special clients only.
summ: turns out booking the hottest tattoo artist in town was a terrible idea when he’d been flirting with you through every consultation.
⋆ pairing: tattoo artist!jisung x f!reader ⋆ genre: smut (minors dni) ⋆ tags/cw: dom!jisung, rough sex, pet names (pretty girl, baby), kissing, dirty talk, praise kink, fingering, tit play, hair pulling, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cumming, creampie, unprotected sex, soft ending? ⋆ words: 3.7k
a/n: HEAR ME OUT. i know sub!jisung is basically my watermark at this point, but this version of him was BEGGING to be written. i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a while now. also, ofc i had to mention richard and bbama at least in one of my fics. this was originally almost 5k words, so yeah… i got a little carried away lmao. anyway! all my dom!jisung lovers, this one’s for you. enjoy!!! <3
the bell above the studio door gave a low chime when you pushed it open, the sharp smell of ink and the metallic bite of the autoclave drifting from the back.
the front desk was empty, a single lamp cast long, jagged shadows across the black leather couch and the flash sheets pinned to the walls.
your eyes roamed the room nervously until you heard a door at the end of the hall creaked open. jisung stepped out, wiping his hands on an ink-stained rag.
he wore a black tee that clung to his frame, leaving nothing to the imagination, his bare arms making you lick your lower lip. he stopped inches from you, a slow, flirtatious smirk curving at the corner of his mouth.
“lock the door behind you,” he said, voice low and casual. he jerked his head toward the entrance. “we’re closed for the night. special clients only.”
he didn’t wait for a reaction from you. with a playful wink, he turned toward his private office. you followed, heart hammering against your ribs, every single word of support and encouragement your friends gave you flying out the window
you eased the office door shut. you were nervous as fuck, the silence in the room feeling heavy and electric. you swept your gaze to his desk, which was a chaotic graveyard of sketches and a pack of cigarettes with only one left.
“sit down,” he commanded, patting the edge of the desk. he slumped into the leather chair, rolling it forward until his knees bracketed yours. “show me what we’re working with.”
you raise a brow, bracing yourself as you hopped up. the proximity was suffocating. with a shaky breath, your fingers found the hem of your top. you hiked it up, your gaze fixed on the wall to avoid his.
the cool air hit your left side, a shiver traveling up your spine made you gasp. he wasn’t wearing gloves, just his bare, calloused skin tracing under the curve of your breast. his thumb pressed in, testing the give of muscle and bone with a slow, agonizing deliberation.
“side torso,” he murmured, eyes tracking the line of your hip. “good choice. hurts like a bitch, but it’ll sit pretty.”
his palm remained flat against your skin, grounding you. you bit your lower lip to stifle a hum as his warm breath ghosted against your collarbone. you tried to steady your breathing, fighting the traitorous
what was wrong with you? he was just doing his damn job. your hand gripped the edge of the wooden desk, knuckles whitening as you tried to rein yourself in.
he tilted his head, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your ribs as if he were already carving the design into your flesh.
“you’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?” he asked in a quiet murmur.
you nodded, tongue-tied. you weren’t brave enough to look him in the eye when his gaze felt like a physical touch.
“how long?” his voice was professional, shop-counter casual. that tone carrying a dangerous edge.
you cleared your throat. “a few months. maybe more.”
“need you to be specific, sweetie,” his thumb shifted, mapping the curve under your bra band without slipping beneath it. “i don’t like talking vaguely when i’m about to put something permanent on you.”
“since… before the first consultation,” you admitted, voice barely a whisper. “i just… made up my mind.”
a low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. “i like that,” he finally glanced up, a spark of dark curiosity in his eyes. “what took you so long?”
“wanted to be sure about the placement,” you forced a smile, careful not to jostle his hand.
“mmh,” he clearly didn’t buy it. “placement is half the decision. the other half is whether you can sit still while i’m all over you,” his fingers splayed, warm and steady. “can you?”
your lips parted, searching his face for a hidden meaning. he flashed a smug, knowing grin. like he knew how much everything he did affected you on the inside.
“i… i think so,” you stammered, cursing yourself.
“you think so,” he repeated, tasting the words. “not good enough. i need a ‘yes’, or you can head home and come back when you’re ready to handle it.”
the words hit you like a physical shove, your body locking up. when he made to pull his hand away, your fingers shot out to grab his wrist, pinning his palm back against your side. you met his gaze, silent and pleading.
“yes,” you breathed. “i can handle it.”
“fine. then, arms up,” he demmanded. “keep the shirt there and don’t you dare let it drop.”
you obeyed, fabric bunched under your fists. you were painfully exposed, the draft from the vent tickling your skin. jisung leaned in, close enough that you could smell the sharp tang of his studio and the lingering scent of smoke.
he reached for a pen, uncapping it with his teeth. your stomach did a slow-motion vault at the sight of his lips around the plastic, his tongue flicking out.
“i’m going to mark the zone,” he said against the pen, his eyes locking onto yours. “tell me if it feels off.”
the tip of the pen grazed your skin. it was a light, agonizingly slow curve, and you felt every millimeter. his left hand stayed anchored to your waist, a silent reminder that you weren’t going anywhere.
“breathe,” he whispered.
he drew a final, soft ‘x’ at the center of the placement. he pulled back, his breath hitching when he saw your half-lidded eyes and the way you were biting your lip.
“so…” he cleared his throat. “this is the densest part of the work. every time you move, it’ll pull. sure you want it here?”
“it’s fine,” you said, forcing your voice to be steady. “wanna see it when i look down.”
he went still, swallowing hard before finishing the oval outline. you felt him hovering on the edge of disbelief, so you moved, trying to bridge the gap.
“it’s… practical,” you added, fishing for his approval. “nothing more.”
“sure it is,” he tossed the pen aside but kept his hand pressed to your skin. “but, as far as i’m concerned, ‘practical girls’ don’t blush when i mark them.”
heat flooded your throat. “i’m not-”
“you are,” he said, flat and observant. “it’s fine. my job is to put ink on you, not judge what turns you on.”
your face was a fire hazard. you tried to pull the shirt down, but his fingers clamped gently over the fabric, holding you in place.
“not yet, pretty girl. i’m not done looking.”
the words clung to your mind longer than you wanted. you were drowning in his double meanings, too panicked to do anything but play the fool.
you surely considered going home, calling seungmin and screaming how much you hated him your tattoo artists.
he leaned in, his knee coming to rest just outside yours. “now, again, why ribs?”
“i already told you-”
“you told me you want to see it. that’s bullshit,” his fingers returned, pressing into the ‘x’. “why here, where it’ll hurt? where every partner you ever have is going to put their mouth on and know i was first?”
this was too much. your breath snagged, eyes squeezing shut. your panties were damp, you were aching, and completely undone by the heat of his touch.
“jisung,” you warned, your voice barely audible.
“you can walk out. door’s unlocked,” he countered, nodding toward the exit. “or you can keep answering me like an adult who knows exactly what she walked into.”
you stayed on the desk, your knuckles whitened in the fabric of your shirt.
he stood, giving you time to track the shift in his weight. he braced a hand on the desk, looming over your hip, claiming the space as if he’d already built a home there.
“y’know what? i’ve been thinking about this for a while.”
the confession didn’t land all at once. he drew the moment out, making you wait until you were on the verge of begging.
maybe this was the moment where you redirected the conversation, said goodbye and walked out that door, looking for another tattoo artist that didn’t make you sigh like a girl with a crush.
“every appointment,” he began, “i’d watch from the counter. i’d watch your eyes flicker toward me,” his voice dropped, “and, to be completely honest, I was always watching back.”
the words settled in the room, heavy and absolute. his hand didn’t move. if anything, he pressed firmer, anchoring you to him.
“i told myself it was professional interest. then you started booking with me specifically, and i stopped lying to myself,” his thumb mapped the lower curve of his own mark, “i’ve thought about putting my hands on your lower back to check my own work myself.”
he waited, giving you that final, silent out. your heart hammered against your ribs with a frantic, erratic rhythm that you were certain he could feel through his palm.
“tell me you don’t want this, and i go back to a standard consultation,” he said, voice low, absolute decree. “tell me anything else… and i stop being your artist for the next hour.”
the air in the room felt thin. you could hear the ragged drag of your own breath and feel the bite of the desk’s edge against your thighs. your shirt was still bunched in your fists, his hand pressed over your ribs like a claim he hadn’t yet voiced aloud.
“i… i don’t want you to stop,” you murmured, the words barely ghosting past your lips.
something shifted in his expression. his face lit up with a raw, predatory hunger. his eyebrows arched, and his tongue swept across his lower lip in a slow, anticipating drag.
a sudden, violent jolt of arousal spiked between your thighs, the sensation becoming almost unbearable. a broken gasp escaped you when you heard the hungry, relieved sigh he let out in response.
he stepped into the narrow space between your knees, moving with patience. he gave your body time to adjust to his heat, to the solid, grounding weight of his hips brushing while the other rose to cradle your neck.
his thumb pressed firmly against the hinge of your jaw, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes.
he didn’t kiss you. instead, his hand slid into your hair at the nape of your neck, his fingers tightening until the pull against your scalp sent a shiver racing down your spine. he tilted your head back by degrees until your throat was bared and your eyes had nowhere to go but him.
with a firm grip, he turned you until your hip pressed against the edge of the desk. he leaned in, his palm finding the space between your shoulder blades to anchor you firmly against the wood. his free hand settled at the waistband of your jeans, lingering there, waiting.
“last chance. you sure about this, pretty girl?” he breathed against your shoulder.
“yes…” you whined, hissing at the sheer friction of his body against yours.
only then did he work the button and zipper. he dragged your jeans and panties down in one fluid motion, the fabric catching at your thighs and knees until it pooled, tangling around your legs and binding you just enough that you couldn’t open wide without his help.
the rush of cool air hitting your core made you sob. jisung groaned, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips.
“fuck, look at you,” he rasped. he smoothed his palms up the backs of your thighs, spreading you wide, his gaze hungry. the pause stretched until your hips twitched helplessly. “already dripping, and i haven’t even touched you yet.”
you gasped, your face burning against the desk as the bluntness of his words settled in your cunt. jisung let out a low, dark laugh that vibrated through the hand still pressed against your spine.
“keep making those sounds, baby,” he whispered. “i want every single one of them.”
without warning, a single fingertip traced the seam from from your clit to your entrance, gathering the slick of your folds but not entering, teasing.
when he finally circled your clit, the movement almost cruel in its agonizingly slow pace. he held you just on the edge of your pleasure, watching you unravel.
“j-jisung…” you pleaded, your eyes dragging over him.
“oh, you want more?” he pressed two fingers into your entrance, thick and unhurried. “beg then.”
your eyes squeezed shut, swallowing hard, the command vibrating in your skull.
“p-please…” the word broke, shattering in the quiet office.
a smug, satisfied smile bloomed on his face. he pushed in slowly, watching your expression, gauging the stretch until you were panting, whispering incoherencies against the wood.
he drove his fingers, knuckle by knuckle, until his palm pressed flush against your trembling body.
“that’s it,” he murmured. “taking me so well already.”
he curled his fingers inside, searching until he found that specific, wicked spot. he settled into a steady, merciless rhythm. you could hear his own breath hitching, uneven and ragged.
“i’ve thought about this”, he confesses, his voice raw. “how wet you’d get if i just talked to you like this.”
you moaned, a sound torn from your throat, but he didn’t ease up. he added a twist on the outstroke and a sharp press on the in, building a wet, rhythmic slapping sound that filled the room.
“greedy girl,” he murmured, his admiration evident. “you’ve been wanting this for weeks,” he sighed, a heavy, audible sound. “bet you went home after our appointments and put your hand between your legs, thinking about my mouth.”
you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but he slid a third finger inside without mercy. the burn sweetened into an overwhelming fullness. your hips pushed back against him unconsciously. he pinned you firmer, his hand a dead weight against your back.
“stay,” he commanded. “i set the pace and you just take it.”
and you did. you took everything he gave you. your heartbeat slammed against the desk, sweat prickling your hairline. every thrust dragged a high-pitched, broken sound from you, raw and completely stripped of pretense.
“j-jisung, stop- m’gonna… fuck, please- so close…”
you squirmed, your entire body vibrating as the orgasm gathered in your lower belly. your mouth fell open, your back arching as you pushed into his hand.
the tightness in your abdomen snapped and your walls fluttered, spasming hard around his fingers. you slumped against the desk, forehead dropping against the cold wood, completely undone.
jisung groaned, the sight of your release clearly hitting him like a physical blow. a rush of heat coated his hand, and he didn’t stop, continuing with shorter, sharper strokes, milking every pulse until you were raw and oversensitive, still rocking back for more.
“fuck, yes…” he breathed, his voice wrecked with dark amused. “good girl. now, wanna feel you doing it in my mouth.”
before you could process the request, he dropped to his knees behind you. you jolted, surprised, but his hands immediately spread you wider, his thumbs holding you open to his scrutiny.
“w-wait-” you moaned, chest heaving. “i’m sensitive, don’t-”
but he was already there. he dragged his tongue, broad and filthy, from the mess on your thighs up to your clit. you ran a hand through your hair, biting your lip until it bled.
his pace was relentless. he licked and slurped, moaning into your skin like a man starving. your hand slapped the desk, then flew to your mouth to stifle the noise, but it was futile.
he sucked your clit between his lips, teasing with a scrape of his teeth that made your entire body jump. he circled your nub, teasing before suctioning down hard. you throbbed as he licked your folds, giving you barely a second of reprieve before attacking the sensitive spot again.
when you tried to reflexively close your legs, he bit the inside of your thigh hard enough to mark you and held the bite until you whimpered, then soothed the sting with a slow, languid swipe of his tongue.
“stay open,” he panted against your skin. “didn’t tell you to move, did i?”
you shook your head, unable to stop the sobbing sounds, your body hovering on the edge of collapse. when he pushed two fingers back inside while his mouth worked you into a frenzy, you were certain you had lost you mind.
the dual sensation was a short-circuit. he found a rhythm that was relentless, curling, sucking, and thrusting until the sound of your own fluids filled the office.
“oh, fuck-” you gasped, your mouth trembling. “jisung, i can’t- s’too much-”
“you will,” he mumbled against you. “give it to me. wanna taste every drop.”
your second orgasm hit differently, deeper, a pressure in your lower abdomen that peaked with terrifying speed. you clenched your teeth as it crashed over you, harder than the first.
your vision whited out, another gush spilling over his tongue and chin. you whimpered loudly into the wood, your body trembling so violently the desk squeaked under you.
he groaned, obscenely satisfied, drinking his fill of your release. he didn’t stop his fingers, dragging out the climax until your legs turned to jelly and he had to hold your hips up with both hands, anchoring you as you shattered for the second time.
he withdrew his hand, the sudden absence of pressure leaving you feeling strangely hollow. he stepped back just enough to unzip his jeans, the rasp of the teeth echoing in the small room.
he moved behind you, pressing his chest flush against your spine, his hand coming to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly soothing despite the chaos he’d just wrought.
“what… jisung…” your gasps were hoarse.
he offered a slow, rouge smile. “think you can handle it?”
he didn’t wait for a verbal answer. the blunt head of his cock dragged against your soaked folds, a teasing friction, before he settled against your entrance, waiting.
you were arching back into him before he even applied pressure, desperate for the fullness you were clearly primed to receive.
“yes” you panted, the word barely recognizable.
“good girl,” he left a peek against the nape of your neck.
then, he pressed in. he didn’t slam inside, he fed you his length in slow, deliberate inches, letting you feel every ounce of the stretch, the agonizing heat of him as your body bloomed open to accommodate him.
when he bottomed out, he held perfectly still, buried to the hilt, his breath ragged against your skin. one hand fisted in your hair, the other spanning your ribs over the pen marks he’d drawn earlier.
“shit- you’re tight,” he rasped, his voice raw with honesty. “gonna fuck you until you can’t stand straight.”
a single, shaky nod was all the permission he needed. he snapped into a brutal, rhythmic pace that made the desk creak under the strain. he pulled your head back by your hair, forcing your throat open, your spine arching.
his free hand left your ribs to shove under your bra, pinching and rolling your nipple in time with his thrusts until you let out a broken sound.
“jisung, fuck-” you hissed, eyes rolling back. “so good… please, don’t stop…”
his rhythm faltered for a second at the raw sound of your voice. you were so wet, milking him with every clench, every frantic flutter of your muscles. he pushed harder, bottoming out against your cervix, the pleasure so sharp it made your mind fray at the edges.
“so fucking wet,” he panted, his own moans slipping through his teeth. “gonna cum inside you, baby. wanna see you take it all.”
he was fucking you senseless now. the thrusts were sloppy, messy, and relentless. he watched, fixated, as your ass bounced against his thighs with each violent collision. your cries were muffled against your own hand, but they were loud enough to drive him over the edge.
“gonna fill you up, baby. gonna be dripping with me after this… fuck-”
his control snapped- he buried himself to the hilt, grounding his hips against you as he sought his own release. your walls fluttered around him, desperate and greedy, milking him dry.
he let out a low, guttural roar, his cock pulsing deep inside you, hot spurs of cum flooding into you. he didn’t pull away, he stayed buried, thrusting in weak, rhythmic pulses until the very last drop was spent.
jisung remained pressed tight against you, head dropped to your shoulder, his breathing heavy and uneven. one hand stroked your side, his touch finally turning tender, while his cum leaked out, warm and thick, too much for you to hold inside.
“oh, shit… so good,” he breathed against your shoulder, pressing soft kisses into your skin. “you are perfect. made for me.”
eventually, he eased out, the withdrawal leaving a strange, quiet void in the room. you shivered, the mess between your legs feeling heavy, filthy.
he turned you around with careful, almost reverent hands, lifting you to sit on the edge of the desk. even as his body still hummed with the aftershocks of his release, his focus was entirely on you.
he brushed his thumb over you swollen lower lip, his gaze softening as he traced the flush on your cheeks. his eyes dropped to your chest, your shirt still rucked up, and his hands moved to adjust it, his fingers lingering in soft caresses.
you looked down, noticing the faint, dark marks he’d left on your thighs. you blinked, meeting his gaze one last time.
“you good?” he mumbled, stealing another soft peck from your lips. “if you want… you can come home with me. y’know… i have a little dog and a lizard that are dying to meet you.”
it was almost like a bad joke. the way he suddenly avoided your eyes, looking shy about the invitation. a slow, genuine smile spread across your face. it was sweet, the way his fingers were tracing soft, aimless circles over your knuckles.
“lead the way, then,” you said, your voice warm. “but don’t think i’m walking there on my own feet. you are carrying me!”
he chuckled, a rich, genuine sound, and patted your head before turning to gather your scattered clothes from the floor, tossing out fake apologies that lacked even a shred of regret for what he’d just done.
permanent taglist: @cherryblogger2003, @kloversung, @ykitsaura, @pporang-pporang, @straykitten88 @b4echo, @elylyyy, @marlboropuffs, @miniseungkimcami, @lostinmymind-daydreaming, @niku0704, @leeeunnn02, @latenightskz
