charm of the tattoo artist.

With an enigmatic smile, the tattoo artist led her towards his studio, where every corner exuded an atmosphere of creativity and mystery.

The air was filled with the scent of incense and fresh ink, while the walls were adorned with sketches of drawings and works of art in progress.

Once inside, the tattoo artist got to work with skill and mastery, preparing his tools with obsessive care.

Y/n felt enveloped by her vibrant energy, as if she had been catapulted into another world, a realm where ink and art reigned supreme.

The tattoo artist smiled at her, her expression neutral but full of promise and possibility. "What kind of tattoo do you have in mind?" he asked in a soft but firm voice, inviting Y/n to express her wishes.

Y/n took a moment to think, looking at the numerous drawings and artworks that decorated the study. "Something symbolic," she said finally, "something that represents my search for freedom and authenticity."

The tattoo artist nodded in understanding. "I understand," he said in a calm tone. “It will be an honor to make your vision a reality.”

With that promise behind them the tattoo artist began his work with a light but firm touch, as if he were painting a masterpiece on a blank canvas.

Y/n closed her eyes and gave herself over completely to the sensation, letting the ink seep into her skin like a wave of heat.

Each needle she plunged seemed to transport her to another dimension, far from the worries of her daily life.

Her sensations mixed together in a whirlwind of emotions: there was pain, sure, but also a strange euphoria that made her forget everything else.

Every little puncture seemed to open a hole in her being, releasing dormant emotions and hidden desires.

As the tattoo artist worked expertly, Y/n felt enveloped in a feeling of calm and serenity.

There was no room for fear or uncertainty, only the pure pleasure of being alive and experiencing that moment to its fullest intensity.

The minutes seemed to pass by like nothing, as her tattoo took shape on her skin like an indelible sign of her determination and courage.

Every stroke, every line of hers seemed to tell her story, etched in the ink like an ode to her life and her experiences.

And so, as the tattoo artist finished his work with a final touch of mastery, Y/n opened her eyes and found herself faced with a living masterpiece, a tattoo that represented everything that was her and everything that she hoped to become.

The tattoo took shape on Y/n's skin like a delicate and refined work of art, a discreet symbol of her desire for freedom and authenticity.

At the center of the design, a simple lotus flower bloomed, its delicate, wispy petals standing gracefully against her skin.

The flower was a symbol of rebirth and growth, a promise of new beginnings and infinite possibilities.

Around the flower, a series of thin lines and light arabesques intertwined like threads of a canvas, creating an atmosphere of lightness and elegance.

Every detail of the drawing seemed to tell a different story, a story of hope and courage.

The tattoo glowed with a subtle light, as if it had captured a sliver of magic in her black ink.

It was a work of art that Y/n would carry with her forever, a tangible symbol of her journey to freedom and authenticity.

After completing the tattoo, Y/n observed herself in the mirror, letting her gaze run along the delicate and refined lines of the design on her skin.

The blooming lotus flower stood out gracefully against her complexion, exuding a sense of calm and serenity that enveloped her like a caress.

The tumultuous emotions she had felt during the tattoo seemed to dissolve, giving way to a feeling of lightness and determination. That little design on her skin was much more than just an ornament; it was a tangible symbol of her desire for freedom and authenticity, a promise she had made to herself to embrace life with courage and resolve.

The tattoo artist approached silently, observing the finished work with an expression of satisfaction. "It's perfect," she said in a calm voice, but there was something in his eyes that suggested a deeper understanding of the words he spoke. “Carry it with you like an amulet, a constant reminder of your inner journey.”

Y/n nodded, feeling lighter and more determined than before.

That tattoo would be her traveling companion, a beacon of hope and strength as she faced the challenges that awaited her along the way.

But before leaving, the tattoo artist took a moment to look at her carefully. “Would you let me ask you your name?” he asked, the tone of her voice compelling, as if he too had been struck by a sudden curiosity. "This is the second time I've seen you here, and yet I don't know what to call you."

Y/n felt a shiver of emotion run over her skin. It was the first time the tattoo artist had shown personal interest in her, and it made her heart beat faster than she did. With a shy smile, she replied, “My name is Y/n.”

The tattoo artist smiled, and her subtle grimace made his green eyes sparkle. “Y/n,” he repeated, as if he was tasting the sound of her name. "Nice to meet you."

With that brief but meaningful interaction, Y/n suddenly felt moved to ask something about him in turn. "And you?" she asked, the tone of her voice uncertain but determined. "What's your name?"

The tattoo artist smiled again, but this time it was different, more intense, as if that gesture hid a story all her own. "My name is Harry," he said finally, letting his name fill the space between them with an aura of sudden intimacy. “It was nice meeting you too, Y/n.”

After exchanging names, a slight silence fell between them, uncertain and expectant. Y/n felt a little embarrassed for neglecting such a basic formality. "Sorry," she said, blushing slightly. "I haven't paid for the tattoo yet. How much do I owe you?"

Harry watched her carefully, his piercing gaze seemed to peer into Y/n's soul. "Don't worry about it yet," he said finally, the tone of her voice calm but still slightly grumpy. "I'd rather you take some time to appreciate the tattoo before you think about money. When you're ready, you can come back to see me."

A shiver ran down Y/n's spine. There was something indefinable in Harry's attitude, a shadow of mystery that intrigued and frightened her at the same time. "Thank you," she said sincerely, surprised by his generosity. “I will definitely appreciate your work even more knowing there is a kind soul behind it.”

Harry nodded, a hint of a thin smile playing on her lips. "I'm glad I could help," he said simply. "And now, go out there and show the world your new tattoo. I'm sure it will turn a lot of heads."

With a bright smile, Y/n turned towards the door, but she couldn't help the uneasy feeling buzzing through her mind.

There was something sinister and unsettling about the atmosphere of the tattoo artist's studio, a dark sense of presence that made her shiver. She had found more than just a tattoo artist; she had found an enigma wrapped in an aura of mystery.

As Y/n walked out of the study, she felt a chill run down her spine, as if someone was watching her in the dark. She turned instinctively, but she saw nothing behind her except the emptiness of empty corridors. However, her sense of uneasiness persisted, enveloping her like an ominous shadow.

Determined not to panic, she forced herself to push those dark thoughts from her mind as she crossed the crowded street. However, she couldn't help but feel a sense of impatience and unease growing within her, as if something dark and sinister was following her from afar.

Having reached the safety of her house, Y/n tried to push those disturbing thoughts out of her mind, focusing her attention on the newly created tattoo. But no matter how hard she tried to ignore those unpleasant sensations in her, she couldn't get rid of the sense of dark presence that had enveloped her in the tattoo artist's office.

As the evening deepened, Y/n found herself facing the darkness with a feeling of apprehension that was entirely new to her. There were mysteries surrounding her, unanswered questions burning inside her. Who really was that enigmatic tattoo artist? And what was she hiding behind her subtle smile and those penetrating eyes?

With a sigh, she Y/n got ready for the night, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to escape her disturbing thoughts of her easily. There was more to the world than her eyes could see, and that sense of mystery was dragging her deeper and deeper into an abyss of dark and dangerous secrets.

Tag list: @ell0ra-br3kk3r

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles blog #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #ink hearts

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sashi-ya · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 [+18] 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐟! 𝐩𝐫𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [chapter one] ʚ masterlist

ʚ synopsis ɞ reader enjoys cosplaying, slowly but surely she became more and more noticed by the community. However, from exposure also comes dangers. Thankfully, a modern knight will be there to protect a modern princess. Will they protegonize a cute fairy tale? or will be a tale full of dragons to defeat?

ʚ tw ɞ MDNI. not the sweetest story (yet). SEXUAL ABUSE INTENT (she is fine and safe). usage of drugs. medical terminology and treatment. I wanted to have the opportunity to spread some awarness about certain topics; being in danger is -unfortunatelly- something common nowadays when you are a woman or part of any minority, therefore having information to avoid those dangers seems absolutely necessary. So you will find some bits and pieces of information inside the story. If you need any type of support regarding these topics, please contact with someone who can help you. I am here to help you as a nurse and a woman.

ʚ masterlist: part 2, part 3 part 4; part 5; final

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

He wasn’t very fond of conventions. Since Sora the Warrior of the Sea had ended, he didn’t enjoy the crowded space of geeky events. But his friends, did.

“You owe me one” Law grunts, as he clenches his tattooed hands to the steering wheel. They are absolutely stuck in traffic, the line to get to the convention centre parking seems endless.

“Captain!! Don’t get mad at us!” Penguin, one of his best friends, chime. The rest of the “crew” echoes him, giggling and full of good vibes.

“Do not call me captain, Pen… I- we were kids!” Law grunts feeling his cheeks turn red; he cringes every time he is called “captain”. Yet, deep inside his heart, the word reminds him of whenever there were no worries, and they would pass their free days playing “pirates”.

Half an hour later, and having listened to Uta’s song thrice, they finally find a spot to park. Soon, as they do, Bepo jumps off Law’s yellow SUV urging Shachi to help him fix his cosplay.

Bepo, the man of pristine white spiky hair and everlasting blushed cheeks, has taken a liking into dressing up as his favourite characters from books and anime. And so, his friends, are there to support him no matter what.

As they walk towards the entrance of the biggest hotel they ever been to, they hear some commotion approaching them. Like a violent gust of wind, a bunch of photographers and fans pass, pushing them to the side, completely unaware of their presence.

“What the fuck?” Law grunts, annoyed. -even more. “SHE- LOOK…!” Penguin and Shachi gawk at the beautiful angel walking through the entrance of the conference room. “It’s Princess Uta!!”

Law rolls his eyes. He seems to be over with those new idols, and, not to mention those who also cosplay. He considers that they are a bunch of “kids”, immature and annoying. Truth is, that deep inside of him, things weren’t like this that much.

“Come on, I don’t care who she is we should get going. Bepo, you will be missing the cosplayers alley… didn’t you tell us you wanted to meet someone in particular?”

The white-haired boy, with the cute expression of a polar bear, widens his eyes. His friend is right, he wanted to meet some beautiful cosplayers there.

The four friends begin to walk inside, avoiding a bunch of screaming teenagers -and not so young ones-. It’s hard to breathe, the place is packed with people buying stuff, taking pictures, or simply hanging out.

“Tch… all these people…” Law grunts; the more people around, the more he feels overstimulated. He hates loud noises, and the crowd around isn’t helping. However, despite his annoyed countenance, some merch catches his attention here and there. Deep inside, Law is still a nerd.

Many people pass by, scanning his façade that hides beneath a white dotted cap. His icy eyes couldn’t care a less; no woman receives a reciprocated smile, nor even a look. Law is above all things; he is not interested in finding love in a place like this.

In between many heads and fake swords made of cardboard, the banner that announces the start of the “cosplay alley” stands out. Law, who has noticed it before than anybody else, sighs. “Bepo… there” he points out, with his E inked index.

Desperate squeaks from Penguin and Shachi accompanies the excitement Bepo shows. The first two, run towards the place. Yet Bepo, stays right by Law’s side. They walk calmly; or at least that’s just Law, because his snowy haired friend seems to be consumed by the flame of anxiety.

“It’s just some guys dressed in weird clothes, Bepo. You are as great as them” Law spits, as if he didn’t understand the meaning of social anxiety.

“I know, Captain… but- you know…” Bepo fidgets his furred gloved hands; the character that he is cosplaying is some kind of hybrid in between a human and a polar bear.

Law looks at him, and reassures him with a soft smirk that’s barely noticeable for the rest of the world… but for his brother? It’s enough to feel encouraged.

The tables where many girls and boys are sitting, are all packed with people taking pictures with them, buying prints of their cosplay photos and some -like Penguin and Shachi- are simping. Some of the women are wearing pretty revealing costumes; other, show amazing props like their proudest treasures.

And the one that Bepo went to meet, was calmly taking some pictures with a red-haired little girl. She was dressed as a princess, or perhaps it was a warrior… no, she must be an angel…

“Captain, there she is! I wanted to take a picture with her since forever!” Bepo fans over the kind looking woman, smiling so sweetly to not so many people around like the rest of the cosplayers.

Law stands right there, getting pushed by many people as they pass and want to take pictures. He is just blinking slowly; never, in a million of years he has lost contact with reality just by looking at a woman… but it was happening, and soon the approaching rest of the “crew” noticed…

…

“Hi! A photo? Of course!” you chimed, happy to be reached by young kids willing to follow your steps in the cosplay career.

As you fleet goodbye the last kid, you notice some young men staring at you. One of them, particularly handsome, covered in tattoos, has a soft pinkish blush taking over his cheeks and seems to be frozen in time with no signs of even blinking whatsoever.

You think if he is ok. But soon you roll your eyes; surely he is watching at any other cosplayer looking bomb as all of them… he is probably another pervert.

Yet, you couldn’t be more wrong.

The white-haired guy by his side gets pushed to your booth by the other friends. He is wearing a cosplay that coincidentally share anime with yours. You smile, he is just timid.

“Hi… (Name). I’m- I am a fan of your work!” he shily says, when reaches your table. You smile, sweetly. This guy has never done anything wrong in his entire life.

You bow your head in gratefulness, standing up to get ready for yet another photo. “Thank you so much! What’s your name?” you ask, chiming and inspecting the amazing details of his costume. It seems made entirely by hand, and it couldn’t be more pretty.

“I’m Bepo!” he kinda screams, taking his hand to his forehead as if he was some kind of military or marine.

It makes you giggle, but soon the moment gets interrupted when the other two of them pull the frozen handsome guy with them to meet you.

“Hi! He is Penguin. And he is Law. Forgive him, I don’t know exactly what happened to his brain, but he wants to take a picture with you” a red-haired man with a funny looking hat says, pointing at the tattooed one.

That might have been the needed slap to wake him up. “NO!” he awkwardly screams, making you laugh.

He takes a look at you from the side, with sharp eyes that are pretty scary to look at. And it is enough to make you stop giggling. “I’m sorry ~” you whisper, looking down almost immediately.

“Captain!” the one that was introduced as Penguin scolds them, and the smile returns to your face. Why are they calling him captain?

“I’m sorry… I- I didn’t mean to scream at you” he stutters, looking now with that same hateful stare at his friend who takes two steps back.

You bite the insides of your mouth. He is way more handsome when he speaks, a raspier voice, low and sensual, that makes you kinda weak.

“Don’t worry. I get I look a little bit intimidating with this costume on!” you joke, taking a huge replica of a sword from the table and showing it to him. It’s almost as tall as he is, with a furry tsuba and golden details on its tsuka.

The man covered in tattoos look at the sword, and then at your eyes. You spend what feels like eternal seconds getting lost in them. He is something special.

Handing him the prop, your fingers delicately graze, and you discover how soft are his. He either never worked in his life or is some kind of surgeon.

He inspects the sword, amazed at the details. Bepo, while he does so, finally takes the picture he wanted to with you. And soon, the encounter has to inevitably come to an end.

All of them wave goodbye to you, but, you aren’t willing to let the man of frozen eyes go without learning his name.

“Bepo! If you post the picture we took together, please, tag me! I will love to follow your Instagram account” you chime, waving back at them. “You are an amazing cosplayer, we should team up someday!”

The white-haired boy has almost a stroke from your words; and you can only hope for his friend to also have an account…

You sit back for some minutes while more people come to your booth, and while you curl a lock of your wig you can stop thinking about him. “What a handsome guy…” you giggle, noticing your cheeks get hot as hell itself.

Sometimes, throughout the day, you take a look around. You wish you could see him again, but unfortunately you can’t get a glimpse of him.

Your thoughts, however, right an hour before the day of the con is over, get interrupted by a guy asking you something.

“Excuse me, I’m a photographer. You can see my portfolio if you scan my QR code. I would like to offer you a photoshoot for free” he kindly says, looking like the respectful man you’ve ever met. Besides, he has something attached to his cheek, something like a sweet? Did he seriously not noticed?

You aren’t fully trustful of him; you know some men, specially in your ambience aren’t exactly the best so you proceed with care.

“I… I really appreciate the offering. I would love to collab with you, but you see it’s been a long day” you try to decline, respectfully. It’s true that you are a little bit tired, but it was the fact that you had went alone to the event this time. Nobody could keep you company during the first day of the convention.

The man insists; he shows the pictures of his work, and they look awesome. “We wont go any further, I think right there will be enough for the pics to look amazing!” he chimes. You think twice, but since he didn’t request for you to go outside or far away you finally accept.

As you start packing up your staff, the photographer offers himself to help you. You are really happy someone is giving you a hand, and you kind of feel guilty for mistrusting him before.

When you crunch to pick up your bag you notice a little charm on the floor; a polar bear plushie lays almost forgotten under the table’s booth. “Oh… someone might have lost it! I will keep it and see if anyone comes back and asks for it” you think, clasping it to your bag.

And soon when you are set to fleet, off both of you go.

Walking through the now almost empty halls, you get some chills running through your spine. Is not the first time you see the con’s alley deserted, but you usually end your day now and go back to your hotel. You shake the feeling and get distracted with the man by your side offering you a something.

“(Name), bet you haven’t got anything to drink in many hours. Please, drink some water. You gotta stay hydrated” he says, with a smile that’s difficult to read. The bottle is closed, so you thankfully accept it.

Once you have finally reached the now solitaire photo set, specially adapted for the convention, you take a big gulp of water. It feels refreshing; you honestly needed it. You were taught to never accept anything edible nor drinkable from the people that come to see you at events, but since it the bottle was clearly new, you didn’t give much importance to the dangers.

When the camera is set, the man calls you to stand and pose in front of him. At first, things went smoothly. But then, everything changed…

“You should lower the cleavage a little” he suggested.

“I…” you stutter, fixing the collar of your dress. Perhaps it was too high and it wasn’t looking good.

“More, honey! You should show a little bit more skin. That will attract more followers!” he insists, pointing the camera towards your chest.

“No. I don’t feel comfortable!” you straightforwardly deny. You want to stop, but you begin to feel your ears buzzing, and the flashing lights of the camera become almost unbearable to look at. You try to look at your sides for help, discovering there is nobody around and the guy coming closer and closer.

The bastard laughs, grabbing your arms and whispering things you can barely understand. ��Don’t get all worked up, honey… you shouldn’t drink stuff people give you… now, cooperate with me…”

You try to let go of him, scared of what he could do to you, unable to scream or even kick him away. Yet, there is always a glimpse of hope in everything...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ“Get the fuck away from her!”

continues in ➡ chapter 2

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aziraphales-library · 10 months

Note

Hi there!! Hope you’re having a good day-

I was just wondering if you had any recs for some exes-to-lovers aziracrow fics??

Specifically any that are longer and multi-chapt, or maybe any that are human aus?? Any rating is fine.

Thanks a lot!

Check out our #reunion tag for loads more fics like this! Here are more to add to the collection...

Come, They Told Him by madrabbitgirl [E]

Crowley is having the comeback of a lifetime. He's been through rehab, he's playing arenas again and he's at the top of his game. Sure, he's burned some bridges along the way but everyone loves a second chance, right? He's not going to screw it up this time. Except, his new drummer Newt has contracted food poisoning and he can't afford to cancel his big show. Thankfully, Gabriel knows a guy who is very familiar with Crowley's ... body of work. And Crowley gets another second chance he never saw coming.

Stronger Than Hurt by TawnyOwl95 [E]

Everything changed the summer that Crowley fell off the Eastgate's garage roof and broke his arm.

Fourteen years later he stood outside a tattoo shop with a picture of the drawing Aziraphale Eastgate had done on his cast, and hoped for a second chance.

First Thing In The Morning by FeralTuxedo (E)

Aziraphale Fell, erstwhile nerd, now successful fantasy author, is signing books at this year’s Heaven and Earth convention when he spots a red-headed man in the crowd. Someone he hasn’t quite been able to forget since his school days. And as luck would have it, Anthony Crowley, former troublemaker, now responsible adult, seems keen to reconnect.

Love, Syncopation, and Other Key Elements of Jazz by feathereddino (T)

The jazz duo of A.J. and Fell are an unstoppable force well into their mid-twenties, but when Crowley's illness causes the pair to step back from the spotlight, an enterprising music manager scoops up Aziraphale's career. Dazzled, Aziraphale will abandon all of his former life to be Gabriel's perfect star but lose himself and his happiness along the way. It would take a very steady and forgiving heart for someone to love him through it all... (An ode to that ridiculous hat that Michael Sheen wears... seriously, that's where this came from.)

Dark Literature by UnproblematicMe (E)

Anthony J. Crowley, part owner of a large publishing company, is not happy when his partners hire his ex-lover Aziraphale Fell as an editor. Aziraphale does not exactly find the situation ideal either, but he needs the job. The two former lovebirds have to set their problems with each other aside when something dark and old awakes in the building they work in.

~Mods N & D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #adult omens #reunion #getting back together #human au #mod d #mod n

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swordsandholly · 5 days

Text

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anothology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist | cw: oral (reader receiving)

Part Ten: Permission

A/N: We're SO back!

You’ve never been so happy to work an extra day.

Johnny gets the shop to himself on Sundays for walk-ins. Usually, he mans the shop by himself but you need to record the cash income from the convention in the ledger. Sure, you could do that during your usual hours the upcoming Wednesday and catch up on sleep, but you have too much nervous energy coursing through you. If you were home you would just be stewing on your couch the hole day and probably spiral into a panic attack. At least here, with a task and Johnny yapping in your ear, you don’t have to think about the fact that you made out with your boss too much.

Fuck. You really did that. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You woke up in a cold sweat, fingers brushing over your lips as you tried to decipher if it was real or dreamed. If you really kissed John, if he really held a hand on your lower back as he walked you home, if he really gave you a second, light peck before saying goodnight. The itch of his beard lingers, as well as the warmth where his hands cupped your face. It felt so good. So fucking good.

Then the context settles in. The fact that you kissed your boss makes you want to throw up - not for any dislike of it, just the fact that your job is now in limbo. Hanging in the balance until you can talk to him on Wednesday. At least you can take the next couple days to collect your thoughts - come up with a good apology that will hopefully let you keep your job and some semblance of dignity. Somehow make sense of the fact that you’ve kissed John and Kyle and surely when they find out they’ll think you’re a floosy. Loose and easy and pathetic and gross. You couldn’t quite meet your own eye in the mirror as you tried to get ready for the day.

The current, formerly “Future You” is not very happy with the now Past You. Frankly, you’d like to deck her for leaving you in this state of a permanent heart attack.

“Och, I’m about tae melt.” Johnny mutters, appearing from his room and stretching. His shirt rides up, exposing a thick happy trail that does not help you in your current spiral.

You just hum, gluing your eyes to the physical spreadsheet in front of you as you go through the sales from the convention. Numbers will clear your head. Yeah, nothing less sexy or more distracting than trying to do math with pen, paper and a TI-84 calculator.

“We should go get some ice cream.” Johnny leans over behind you, causing you to jump. Large hands settle on your shoulders as he rests his chin on the top of your head. At least Johnny is always touchy, you don’t have to read into it. You don’t think you could handle reading into it right now.

“Uh, yeah, okay.” You murmur, letting him lead you out of the office and flipping the out for lunch sign. You’ve been so lost in your head the entire day that you can’t fully pull yourself out of it - the same spiral of fears and self-degradation swirling around in your mind. A Cat 5 tornado of your own making. So stupid.

Johnny intertwines your fingers as you make your way down the street. Your hands swing lightly as you walk. Even with the heat, it doesn’t feel like too much. You’re not sure what it is - of you’re just comfortable or if Johnny just has something about him that makes touch feel perfectly natural - but it’s never overwhelming. Even when he’s hanging off you like a leech, it’s just Johnny. He doesn’t make you talk, doesn’t pry into why you’re so spaced out. He probably just thinks you’re tired. You are tired. So tired.

You don’t realize Johnny is saying something until he gently elbows your side. “Huh?”

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks with a concerned furrow in his brow.

“Oh, uh, I can get my own-“

”My treat.” He shakes his head, batting away the hand pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You have no choice but to give in to him - there isn’t any point in arguing with Johnny.

“Thanks for suggesting this.” You murmur, as you sit at one of the wooden, outdoor tables in front of the shop a couple blocks down from the tattoo parlor. The tables are covered in the shade of trees and an awning, luckily, keeping the sun from beating down on you. It doesn’t stop your ice cream from melting nearly faster than you can eat it, but you don’t have the heart to complain after Johnny took you out and bought it for you.

“Aye. Seemed like ye needed some cheerin’ up. Never seen ye so sullen.” Johnny comments, casually stuffing a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. His eyes are sympathetic, though.

“Oh.” You thought you’d been doing alright at hiding it - came into the shop with a jokes and everything this morning. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much Johnny actually notices between all his volume and energy.

“Gonnae tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Might help.”

You shake your head. “I- I’m- I can’t.”

“Okay.” He smiles gently, giving you a once over. His eyes are so sharp. The others do it too - take your body language in piece by piece. It doesn’t burn like when Johnny does it, though. His gaze is consuming, even when soft.

He seems to let you off the hook, though. It’s impossible to know how much he does or doesn’t know - how much any of them know. It puts you on edge, the inability to ask. After all, to ask is to admit. If you admit to it, you might lose it all. Fuck why did you kiss John? Kyle you can explain away - just a fun little bet. You’re close in age, he’s pretty, you’re together a lot, you get along. Nothing to it - even if it feels like there was. Even if it feels like every time you’re near him you’re going to melt and the air gets too thick and all you want is to pull him to the back room one more time.

John… John you can’t justify like that. He’s your boss. He’s over a decade older than you. Easily. He’s been so good to you but that’s not an excuse - it’s not right. You’re jeopardizing his place in his community. You’re jeopardizing your job. The best job you’ve ever had. The best friends you’ve ever had.

You can feel Johnny glancing at you as you walk, your eyes square on the ground and fists clenched anxiously. The heat outside only makes your head spin faster. Your cheeks feel feverishly hot. The ice cream almost curdles in your gut. Everything is too loud, too hot, too heavy.

You glance up at the clock. The day’s almost over - there probably won’t be more than one or two people that file in at most. You’ve finished with your work, currently just cross hatching on a sticky note in an attempt to calm your frayed nerves. It hasn’t worked. You need a distraction. A real, proper distraction.

“Johnny.” You snap, standing in the door way to his workroom.

“Hm?” He looks up, thick brows raised.

“I want a piercing.”

He cocks his head, taking you in from head to toe. “Aye?”

“If you have time.”

“I’ve always got time fer ye.” He grins.

You almost roll your eyes, but you’re too raw at the edges to really care about his usual flirting. There’s too much weighing on your mind - too much real anxiety knotting itself around your synapses and crushing them in it’s hold. The pain will help. It’ll ground you - sharpen your senses. You can focus on taking care of it for the next couple days between sleeping the days away until Wednesday. Until you can get this shit over with.

The only answer is to quit, right?

That’s your only option.

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks.

You shrug. “What’d you think?”

He taps his chin, eyes slowly making their way over your body. You wonder if he can see how tense you are - body so locked up your joints ache and your jaw throbs. It’s a wonder your teeth are still there with how much you’ve been grinding them.

“How about a navel?”

“Okay.” You agree too quickly, flopping back on the pairing table. You focus in on a water mark on the ceiling above while Johnny digs through his tool cabinet, laying everything neatly on a small rolling tray.

Johnny stops above you. You don’t even turn your head to look, fists clenching and unclenching.

You’ll have to quit.

That’s your only choice. No reference calls, no contact. Will Simon hate you? Will they all? Will they talk about why you up and left? Will they show up at your apartment to demand an answer? No. You don’t mean that much - only a blip on the timeline of their shop. The corners of your eyes burn.

Johnny’s fingers skate over your soft middle, barely touching as he passes over the button of your jeans. He pauses, glancing down at you. “Bonnie?”

“Yeah?” You reply a little too harshly.

Johnny leans over you, hands on either side of your head, blue eyes burning through your skull. He blocks out the light above. “Yer doin’ this because ye want to, yeah? Not to punish yerself?”

You shrink into the table, hackles raising. It really is so easy to forget that Johnny is an observant bastard. Loud, brash, but he still sees everything. Like how he learned your coffee order by heart without you ever even saying it to him or having it written on the cup. He absorbs things, files it away, keeps it close to his chest and hides it behind his blunt, brash daily manners. You’ll miss him.

“I- yeah, I’m fine.” You wince internally at the shake in your voice.

“Y’know, we all love ye.” Johnny murmurs.

You huff, eyes darting anywhere to get away from his. Laying on the table suddenly feels slightly trapping. You can’t get your gaze fully away from where he stands over you - so close as his thick arms cage you in. “Guess so.”

“An’ there’s nothin’ tae feel guilty or bad about.”

Your eyes snap to his face, wide and worried. Does he know? Was he told? Do you ask? If you ask, you’ll be admitting to it. If you ask, then he will know for sure. If you ask, you might ruin it all. “I don’t-“

“Ye do.” He cuts you off. “An’ ye have permission, even if ye dinnae need it. It’s okay. Ye havennae done anythin’ wrong.”

You stare, mouth opening and closing lamely. Johnny. Straight forward, loud mouth, unsubtle Johnny. Fuck, you love him for it. Doesn’t dance around what he means. Doesn’t avoid what needs to be said - from his end, at least.

“Did- did you talk to-?” You stutter, struggling between needing to know and fear to admit the truth so blatantly. Even if he obviously knows something.

“Not really. Not my business.” Johnny shrugs casually.

Not his business. So they persue separately, you think. That makes sense. Probably. It’s probably wrong to make assumptions about the dynamic, about the implication that they have some sort of free for all. Then again, you don’t really know anything about their interpersonal workings much. They live together, they’re touchy. The dynamic is a mystery to you - only adding to the piles of confusion.

“Yer thinkin’ tae hard about it.” He pokes the furrow between your brows.

Oh. Is that it? You’re overthinking? No, adults talk about these things. You don’t understand the interpersonal workings here at all. Are they together? Do they just do this? Pull girls in and push them around until they get tired? That feels too cruel for them. They’ve taken such good care of you…

“I still… want to talk.” You murmur, cheeks warm.

His face softens, a light smile tugging at his lips. “An’ ye will. Kyle’s been damn near loosin’ it with ye avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him!” You snap far too defensively.

“Sure ye aren’t.” Johnny shrugs, as if to tell you he knows that’s bull. Not his business, though, he said. “Just… donnae be so scared of us, aye? We’ve got yer back.”

Your shoulders drop, sore from being tensed for the entire day. “Okay.”

“Still want tae get peirced?”

You nod, chest far less tight. As though you finally let go of a breath you had been holding the entire day. “Sure, why not.”

Your shoulders slump as Johnny makes his way through the usual song and dance - showing you the freshly cleaned tools and marking the spot for the needle. Somehow the world seems… quieter. As if all the chatter in your mind had been just as deafening to your physical ears. It’s tiring. That same sting behind your eyes that you get after a long night out. Your defenses are down, and your body is finally at rest.

“Ow!” You gasp, lifting your head to meet Johnny’s impish grin with a glare. “A little warning next time!”

“Tha’s what happens when ye donnae listen.” He teases, slipping the jewelry through. “She’s cute.”

You snort. “She better be. Y’know I should tell John on you for improper conduct.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aye, ye an’ Price know plenty about improper conduct.”

There’s no malice in the comment, or in the grin he settles on you. For once, you don’t freeze up. Don’t send yourself into a panic spiral over what he knows or thinks or feels. Johnny made himself clear. Instead you land a light smack against his arm and huff in embarrassment.

“Stand f’me.” Johnny murmurs after cleaning the piercing, a heat in his eyes that you can’t quite gauge the source of.

You do as you’re told, slipping off the table. You have to hook a finger into the waistband of your jeans to keep them up, cheeks hot as you realize how much is actually exposed with the fully undone fly. You glance up at a far too pleased Johnny. Didn’t even say a word, the mischievous bastard.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Your brows shoot damn near into the sky. Johnny mumbles something about making sure the piercing is sitting right. You roll with it, knowing he’s probably just saying whatever to get you to keep your pants undone a little longer. Your breath quickens as a large, warm hand flattens itself over your soft belly, unabashedly groping. Not that you mind, really, even if it does make your face so hot it might melt.

Your heart almost breaks out of your rib cage when he places a small kiss next to the piercing. His hand lowers, resting beside yours on the waistband of your jeans.

“May I?” Johnny murmurs, big blue eyes blinking up at you.

You have permission.

You don’t need permission.

You have it, though.

“Yeah.” You gasp, shivering at the cold air on your skin as Johnny pulls your pants halfway down your thighs.

“Pretty, pretty lass.” He murmurs, nipping at the softness of your belly and down to your thigh. “Look at ye.”

“Flatterer.” You scoff, attempting to let the tension melt off your shoulders with the usual snide remarks you slide each others way.

“M’just honest…” Johnny mumbles absently, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear. “Ye always walkin’ around in somethin’ this skintie?”

For a moment, your brows knit in confusion. That is until he pulls back and snaps the string of your thong against your hip. Your face somehow gets even hotter and you grumble out a poor excuse of, “S’laundry day…”

Your hips twitch as he traces between your lips through the cloth. So uncharacteristically slow and methodical for Johnny as he feels you, like he’s trying to memorize it. A shamefully harsh jolt runs up your spine as he presses just slightly into your clit.

“Sensitive little thing.” Johnny grins up at you. You swear the devil has a less delinquent grin.

“It’s been a while.” You shrug, aiming once again for casual and missing by a mile.

His grin only grows, eyes bright and hungry. “Let’s get these off.”

You shimmy your hips a bit to help him get both your underwear and jeans completely down. A wave of shyness overtakes you as it settles in that you’re utterly exposed to Johnny, your friend and coworker, in the middle of your workplace just as the sun has begun to edge down close to the horizon. It’s almost too much, and you almost yank your pants back on with a stammered, fake excuse, but Johnny soothes his hands up your thighs, gaze locked onto your pussy like it’s the only thing that exists and yeah… you want that.

You have permission.

“There she is.” He cups you gently, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit just hard enough to make you gasp.

Before you can say or do anything his hand retracts and Johnny settles you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen from him. It looks wrong, almost, on that face that’s supposed to have a permanent ear to ear grin.

“If ye want tae stop, I need ye tae tell me now.”

“No.” The word leaves you before you can even register the thought - desperate and breathy.

It earns a low chuckle. The only warning you get before Johnny licks a long stripe up between your lips, letting his tongue rest on your clit for just a moment before repeating the motion as though he’s not just eating you out but truly trying to truly get a taste for you. To memorize you as he drinks you in.

“Should let me give you a Christina…” He murmurs, pulling back to look at you.

“Ah, wha-“

“Look so pretty on this fat little cunt.” Johnny gives you a light smack for good measure, grinning at the visible jolt that travels up your spine before diving back in. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, leaving you balancing on your tip toes with your hands flat on the table behind you. It’s precarious and with absolutely no room to escape the attention he’s lavishing on you. It’s almost desperate, the way he moves. The way he devours. A man utterly starved.

“Fuck-“ you gasp as his tongue piercing catches your clit. Rough hands knead at the softness of your thighs and hips, urging you to press into him, to take as much as he’s giving.

“Tha’s it, ride m’face…” Your fingers lock into his mohawk and Johnny’s slurred words become the most pornographic moan you think you’ve ever heard. He practically goes limp - body relaxed and pliant while you grind down onto his tongue.

You tilt your head forward, risking looking down only to meet those big blue eyes staring up at you with all the intensity of the sun. A shaky moan passes your lips and his eyes flutter.

“J-Johnny-” The whine of his name only spurs him on - has him pressing his tongue so deep inside you and drinking you in full.

If he has any complaints about the way your heel digs between his shoulder blades as you unconsciously pull him closer, he doesn’t make it known. His nails rake over your ass, biting and stinging in contrast to everything else. It’s so much. Heat continues to pool at the base of your spine - babbling words, please and moans spill messily from your lips.

Your climax catches you off guard as Johnny sucks harshly at your clit; lighting your body aflame with only his mouth. Every muscle inside you tenses and the sounds you let out can only be described as strangled whines.

You have to yank a little at Johnny’s hair to get him to stop when the overstimulation reaches just the wrong side of too much; he’s well and truly lost in the moment. It fuels your ego to dangerous heights - the idea that this gorgeous man became that intoxicated just from your pussy.

There isn’t even time to say anything before Johnny is standing and connecting his lips with yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, his lips - somehow this is the first time you’ve found that pleasant. With heavy breaths you watch him wipe around his mouth his his palm, only to exaggeratedly lick and clean what’s left off his hand. Fucking sinful.

“Nasty man.” You sigh, too blissed out to be truly critical. Johnny winks and you roll your eyes.

“S’about quittin’ time.” He says, tilting his head to look up at you through thick lashes. “Should get ye home.”

You frown, still trying to come back to earth as you glance down. “Don’t- do you want-?”

He looks you over, your mouth goes dry as his hand drops from your hip to adjust himself. The implications of the outline through his thick denim has your head reeling and your breath quickening. Johnny chuckles at you, surely seeing it written plain across your face. You might as well start drooling and panting like a dog.

He buries his nose into the crook of your neck to nip at your skin. “Another time. Want tae savor ye.”

You shiver, unable to stop the smile that quirks up the corners of your lips. You have permission. You don’t need it, but you have it.

A/N: Sorry if this is a little rough, I'm getting back into the swing of things. It's finally time for things to get fun, tho ;)

Also please give some love to this AMAZING fanart from @eurydicescurse