$uicideBoy$ Oneshots

985 (Scrim)

(In no way am I saying this is the meaning behind this specific scrim tatt but I figured it would go well with this idea I thought of.)

985; angelic numbers resembling that the success you are seeking to reach is attainable. You have all the resources needed to make your dream a reality.

"Hello—" you call out as the bell on the door rings, signaling that a customer has entered in to your parlor. "I'll be with you in a second. We have some paper work there on the desk that needs to be filled out if you're looking to get some ink done."

"Take ya time, baby."

'Baby?'

Continuing to wipe down your station, tossing the used needle you had used on your last client in to the biohazard bin. Humming along to the song playing along on the playlist you had set for the store as you washed your hands. 'Escape from Babylon' blasted through the speakers of the shop, swaying your hips as you dried your hands, sanitizing them immediately after.

Making your way to the customer you stop in your tracks.

'There's no fucking way..'

What the fuck are the odds? It's not every day someone can say Scrim walks through their tatt parlor.

"Hi, lookin to get some ink done?" Holding back from losing your shit, you flash him a smile as he hands over the paperwork that signed a spot of skin to you.  "I got about 45 mins till my next client so you walked in right on time."

"Coo, yeah. Ima be honest though. I ain't got a fuckin clue on what I want. All I know is I'm feenin for a lil pain." A sly smirk creeping up on his lips. "I can usually last longer than 45 minutes on a sesh but, I'll give ya the free canvas."

'jeezus'

"Giving me a challenge? I like that. Any specific spot?"

Staring down at his arms then down at his legs that was covered inch to inch in tatts. He shrugs.

"By the looks of it, we don't have much canvas to work with." Chuckling as you signal for him to follow you, you pat the seat. "Take a seat."

"Alright so I can't just tatt any random shit on you, what if you don't like it? You gotta give me something to work with."

"I'll have a story to tell no matter what."

"Oh yeah? And that is?" Pulling out your machine to wrap it, you put on a pair of latex gloves.

"A story to when a fine tatt artist got down on my skin."

Thank fuckin god you were turned around to hide the smile you had to bite down on your cheek to get rid of.

His nickname ain't '$lick' for nothin.

"Alright." Turning around to face him, you lock eyes with him for a second. Noticing every detail about his facial features. His eyes are like oceans, anyone can get lost in them. Same as the ocean, you can't look for too long. If you do, you'd get pulled in. He really didn't have much space for anymore tatts but who were you to turn down an offer to have your work inked on him?

Taking a few more minutes to observe his face, you lightly touch his chin to tilt his head to the left.

"So.. free rein?"

"you the professional, shorty."

Excusing yourself to go and get a stencil ready, you quickly draw out a few numbers. Why these specifically? You weren't sure. But it suited him along with his cousin who you also admired dearly.

Taking a second to settle in to reality that you were about to put ink on one of your favorite human beings on this fuckin planet, you take a mental note to celebrate later on after closing hours.