#tattoo studio

You weren’t even nervous when you walked into 'Black In' — the private tattoo studio hidden in a converted loft space downtown. You had done your research. You’d seen his work on Instagram: precise, flowing, artistic. What you weren’t prepared for was him.

Jeon Jungkook stood behind the counter, arms crossed, tattoos peeking from beneath a sleeveless black tank, a silver ring glinting from his lip, and his dark eyes swept over you like he already had plans.

“So,” he said, voice smooth and low, “you’re here for the back piece?”

You nodded, heart stammering as you handed over your design idea — a cool, sharp-looking design that goes across the back from one side to the other. His fingers brushed yours when he took the sketch. You felt that spark in your spine before the ink even touched skin.

He had you take off your shirt and bra in the private back room, handing you a towel to wrap around your front. The leather tattoo bed was cool against your skin, and the soft buzz of the machine started low, almost like anticipation humming in the air.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured near your ear, gloves snapping on. “I’ll take care of you.”

Your breath caught at the way he said it.

The first sting of the needle was sharp, but manageable. Jungkook’s hand was steady, his free palm sometimes resting at your hip or spine to keep you grounded. You weren’t sure what turned you on more — the pain-pleasure of the ink, or the soft praise he murmured every time you twitched.

“You’re doing so well,” he said once, breath hot against your bare shoulder. “So fucking beautiful like this.”

You whimpered, pressing your cheek into the padded table.

Halfway through, he paused. “Need a break?”

You nodded. He helped you sit up, towel slipping slightly. His gaze dropped, darkening — then met your eyes like he’d been waiting for a green light.

“You keep squirming like that, baby, and I’m gonna think you want more than a tattoo.”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering as his words settled over you like smoke. The towel clung to your front, barely covering anything. You felt his gaze drag across your skin — hungry, unhurried.

“And if I do?” you whispered.

Silence crackled between you. His gloves were off in seconds.

Jungkook stepped closer, one tattooed hand trailing up your spine, stopping just below the fresh ink. His touch didn’t press — just hovered, close enough to raise goosebumps. His other hand gently tilted your chin until your eyes met his.

“Then I need you to tell me right now,” he said, low and firm. “Do you want me to touch you, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathed, already arching toward him. “Please.”

That was all it took.

He kissed you — slow, claiming, tongue sliding into your mouth like he had all the time in the world. You whimpered against his lips as the towel slipped from your chest. His hands roamed, calloused fingers cupping your breasts, teasing the nipples until they peaked and a needy moan spilled from your throat.

“You sound so fucking sweet,” he groaned, biting down gently on your lower lip before kissing down your neck.

He guided you back onto the leather table, flat on your stomach. His lips trailed from the nape of your neck down your spine, careful to avoid the fresh lines of your tattoo. When he reached your lower back, he paused, large hands spreading your thighs open.

"Keep still for me," he murmured. "You said you trusted me to take care of you."

You nodded, trembling, already soaked.

Jungkook sank to his knees behind the table and pulled your hips to the edge. You gasped when his tongue touched you — soft, teasing strokes that turned quickly into firm, wet licks against your clit. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you open as he feasted on you like he’d been starving for days.

You moaned his name, hands gripping the table, your hips rocking against his face. He sucked your clit just right — a filthy, perfect rhythm — then pulled back only to slap it gently, the sound echoing in the quiet studio.

“You taste so good,” he muttered against your folds. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this since you booked the appointment.”

You barely had time to answer before two of his fingers slid inside you, curling upward. You cried out, back arching, careful not to shift too much near the tattoo. Jungkook noticed, kissing your neck.

“I’ll be gentle with the ink, baby,” he said. “But the rest of you? Mine.”

He stood, undoing his jeans one-handed as he looked down at you, all flushed and panting on the table. You turned your head, watching the way he stroked himself — slow and thick, precum glistening at the tip.

He lined himself up behind you and leaned over your back, lips brushing your ear.

“Tell me you want it.”

“Jungkook,” you gasped, “please—fuck me.”

That was it.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open. The burn was delicious. He groaned deep in his chest when he bottomed out, hands gripping your waist.

“So fucking tight,” he growled.

He set a rhythm — slow at first, deep and deliberate, every thrust rocking the table under you. You whimpered, your body already close from his mouth alone. He wrapped a hand around to rub your clit in time with his thrusts, voice hot against your shoulder.

“Let me hear you come,” he said. “Want to feel you fall apart on me.”

You did — gasping his name like a prayer, your thighs shaking, cunt clenching around him as your orgasm tore through you. Jungkook swore under his breath, fucking you through it until he was right there with you — pulsing hot and thick inside you with a low, satisfied groan.

He stayed there for a moment, breath heavy, hands stroking your hips like you were something precious.

Eventually, he pulled out gently, grabbing a clean towel and wiping you down. He was tender, even reverent, making sure not to touch the fresh tattoo. When he helped you sit up, he wrapped your towel back around you, then offered you a water bottle from the mini fridge nearby.

You blinked at him, dazed and blissed out.

“That a standard part of the aftercare routine?” you teased, voice hoarse.

He grinned — smug and gorgeous.

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