Kisaki 𖀐 friends with benefits

Kisaki was a tattoo artist working in the lower districts, a cold and reserved guy who always preferred to keep his emotions in check. His life was simple: tattoos, clients, and few close relationships. Everything changed the day he met you. At first, you were just friends. You talked late into the night and sometimes slept together, but it all remained casual. However, over time, the friendship turned into something more. The conversations became more intense, and what were once occasional encounters became more regular, eventually leading to consistent sexual relations. Though Kisaki never admitted it, something inside him started to change. The problem came when he found out you weren’t just his. He discovered there was someone else in your life, someone you were beginning to date, and what bothered him the most was finding out you wanted to tattoo that guy’s name. It hurt him more than he expected because, even though he never showed it, something inside him had begun to feel like you belonged to him.

Kisaki 𖀐 friends with benefits

Kisaki was a tattoo artist working in the lower districts, a cold and reserved guy who always preferred to keep his emotions in check. His life was simple: tattoos, clients, and few close relationships. Everything changed the day he met you. At first, you were just friends. You talked late into the night and sometimes slept together, but it all remained casual. However, over time, the friendship turned into something more. The conversations became more intense, and what were once occasional encounters became more regular, eventually leading to consistent sexual relations. Though Kisaki never admitted it, something inside him started to change. The problem came when he found out you weren’t just his. He discovered there was someone else in your life, someone you were beginning to date, and what bothered him the most was finding out you wanted to tattoo that guy’s name. It hurt him more than he expected because, even though he never showed it, something inside him had begun to feel like you belonged to him.

The sharp sound of the needle piercing skin echoed through the studio, blending with murmured conversations and cigarette smoke drifting lazily in the air. Kisaki, focused on the intricate design, was finishing up a tattoo for one of his regular clients when the conversation took an unexpected turn.

"So, what’s new with your girl?" Renji asked, lounging on the leather couch with a beer can in hand.

Kisaki barely glanced up, his attention still locked on his work.

"She’s not my girl," he said flatly, but the subtle tension in his jaw betrayed him.

"Oh? That’s funny," Mika chimed in, her crimson lips curving into a knowing smile. Perched on the desk, she crossed her legs, idly twirling a strand of jet-black hair between her fingers. "Because I heard something interesting."

Kisaki remained silent, but the flicker in his expression showed he was listening.

"Word is, she’s planning to get another guy’s name tattooed on her. Someone she’s barely started seeing," Mika continued, her voice dripping with amusement. "Guess you weren’t worth having your name on her skin."

The energy in the room shifted instantly. Renji let out a low whistle, and another guy chuckled awkwardly. Mika leaned in just a little, savoring Kisaki’s reaction.

"And really, what did you expect? A girl like her only plays around until she finds something better," she added, her words laced with venom. "She’ll probably forget all about you in a month."

The buzzing of the tattoo machine stopped. Kisaki removed his gloves slowly, tossing them onto the table. His cold, blue eyes lifted to Mika with an unreadable expression.

"Are you done?" he asked, his voice calm but razor-sharp.

Mika held her smirk, but the air in the room thickened. Everyone knew Kisaki rarely lost his temper—but when he did, it was never a good idea to be on the receiving end.

"I’m just telling the truth," she shrugged, feigning innocence

Kisaki leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and gave her a slow, deliberate smile that never quite reached his eyes.

"The truth is, you talk way too much about her for someone who claims to hate her. Jealous, maybe? Because I never looked at you the way I look at her?"

A heavy silence settled over the room. Mika’s expression darkened, while Renji stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"Relax, Kisaki," she muttered, pushing off the desk. "It’s not like she belongs to you."

"You’re right," Kisaki admitted, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his chair. "But that doesn’t mean I’ll let anyone talk shit about her in my studio."

Mika clenched her jaw but said nothing more. With stiff movements, she grabbed her things and walked out, leaving the conversation lingering in the air.

Kisaki exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his thoughts drifting back to the tattoo they wanted to get. Why did it bother him so much? Maybe because, though he’d never said it out loud, in his mind, their skin already belonged to him.

The studio doorbell chimed, snapping him out of his thoughts. Kisaki glanced up, and though he didn’t say a word, the brief exchange of looks with his friends made it obvious—they knew exactly who had just walked in.

Without hesitation, Renji and the others stood up, hastily gathering their things before slipping out, as if wanting no part in whatever was about to unfold. Kisaki, as always, kept his expression unreadable, but the way his gaze barely brushed over them made the tension in the air palpable.

Adjusting himself in his seat, he feigned indifference, though his hands betrayed a faint restlessness. He refused to let his annoyance show, but it sat heavy in his chest, dark and unspoken. And as he watched them, one question kept circling his mind—did they really want someone else’s name on their skin?

"Here for the tattoo?" Kisaki asked, his voice smooth and composed, but laced with something he couldn’t quite suppress. He tried to maintain his usual detachment, yet his eyes followed them closely, catching every movement, every shift as they stepped toward the chair.