TonightWeLetItBurn

Warnings: Depressive thinking (not really spelled out, but it’s sprinkled in there), body modification (two piercings), flirting, fluff, cussing, voyuerism if you squint a lil, light fingering, p in v unprotected sex (don't do that y'all), pet names (kitten, love), Mistuya bein lovely, Kisaki being annoying af, Hanma being... Hanma

I probably missed some, let me know if I did!

It almost wasn’t fair, just how much you were pushing yourself. Work was work, but adding coaching and school on top of it, you barely felt like a human anymore. Obviously, you decided to go back to school for a reason, and you were super excited that you were on the right road to finally be in your chosen field. There was a lingering feeling holing up in your chest, a desperate need for something, anything, to feel like you used to. To feel like a living person again, not just a robot moving on autopilot throughout the day. You just weren’t sure what it was that would help you though. It’s not like you hadn’t tried: getting into old hobbies, hanging out with friends more. That spark was just missing. The spark that breathed life through your being. You didn’t need a gap filled. You needed a firework display, something that screamed: LIFE. 

So you were sitting in your car in the back of a parking lot, letting the engine roll. It was beautiful outside, not too warm, not too cool, so the windows were down but your music was up high all the same. The current fixation, a guy with a melodic voice who sang in different languages, was bumping through your speakers, the bass settling deep in your chest. You smiled as a hopeful song came on, one that made you grin no matter what mood you were in. 

Your phone was open, doom scrolling your socials; going from the app you only have for the sake of keeping up with family, to the app you get lost on. Your thumb moved almost automatically, not even finishing the videos before you’d skip to the next one. You had planned on sitting there until you got bored since you had just finished coaching a game and everyone was clearing out which had you in no mood to try to beat the Friday traffic. As you scroll to the next video, something caught your attention: a black hair, teal eyed cutie, showing off piercings and the jewelry he had just done on a tattoo shop’s page.

Clicking on the shop’s profile, you scroll for a bit, wanting to see more of him but in the end you give up, finding their website. Scrolling through the shop info, you find the artist blurbs and their social media pages. Their social media handles gave you a chuckle:

@/shibuya_reapertattoos

@/TrOubedtigeRtAttooer 

Then you found the piercers. One was listed as a piercer and a tattoo artist, under the handle @/ride_or_die_tattoo_artist, but he had long dark hair, eyes that looked more copper, and a more pointed smile, so you kept scrolling. Then your breath caught in your throat as the guy from the video graced your screen. His black hair was long on the top, shaved at the sides, the most dazzling smile that reached his eyes.

His eyes. 

Even through the screen, his turquoise eyes were so bright, so crystalline, you knew that if you were given the chance, you’d drown in them, like the ocean itself was claiming you for its own. Immediately, you knew you had to see them, had to see if they were really that bright, that inviting. You peeked around the website a little bit more, looking around for his personal social media page. As soon as you found it you clicked over, the handle @/ride_or_die_piercer making you grin. You pause for a moment before wondering who decided to use the handle first, or if it had been a mutual decision between the two guys to have almost the same handle. Then you dive into his posts. Every picture, every video, showed the same dazzling smile, the same piercing eyes. Images flooded your screen: his adorable black cat, looking hot as fuck on a beautiful motorcycle, smiling with some friends. You knew you had to get in to see him. You’d been offhandedly thinking about a new piercing anyway, so it’s like it was meant to be. Right?? It wasn’t totally crazy to see a piercer because you just had to know if his eyes were just as gorgeous in person as they were on your screen… You’re totally normal about this. 

Before you can talk yourself out of it you click the follow button on his page, already enamored by his breathtaking features. 

Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you switch back to the shop website, dialing the number listed. It rings a few times, then a deep voice answers,

“Hello, thanks for calling Rewind Tattoo and Piercing, this is Mitsuya, how can I help you today?” 

After a deep breath, because hello social anxiety (were you really doing this?), you answer, “Yes, hi. I was wondering if you guys took walk-ins for piercings?” You found yourself holding your breath. 

“Absolutely! Baji is pretty booked today so I’m sure Chifuyu could take you no problem!” You let yourself breathe finally, a small smile playing on your lips. Your fingers toyed with your steering wheel cover, nerves settling low in your stomach.

“Great, I can be there in…” Trying not to drop the phone, you quickly pull up the shop’s address in your maps. “Like fifteen minutes.” 

“Sounds great! We might have a little bit of a wait, but if that’s okay with you, then see you soon!”

“That’s totally fine with me, thank you!” Your voice hits an awkward octave as you disconnect the line and you groan, hoping the stranger on the other end of the line didn’t catch it. While the phone was in your hand, you switched to your favorite song from your current fixation. Dropping the phone to the passenger seat, you put your car into gear and slowly make your way out of the parking lot, keeping an eye on every car around you since you were in a high school lot and didn’t trust a single teenager behind the wheel. 

Once you’re on the road, you turn the volume up, singing at the top of your lungs and drumming along on the steering wheel. The wind is rushing through your hair, tangling it all up, but you don’t care. The excitement and giddy anxiety are coursing through your body, like lighting striking every inch of skin. Anticipation is dancing through you, not only the thought of a new piercing- and you already know what you’re going to get since you had actually been thinking about it for some time- but at the thought of the man who’s doing the piercings. 

All too soon, you’re pulling into the parking lot, surprised to find not only a decent amount of space to park, but basically a whole food court right outside. The tattoo parlor is located right next to an outdoor mall so it shouldn’t be that surprising, but how often are tattoo studios in ideal locations? A small thrift store sits to the left of the shop, a few intriguing items in the window. You make a mental note to check it out later as you step out of your car, swinging your small bag onto your shoulder. The sign above the door read the shop’s name in bright letters: Rewind Tattoo and Piercing and you smile to yourself as giddiness courses through your body. You’re this much closer to meeting that handsome blue eyed man… 

The bell above the door jingles as you walk in, a few heads turning as you step through. You’re surprised to hear one of your favorite bands playing over the radio, the smell of antiseptic and something akin to a woodsy campfire hitting your nose immediately. A guy with lavender purple hair smiles warmly from behind the glass counter, which is full of all different piercings on display. You smile back as you walk up, putting your hands in the pockets of your jeans to keep yourself from putting them on the glass.

“Hey there, what brings you in today?” The purple haired guy steps so he’s standing across from you and you instantly recognize his voice as the one from over the phone. He- Mitsuya- calmly puts a hand down near the register, ready for whatever you throw at him. He radiates warmth, and your body instantly relaxes. 

“Um, I called earlier, about getting pierced?” You chew on the inside of your lip, suddenly questioning your decisions. You push through it and wait for him to respond. You’ve had multiple piercings and the anxiety pits in your stomach each time. 

“Alright. Chifuyu can definitely see you, but he’s got two people ahead of you. You ok with a bit of a wait? It shouldn’t be more than thirty-ish minutes.” You're nodding before he’s even finished speaking. 

“Great. Have you ever gotten pierced here before?” 

“No I haven’t.” Mitsuya grabs a clipboard from a small desk behind the counter, adds a few sheets under the clip and drops a pen with a silly fake flower on top.

“No worries, I just need you to fill out this paperwork really quick, I need your ID and what piercings did you want to get done today?” 

“I wanted my nose done right here, and my belly button done also.” Mitsuya smiles and opens his mouth to respond, but is beaten to the punch from a saccharine voice behind you.

“Septum piercing and belly button huh? What an adventurous Kitten.” Your brain freezes as you turn to see the source of the sugary sweet voice. Standing behind you with a good-natured smirk is the guy from the social media page. Black hair shining like the finest silk, teal eyes shining with humor, tattoos covering what skin you can see. He runs a hand through the longer locks on the top, the side of his head shaved closer than you thought based on his pictures.

 Hot. So goddamn hot. Like a rolodex, your brain is spinning for a response, coming up empty. Thankfully, he saves you from needing to try too hard. 

“I’ll get you taken care of. Give me a bit.” He shoots you a wink and disappears around a corner. On autopilot, you pull your wallet out of your pocket, grabbing your ID and handing it to Mitsuya, watching numbly as he scans it into his system. 

“Thank you.” With a nod, you’re looking at the jewelry cases, fascinated by all the gorgeous various piercings in the case. Your eye is immediately drawn to the turquoise jewel on one of the belly piercings. It’s almost the same color as the piercer’s eyes, although you think there’s no color that could ever match completely; and though it’s ridiculous to get something based solely on the eyes of someone you’ve barely just met, you can’t help it. You have to. 

Kitten. Kitten! Kitten??? Does he call everyone that? Of course he does. Why would he call you Kitten and not everyone else? That makes no sense. Your inner monologue is interrupted by Mitsuya handing you back your ID.

“We have fancier jewelry if you’d like to take a look, it’ll cost extra, but everyone hates going home with the standard jewelry. You’re looking in this case and this one.” 

You point out the jewelry you want for your nose, a simple black ring, and ask for the matching nose hoop so you can change out the jewelry you already have in place, wanting all of the piercings on your face to be cohesive. Mitsuya grabs them, a smile never slipping from his face. 

“I won’t charge you until you’re out of the appointment, so sit tight, let me know when you’re done with the paperwork.” 

Turning to the waiting area, you sit in between a mother and daughter and someone else who looks to be around your age. The daughter is younger, around twelve, rambling to her mother about how excited she was to get her ears pierced. Her mother, patient lady she clearly was, took everything in stride, responding to every one of her daughter’s quips. The other girl next to you said nothing, just scrolled on her phone like she had no care in the world. 

Looking at the paperwork, you quickly fill it out, signing all the lines stating you were doing this of your own volition, you knew the risks involved, aftercare, yada, yada, yada. It was basically the same thing no matter where you went or what you pierced. After you had signed everything, you handed the clipboard to Mitsuya who nodded in return, then sat back down. You glanced at your watch, it was already after five thirty and they closed at seven. You knew theoretically that you had enough time but you felt bad for pushing it out to basically close. 

A young girl came bouncing down the hallway that led to the private rooms, stopping in front of the mom to your right.

“Mom look!” She proudly showed off her newly pierced ears, just as Chifuyu emerged, calling for the other daughter with a kind smile. 

“Alright miss, ready to get your ears pierced too?” the daughter next to you jumped up from her seat, following Chifuyu to the back with a giggle. 

You took the opportunity to look around at the artists in the shop: 

In the middle of the room, a guy with blonde striped black hair, a large tattoo on the side of his neck, was so focused on the piece he was doing, he wasn't paying any attention to the guy with the camera in his face, highlighting the back piece being done. You were surprised the guy with the glasses and the mean looking grin hadn’t gotten smacked with how in the way he seemed to be, but the guy with the neck tattoo literally paid him no mind. Glasses seemed like he’s done this before, maybe he’s the one who always takes the videos? 

Your attention is brought to the tattoo artist in the front of the shop, dark hair pulled into a bun at the back of his head. Definitely the guy with the matching social media handle. His smile wasn’t unkind but intimidating, as he joked around with the client laying before him. As he continued to shade his client’s leg piece, the other little girl came jogging out to her mom, giggling and grinning about her new earrings. The mother stood, approaching Mitsuya with her girls to pay as the girls gushed to Chifuyu about how much they loved their earrings. Your face softened into a soft smile, watching the interaction between him and the two preteens, you marveled at the grace in which he handled them. His smile was wide, cheerful and it made your heart skip a few beats. 

Once they left, Chifuyu looked at you for a moment. You held his stare, unsure what else to do, heartbeat pounding in your ears. Then he suddenly turned and made his way back down the hallway, appearing about ten minutes later to call for the girl sitting next to you. 

Man bun stole your attention then, bursting with a loud laugh that echoes through the space. It looked like he was pretty close to done with the tattoo he was working on, so he was speaking quickly to the man in his chair. Like you manifested it, the artist leaned back, allowing the client to sit up.

“Ready for you Miss.” Chifuyu glanced at you over her shoulder as she walked toward him, his grin growing wider.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, more powerful than before, heart pounding so loudly in your ears you couldn’t hear the music playing over the shop speakers. What was his problem? Why was he treating you like this? Why were you enjoying it? 

“Sick as fuck man!” The man exclaimed, twisting his leg around to look at his tattoo. Man bun snapped his gloves off, reaching up to let his surprisingly long hair out of the bun. 

“Of course it does, I did it. Go look at it and tell me what you think.” Just as the client jumped up, another voice caught your attention.

“Excuse me dear, can I speak to ya for just a moment?” You turned to look at Mitsuya, who’s purple hair was vibrant under the sun shining in through the window behind you.

“Yea, what’s up?” you stood and walked closer to the front desk, giving Mitsuya a polite smile as he leaned on his elbows.

“I’m going to be real with you. Chifuyu, your piercer, has refused to take a break all day. I know you’ve already been waiting, but could I trouble you for another fifteen minutes after this piercing is over so I can give my boy a break?” he looked so concerned that you couldn’t help but agree. Plus, you’d been so focused on your beating heart and the commotion with the artist, you hadn’t realized that almost fifteen minutes had passed. 

“Can I go take a look at the thrift store next door?” you lightly bite down on your lip, feeling weird about leaving before your appointment, but you just need to move around a little bit if you’re going to be waiting for a little bit longer.

“Absolutely!” Mitsuya gives you a smile.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes then? Does that give him enough time?” 

Mitsuya nods. “That’s perfect. We appreciate your understanding.” 

“It’s really not a problem.” Hiking your bag further up your shoulder, you turn and walk out of the door, pushing the hair back that the slight breeze immediately blew into your face. Pulling out your phone, you glance at the time, 6:15. Enough time before the shop closes but you still feel bad. 

The thrift store was small, but it was cozy, welcoming. It wasn’t one of those big names that hike the price up on everything just because they can. As you ran your hands over the materials of the clothes, and looked at all of the trinkets on the shelves, you could see the love and care that went into the shop, which immediately made it one of your favorites. You lived for a good thrifting moment. 

  About ten minutes into wandering, your phone suddenly starts buzzing, like rapid fire. You pull it out, expecting a phone call, but you’re horrified and very intrigued to see the social media handle messaging you.

@/ride_or_die_piercer: started following you

@/ride_or_die_piercer: oi, don’t listen to that purple haired meddler. 

@/ride_or_die_piercer: we have piercings to do 

@/ride_or_die_piercer: skgooo

A small giggle bursts through your lips, as your phone continues lighting up with gifs and stickers. Even if you wanted to respond, he wasn’t giving you the option to. 

After nodding a quick goodbye to the older man sitting at the counter, you make your way back to the tattoo studio. 

When you enter, you immediately walk into the onslaught of an argument between Chifuyu and the man bun guy. About a cat…? 

The discussion is more heated than you would anticipate it being, but as soon as Chifuyu turns and catches your eye, any argument he had left clearly dies on his lips, a smile spreading. Your heart gives a thump at his smile, your mind turning to mush for just a moment. You know you’ve probably got a silly look on your face, how can you not when he’s looking at you like that? His eyes are practically shining, his grin devastatingly beautiful even from this distance. 

A loud slam startles you, causing you to flinch. The guy with glasses had just left the partition at the end of the room and walked through the door labeled “Employees Only”, forcefully closing the door behind him. 

“Don’t worry about Kisaki. Hanma likes to make his job difficult.” You startle again when you realize Chifuyu is now standing next to you, eyes brimming with an intensity that sparks something inside of your chest. 

You just nod in response, finding it hard to find your voice. A scent drifts to your nose, something fruity, yet musky. Almost how you imagined him to smell. Which is weird right?? Who thinks about that?? Definitely not you. You look down at your shoes, counting the scuffs on your boots as you try to ground yourself back in reality. 

He clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets, “You ready to head back?”

Looking back up at him, you give him a shy smile, “Yea, I’m ready.” 

Chifuyu grins, “Cool!” He turns back to man bun guy- you’re aware he took his hair out but what else do you call him- and slaps at his hand. “Have a good night man!” 

Man bun grins at him, naturally pointed teeth a little intimidating, “Stay outta trouble dude.” Chifuyu nods at you to follow him, and you take in the rest of the shop as you walk: Mitsuya reading a book behind the counter, the black and blonde artist finishing up the back piece he’s working on. You take in the art decorating the walls, the little knick knacks and stickers decorating each artist’s space. Your gaze is drawn to the beautiful room divider that separates one artist’s space from the rest of the studio: beautifully dark stained wood, cherry blossoms over the panels and other various small details. The sound of the tattoo gun is steady from behind it, and your mind races with ideas of what kind of tattoo could be going on behind it. 

Chifuyu stops at a door right across from the beautiful divider, which now you’re definitely thinking of where one would fit in your home, holding said door open as you enter and you give a quiet ‘thank you’. The speaker in the center of the ceiling is playing music softly, the same song that was playing throughout the rest of the studio, but less obnoxious in here. The song suddenly changes, and another of your favorite artists starts playing. Man they have some great taste, you think, slowly bobbing your head along with the tune. Your gaze is drawn to the walls. A mirror takes up one whole wall, but the rest of the space is taken up by art and photos. Walking around the space, you look at every single piece, noting the recurring theme in the photographs of a black cat, the gorgeous motorcycle you saw on his socials and the same friend group in each picture. With a spark of glee you tried to tamp down on, you noticed no pictures of him with a girl…

You set your bag down on the chair in the corner and turn to look at him, hesitating only slightly when you meet his eyes, which hadn’t left you since you entered the space.

“Where do you want me?” You ask nervously, sliding your hands in your back pockets to keep from fidgeting. Which would’ve worked, if you weren’t shuffling from foot to foot. 

“Where do I want you? Many places Kitten, but why don’t you take a seat on that chair in the middle, we’ll do your nose piercing first.” He turns to the counter behind him and you’re grateful because you’re sure your ears are pink. 

As you slowly sit on the chair, you stare at the back of his head. Most of the time, when guys call you pet names, or talk to you like that, you can feel the disrespect oozing out of them. But this guy is different; when he talks to you, calls you ‘Kitten’, you don’t feel the disrespect coming from him. You don’t feel any sort of icky vibes and that’s what intrigues you the most. 

Chifuyu turns, pulling a rolling tray table with him, stopping it beside you.

“You okay if we do the nose first, then we’ll do the navel?”

You nod, watching as he fixes his gloves over his hands.

“Okay, I gotta touch your face now.” You nod again, not trusting your voice much anymore. 

He gently grabs your jaw, softly moving your head around. You can tell it's purely professional, but the intensity in his gaze sends shivers down your spine. Once you're facing forward again, he grabs the disposable marker, dropping the cap to the tray next to you, his eyes never leaving your lips. His thumb delicately, almost hesitantly, brushes over your lower lip. It's such a soft touch, you swear you imagined it, but your body freezes nonetheless. 

He continues working, taking stock of  your nose and where he is going to put the piercing, as if a fire isn’t raging inside of you with every sweep of his skin against yours. It’s only then, face to face, that you clearly see the color of his eyes. His turquoise eyes are so dazzling that the screen on your phone did not do them justice. The ocean you had thought of earlier would be jealous; his eyes were radiant, shining like the Northern lights gleaming off a glacier. 

Your brain was clearly turning into mush.  

After cleaning the area and marking the small dot on your nose, he tells you to look in the floor length mirror to make sure you like the placement. Once you’ve moved your face this way and that, you tell him you like the placement and take a seat. The septum was an awkward spot, but you think where he has it marked will look perfect. 

Gazing back up at him, you watch his face, pinching in concentration as he makes sure the clamp is placed just so. Once he’s satisfied, he looks to you.

“Ready Kitten?” 

You respond with a soft mhm, still entranced by the luminosity of his eyes. He lines the needle up and you take a deep breath, releasing slowly as the needle slides through your skin. You’ve had so many piercings you don’t even flinch anymore and you can tell that catches him off guard by the way his eyebrows shoot up. With your jaw back in his grasp, Chifuyu grabs a q-tip, cleaning the area once more and wiping the little bit of blood that pools. 

“Still doing ok?” He mumbles, gently tiling your face up to meet yours.

“Yes,” You respond, voice just as soft. You can’t explain what’s going through your head. How much he’s affecting you. Why is he affecting you so much?  You can’t help imagining what would happen if you gripped his shirt and tugged him down for a kiss, even with the new piercing, but you know that’s ridiculous… Right? You can tell he’s breathing heavily, like he just ran a marathon, but he hasn’t moved for a few moments. His gaze caught and held yours, like he was also searching for an answer to the millions of questions running through his head. 

It was then that the door swung open, both of you jumping. 

The purple mop of hair snuck around the door frame. “Bro I gotta dip, emergency with the sisters. Baji and Kisaki are out and Tora is on his way out. Can you or Hanma lock up?” Without waiting for an answer, Mitsuya throws his keys to Chifuyu and slams the door with so much force that it bounces back a little bit. The door is now cracked, but since there’s only two other people in the shop, and you can hear the buzz of the tattoo machine, you know they’re still occupied. Chifuyu looks back at you, blush creeping over his face.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He tosses the keys onto the counter. 

“No worries, shit happens.” Your nose feels a little swollen from the new piercing, making moving your face around feel a little funny, but you give him a small smile nonetheless. You don’t know if it’s because he’s already watching your nose swell from the wound or if there’s another reason, but you watch his eyes travel down to your lips again. You think it must be the professionalism, that he’s just checking over his work, but you know you’re just kidding yourself. You can see the sparks in his eyes, whether you acknowledge them or not. 

“So, navel piercing. I’m gonna have you stand while I mark it and then I’ll have you lay down so I can make sure it’s still centered and then I’ll have you lay back to pierce it.” His face is flushed and he steps back to give you room to stand. Dropping down from the chair, you stand as straight as you can manage, grateful you had actually worn a cropped shirt -even more thankful that you can wear one to work- as Chifuyu pulls a small rolling stool out from behind the chair you’ve been sitting in. Once it’s in front of you, he sits, removing his old gloves and grabs the piercing marker from the tray. Suddenly his hands are on your hips and you almost choke on air as he subtly moves your hips around, trying to catch the right angles. 

This can’t be normal, you think, but are you really complaining? On the contrary, his touch is almost electrifying, goose bumps raising along your skin. Without realizing it, you’ve tensed up. He grips your hips a little bit harder, but in a soothing way.

“Relax for me Kitten. This ain’t gonna turn out good if you're tensed up like that.” 

“No worries Love,” He smirks, finally looking to mark your skin. The marker is cool as he drags in over your skin. It’s just two little dots, but you feel yourself shivering. 

“Oh yea, sorry.”

Taking a deep breath, you try to do just that, willing your body to relax even though every nerve is screaming at you. He’s taking up so much space. Not physically, but mentally. He’s getting to you in such a way that you don’t quite know how to deal with it. Normally, you’re a huge chatterbox, very extroverted. No trouble keeping up with people in social situations. Speaking with him, spinning in his orbit, it’s like his gravity is pulling you in and you can’t fight it. The feeling is leaving you speechless, breathless. And now is so not the time to be having a whole conniption over this. 

“Okay, go check in the mirror, make sure you like it.” Chifuyu pushes his chair backwards so he isn’t in your way, pushing it back into the space behind the large chair. 

Again, you go through your process of determining if you like the placement, lowkey surprised that you like the placement on both of the piercings on the first try. You’re very picky about stuff like that. 

“Yea, it looks great actually!” 

“Perfect. Hop back up, I gotta go grab the jewelry from the front, Mitsuya forgot to bring it back here. Give me a sec. Can I grab you anything? Water? Tea? One of the guys has a bunch of Capri-Sun’s stashed that he thinks we don’t know about.”

A laugh escapes you, “You know what? A Capri-Sun would be perfect.” 

“Gotchu,” Chifuyu winks, then leaves in a hurry, leaving the door wide open in his haste. Not even two minutes later, a tall lanky guy you hadn’t seen yet saunters in, eyes locking onto you in an instant. His eyes remind you of a cat’s, and not in a good way. You immediately try to shrink back into the chair and he gives you a smirk. 

“Where’s Chifuyu?” You point in the direction of the front.

“Mitsuya leave keys in here?”

“Uhh, yea…” You point to the keyring on the counter.

“Thanks Lovely. Have yourself a goodnight.” With a feral grin, he walks back out of the room, leaving you hopelessly confused. You assume he was the tattoo artist behind the gorgeous partition in the back of the studio, but you try not to think about him beyond that. 

When Chifuyu makes it back into the room, you’ve already brushed the strange encounter off, not wanting to dwell on, well, the weirdness. 

“You okay?” He asked, concern pinching his eyebrows. Ok, maybe you didn’t brush it off as good as you thought you had.

“Yea, I was just surprised. That really tall guy, blotch of tattoos on his neck and hands, dressed like a goth biker wanna be? Attitude that would make your grandma cry? He came in, asked a few questions, then left.” 

Chifuyu snorts at your description, trying to hide it behind a cough, before rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ah, Hanma? Yea, sorry about him. He’s… He’s a character. I shouldn't've left the door open.” 

You giggle at the way he’s trying to professionally call Hanma a weirdo. “I promise it’s fine. I’m used to strange interactions. I work with kids.” He gives a full laugh then, and nothing has ever sounded more melodic to your ears. 

While you’re trying to fight the smile you know is going to look insane, he says, “You might just be able to handle him then.”  

Then he clears his throat, handing you the Capri-Sun. “Here’s that for ya,” he quickly opens his own, and you follow suit. 

“Tell me about yourself Kitten, what brought you in today? People normally don’t do piercing walk-ins for fun. I mean, I guess they do, but you seem different.” He leans back, palms pressed to the top of the counter, Capri-Sun in reach. He stares at you like you were the most interesting piece of art in the Museum.

“Not much to tell really, I just needed something different from my every day and I had the evening off.” You launch into an explanation about your jobs, about school, about life becoming stagnant. Dumping everything into this stranger.

“Ah-” you cut yourself off, “I’m sorry. I’m a talker, I didn’t mean to dump that all on you.” you brush your hair behind your ear, embarrassed. 

“Don’t worry about it, I like listening to you talk. You’re intriguing.” He raises his brow, but you’re frozen, face possibly a little bit red. “You’re intriguing”?!? What the hell does that mean?!?

He chuckles at your reaction, quickly drinking the rest of the juice box before tossing it into the trash can.

“Alright, I’m gonna double check that the marker stayed really quick, then we’ll get you all taken care of.” 

Rising, you stand in front of him once more with your Capri-Sun in hand, watching his face as he appraises the marks he made. Almost of their own accord, his hands find their way to your hips, and your breath catches in your throat. Is he even aware that he’s lowkey rubbing small circles into your hips with his thumbs? Is he aware of the heat building within you?

You try to think of anything, anything else but the way his hands grip you.

The movie you want to see.

That book you just finished.

The weather report you read yesterday.

How you should really call your grandmot-

“Alright, I’m gonna lower the back of the chair down and then I’ll have you lay down for me.” You can only nod in response, your breath still caught in your throat. 

You remind yourself to breathe, trying to stealthily take a deep breath while he messes with the chair. Once everything is in place, you slide past him, almost with a deliberate closeness, wanting to drive him as crazy as he makes you. Your chest is so close to his, you don’t know that paper could slip through. Your heart is beating so fast you're surprised he can’t hear it. Tilting your head, you meet his eyes, whispering a small “Thanks” before slipping up onto the table. You keep eye contact as you lay back, crossing your ankles and your wrists over your chest. He holds your stare for a moment, then turns to grab the tray table with the piercing instruments on it. 

After his gloves are on, he repeats the same processes as the previous piercing: double check placement, sterilize, clamp.

“Ready?” His voice is steady, but low, calming your still rapidly beating heart. After you take another deep breath, Chifuyu skillfully slides the needle through the guiding marks he had made and removes the clamp. In the span of a deep breath, he’s got the jewelry in. One hand is cleaning the blood that’s slowly dripping from the new wound, his other hand on your hip. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s steady, his thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down the surface of your skin. Goosebumps raise your skin where his thumb drags and your breaths come out in choppy, uneven gasps. Your eyes are glued to his face, to the concentration that spilled across  his features. He mumbles, something that sounds suspiciously like, good girl but you don’t call him on it, opting to stay as still as you can manage.

His hand suddenly stills, as if he’d finally realized what he was doing. Clearing his throat, he takes a step back and gestures to the mirror. Chifuyu strips the gloves off, then runs a hand through his hair; immediately your brain starts imagining scenarios of your own hands brushing through the strands, how soft his hair would be. 

“Check it out in the mirror, let me know what you think.” 

The teal jem is a stark contrast against your skin, and it’s perfect. You’d say it captures the essence of Chifuyu’s eyes as perfectly as a piece of stock jewelry can… Not that you’d ever tell him that. 

“It’s perfect!” You turn and smile at him. 

A thought crosses your mind, and you decide to go for it. You jump back onto the piercing table, crossing your legs underneath you like you’re making yourself at home. 

“Your turn, tell me about yourself.” You say it like a challenge, and he grins right back at you. 

Chifuyu launches into a story about why he became a piercer, the path he took to become one, following his best friend from shop to shop until they landed here. 

“Okay, okay, who’s idea was it to have matching handles?” 

He lets out a laugh, bashfully scratching at the back of his neck. “Technically mine. Baji already had the ride or die tattoos handle, I thought it would be funny to copy him. Unfortunately for me, he thought it was hilarious, and it’s stuck since.” 

You let out a giggle, leaning back on your palms, “That’s adorable.”

“You’re adorable.” In the blink of an eye, he’s standing in front of you, all traces of silliness gone from his eyes, but there’s a cocky smirk gracing his lips. Instinctively, you sit up straighter, hands rubbing up and down your thighs. One of his hands comes back up, softly tracing the line of your jaw, hooking a finger underneath to tilt your head up, ensnaring your gaze with his. His thumb runs along your bottom lip, just like it did earlier, but there’s more intention this time, a fire you don’t want to put out. 

“Can I kiss you?” He mumbles softly and you’re nodding before he’s even finished his sentence. Of their own accord, your hands have moved to grip the edge of his shirt, not pushing him away, not pulling him closer, just holding, like it’ll ground you. 

Chifuyu leans down, his lips ghosting over yours, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. When you don’t, he crushes his lips to yours. It’s a messy, hungry kiss, like he’d been starving and you were his only source of sustenance that would sustain him. He gently nips at your bottom lip, then soothes it over with his tongue, yet expertly avoiding your newly pierced nose in the process. The feeling makes you groan, opening just enough for him to slide his tongue against yours. Nothing could stop the heat growing within you. 

As you pull back for air, fingers still gripping his shirt like a lifeline, his eyes bore into yours. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by a sound coming from beyond the door. Something that sounds suspiciously like moaning. Both of you freeze, eyes widening with something akin to horror. Without realizing it, the buzzing of the tattoo machine had stopped, replaced by other sounds, sounds you could’ve played off… Until you heard a chorus of “fucks” followed by more moaning and the sound of something scraping against the floor. It was a full blown fuck fest just beyond the door of the piercing room and the two of you were now privy to the show. 

Chifuyu coughs, face turning red, muttering bastard low under his breath. You’re frozen in place, is someone really heaving sex out there right now?!I

“Dear god, I’m so sorry,” he leans over you, placing a hand on either side of your hips. His head drops to your shoulder and he’s whispering, like he’s afraid the people in the other room could hear him. “I told you he was a piece of work. You said he grabbed the keys right?” 

You can only nod, not trusting yourself to not laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation and the mortification across Chifuyu’s face. 

“Great, we’re sneaking out the back.” Chifuyu grabs your bag off the chair in the corner, hiking it over his shoulder then grabs your hand, silently cracking the door open further, just enough for the two of you to sneak through. He peeks around the door, before silently pulling you after him. You place your other hand over your mouth to keep from laughing; the sounds from behind that beautiful divider have gotten louder now that you’re in the main space and the whole situation is just hilarious. 

You can hear muttered words, both male and female echoing through the otherwise empty space. Then you recognize the scraping sound as the tattoo table, before he pulls you through the door that had been marked “Employees Only”. Still moving quickly through the office, he pauses to grab a few things off a desk before slamming into the door leading outside. Only after the door has firmly closed do you let out the most heinous belly laugh you’ve ever released. Tears are falling down your face and you’re clutching your stomach, begging to whatever gods are listening for a break because, 

“I can’t breathe, ohmygosh!” Never in your wildest dreams would you ever imagine something like that happening. Do people really get it on in tattoo shops? Your newly pierced belly button is screaming at you, begging for relief from your laughing, but the situation is too crazy, you can’t stop laughing. 

“Oh gods, you go girl,” you mumble, wiping at your eyes. You look around, gaze stopping on Chifuyu and the very intent look on his face. He’s staring at you and try as you might, you can’t decode the meaning behind the look. Your breath catches in your throat as he begins to walk toward you, his pace slow and lazy like a cat stalking its prey. Rooted to your spot, your eyes track his path, a small smile still on your lips. 

He stops just in front of you, his hands resting on your hips like they had always belonged there. 

“Hi,” you whispered, needing to break the tension as you looked up at him. Your heart was beating so hard you thought it might pop out of your chest. This was beyond anything your mind could’ve imagined when you had clicked on that post a couple hours prior. 

He gives you a cocky grin back, pressing into you until there was no space between his chest and yours. His hands slid backwards, from your hips to the small of your back, stopping just before your ass. 

“Hi,” he mumbles back, head dipping down to yours. You meet him halfway, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. Once more, his lips are moving in tandem with yours, his hands continuing their path down to grip your ass while your fingers tangle in his hair. This kiss is messier, needier, like you’d devour each other if you could. Clearly, he was still being cautious of your new piercings, trying to keep himself from pressing too hard into your stomach, and being cautious of your nose, but that doesn't stop him from tugging your bottom lip between his teeth. Chifuyu pulls back from your lips, but in favor of trailing delicate kisses across your jaw and down your neck, teeth grazing the junction between your neck and your shoulder, before smoothing the mark over with his tongue. Soft gasps cross your lips, and he brings his lips to your ears.

“What do I have to do to get you to make more sounds like that Kitten?” A full groan leaves your lips this time, and you gently but firmly grip his hair to pull him back, locking eyes. 

“Just say please.” You give him a cheeky grin, watching his eyes widen; he hadn’t actually expected you to respond in kind, let alone agree. 

“Can I please take you back to my place to see what other pretty little sounds I can get out of you?” He asks in a husky voice as he dips his head back down, nipping at your earlobe. You suck in a breath, hands resting on his chest. A feeling akin to fireworks shooting off throughout your body shoots through you, resting heavily in your chest and between your legs. 

“Yes,” you breathe out, and a grin takes form on his face, the decision to go with him easy. With your hand in his, Chifuyu leads you around the building to the front of the tattoo parlor. 

Before you know it, you’re in his place, back pressed to the wall, kissing him like your life depends on it. While your hands are traveling up to lace behind his neck, his hands are slowly inching down, like he’s mapping out every inch of you. His hands glide over your waist, resting on the curve of your ass, pushing your hips to meet his for a moment. A moan rips out of you as you feel him against you, his hands continuing their dizzingly slow descent downward. Finding purchase behind your thighs, he lifts you gently, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him. 

When he breaks for air you trail soft kisses across his jawline, slowly moving down his neck. Lightly dragging your teeth across his pulse point, you quickly sooth the area with your tongue. Chifuyu groans beneath you, pulling both of you away from the wall, determined to get you to the bedroom. His hands disappear underneath your shirt, delicately traveling the expanse of your back, down your hips to your ass as he carries you. 

As soon as he’s close enough Chifuyu playfully tosses you onto the bed, following closely behind with a knee in between your thighs and a hand at the back of your neck. Just before his lips meet yours, a loud, annoyed meow sounds from behind you. Whipping your head towards the source, you catch a quick glimpse of black fur and the flick of a tail before the cat is jumping off the bed. 

It’s enough to send you into another fit of laughter, hands covering your face.

“I’m so sorry,”  you yell after the cat, who’s now making his way out of the room, swishing his tail like you singlehandedly offended his bloodline. Drawing your gaze back up, you note that Chifuyu is staring down at you, piercing teal eyes shining with humor and something else. He crawls further over you, hands on either side of your head, and hovers. 

“What?” you whisper, transfixed in his gaze, and the way he’s fit himself over you.   

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he mumbles sincerily. A breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself speechless. Normally, you’d have a quick retort, but it’s like every thought has evaporated from your head except for one thing: him. Above you. Arguably hot as fuck, though you can’t get the words out. Suddenly you want nothing more than him, his skin against yours. Gripping his shirt, you pull him down towards you as you arch up to him, pressing your lips to his. Your hands hastily make their way to the edge of his shirt, fumbling to get it up. Finally, he takes pity on you and breaks the kiss just long enough to bring the shirt over his head and toss it to the floor, before meeting your lips again. A few short, quick pecks to your lips are all you get before his hands slip to the edge of your shirt, sliding it up your chest just as you had done to him. Your shirt quickly lands somewhere near his on the floor, your pants then his joining the fray.  His hands had been ghosting over your bare skin, like he wanted to touch everything yet had no idea where to put them, until they shifted to your arms. Lacing his fingers through yours, Chifuyu draws your arms over your head, holding them there as he places kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, subtly inhaling the scent of your shampoo and the lingering traces of the perfume you had put on that morning. Soft whimpers escape your lips as each kiss presses to your skin like a painter laying paint on a canvas. A fire is building in your core, and when his teeth graze your skin, it’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You want to cry out, breathe heavily, buck your hips up to meet his but your body isn’t cooperating and he is over you just enough to render you mostly immobile. Just as your body is trying to figure out how to react, he’s moved lower, kissing your chest as he undoes the clasp on your bra. 

Once the flimsy piece of clothing is gone, he sits back, marveling at your mostly naked form beneath him. His desire for you, for your body, to worship every single part of you and the ground you walked on was growing with each passing second. Chifuyu takes his time, eyes hungrily eating up every inch of your exposed skin; every stretch mark, every freckle, the little mole that decorated your skin that you hated. He watches the way your chest rises and falls and the way your boobs delicately move with each breath. Hungry eyes catching the way you curl your fingers into the sheets, the way you bend your knees in towards each other. 

“I’m going to find and introduce myself to every single freckle you have. I want to know each one personally,” he growls. Spreading your knees apart and settling between them, he starts with your exposed breasts. True to his word, Chifuyu presses sloppy, wet kisses to each freckle he finds leaving a small trail of saliva with each pass. He pauses at each nipple, lightly biting at each pebble until you whimper then soothing the sting with his tongue before moving onto the next freckle. His goal was clear: force any and every sound he could out of your pretty mouth. 

His lips continue down the length of your torso, acquainting himself with freckles you didn’t even know you had while expertly avoiding the jewelry he had just installed earlier. A loud moan is suddenly extracted from you as he places his hands over your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers. From his spot below your navel, where he’s still pressing kisses down on your skin like raindrops, he’s watching your every reaction, pausing to see what causes each sound you make and adjusting his hands on you to ensure he can drag all the pretty little sounds he knows you can make out of your mouth. Your hands cover his, squeezing them softly as you arch further into him. You’re already feeling overstimulated and trying to figure out how to collect yourself, but he just grins and removes his hands, dragging them down your stomach to where he knows you need him the most. Over the fabric of your panties, he teases your throbbing clit with his fingers, subsequently drawing small sputters from your lips as your hips move against his hands, chasing the pleasure. He’s grinning, drinking in every exquisite noise you make and every way your body responds to him. 

He’s never one to put his pleasure first, but he’s straining in the confines of his jeans, trying to focus on you and your pleasure. The battle is lost, his need to be inside you clouding his mind. He withdraws his fingers, before using them to toy with the waistband of your panties, smirking when he realizes just how wet they are. Hooking his thumbs under the thin material, Chifuyu starts to drag them down your legs painfully slowly, following his hands with his teeth and giving a devious grin when he draws out long, loud gasps from you. Under his breath, he’s muttering sweet nothings, words that make your heart pound in your chest: beautiful, sexy, ravishing. His teeth lazily sink into your hip, your thighs, your calves, driving you absolutely mad with lust.

As soon as the fabric is cleared from your legs, he stands and sheds the rest of his clothes before crawling back up your legs, trailing more kisses and scattered love bites across your skin. Settling between your legs, he gives you a goofy grin, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you (and he does). 

“Ready Kitten?” His voice is like velvet, soft and smooth in your ears. The fire pooling between your legs has become unbearable, a constant pressure that you need immediate relief from. A lock of hair falls in front of his face and you’re nodding as you draw it back from his eyes. 

“Yea,” you tell him, voice straining with growing desperation. Your body is humming; excitement, raw desire and a million other emotions coursing through you. By this point, you need him more than you can put into words, throbbing at your core like you’ve never experienced. 

Then he’s grinding himself against you, coating himself in your wetness groaning, “You’re fucking soaked.” 

Chifuyu has a hand on your hip to hold you steady, his other hand guiding himself to your entrance and gently easing himself in. He groans again as he slides in easily, your arousal making it easy for him. His eyes never leave yours as he pushes himself in before he stills. Wave after wave of pleasure ripples through you, your eyes rolling back and he drinks in the sight. He hasn’t even begun moving yet, but the way he fills you is excruciating in all of the best ways. You’re a whimpering mess beneath him and he’s never heard a sound quite  so magnificent. 

Chifuyu leans over you to grab your wrists, holding them above your head with one hand. With his other hand, he grips your thigh, hooking your leg over his hip and holding you there. Your breathing has gone erratic, feeling him inside you without moving is driving you crazy. Soft mewling sounds leave your lips, your hips trying to rock against his, your body  begging him to move, but his hips have yours pinned. 

Finally you find your voice, “Move, please god, move.” 

His hips quickly respond, pulling back until he’s got just the tip inside of you, then thrusting back in and setting a slow, even pace. Releasing your wrists, Chifuyu grips your waist, abruptly pulling your hips up to meet his, dramatically changing the angle and increasing his speed as each thrust pulls sound after sound from you. Transfixed, he’s watching every reaction you give him, mentally filing away every little whine you make, every moan that graces your lips. With each sound you feed him, he drives into you a little faster. He can feel himself already nearing release, but he refuses to finish until you do. Sneaking a hand between your sweat soaked bodies, he rubs at your clit, desperate to bring you to the precipice of pleasure. 

With your hands grip the bed sheets, you try to ground yourself as you feel pressure building, to no avail. When his thumb brushes over your most sensitive area, you cry out, back arching off the bed. Your hips are erratically bucking up to meet his, chasing the ecstasy he’s providing with every thrust. The sound of his skin repeatedly smacking against yours echoes through the room, followed by little cries from your mouth.

“I’m gonna-” You gasp.       

Like he can sense your impending climax, he drives you harder, faster, his thumb bullying your clit. 

When you finally explode, with his name spilling off your tongue, it’s like a million fireworks shooting off all over your body: every nerve is on fire, every sound slipping between your lips like a dam has broken. You’re hyperaware of your nails grappling at the sheets, of your toes curling, how every part of you is trembling, of Chifuyu and every point along your body where his skin meets yours, including where you’re still gushing around his positioning length. His hands have softened their grip, holding onto the outside of your thighs as he watches you, grinding into you to prolong your orgasm. Once you’ve stopped trembling, he increases his pace once more, chasing after his own release now that he’s satisfied with yours. Charming sounds are falling out of his mouth and there’s something so attractive about him making these sounds that you reflexively clench around him. He groans, dropping his head to your shoulder, hands on either side of you to hold his weight from resting on you completely. Your hands fly to his hair and his shoulders, gripping with just enough strength to lock him in place. 

“Fuck Kitten,” he moans through clenched teeth. With a shudder, he stills with his hips pressed tightly to yours, his release flooding into you. 

You stay like that for a bit , relishing in the feeling of each other and the absolute pleasure you had just experienced. 

Without a word, Chifuyu picks his head off your shoulder and places a quick to your nose before sitting up, pulling out of you with a soft squelch. After he makes his way to the bathroom, wetting a cloth to clean you up with, he gently cleans you up with a featherlight touch. You’re squirming beneath him by the time he’s done, wanting his hands all over you once more. Satisfied, he tosses the rag to the floor and lays beside you and gathers you to his side. Your head is on his chest while you’re absentmindedly tracing a finger along his skin, drawing an imaginary picture across his sculpted chest. Neither of you speak, content to just exist in each other’s orbits. Until a thought crosses your mind that has you shooting up and staring down at him.

“I never paid for my piercings!” You gasp in horror. You’d never stolen a thing in your life and you weren’t about to start now. That is, until his laugh reverberates throughout the room. Once he catches his breath, he looks up at you, hair framing your face and has to compose himself in more ways than one. He gently tugs on your arm until you fall back to his chest and he moves stray hairs away from your face. 

“After Hanma being a little shit today, you can consider the bill paid. I’ll talk to Mitsuya about it, don’t even worry your pretty little head about it. As long as you promise to see me again.” A million emotions shine in his eyes, but hope screams the loudest. Giving him a soft smile, you nod.

“I promise. But the jewelry and your time-” he puts a finger to your lips.

“I’m telling you not to worry about it. Call it a discount for the damage done to your ears,” he chuckles at himself, “and for some slight piercer error. I definitely did not give you any aftercare instructions.” 

“Oh you gave me some after care, that's for sure.” you mumble teasingly. 

“Just keep seeing me. We’ll be good.” His eyebrows raise, waiting for your response. 

“Okay.”  

He presses a soft kiss to your lips.

If it weren't for my mutual @xdeepinthewillowx and this collab, I never wouldv'e written this. I have this fear that I'm going to write the character incorrectly and then everyone will hate me and I'll never write again... So thank you for pushing me to continue this!

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics.

Also y'all, the space button on my keyboard is on the fritz so if you notice extra spaces... No you don't.

If you need Hanma's side, here ya go!

NSFW, smut, cursing, tattoos and getting tattooed, very unprofessional workplace behaviors, flirting over social media, pet names (doll, good girl, dollface, sweetheart & Hanma refers to the reader as a perfect canvas, yum right?) reader is mentioned being shorter than him, mentions of dying used as sarcasm, Mitsuya is precious, writer is blatantly bias about Kazutora, LFKB Chifuyu/Baji mentioned, Kisaki is annoying, mention of piercings and getting pierced, dirty talk, reader & Hanma banter back and forth (ya’ll need to get a room!), Hanma makes fun of a different client (again unprofessional), undressing (both for the tattoo and other reasons, insert wolf whistle), mentions of pain and tattoo needles (getting tattoed fucking sucks okay), smoking (duh), consensual photo taking, accidental voyeurism (see Chifuyu x reader piece for more details), praise, light degredation, fingering (fem recv.), p in the v sex, no condom mention (stay safe ya’ll), light dumbification. 

This is my longest fic to date, so please let me know if I missed anything! Also, I highly recommend listening to anything by The Plot In You for this setting. Wink, wink.

@/Rewind_Tattoo&Piercing just posted a reel. 

Work has been so good to you lately. You were making all the right moves and getting all the big bonuses for it in return. Last year was rough and so this year you were going to do some things just for yourself. You ought to get a new haircut, maybe update your wardrobe and maybe get the oil change that your car’s been beeping at you about. With cash flow, you can now comfortably say yes to more little treats. The possibilities feel endless and exciting but the most enticing thing, the thing at the top of your list, is to get more ink done. 

It’s been a minute since your last tattoo and the itch to have more of your skin decorated like everything else in your life was gnawing at your leg like a hungry animal. There is way too much open space left on you, so much canvas to cover and color. But where to start? Maybe you’ll get something big? Fill some gaps on your sleeve? Grab some flash?

You start by scrolling through your socials and there are pages and pages of local shops in your city. There were so many to choose from - black and grey specialists, portrait masters, watercolor experts and traditional artists with years of experience under their belts. It wasn’t helping you narrow your search to see all these talented artists within reach until you saw him. 

The post was a video from a shops’ main page, a shop with the name, “Rewind Tattoo and Piercing”. He was tattooing a large, elegant leg design that looked very intricate and regal. The shape of the design highlighted all the feminine qualities of his client's leg. He was laser focused on the piece, eyes locked downward as one large hand held her and the other moved the machine across her skin. His side profile was devastatingly sharp. Black and blonde hair tousled carelessly around the chiseled features of his face. A long, chainlike earring dangled delicately from his ear, glimmering under the spot light with every movement. 

This montage of him and his client was a snippet advertising the shop itself and his own page, of which you will definitely investigate in a second. It starts with showing off the stencil itself, then laying and peeling the stencil on his client and then it flashes progress being made until to the final slow mo of the outlines and shading. A piece so huge on her that it will surely take another session, probably two.  

It wasn’t really the piece that stops you dead in your tracks, it’s the parts where the heavily tattooed man’s eyes go from focused on his work to making direct eye contact with the camera. A stare so intense and so dangerous, the glowing yellow hues of his irises shine back at you in a way that feels both predatory and alluring. Just another day for him, light work. This is good fucking advertising and he knows it. 

The video ends with him cleaning up his station and he looks at the camera again, throwing it a wink and you have to close your phone for a second. There is no way that this is real, there is no way he just did that, there is just no way. Your face is burning with the accumulated sensations of embarrassment, that this little post made you this flustered, and anxious because if you can even get in this man’s books, how the hell are you going to last through an entire appointment? One look your way and you’ll be dead in an instant, a puddle on the ground, a melted mess of a woman making reckless financial decisions. 

Letting the chills pass and praying that any higher power out there will take pity on your poor soul, you open your phone back to the post and go straight for the link to his page. Abandon all hope, ye who enter - his page is flawless. Photos and videos of client after client, each tattoo vibrant, dark, crisp and clean. He seems well rounded as an artist but must prefer traditional and non traditional flowers. They take up the majority of his posts and he’s done just about every part of the body. Some are big and colorful, some small and intricate, and some bold and detailed. No wonder he is so confident, he is a god damn genius. You can’t help but envy every girl on his page that now own a huge design from him, enhancing both his portfolio and their own bodies. 

You flip through the highlights at the top of his page and check his pricing, a little expensive hourly, but fuck it. This is your year afterall, your time to spoil yourself. His page recommends sending him a DM to inquire about booking so before overthinking it, you open a chat and send him something short and sweet - Love your work, looking to book with you as soon as possible. It takes about a half a day of opening and closing the app obsessively before he responds to you and when he finally does, you have to let out an audible yip at seeing the notification. 

@/Shibuya_ReaperTattoos: Looking to book you as soon as possible. What did you have in mind?

As much as you want to play it cool, calm and collected, you respond back embarrassingly fast. He must be a busy guy and you want to catch him when he is active online. - Your floral work is gorgeous. I’m open to ideas on design as long they’re similar to the pieces on your page. Something big and colorful on the side of my hip?

@/Shibuya_ReaperTattoos: Sounds thrilling. I will need a few hours at least. Does Friday at noon work for you, doll?

The expression ‘shot by cupid’s arrow’ doesn’t actually explain or cover just how devastating the aftermath of his actions really are. You’re not feeling lovesick from an arrow, you’re a bona fide crime scene victim, bleeding out all over the floor from a gunshot wound thanks to a four letter nickname written on the bullet itself. You already knew you were drawn to this man, but something about the way he’s responding is sucking you in farther, a black hole. No matter how this plays out, you will come out on top, accomplishing your goal to cover clean skin and maybe flirt in the process. - Friday at noon sounds perfect.

@/Shibuya_ReaperTattoos: Oh, it’ll be perfect. Wear something comfortable. 

Using the info in his bio, you send him your deposit via venmo and with that last detail, you’re all set. You lay your head back and let out a hopeless groan. Even with so much to look forward to, there was also still so much to worry about. How are you going to sit for a tattoo like this? What if it’s too painful? What should you wear? You really don’t want to embarrass yourself and now your worries are doubled all because you are feral over this freaking guy. 

Before you can spiral further, your screen lights up. 

@/Shibuya_ReaperTattoos started following you. 

@/Shibuya_ReaperTattoos liked your photo. 

@/Shibuya_ReaperTattoos liked your photo. 

@/Shibuya_ReaperTattoos liked your photo. 

After the third, you have to see what’s happening in real time. He’s not just liking any photos, he’s liking your selfies. Two more notifications and your face and body heat up, threat levels reaching critical status. This isn’t happening is it? Things like this don’t happen to you, not to anyone in real life. Is he being nice? He’s obviously stalking your page and you feel like you opened Pandora's box. You don’t know what to do or how you should take this new development until you see it, the final nail in the coffin. It’s a photo of you in a swim suit.

@/Shibuya_ReaperTattoos commented: Left hip? See you Friday. ;)

You liked his comment. This was going to be a long week. 

Thankfully, Friday comes faster than you can believe. 

It’s said that you should eat a good meal before getting a tattoo but you were shaking badly with unease, practically forcing yourself to swallow down breakfast. You picked a cute little dress that was easy to get on or off and brought an oversized jacket to use as a blanket because you are going to be pretty exposed for a few hours, it may get chilly.  

The shop is fifteen minutes away from your place and the parking situation is excellent with several good places to eat surrounding it. It’s decently sized with a dark interior, not unlike most shops you’ve been in before but the lighting in this one is perfect, not too harsh and not too dim. The walls are decorated tastefully with the beautiful artworks of whom you assume are by the artists who work here. You prefer decorations like this, they’ll help distract you from whatever pain you’ll be feeling later and it beats staring at the ceiling tiles.

Each booth is separated by smaller walls dividing them up into equal parts past the front counter. From the entrance, and the endless replays of the videos from his page, you can already tell which booth is the one you’re here for. It’s exhilarating to be seeing it in person. 

Like you’d expect, a guy with lavender hair, your typical tattoo shop looking stereotype, is sitting at the front desk. He lifts his head from the fashion magazine that he’s half hazardly flipping through to greet you. “What can we do for you today, Miss?” He stands to his feet and places two hands on the glass counter. You’re happy and relieved that he is so pleasant and attentive. “I have an appointment with Hanma at noon?” You answer, more as a question rather than a statement, nervousness flooding into you suddenly. 

He reaches for a clipboard nearby, “Awesome. Have you been here before?” He smiles, polite and genuine. “I have not, I found you guys online earlier this week.” He hands you the clipboard and a pen that has a big fake rose taped to the top of it, how fitting. “You reached out this week? Hanma’s usually booked up for months but he did say that he was excited about today. He’s on a smoke break, fill this out and have your ID ready. I’ll go let him know you’re here.” 

With that he scurries to the back of the shop, disappearing behind a black curtain. It’s your typical safety form, asking for any known allergies and letting you know that tattoos are permanent, same old song and dance each time but you understand the importance. It doesn’t take long to do and while you wait you continue to look around. 

The front counters are made of glass and are full of piercing jewelry, they glisten under the neon lights inside. Too late to get a piercing instead. You must be one of the first appointments, the shop is dead, everyone seems to be getting ready to start their day. 

A pair of guys sitting past the counter are arguing about whether it is or isn't normal for a cat to spend its time between three owners on its own accord. The one with long black hair is getting louder each time one with short black hair makes a good point. It makes you laugh on the inside to hear two guys completely covered in ink be so serious about a cat. 

Near the booth that you suspect is your space for the day, sits a guy who seems lost in drawing. The glow of his tablet illuminates his features. He’s pretty and half of his neck is shaded with a large tattoo. There’s a few others roaming around but they all look like employees.  

The receptionist comes back through the veil with Hanma following behind. He’s much taller than you expected him to be, by at least a foot compared to the other man walking with him. Drenched in all black from his top to his boots, you eyeball him up and down, unable to stop yourself from gawking. It’s like seeing a celebrity up close, unreal like everything else that’s transpired this week. 

Noticing the way you are drinking him in, he looks directly at you and smiles, wide and haughty. “Sorry to keep you waiting. A guy’s gotta catch a break when he can.” He reaches his long arm across the counter to shake your hand, “Call me Shuji. Can I get you anything before we start all the fun?” His tone is jovial, lighter than you imagined and something about it calms you down a bit. 

When you reach your own hand out to meet his, you notice the thick black markings on the backs of his hands. In each of the videos that you’ve watched obsessively this week, he always has on black gloves.The ink on the rest of his body didn’t surprise you but seeing how his hands have also been marked only added more fuel to the fire that was igniting within you over this attractive stranger. What do they mean? You know those hands are capable of creating beauty, but what else are they capable of?

Trying not to sound like an idiot, you clear your throat in reply, “Uh, no thank you. I appreciate that. We can get started.” You throw back your best smile and follow his lead to the back of the shop and tell him your name. His booth is so inviting, covered in fake florals and vines like a secret garden tucked away in the back corner of the building. He sits down on a small rolling chair and you take a seat in the tiny sofa across from him. Even sitting down he towers over you, taking up a lot of the space in the booth with just his body alone. 

You don’t really know what to say, you want to make small talk and get to know this man but where do you start? Talking always makes the appointments go by faster and you are dying to see if he’s the same in person as he is online. Keep it simple, “I’m sorry my idea was sort of vague. I hope this wasn’t too much trouble for you.” You look down and fiddle with the sleeve of your emotional support hoodie. 

“No need to apologize. I was thrilled when I saw your request. I specialize in this shit for a reason.” He laughs and it sounds goofy enough that it draws your attention back to him with relief. “Oh good, I’m happy to hear that. I’m dying to see what you came up with then.” That catches his attention. His eyes light up and he points two finger guns at you before rolling his seat backwards, he doesn’t even turn around.  

“You can die in a second,” he grabs his tablet from the workbench behind him without looking. “I have a few designs for you to pick through so just let me know what you like and what you don’t and we can throw hands from there.” He scoots his chair right next to you and turns the screen to face you. He is unbelievably close to you but you try to remain calm, this is how your whole day is going to be, he will need to be up in your bubble to get this done. He smells amazing, a sinful blend of cologne and cigarettes, a welcome distraction from the shops’ woodsy antiseptic mix. 

The first image he pulls up blows you away for two reasons. 

The first being that even at a glance, it's utterly amazing. Three peony blossoms - one small, one large, followed by another small. The largest sitting on what should be the widest part of your side in the middle, pretty much the side of your ass. Each one has bold but blushy pink in the centers of each flower and varying degrees of black and grey shading in the leaves. The color contrast is so simple and yet so impactful to the eyes. 

The second reason this is blowing you away is because of its size. Even just seeing it on the screen, you can tell that it’s meant to be huge. The way the leaves branch out from the buds and how open the petals spread, it’s going to cover more than just a little bit of your hip. You did mention that you wanted it big and colorful but this was more than you could have imagined. Almost half of your lower body, on the left side of you, would be decorated magnificently. Weirdly enough, the aesthetic of it all feels so very like you. 

Moments pass before you let out a hushed, ‘no way’ under your breath. Intrusively, you reach a hand to the screen and he lets you hold the device. You zoom in and out on each of the details and you just know that this is the thing you want him to tattoo on you. The inner confidence you’re trying to foster is growing at the thought of seeing this on your body everyday and it fills you with drive. 

“I’m not even sure I need to see the other drawings, I adore this one and everything about it.” You still stare at the screen and he leans in, close to your ear, “Good, I didn’t have any others to pick from anyway. I knew you’d love it. And since you’re not dead, we can get started.” You hope he can’t feel the heat radiating from you. Obviously this was just for you but why did he have to emphasize it like that..  

You turn your face to meet his. He’s looking downward at you, eyes half lidded and you swear you saw him lock his gaze onto your lips just before he breaks away to stand. “Let me go get the stencil printed and get us a little privacy. Sit tight, dollface.” With a wink he walks out of his booth and stops to stand in front of the booth next to you both. “Yo Tora, can we borrow your privacy screen?” 

The duo tone haired man looks irritated to be pulled out of the zone he was in, “Naw dude, I’m working on a backpiece later and we might need it. Maybe stop buying fake vines and get your own.” He lets out a laugh that tells you he’s only half joking and as he stands up, he glances over at you. “What’re you guys working on anyway?” Hanma leans on the counter and places his chin on top of both of his palms to pout, “Hip and thigh. Gonna be a long one. You’d really do that to my new client? Come on, your guy won’t even need it. He had one small piece on his arm, he’s not gonna last a whole back sesh.” He draws out the o’s in his ‘come on’ much longer than necessary, dramatic like a little kid begging for a treat at the store. 

‘Tora’ runs a hand through his hair with a sigh and you see he’s resigned in arguing with the tall nuisance, “Fine, you’re probably right. Your girl does look pretty tough,” he smiles at you and points your way, “If you’re ever in the market for Japanese traditional, hit me up. Hanma can’t draw snake scales for shit. And you,” he shifts his pointer to Hanma, “You owe me one as usual. I’ll let Mitsuya know that my lunch is going on your tab.” 

It did actually occur to you that you’d be out in the open but you didn’t even think about how much other strangers would be able to see. You’d hope everyone working would be professional but you wouldn’t trust other clients. Plus, he did say you looked tough and that oddly gave you a boost in morale. “Thank you, if I ever do, I will make sure to reach out.” He leaves the booth and heads straight to the back behind the mystery curtain and Hanma heads to the office area. 

It doesn’t take Tora very long to set up his screen, it's basically a wooden room divider with several panels that fold out to make it bigger. It is very pretty, covered in cherry blossoms, adding to the aesthetics of the booth you’re in. You thank him again and take in the new feel of the booth. You’re relieved to see how much more closed off it feels and before you can stand up to stretch one final time before you have to lay down for several hours, Hanma returns with the stencil, crowding the booth once more because he is so freaking tall. It’s shocking to see in person every single time. 

“Alright, let’s see if this is going to work, if not I can make it smaller.” It’s an intimidating string of about four sheets of paper taped together. Smiling at you now, “If it’s alright with you, I think it will be easier to lay this fucker on straight if you can take your dress off. Only while we set this, and once it’s dry, you can put it back on.” You figured this was going to happen at some point and as much as you are dreading the many ways that it could feel embarrassing, you are much happier knowing that he is the only one seeing this part. 

Hubris is a bitch, you already paid the deposit and you did pick this dress to make this part easier. You also really want this on your body. Wordlessly, you lay your jacket back onto the mini sofa and turn so that you are facing away from Hanma, too scared to see his face right now. He is close enough that neither of you really need to move. The dress’s zipper starts from the top of the front and goes all the way down to the bottom hem, it takes less than a second to unzip and discard with your other belongings and you’re thankful that you don’t need to shed your bra for this one. 

Hanma takes a knee, still almost as tall as you are, and holds up the stencil to the left side of your body. Just seeing the drawing this close to you is exciting, a foreshadowing visual as to what’s to come aside from one small detail. The elephant in the room, blocking part of the stencil was your underwear. 

As if you both realized this at the same time, he shifts his gaze up to yours and you speak first. “Should I…?” You slide your thumb under the elastic and pull it outward to show what you are referring to. Obviously you need to move them out of the way, you just wanted to see his reaction, see if you can crack his professionalism just a tiny bit. 

“Oh doll, I know this isn’t your first rodeo. I can lend you a hand, if you really need me to just say so.” His tone lowers in octave and he points to where your thumb is. He’s right, you have been tattooed in awkward places before this. You also prepared for this specific scenario and wore a string bikini bottom. Easy to untie and retie for the sake of this event - and they're the same pair you had on in the photo that he left his comment under. 

“You are the professional here,” There’s a hint of playful sarcasm in your retort but if things get heated now you’ll never get this stencil done. “I got it. I’ll be sure to let you know when I do need your help.” You untie the left side of your bottoms, strings falling loosely over your rear and thigh and you move your hands to grab ahold of them so that your bottoms don’t drop completely. “Does this work for you?”

It’s quite possible he also caught a glimpse of you before you secured yourself. He shakes his head up and down, clearing his throat, “Perfect.” You take that as a win for now and face away from him. He holds up the stencil in his left hand and brings his right to hold the bottom of it, lining it up to your body slowly and full of focus. “Now you tell me, does this work for you?,” he feeds you back your own words and they have a sharp arrogance in them, it’s exhilarating. 

You turn to look at the position of the stencil and he is smirking like he knows your answer already. The placement is perfect, the stencil is perfect, the drawing is perfect and you were right in calling him a god damn genius. Two people can play this game, you glance down at the stencil and then to him, mocking his earlier answer now, “Perfect.” 

“Now be a good girl and stay still for me.” Coupled by the cocky grin on his face and the hushed tone of his words, you completely unravel and you have to look away again to save yourself. You channel all of your energy into doing what he says, standing so still when the paper touches your skin. Before it can cool your bones, you feel his large hands smoothing over it slowly, warming you, setting each of your nerve endings ablaze instead. The contrast of hot and cold is hard to overcome but you prevail, not wanting to mess up the stencil but more so to prove to him just how good you can be. Purposefully you think, his finger tips brush you gently on places outside the stencil..

He removes the paper with slow precision and you remain stoic until you can feel the last part of the paper lift away from your skin. It’s not until you hear him stand up again at full height that you finally look down at your side. He grunts in approval, “Fuck, I am good. Step over here but don’t hit the stencil.” He guides you untouched to the full length mirror in the corner of his booth. 

You take in the view and the sight is breathtaking. 

You look like a newer, unlocked version of yourself. The flowers are so bold and beautiful, making you, yourself feel the same. The elegance of the design flows down naturally from your lower ribs, to your hip, and reaches your upper thigh, just enough that it will sneak a little tease from under your shorts in the summer. 

You’re reminded of why you choose to spend any disposable income you have on tattoos and it’s for this exact feeling right here. It will be well worth the time, the awkwardness, the embarrassment, the money and the pain if it means looking like this every day. 

Before you can take another victory lap in your mind about your great life decisions, you notice the very bad life decision presently disrupting you. 

Starring straight back into the mirror at you and taking up all of the remaining space behind your form is the mad genius making this possible. He leans in closer to you when you take note of his presence, nose brushing the hair by your ear, “What do you think?” His eyes stare back at yours, a shinigami waiting for you to help him cause chaos. He doesn’t even have to shift it to see all of you right now, eyes half lidded again drinking in your almost naked form, wearing a huge brand of his own design. “Perfect, right?”

There is mercy upon you during the time it takes to let the stencil dry and once it does, you’re able to get dressed again. Instead of tearing you apart like prey in the mirror the whole time, he expertly started setting up the tattoo bed with contact paper and pouring each of the colors he was going to need into the tiny cups on his work table. You're thankful for the warmth of your dress and jacket and the small break that he gave you, even though you know it was only an excuse to go smoke again. 

You can’t blame him, you wished you had something to calm your nerves. This is going to suck, you’re already dreading how the needle is going to feel over your ribs and over your hip bone. It’s a feeling you know so well and yet your brain can’t quite match it in thought. Maybe because it blocks that part out for you but you’d rather have a better reference to mentally fortify yourself. Oh well, what’s done is done. 

As you're savoring your last moment on your feet, Hanma reappears, “Alright doll, you ready to knock this out? If we work together, I think we can get a lot done today.” He washes his hands before reaching for the box of gloves. You’re mesmerized watching him put one on and then the other, mentally drooling as he pulls them both tight. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be, let’s just get it over with.” 

Dead serious, you climb onto the bed and the paper crinkles, careful not to rip it and keeping your balance at the same time. There is a pillow also wrapped in paper there for you and you use it to tuck yourself into a comfortable position while lifting your dress up enough to make sure he has access to all of the stencil. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you. The outline shouldn’t take too long and if you are still with me after that, we can knock out shading too.” He starts to set up his tattoo machine as he talks, focused on it but still smiling at you whenever he looks up, his excitement evident. Seeing him motivated, motivates you too. You can do this, just breathe and remember that time is a construct. “I make sure my color sticks so we will have to do that another day. That will suck worse, trust me.” Oh great, now he tells you. He’s being professional again but there’s still a hint of nubility in it.  

Using the knuckle on his pinky finger, he taps the screen on his tablet. It lights up and he clicks on his music library. Another tap and the speakers hidden somewhere in his booth come to life. You can’t name the artist but you can tell you like the same genre. You’re thankful for another added distraction for your brain. Another tap and the colored drawing of your tattoo takes up the screen for him to reference. He rolls his chair closer to you, machine in one hand, buzzing to life and you aren’t prepared for distraction number three. 

His free hand grips your hip as if to comfort you for a moment before spreading his warm fingers to firmly hold down the spot he’s about to tear into with the needle. “I can go as long as you can so just tell me if you need a break.”

Maybe this won’t suck as much as you thought. 

It hasn't been as bad as you expected and you already found rhythm in when to brace yourself and when to breathe in and out. The untouched spots hurt more than where he’s been but his warm hand making constant contact relieves each new burning sensation. His touch becomes more and more welcomed as he moves or readjusts, you need his presence on you to stay focused. He really is a genius. It’s as if he can predict when you’re getting uncomfortable and lets you shift when needed before starting again.

Every wipe of the wet paper towel is as refreshing as it is painful so it’s timed between when you need it and when he needs to see the stencil. You’re thankful on all fronts, this would probably feel much worse but your body is being expertly handled right now. It also helps that you can steal glances at the man you’ve been fawning over this week online and it has far surpassed any video you watched to see the real thing up close.  

It’s been a lot of fun blowing through topic after topic. From his demeanor and his page you half guessed that he would be very serious but this is better than you imagined, he’s cool and super fucking funny. The kind of cocky asshole who laughs at his own jokes harder than he needs to. He pokes fun at you but it doesn’t make you feel stupid, it makes you want to poke back, exercising both of your guys wit and sarcasm. You have to be careful not to laugh too much, your body wanting to react along with it and you don’t want to mess him up. 

But every so often, when he’s super focused or in a very detailed area, he’s back to verbally poisoning you with his praise, telling you what a tough little doll you are. Predicting when he’s going to go over a difficult area telling you to sit still like a good girl, you’re doing so good for him. His words render your body almost imobile, a snake keeping his prey nice and docile for him to swallow whole, but only when he’s ready. The venom numbing your body and limbs keeps you pleasantly sedated while he scars you with his ink and fangs. It’s working everywhere except it does nothing to ease the growing ache in your guts. 

Talking with him has been both easy and damning but the contrast is maddening because you know you’re not done yet. You’re about halfway finished with shading when a man with glasses peaks his head around the privacy screen. “Hanma! Mitsuya said you’ve only taken two smoke breaks today? If you were going to be this focused, why didn’t you let me get the stencil lay on video? Must be something fun you’re working on, right? I could have sworn you were working a half sleeve today.” You’re a little thankful for the distraction, both because you are tired of laying in this position and because your head is dizzy with aphrodisia, two ticking time bombs right now. 

Hanma huffs and stops what he’s doing to swirl the tattoo machine in the water cup before turning it off, irritation evident in his tone as he spins his chair around to face the nosey man. “Yeah, yeah. Moved that appointment to next week, this sounded way more fun. Must you document everything?” Glasses pays you no mind and you’re happy to have avoided a whole half naked video show with someone besides Hanma. “If you’re going to start something that big, at least get a photo when you’re done. You know we can’t afford to fuck around this close to tax season.” And with that he disappears as fast as he had shown up. Did he just say he moved an appointment around for this? 

Before you can process what you just witnessed, you hear movement out in the shop and when you finally look at your phone to see the time, it’s almost 6pm. The shop closes at 7pm and you can’t believe you’ve been sitting for this long. Hanma turns back to you and starts wetting another paper towel. “My booth is paid up for the next six months, I don’t know what his deal is. Don’t mind him.” He wipes your leg and you can feel how sore it’s getting. “But now I can’t stop thinking about taking a smoke break. I’m gonna give you some of the good shit and we’ll be finished soon, I promise. An hour tops.” He sprays your fresh scarring with a numbing spray and lays a huge piece of saran wrap over everything. 

You let the spray soak in before attempting to sit up, “Thank god, I need a restroom break for sure.” He helps you stand and then tries to help pull your dress down to a normal length but not before slapping your rear first, “Good work out there doll, you’re making this too easy for me. Be back in a sec.” You wanted to snap back a quick response about how you want your money's worth but he’s already gone. Long legs moving him out of the booth in a flash. 

As you stumble back out into civilization, you can visually tell that it’s gotten late. In Tora’s booth you can see he’s just about done with his client and Hanma was right, they didn’t get too far down the man’s back and he’s wiping him down for the final wrap up. Glasses has long since disappeared and Mitsuya, the receptionist, just tossed the guy with short black hair some keys and asked if he or Hanma can lock up, leaving in a hurry with the black haired cat enthusiast. 

You wonder if Hanma is always late like this or if you both really just locked in tonight for the sake of this beast on your leg. It’s both flattering and nerve racking because you’re not sure you can handle being alone with Hanma, nearing the end of your session. 

Waddling out from the bathroom you notice the shop is basically empty aside from you, Hanma who just passed you on his way to the back and the guy with short black hair who appears to be sifting through the body jewelry case. Working late too? How long can a piercing take you wonder.. 

Back in the booth you settle onto the tattoo bed. The exhaustion is starting to creep in but he said it shouldn’t take too long. You really hope he’s right and as if on queue, he pops his massive self back into the booth and stands there, looking at you a little puzzled, “We’re gonna close the place down tonight sweetheart, you sure you’re good to keep going?” He spins the shop keys around by the loop, staring at you intently. 

“I can go as long as you can. Just let me know if you need another smoke break.” You mock his earlier instructions with a wide grin of your own. The concern in his face turns cheshire. Being aware that you’re alone with Hanma is giving you a confidence boost all of a sudden and you’re not entirely sure you can keep down the inappropriate thoughts anymore. Too tired to care and too anxious to pass up the opportunity to at least try. Worst case you can beg someone else to finish what he started on your body but you’re hoping that doesn’t happen. You don’t want the fun to end. 

He approaches the bed, standing right above you at an intimidating height before he leans down, a long arm reaching across you to plant his hand near your head. Half on the bed and half basically on top of you, he uses his free hand to tuck your hair behind your ear and holds your face after. He gently turns you, exposing your opposite ear so he can drip more delicious poison into you directly. His grin continues to grow, “Let’s hurry and finish you up okay, doll? After that, we can see who's begging for a break.” His promise sends a chill down your spine, from the base of your skull to the tips of your toes. 

Sitting back down, he’s quick to start the machine back up to finish. You’re so thankful for the numbing spray. You hardly feel a thing and so as long as that lasts, you will make it through the end of this just fine. He seems motivated which is great for you both but he is intentionally making it harder for you to focus now. 

As he is working on the lower part of your thigh, his free hand keeps getting closer and closer to where you’re longing for him. His fingers purposely teasing you and squeezing your thigh before distracting with a pause for a wet paper towel wipe, giving you little hints of pleasure before reminding you that your leg is an open wound.  

Before you can start to feel discomfort, the roar of Hanma’s tattoo machine comes to a stop. You hadn’t even paid attention to his progress, too distracted by his hands and words, time is an illusion you remember. “All done for today, sweetheart. You killed it.” He wipes you down with another wet paper towel, bringing you back to reality. You are so relieved to be done, the tattooed area of your body feels hot and sore. Standing, he stretches his long arms with a grunt, shirt rising to flash you a little peak of his toned lower stomach. 

His eyes never leave yours, he handles you gently as he sprays you again with the good shit and helps you sit up.  “We’ll let that sit and then I can wrap you up, alright?” While you sit and feel the blood rushing back into the numb parts of your body, he cleans up his booth, everything back into place aside from the bed that you are still resting on. He pulls out a light attachment and snaps it onto his phone case. “Think you can stand? I would love to get a picture of this one if you don’t mind.” He offers you a hand and you hop off the bench.

Continuing to gently guide and position you, he takes a knee again, phone camera ready in hand. Reminding you of the stencil lay earlier in your day, feeling like ages ago now. “Now stay just like that, stand natural.” You can tell he’s looking for a good angle. “Wait one more thing,” He reaches for the tie on your bottoms and before you can help, he pulls on the loose end, undoing the bow. “There we go, stand still for me.” You can see how big his grin is behind the camera and you stand perfectly still, your brain malfunctioning at his action momentarily. You want him to take off more than your bottoms. 

He rises and shows you the screen of his phone. The picture is as perfect as everything else he’s done tonight and you could kick yourself slightly for thinking it was going to be a lewd photo. Showing more skin than most of the clients on his page for sure but the tattoo is definitely the main focus and you’re so happy with how it turned out after today’s progress.

“It’s amazing! Thank you so so much.” Not sure how to end today’s interaction, you might as well get the fun part for him out of the way. “Would you rather me send you the money online or do you prefer cash?” 

With a chuckle, he runs a hand through his hair, “Depends on how you prefer your aftercare. Need you to lay down again so I can wrap you up.” You comply but his answer causes you more confusion than clarity as he helps you back onto the bed. “What do you mean? Just healing cream and then unscented lotion right?” He pulls out a large roll of what you assume is the second skin*. 

“You do know your stuff, but I mean this is a special piece so I have special instructions for you. I’m invested in this now too and I need the healing to go nice and smooth so you can be a feature on my page.” Your face heats up, what kind of special instructions? You need to know.

After cutting and pulling more plastic from the box in his hand, he sets the pieces aside and grabs the alcohol. “Last wipe sucks the most, breathe for me, k doll?” He wipes your fresh tattoo with the alcohol soaked paper towel. The sting is sharp and dry. You inhale and try not to make a pained sound as you exhale, this is so much worse than the tattoo itself. 

He takes note of your noises. Trying to talk through the pain, you question his proposal, “Well, you are the professional, what do you recommend, hm?” You give him your best puppy dog eyes, looking up at him in search of an answer. 

Readying the second skin, he lines the adhesive up with your ‘injury’ and starts to rub it onto you, hands helping to ease the afterburn and leaving no air bubbles. Smoothing it out, he makes eye contact with you again, “You have two options, sweetheart. First, you only have to send me half of what I quoted and we call it a day. I’ll even talk to Kazutora myself about finishing you up if you’d rather not see me again.” He peels away the plastic film, it’s all done. It’s finished. There is nothing left to do except pay the man. 

He leans over you once more, closer to your face this time and his stare is deadly, “Second, you let me make up for keeping you here all day. Let me help you feel better. Let me do that and today’s appointment is free.” His eyes look into yours and then down to your lips and back. You nod your head, “I’ll trust the second option…” 

That was all he needed to hear from you. Reaching to hold your face in one hand, his lips brush yours ever so lightly, “Thought so,” he lets out a chuckle before kissing you deeply. “And if you need a break, just say so.” You surrender to the feeling of him taking over your mouth with his, following as best you can and letting his tongue wrestle yours. Before you can register his movements, he slowly unzips your dress and you’re sure he appreciates how easy it was to take off, neither one of you wanting to waste anymore time. Your bra falls away shortly after, his hands working as fast and efficiently as they have all day.  

Your body is weak, all the poison he’s spoken into you activating in your bloodstream, cashing in on all his promises. His lips finally move from yours, letting you breathe while he makes his way down your neck, one hand massaging your breast and the other holding himself up. 

You’re enjoying how much attention he’s giving you, so many teasingly light little kisses all over your throat until he finds the spot by your ear, your moan giving it away. The pleasure is short lived when he starts to bite and suck on that spot, pain before he soothes over it with his tongue, a silent apology like his hands trying soothing you earlier while he tore into your skin with the machine. 

His other hand works in tandem, harshly pinching your pert nipple before softly soothing it as well. Noticing the way your body is starting to squirm, he brings his legs up, one knee settling between your parted ones, joining you on the tattoo bed. You feel cold as ice compared to the warmth of him and so you actively cling to his body, trying to regain heat. He doesn’t stop his exquisite torture but now everytime you instinctively thrust your hips at the pain or the need for warmth, you’re also giving yourself much needed friction. 

Every bite, every pinch, every low moan of his has your body reacting perfectly for him, working you over like the professional he is and you just can’t take it anymore. Going insane over so little, you need more so you grip his shirt and grind harder onto his knee, letting out a cry of his name and he laughs above you, gripping your face, forcing your cheeks into a pout and looking straight into your eyes with a crazed, cat-like leer, “Wow, tapping out already. I thought you were tougher than that, doll.” Shifting slightly, he pushes your legs apart farther with his massive ones. 

Still keeping his gaze and hold on you, his hips meet yours with a slow, weighted grind. You let out another loud moan at his action, clit instantly welcoming the pressure but it’s still not enough. “Please, I need more. You’re driving me crazy!” He definitely likes the sound of that, you’d been so polite and pleasant all day, he’s been waiting for you to crack. 

He frees you from his clutches, lifting himself up enough to take off the shirt that you’re trying to rip apart with your nails. His sculpted chest, stomach and arms are covered in art, almost every inch of him is decorated from his hips up to his neck and you can’t believe it. Can’t believe that he’s this hot, that he looks like this and he’s playing with you like a toy on the bed in his booth, can't believe you’re here right now.

Can’t believe that his fingers are trailing down to your weeping cunt, gliding across your skin on their way down like he’s tracing a stencil only he can see. Plans for his next piece. “I am a man of my word, I told you I’d take care of you.” Lower he goes until his middle and pointer finger make contact with you, spreading your lower lips just enough to soak the two digits. Your head falls back and you’re moaning out frenzied oh yes and oh pleases at him finally making contact where you want it. “Good girl, you know prep always comes first.” 

He’s been focused for the entire day on you, making sure you’re taken care of, making sure you’re comfortable, rearranging his week for you just so he could get to this moment of you breathless and blushing underneath him. It’s paying off, a whole appointment's worth, when your back arches as he teases your hole. He shows you some mercy by putting some pressure on your clit with his thumb, mimicking the swirling movement of his fingers. Your inner muscles are exhausting their efforts to pull him inside you.

Prayers and chants are answered when he finally slides those two fingers into you, exactly what you were wishing for. The stretch and the thickness of just those two digits feels better than any numbing spray, better than any wipe of the wet paper towel from earlier. The sound that emits from you is deafening and relieving, your hands grip and claw at his back in effort to stabilize yourself and he’s back at your ear, breathing as heavy as you are but still mocking you, “That’s it, so wet and needy, all for me right? Ha, this really is working for you isn’t it?” You played right into his trap, letting his fingers trace their own stencil inside of you, mapping out all the places he’s going to need to revisit soon.

Alternating his movements between violently scissoring you open to deeply messaging your softest, most sensitive places, it doesn’t take long for you to release all over his hand and the table below. Your body is dough after that, laying lifeless under him, chest heaving with labored breaths and he looks unfazed in comparison. The sound of him undoing his belt registers to you and when you see the size of him, you’re thankful yet again that you’re in his capable hands. There was absolutely no way you were going to be able to take him without that prep. 

“I’m not even close to being done with you yet.” A large palm reaches to squeeze your cheeks again, moving your head back and forth slightly to make sure you didn’t pass out on him. His thumb moves to your lips and with zero hesitation, you open wide to let it in, “You still with me, doll?” You can only nod your head and moan in response as he presses his thumb down, keeping your tongue from teasing his digit. 

“Still so eager to finish after so many hours of letting me play with you. Aren’t you the perfect little canvas.” Patronizing you in your pitiful state, accentuating each ooo in his so’s, the venomous snake finally ready to devour his prey. Light work. Finally leaving your greedy mouth to brace himself above you again, his other tattooed hand guides the tip of his massive cock to line up with your weeping entrance. Even in your tired state, you move your hips against it, body begging for him to tear you apart, running purely on desperation and need. 

Emitting his own sound of reprieve at how your jellied cunt easily welcomes his intrusion, a desperate sound leaves you, ugly and whiny as he slowly pushes in. Careful not to touch your wounded hip, he opts instead to press a spread palm over your lower stomach. Soothing you like he’d done all day, distracting you from the discomfort of him splitting you open but more so to keep you from moving too much. You begrudgingly take the hint and cease your movements, letting you both adjust for a moment even though you have no need to be soothed right now. “Fuck, stay still for me sweetheart, you gotta let me handle this.” 

He pulls back out half way before slowly sliding back in, hips meeting yours painfully and choosing not to leave, only grinding into you like he’s hell bent on seeing how far he can go. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever felt - the pressure of his palm emphasizing just how deep in your guts he is, his lower abdomen smashing against your clit, holding it hostage in between you two and the burn of his perfect cock stretching you out, 5 star aftercare. 

In your post-tattoo drunken haze, you silently thank yourself again for all of the reckless, great life decisions that led you here before another thrust in and out short circuits your brain. Fully fucking you into the tattoo bed, he sets a brutal, toe curling pace. You can’t stop the never ending fuck, fuck, oh fucks from spilling from your lips as your nails dig into his back. Lost in the sights and sounds of you sucking him in over and over, he can tell he won’t last long and knows that you’re close too. 

When your ankles ground themselves into the tattoo bed to give you more strength to meet his thrusts, he groans in bliss and lets your body mindlessly guide him to your demise. Your eyes and cunt start to overflow with moisture from how good it feels and he starts to punctuate his words with calculated thrusts, “So. Fucking. Cute.” He can’t take it anymore either, getting drunk himself on you, babbling whatever toxin that pops into his head. It takes you by surprise when he collars your throat, forcing you to look at him and cutting off the blood flow to your already un-alived brain, insides squeezing and unsqueezing him instinctively as if to say thank you, thank you, THANK YOU. 

“Sittin’ all day just fine,” Your grip moves from his back to his wrist, not pushing him away but holding him right where he is, bracing yourself for your impending climax and egging him on not to stop. He knows his words will push you right over the edge as his hips frantically but accurately carve your insides like he’s trying to tattoo your cervix, marking you as his on the inside as much as the outside. “Sat so well for me and now you’re fucking crying over my cock?” 

He stares at you the same way he stares at the camera in all of his videos, albeit slightly more crazed, and your muscles start to stiffen, pressure boiling over from within. “Come on doll.” Moans falling silent and your legs go numb from pulling him in with all your remaining strength. He slams into you, ignoring the way your body is trying to expel him, remembering exactly where your mushy cunt showed him where to abuse it, where the stencil was. 

“Cum for me, fuck.” Hearing him falling apart above you, yet still demanding that you listen to him, pushes you to the breaking point, Pavloved all day into reacting to his words, you listen and gush all over him. The hard compression of your inner muscles suffocates him and again, he soothes you, letting you breath, circling your clit to coo your vibrating hole. 

“That’s it, fuck. That’s my good girl.” The euphoria of your orgasm bursts like a balloon and before the pieces shrivel away, his ministrations perfectly prolong the disaster, blooming from your lower abdomen into your entire nervous system, liquifying you and rendering you limp and spent. Changing pace, he uses your broken, unbothered body like a ragdoll to make himself follow suit. He cums hard and deep inside you with drawn out hiss, followed by a small, strained sob and some curses. 

Avoiding crushing you with his weight, he uses his elbows to keep himself up but lets his head fall into the sweaty space between your neck and shoulders. Both of you out of breath, chests heaving in fatigue. Clarity starts to shine through the clouds of your fogged up mind and you let out a blissful sigh of relief, body feeling no pain, no discomfort outside of your limbs feeling like jello. Nuzzling his nose into the hair around your ear, he breaks the silence with a soft chuckle. “Shit, doll. I’ll hafta make sure your next appointment is free too.” 

You wrap your arms around him, one hand slowly running your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him too before you two disconnect from one another. Finally you speak, wit fired back up now that you can formulate real words, “Big fan of your work, I would love to book with you as soon as possible.” 

He lifts his head to look at you once more with a cocky smirk, eyes fully lit up in excitement at your little call back, “I would love to book you as soon as possible.” 

Collapsing onto the couch after your incredibly long day, you can’t help but smile. Not only did you start a sick new piece, but you are very much looking forward to seeing that god damn genius again. Your thoughts have the power to summon him apparently, your phone chimes. 

@/Shibuya_ReaperTattoos sent a message: As your professional and now permanent tattoo artist, I’m gonna need to help you take off that second skin. Does Monday work for you, doll? ;)

-Monday sounds perfect. 

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics. Please do not share my works on other social media platforms. See pinned post for more details. 

A Long Note From Me: Woooow, sorry guys, I was having a blast with Shinichiro and the music collab but then Tattoo Artist Hanma slid into my brain DMs and I had to get this out of my system or I was going to die. Hanma is high key so lucky because I personally feel like absolute garbage after a long tattoo session, reader is a god damn tank for this! Who am I kidding though… Hanma could honestly get me to do anything, at any time. Am I right, guys? 

Anyway, getting a huge ass tattoo sucks so bad that sometimes I wanna punch my own tattoo artist. Jk, he’s actually a good dude and I am lucky that I can regularly book with a real life genius! Also for those of you who are not familiar with tattoos, second skin is like a clear bandaid thing some artists use to help the healing process. 

Now that it’s done and I’m metaphorically accepting awards in my head again, what do ya’ll think? What would your fave specialize in? I would love to yap with ya’ll about it! I asked a fellow friend and resident Baji simp what kind of tattoos they think he would do and they said, “neo trad or cyber sigilism. I just know my boys’ out there doing weird shit.” I was dying, god I love this stupid anime.