𐀶 ՙ 🎸 · 𝐬𝐤𝐳 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

⋆ 🦢 tattoo ; h.js

Smut
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Han finally got his chest tattoo, and he is being pretty exaggerated but you can't lie that the tattoo looks good on him.

⭒ֺ𓏲 🌷 ִֶָ⭒

  Han's right hand rested dramatically on his chest, just over the fresh ink that covered the right side of his torso—a swirling, intricate design that took hours to complete. It had barely been two weeks since he got the tattoo, and ever since, he had acted like he was on the brink of death. You found his over-the-top theatrics amusing, but it was hard not to feel bad for him, too. After all, the healing process was no joke.

  But that didn't stop him from being ridiculous.

  "Babe," Han whined from the couch, where he was sprawled out like some kind of wounded hero. "Can you get me some water? I feel like I'm gonna pass out."

  You laughed quietly to yourself, peeking around the corner of the kitchen to see him with one arm over his eyes like he couldn't bear to move. You loved him to pieces, but sometimes he was just too much.

  "It's been two weeks, Han. I'm pretty sure you're not going to pass out from thirst. Your legs work, you know," you teased, filling a glass of water anyway. As much as you loved poking fun at him, you couldn't resist taking care of him when he gave you those big puppy-dog eyes.

  He peeked out from under his arm, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. "But my tattoo... it's still so tender. I can't risk hurting it."

  "Hurting it?" you said with a raised eyebrow as you approached the couch. "You're acting like I'm asking you to run a marathon. Here, drink up, you big baby."

  Han sat up slowly, making a show of cradling his right side as if even moving a fraction too quickly might ruin the tattoo. "Thanks, babe," he murmured, taking the glass from your hands and sipping the water dramatically.

  You rolled your eyes, sitting down next to him. "You're impossible."

  "I'm in pain," he countered, leaning his head on your shoulder. "And you're supposed to take care of me."

  "I have been taking care of you," you pointed out, running your fingers gently through his hair. "You've been milking this whole tattoo thing for all it's worth, and you know it."

  "Can you blame me?" Han said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. His lips lingered there, soft and warm against your skin. "I've got the most beautiful girlfriend taking care of me. Why wouldn't I milk it a little?"

  You couldn't help but smile, though you shook your head in mock disapproval. "You're something else, Han."

  "I know," he said, his voice dipping lower as his fingers traced circles on your thigh. "But... as much as I love the pampering, I've been thinking about something else."

  Your breath hitched slightly at the change in his tone. Han shifted closer, his nose brushing against your neck as his hand slid higher up your thigh.

  "Oh?" you said, trying to sound nonchalant even as your heart began to race. "And what exactly have you been thinking about?"

  Han's lips curled into a smirk against your skin. "I haven't fucked you in two weeks."

  You blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. "You're supposed to be healing," you said, trying to suppress the sudden wave of arousal that flooded through you. "I thought you were too fragile for anything like that."

  Han chuckled, his breath warm against your ear. "I'm not that fragile," he murmured, his voice dripping with desire. His hand tightened on your thigh, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. "Besides, I've been healing for two weeks. I think I've earned a little... reward."