Rue

your eyes blink open, drops of rain smashing against the foggy windows. you let out a grunt from stretching when you feel euijoo move a little closer to you. you halt your movements, not wanting to disturb him. you love him most like this, simply existing. cheeks puffed, hair a little messy.

he slowly opens his eyes, catching your gaze. a soft smile plastered across his face as he turns onto his side, draping an arm over your waist, pulling you in closer to nest his face in your neck. his finger tracing circles on your skin, absentmindedly.

you try to escape his hold when his hand reaches up to pinch your nipple. pulling you closer into him. his half-hard cock now resting against your thigh.

“please,” he whispers.

your plan to be early at work falling apart at once. you roll over, placing sweet kisses all over his face. looking to take revenge on him for resolving your plans, you grin mischievously as a move over to settle between his legs.

your lips move down his body, leaving slow, deliberate kisses as you go. your fingers trace lines on his thighs, sliding up to rest at his waistband. euijoo lets out a little moan, his hand finding its way to your head, gently caressing. a soft, needy plea.

you pull his boxers down in one smooth motion,

his cock springing out. he was gorgeous. thick, fully hard, the head flushed a deep pink. a pool forming in your lower belly. you use one hand to spread him open, leaning down to take one of his balls in your mouth. a low moan escaping his lips as you roll your tongue around his nuts, making sure to give both equal treatment.

you slowly lick up his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip that's coated with precum. you place a kiss on his sensitive tip before taking him into your mouth. euijoo watches as your lips wrap around the head. “Oh my god… oh fuck...” cries falling from his mouth, only making you wetter.

euijoo's moans only grow louder when you take him further into your mouth. you hollow out your cheeks, pressing your tongue against the underside of his shaft. wet, obscene sounds flood the room as you suck and slurp around his cock.

you pull off to catch your breath before his fingers that once threaded so gently through your hair now gripped it hard, forcing you to take him deeper. gagging softly when his tip meets the back of your throat.

you let out a breathless whine against his cock, your movements growing eager when you feel how close he is.

poor euijoo, everything is becoming far too much for him, so he starts to thrust up, fast. his hands following the same cadence.

“i’m gonna–gonna cum–” a choked moan escaping his lips

your head barely moves a fraction more before he completely loses control, coming undone on your tongue, legs shaking violently. euijoo's cock twitches, hot seed spilling into your warm, wet mouth in pulsing ropes.

you suck him through his release, swallowing everything he has to offer as the last tremors of his orgasm fade.

you pull off with a wet pop and lift yourself to meet his lips, kissing him slow, and desperate. the bitter taste of him still lingering on your tongue.

his hands settle on your hips, holding you close as you whimper softly into his mouth. euijoo pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"my turn baby," he murmurs, his voice low and warm. "please let me make you feel good too."

@yumaszn on Tumblr only!! do not copy or translate my work or feed it into ai.

“Fuck…I look like shit,” you mutter as you crack open your third bottle of the night. Your eyes are enveloped by dark circles. The insides are bloodshot red.

You get up off the couch, somehow keeping your balance. You stagger towards your desk, rip out a page from your notebook, and grab a broken black pen from the drawer. The ink spills across your fingers while you slump onto the chair to scribble down a list to help overcome your depressive episode.

You've got everything down, your writing barely tangible. From dyeing your hair to overindulging in useless purchases. Yet it isn't enough.

You stare at your now-stained fingers. The hollowness that hugs your rotting bones comes up to settle in your chest.

You scribble over your list with urgency. “I just need to feel something,” you slur, your head slipping to meet the desk as your eyelids are forced shut by the alcohol.

Hours have passed. The sky has darkened and filled with bright flickers of hope. You grab your keys and drive 45 minutes until you find yourself in front of a vintage store with an awfully old heart-shaped sign that reads, “TATTOOS DONE HERE AS WELL!”

As you enter, your energy is drained by the loud, long peal coming from above the door. You take a moment. Your eyes scout around the warmly lit room as you take a few steps, searching for someone to help. Your fingers brush against the clothes on display before you stop to admire.

Your gaze is fixed on the perfectly curated accent wall, plastered with stickers and graffiti of something called “Wenosim.” You have become so lost in admiration that you fail to realise the presence of a tall man creeping up behind you.

He clears his throat, which causes you to swiftly turn around. Your eyes slowly rise in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his face, which is hidden well by a black cap.

“Nicholas,” he says as he extends a hand. “Can I be of any help?”

You reach out to shake his hand. Cold metallic rings on his pretty fingers brush against yours.

“Y/N,” you whisper.

For a moment, the room is filled with comfortable silence. Your hand rests lightly in his. Neither of you moves.

“I'm here to get a tattoo.” You pause, focusing your attention on bringing your hand back. “I came here to feel something… now I'm not sure I want to.”

Nicholas removes his cap, almost like he wants you to have a better view of him. He runs his fingers through his hair. His dark bangs fall just below his attractive, mysterious black eyes, contrasting with the soft gaze that never leaves your face.

“Hm?” he says, tilting his head slightly as he raises an eyebrow. The sudden knot in your stomach tightens as Nicholas moves close enough to feel the waves of heat radiating from your body. “It’s okay to be nervous for your first time,” he says, placing his cap back on. “I promise not to hurt you if you'll let me.”

Your eyes trace Nicholas’s face, searching for confirmation of his words. He gives you a soft smile, the ends of his lips curving slightly. You thought pain was what you needed to forget about your sadness, but seeing Nicholas in front of you makes you second-guess yourself. The stranger, dressed in a tight shirt that clings to his muscles in all the right places, along with his flashy pants and Chrome Hearts boxers that tease, might just be the remedy you've been searching for.

“Okay,” you respond.

Nicholas signals towards the black curtain behind the desk, and you follow him quietly.

He leads you into a small, yellow room. The walls overflow with flash art and framed artwork. Amber lighting fills the room with the help of a small lamp set on a bookcase. Nicholas taps the reclining seat, motioning for you to lie down. Once you're settled, he moves his stool closer so that he is hovering over you.

“Have you thought of anything in particular?” he asks.

“Not really. But I'd like it to drape across my chest, maybe my shoulder too. I trust you with the design,” you say, your eyes avoiding his, though you can feel Nicholas’s gaze hasn't left you since you walked in.

“I can work with that,” he says, his eyes softening as a faint smile touches his lips.

With much precision, his hands move to draw an asymmetrical piece. Whimsical lines spiral everywhere. He draws stars around them, shyly stealing glances. But you're anything but shy. You don't even try to hide that you're staring.

You watch as his fingers move with grace, creating a beautiful piece of artwork even with the short notice. You notice how his eyebrows furrow and the way in which his eyes narrow in concentration. You lean forward, trying not to interrupt, but Nicholas notices, and a visible flush creeps onto his cheeks.

“You like it?” he asks, his eyes dropping to your lips while he licks them. “Yeah,” you say, mirroring his actions. Nicholas, with the finished stencil in his hand, asks you to stand in front of the mirror.

You walk over as you slowly begin pulling your shirt over the top of your head. Your black lace bra is on display. You try not to pay heed to how intensely Nicholas is watching. But you can't ignore the pool growing bigger in your stomach. He steps in front of you as you remove your bra, leaving you bare.

He leans down to meet your plump breasts at eye level. His breath is hot against your skin as he presses down on the stencil. Maybe you were going insane, but it felt as if his fingers lingered on the thin paper longer than needed. Not that you would complain.

Once he's done checking if you're happy with the placement, he guides you back onto the chair.

He snaps on a fresh pair of black gloves before the machine hums to life. His fingers press below your breast, stretching the skin tight before the needle touches you.

The sharp, scraping sensation of the needle dragging across your skin causes your eyes to swell with tears. Your fingers dig into the armrest in an attempt to hide your cries, but they're cut off when Nicholas soothes your skin with a wet cloth. He covers your hand with his, rubbing circles over your knuckles.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and you nod.

He goes again, bringing the needle to your skin. The sting only gets worse. You try to keep yourself afloat, but you're mentally worn out. Tears spill from your eyes, and muffled sounds fall from your lips.

Nicholas stops to wipe the excess ink and little bits of plasma. Once he's done, he slides the stool to meet your face. “You're doing so good,” he says while his fingers glide softly over your skin, gently wiping away the tears. “Ignore the pain and focus on me, okay. Will you do that for me, please?”

He moves back to start drawing again. He's more gentle now, taking time out to check up on you in between inking. He wipes away any stray tears, praising you in the process.

Nicholas continues, now etching lines into your collarbone. He tries to make small talk but becomes concerned when you're somewhat unresponsive. He looks up to see the colour drained from your face and your bottom lip bruised. You inhale deeply, swallowing the tears before you speak.

“Do you mind if we take a break?”

“No, baby, I don't mind. We can go as slow as you'd like,” he whispers softly, like he's afraid of putting you through more pain. He cranks the seat up and brings you a glass of water.

He places his hand at the back of your head and helps you take a few sips. You thank him, giving him a sweet smile. He slowly drags his thumb across your lips to catch the drop of water sliding down, a small smirk plastered on his face when your breath hitches at the contact. He cups your face and pulls you in closer, caressing your cheek.

“Just breathe for me. We're almost done.”

“I don't know how much more of this I can take,” you say, hands fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“If the pain's too much, I've got a few ways to take your mind off things… if you're down?” he mutters, taking a brief look at your lips.

Your hands creep up and find their place on his chest. You're turning a bright red, clearly flustered, but Nicholas has been such a sweet boy the entire night, and it would be rude to pass on this chance.

He closes in until your lips are touching. You slant your head slightly, parting your lips in readiness, but he pulls back just enough to look at you. “You really want this, don't you?” he giggles.

“You're so cu-”

You grab onto his shirt and yank him forward, your lips crashing onto his, hungry. The kiss is messy and sloppy. Nicholas eases back for a breather, grinning down at you before his lips meet yours again. Your hands move up to tangle in his hair at the nape of his neck.

Nicholas slides one of his hands up your thigh, causing you to moan into his lips. He brushes his tongue against your bottom lip, an invitation to open for him. His mouth meets yours, hot and open as he slides his tongue in slowly. Testing the waters. But you're done waiting. Your tongue sweeps in until he's chasing you back.

He leans forward from the stool, pinning you to the chair to take what he gives. He breaks away not long after, breathing hard. A string of saliva connects you both.

He rests his forehead against yours for a second. “Shit,” he rasps. “Hold still, baby. I have to finish this,” he says, his voice low as he picks up the gun like he's being punished.

He dips the needle in the ink and presses it to your skin. His hand is steady, but his breathing isn't. He focuses on the lines way too hard, like if he were to look up, he'd stop again. You lie there, needy as hell. Your eyes are caught on his lips, still wanting, but he wipes the gun, continuing to hurt you.

The pleasure slowly fades. Your hand blindly reaches off the chair to find his thigh. You give it a squeeze, your knuckles turning white. Nicholas immediately takes your hand in his, giving it little kisses for encouragement.

What feels like hours of pain finally comes to an end. He walks you to the mirror, stands behind you, and rests his chin on your shoulder. He places his hands on your waist and checks if you're happy with how the tattoo turned out.

Afterwards, he smooths the ointment on with his fingertips, bending down to caress your skin. He covers it with film, removing his gloves as he presses slow, open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

He kisses you again like he's been holding himself back. His lips move lazily against yours while his fingers trace circles on your hips. Your hands settle on his neck, pulling him in closer. Each brush of your lips becomes more desperate. Nicholas rests his forehead against yours. “You did so well, baby,” he says before kissing you again, unable to stay away for long.

You moan his name when you feel a hard bulge pressing against you. You pull back, slightly afraid you've gone too far, but Nicholas holds you closer. “Do you want to take this further? Please, my baby, I'll make you feel so good,” he begs. You nod shyly from being called his baby.

“I need to hear you say it, pretty.”

“Please, Nicholas,” you say breathlessly.

And without second thoughts, he props you into his arms. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist as he kisses the sense out of you.

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the end. likes and reblogs much appreciated.

@yumaszn on tumblr only