tattoo artist rommulas x bsf!reader
❕cw ❕unprotected sex, backshots, oral (f receiving) aftercare
a/n - it’s 4 fucking am. i don’t know when to fucking stop
the shop always smelled like green soap, black ink, and cigarettes.
not because anyone actually smoked inside anymore.
roman just carried the smell around with him.
you’d been sitting in the cracked leather chair by the front counter for almost an hour, legs crossed. one of the springs in the chair squeaked whenever you shifted as you lazily flipped through one of roman’s sketchbooks he always left lying around.
animals, rendered with delicate precision.
landscapes, bleeding with memories of trips you’d taken together.
your profile drawn mid-laugh during that summer barbecue when you’d spilled soda down your shirt. your eyes captured perfectly beneath a dim streetlight at two in the morning outside a gas station. even just your hand wrapped around a coffee cup on some random tuesday morning he’d apparently memorized without ever saying a word.
then came cars, always muscle cars.
wildflowers pressed carefully between paper-thin sheets.
this time sleeping, curled up on his couch last winter beneath three blankets because he kept turning the thermostat down “for art reasons.”
you just snorted, trying not to think too hard about how he knew where every freckle sat across your face.
or how he somehow remembered the exact way your nose crinkled whenever you laughed.
still flipping through the sketchbook, you found yourself reading all the little notes he’d scribbled in the margins.
underneath it, in different handwriting:
he always called you that.
even when he was mad because you’d scared him.
even when he’d driven all the way to your apartment just to hug you after having a bad day.
roman’s voice drifted from the back room.
you snapped back into reality.
“hey, angel… whatcha doing?”
he stepped through the curtain, wiping black ink from his gloves.
you looked over at him, taking in his features.
his hair was pulled into a messy bun.
his shirt hung half unbuttoned.
his jeans rested low on his hips.
he was your best friend, for christ’s sake.
why did you care what he looked like?
why did it make you so flustered that he’d drawn you so many times?
“looking through your sketches.”
you answered while still staring at him with wide, curious eyes.
“how long you been here?”
his gaze swept over you once.
“uhhh…” you glanced down at your phone. “about an hour or so…?”
“an hour? angel, why didn’t you come say hi?” he smiled that stupid crooked smile he’d had since he was sixteen.
you shrugged, suddenly feeling like a scolded puppy.
“i was just waiting till you could do my tattoo” you smiled
roman's smile softened, that quiet warmth he only ever showed you lighting up his whole face. he took a step closer, still wiping ink off his fingers onto the hem of his shirt, like he always did.
"your tattoo," he repeated, voice low and teasing. "right. you're getting one today."
he leaned against the counter beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touched his biceps.
you swallowed hard, fuck.
the shop clock ticked softly behind him, a metronome counting down to something neither of you were naming yet.
his eyes flicked back to the sketchbook in your lap, the page open with you asleep on his couch, and for half a second? his expression did this thing. Like guilt wrapped in tenderness wrapped in something too fragile to name.
"alright angel," roman said suddenly, pushing upright again with sudden energy; the kind artists get when they’re about to create something important. "c'mon back."
you followed roman into the back part of the store into his personal little studio that had a nice chair and didn’t smell like cigarettes
“take your shirt off.” he says setting up the tattoo station
the studio was quiet, bathed in soft amber light from the desk lamp roman always used, warm and focused, like a spotlight on something sacred.
you peeled off your oversized band tee without hesitation. it slid down your arms easily, revealing smooth skin dotted with old freckles and the faint outline of a shoulder strap tan line.
roman didn’t look right away, not immediately. he busied himself sterilizing tools: wiping surfaces with alcohol swabs, adjusting his machine’s settings. his back was to you as he worked, his messy bun slightly loosened now, and for a second it felt almost normal.
just... stopped breathing for half a beat too long when his eyes landed on you standing there in just your bra and low-rise jeans, the dim light catching every curve like it had been painted just to highlight you today specifically somehow, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you naked before,
i mean you two were bathed together when you were little
and he’s seen you in a bikini plenty of times.
so why was this different
his jaw flexed once before he cleared his throat quietly
“uh your.. uh.. your bra too.”
you nodded and unhooked the clasp on your back, sliding the lacy fabric down your shoulders.
roman watched every move you made,
how your hands moved, how you slid the fabric down trusting him go see you bare and naked.
he swallowed when your bra fell into your hands
he stared at your boobs for about 15 seconds before he realized he zoned out
the silence stretched, thick and electric, like the air before a storm. roman’s breath hitched again. just slightly. a tiny crack in his usual cool demeanor.
he wasn’t looking away fast enough, not to be polite, not to play it casual, but he wasn’t staring either. it was somewhere in between: frozen awareness, the kind where your brain short-circuits because holy shit she’s real, and this is happening right now.
you stood there completely bare from the waist up, skin pale with that one freckle just above your collarbone you always forgot about and roman?
roman suddenly remembered how much he liked drawing you last winter when you were asleep on his couch wrapped in blankets… but now seeing it all live?
it punched him right through every defense he ever built around affection that didn't come with words or explanations.
his fingers twitched at his sides as if unsure what they were supposed to do first: reach for gloves? adjust lighting? or maybe just... touch? but then reality snapped back into place, the professional artist mode kicking in like armor
you laid down in the chair pressing your front against the cold thin fabric that covered the leather chair, the cold hit your skin instantly, sharp and startling after the warmth of being clothed. you exhaled through your nose, shifting slightly as the thin fabric clung to your bare stomach.
he grabbed a folded black towel from the counter and gently draped it over you, not all the way covering you, just enough so that only his hands would touch exposed skin during prep. a small boundary. a quiet gesture of care.
the second you lifted your arms to tie your hair up, the towel slipped slightly, just enough for a sliver of bare skin to show along your side.
roman froze mid-reach, stencil paper crumpled in his gloved hand,
his cock hardened his jeans.
his breath caught again, harder this time, and suddenly all that careful professionalism? gone. shattered like glass underfoot.
in one swift motion, he pulled his gloves off and dropped the paper onto the table and closed the distance between you two before either of you could think about it twice.
he crouched beside the chair first, not kissing yet, but cupping your face with one warm hand as if asking permission without words
“stand up and turn around.” he said with a low stern voice
your pulse jumped at the command, low, steady, different, not angry or bossy like how he’d talk to clients who complained about pricing. this was roman, but a version of him you'd never really seen before.
you hesitated for only a heartbeat before sliding off the chair. the towel dropped completely as you turned around.
the studio air felt charged now, thick with something unspoken that had been building quietly between sketchbook pages and shared late-night drives home from diners
roman stood slowly behind you, close enough that his body heat reached your bare back
then his hands were on your hips, firm and careful, he guided you forward gently until both palms rested flat against the cool leather table. roman’s hands slid up your sides, slow, deliberate,
fingers tracing the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist.
he didn’t speak again. didn’t need to.
every touch was quiet but loud in meaning, the way his thumbs brushed over old scars you never talked about, how one hand came around to rest just beneath your breast without pressure… like he was memorizing you by feel this time instead of through sketches, his hips grinding into your ass
then his lips found the back of your neck, a soft kiss first. just a whisper against skin.
another at the base where hair met shoulder
and then another lower, down along that sensitive spot between spine and muscle, and suddenly it wasn't just affection anymore
you shudder under his touch,
“r-roman? w-what are you doing?”
your voice came out breathless,
smaller than usual, like you’d forgotten how to speak in full sentences.
roman didn’t answer right away.
instead, he pressed another kiss, this time slower, more intentional, right where your neck met your shoulder. a spot that always made you shiver when anyone brushed it… and he knew. he knew things about you without ever being told
then his hands tightened slightly on your waist before sliding around front
one arm wrapped low across your stomach not pulling yet,but holding. Possessive? no… not quite. protective maybe? like he was anchoring himself to something real
and then his lips found the shell of your ear
his voice was a whisper, rough, warm, trembling just slightly at the edges like he wasn’t as steady as he wanted to seem.
the quiet click of the button popping open echoed in the small studio.
roman’s fingers moved carefully, slow, like he was giving you every chance to say stop. to pull away. to laugh it off and go back to being just friends who tattoo each other and share fries after midnight
you stayed still, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it, and when his hands hooked into the waistband of your jeans, easing them down over your hips with deliberate gentleness…
a shiver ran through your whole body
from this, from Roman touching you like this for real now instead of just drawing how soft your skin looked in lamplight
the sound of his belt clinking against the metal table leg broke the silence, soft, metallic.
roman didn’t rush. he kicked off his boots first, then shed everything else in one smooth motion, jeans pooling at his ankles, boxers following with quiet vulnerability
he pulled your panties down the a rough yank, he was trying to go slow but the way your ass hit the head of his cock made him groan
the groan ripped out of him, raw, involuntary, like he hadn’t meant to make a sound at all.
it was heat, it was pressure. the sudden contact sending electric shocks straight through his nerves because you were bare now too, and your skin against his…
roman’s hands flew back to your hips instantly, gripping hard, holding like you might vanish if he didn’t anchor himself
“come on angel, bend over, i wanna fuck you from the back”
his voice was low, urgent, and needy, it sent a jolt straight through you.
it wasn’t the roman who sketched quietly or argued about art theory. this his was a different version: rough at the edges, breathing unevenly like he’d been holding his breath for years
you obeyed without hesitation, turning fully toward the table now and bending forward slowly until your tits pressed into cool leather
the position exposed everything, the curve of your back, how perfectly round your ass looked under dim light, and before you could even steady yourself…
roman pushed into her with a hard thrust, it was deep, unrelenting and sudden, like he’d been waiting forever and couldn’t stand another second of not being inside you.
a gasp tore from your lips, not pain, but surprise, the stretch overwhelming in its intensity because roman wasn't small, the way your pussy clenched around him, tight, hot, perfect, made roman’s breath hitch in his throat.
a guttural sound escaped him this time, not quite a groan, not quite a curse, just pure animal reaction as his hips jerked forward on instinct
he didn’t pull out. didn’t slow down.
instead? he pushed deeper with another hard thrust, the chair creaking slightly beneath you both, and one of his hands slid up your spine before fisting gently into the hair at the nape of your neck
he pulled hard to make you moan
he said “i wanna hear you angel, i wanna hear everything i make you feel while im pounding into this tiny pussy”
the sharp tug on your hair arched your back perfectly, exposing every curve, tilting your head just right so his lips could find the sensitive spot behind your ear
no more hesitation. no softness now, just raw need unleashed after years of pretending this wasn’t simmering between sketchbook pages and late-night drives home
each thrust was deep, deliberate, his hips snapping forward with controlled force, and when you moaned? high-pitched and breathy like it slipped out without permission?
roman’s grip tightened in satisfaction
“again,” he growled against the shell of your ear. “louder.”
your moans came easier after that, spilling out in little gasps and broken whimpers with every hard thrust, because roman wasn’t playing nice.
when the next moan slipped free, a soft, desperate "oh god" he rewarded it by biting gently at your shoulder before driving into you even harder
roman’s other hand slid down from your hip to where your bodies joined, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves through slick heat
“ro-roman, fuck, roman please”
the way you said his name broken, pleading, sent a shockwave straight through him.
roman’s thumb pressed firmer against your clit, rubbing slow circles at first, testing how sensitive you were, and when your whole body jerked and another gasp tore out of you?
so his thumb got bolder, faster circles now, firm and relentless,as his thrusts picked up pace
“you gonne come angel? you want me to let you come?” his voice came out rough and hard
“please ro-roman, pl-please..”
the please shattered whatever last thread of control Roman had left.
his voice went dominant in a way you’d never heard before, all gravel and heat, and he didn’t make you beg twice
“come then,” he ordered, low and commanding right against your ear. “right now.”
and just like that, his thumb pressed down harder on your clit while his hips snapped forward with punishing force
your orgasm crashed over you instantly
a white-hot wave tearing through every nerve, and the sound? a choked cry mixed with his name as your body clenched around him wildly
the second your orgasm hit, he moved strong arms spinning you around before lifting you onto the chair like it weighed nothing
then he was on his knees in front of you, fast, hungry, and without hesitation, his mouth found your center
his tongue dragged through slick heat with a slow precision that made your back arch off the seat. no teasing at first. just pure devotion, licking deep and thorough like this was something sacred
his hand wrapped around his own cock, the thick length still glistening from being inside you, and started pumping slowly… matching each stroke to another long swipe of his tongue
roman’s mouth was relentless, hot, wet, perfect, and the contrast between his soft tongue and your oversensitive nerves made every lick send jolts up your spine
you gripped his hair tight, not pushing, just holding, as if you needed an anchor in a world that had suddenly tilted
and god… he looked good like this. on his knees for you, eyes half-lidded with desire but focused only on pleasuring you further even though he was hard as steel and stroking himself slowly beside it all
his thumb brushed over the head of his cock absently, teasing more than anything, and when a low groan rumbled from him through where he still had lips sealed to your skin?
the vibration from his groan traveled straight through you, electric, and your thighs tensed around his head instinctively
roman didn’t pull back though.
no, he doubled down, sucking gently now where he’d just licked, before swirling his tongue in slow circles over that hypersensitive bundle of nerves
his free hand slid up your thigh, the one draped over his shoulder, and squeezed lightly. a grounding touch.
his other hand worked himself faster now, not desperate, but with increasing urgency like the taste and feel of you was driving him wild too
the room filled with quiet sounds, your shaky breathing, the slick noise of his mouth on you, the soft slap of his hand jerking himself off
completely gone. All artist focus turned into pure, need, for your taste, for your reactions, for how tight and warm you’d been around him moments ago
he sucked hard on your clit and the second he sucked your entire body locked up
“fuck! roman ro, please im gonna come”
it was too much. too good. the orgasm you’d just had barely minutes ago still humming through your nerves, and now this? roman’s mouth on you like that?
you screamed his name, half-sob, half-moan, and your hips jerked forward off the chair
he held your clit between his lips and kept sucking, relentless as a storm, while two fingers suddenly slipped inside you without warning
the moment his fingers curled inside you, just right, hitting that spot, your vision whited out
a second orgasm ripped through you like lightning, fiercer than the first because it was unexpected and roman caused it
your back arched violently off the chair as your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stopnot even when a broken sob tore from your throat
he kept sucking. kept curling those fingers.
pushing you higher. deeper. overwhelming every sense until all you could do was gasp and tremble under him
roman only stopped when he felt your body go completely limp,the kind of exhaustion that comes after being wrecked by pleasure
he slowly pulled his fingers out, then lifted his head to look at you
your chest rose and fell rapidly. your eyes were glassy. hair a mess from gripping it. lips parted. roman pressed one soft kiss to your inner thigh, gentle this time. before standing up fully again
his cock was still hard as ever though… throbbing with need after all that teasing himself while focusing on you
roman’s jaw clenched as he looked down at you, completely undone, breathless, his.
he was still painfully hard. the blood rushing south hadn’t cooled one bit, if anything, watching you come apart like that made him needier
but instead of climbing back on top right away…
he grabbed a clean rag from the counter and dampened it with water before kneeling again not to touch himself or demand anything but to gently wipe your thighs.
tender in a way only roman could be after being so rough
then he kissed your forehead softly
he tucked his dick back into his boxers, completely ignoring his needs to take care of you
you nodded with heavy eyes
he kissed your forehead, and pulled your panties back up your legs
“you just lay there and i’ll get started on your tattoo okay? i’ll go slow”
he gave you a slow kiss on the lips
you laid back down on your stomach, closing your eyes for a few minutes before roman starts on your tattoo.
he whispers into your ear constantly
it felt right letting your bestfriend, take care of you.
___________________ ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ ___________________
@ y/nonprobation posted!!
𝄞 -wet dreams by artemas- 𝄞
y/nonprobation: roman gave me a tattoo ᥫ᭡
liked by rommulas, mazzyjoya, vanillamace, quenblackwell, 2hollis, and 289k others.
rommulas: hi angel (❤️ by creator)
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: hi lol
user235: holy gorgeous (❤️ by creator)
rommulasupdates: roman looks so joyful 😭
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: he looks like the gay little monkey at the apple store 🩵🩵
vanillamace: oh wesley i’m drippin 🤤 (❤️ by creator)
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: 😭😭😭😭😭 i love u
mazzyjoya: UGGGHHHHH LOOK AT MY GORGEOUS ANGEL (❤️ by creator)
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: MY BABYYYY MAZZY
2hollis: bro what is that picture of roman 😭😭😭😭😭
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation : 🤫🤫🧏♀️🧏♀️
╰┈➤ rommulas: she’s trying to make me look like a chud
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: (to rommulas) bru i don’t gotta try
user368: this bitch pick me as hell
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: and i’m proud
user5875: roman is too good for u
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: lol who gon tell her… 😂
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