Work Text:
The faint buzz of the machine in your hand hummed around the room, your legs crossed on the ground and your back hunched over the small table situated in the middle of the room — a position that wasn’t particularly ideal to be in for a long period of time. A dull ache was starting to spread throughout your body, yet you simply ignored the developing pain with the occasional promise to yourself that you would stretch your form once the shading in this area was complete. However, your words proved to be a lie each time that you voiced them in your mind, and instead you continued to drag the needle through the soft, fake skin settled in front of you. The only time you would retract the machine and push your body out of its tense state was to reach out to the roll of paper towels whenever you needed a fresh sheet to dab at the excess ink, although it provided little relief in comparison to what a simple click of your bones would do.
Nothing could distract you from the focus you had on practising your abilities, not even the familiar, excited greeting that was loud enough to cover the noisy buzz erupting from the machine.
“Hellooo!”
You didn’t need to glance up from table to determine that the voice belonged to Nagumo; he didn’t even need to announce his presence for you to already know that it was him. The man entered your home so freely and often that you simply knew it would be him whenever the front door opened, although you couldn’t exactly remember when you gave him a spare key to do so.
When you continued to refuse to acknowledge him despite his greeting, Nagumo hummed and leaned his tall frame over the table to inspect the task that had gained your full attention. “If I ask what you’re doing will I get an answer?”
“Practising.”
“And does your boss know that you took all of this stuff home to do that?” He challenged back in a teasing tone.
“You mean the stuff that I payed for with my own money? I would hardly consider taking my own property home an offence that could get me fired.” You muttered and finally allowed your eyes to flicker up, which only made his smile brighten when they settled on him.
“I’m kidding! I know you would never steal!” Nagumo spoke with a wave of his hand. “Someone like me couldn’t have a girlfriend that was capable of committing such a crime.”
“Speaking of crime, my sweet, innocent boyfriend,” You began through gritted teeth, turning the machine off to silence the consistent hum it produced. “How many people did you kill today to get all that blood on your shirt?”
He blinked a few times, that bright grin still present on his face as he took a glimpse down at the crimson stain on his white shirt — not large, but definitely visible enough. Nagumo peered back up to meet your unimpressed glare, his head tilting to the side with his eyes fluttering shut. “Looks like I’m about to be told off again! Ready whenever you are, darling!”
You sighed; you had scolded him so many times throughout your relationship for his work that he didn’t even bother to create an excuse or some kind of ridiculous joke anymore. He just expected it now, nodding and humming at you each time in a way that suggested he was listening to your concerns, yet you knew he wasn’t at all. The smears of blood that he would occasionally return home with on his skin and clothes whenever he decided to impulsively visit you straight after a mission were enough to prove that.
“Just take it off.” You huffed and dropped the machine down with a soft clatter, tugging off the gloves on your hands before tossing them to the side.
“I just got here and you’re already making me take off my clothes? You must have really missed me!” Nagumo exclaimed in playful disbelief. He shrugged his black jacket off his shoulders and reached a hand out to loosen the tie around his neck, never once ceasing his mindless chattering as he slipped each button out of position on his shirt. “I missed you too, obviously! That’s why I came straight from work to see you.”
At the sight of him stopping after loosening the third button, most likely due to becoming distracted by his need to talk, you pushed yourself up from the ground and took steps towards him. You swatted his hand away that had quickly reached out to resume the task that he had been assigned with once he noticed you approaching, your own fingers pushing the buttons out of each slot in replacement of his with a soft, irritated mumble. “Be quiet.”
Nagumo complied with your demand, although the concept of being quiet was extremely unfamiliar to him — something almost impossible. He examined your concentration, detecting the agitation and the hint of sadness laced within your expression. It was easy for him to determine that you were hurt, simply because you wore this same look every time that he returned home in similar states, even if he was certain that the blood wasn’t enough for you to notice. Nagumo didn’t know exactly when he had convinced himself that it wouldn’t be visible to you; every time you noticed, every time you scolded him and every time you would wash the stains out for him, always wearing that disappointed expression.
He knew that the nature of his work broke your heart, but he also knew — you also knew — that you would never leave him.
Nagumo placed his hand on the back of your head and gave it a gentle push forward, your face pressing against the smooth skin of his chest that was now left exposed. “I made you worry again, didn’t I?”
“You always make me worry.” You replied, the words muffled. “Even if I know that you’ll never come home covered in your own blood, I still worry about the jobs you have to do to end up like this.”
“That’s an odd way to say that I’m amazing at what I do.” He laughed, a wide grin on his face when you drew back to give him an unamused stare. Gathering your face in his hands, he leaned down a little more to your level, locking your eyes in the hopes that he could convey some sincerity through them. “You don’t need to worry. I’m absolutely perfect at my job! You just said so yourself!”
“I don’t think I said that at all.” You sighed deeply, yet you found a small smile tugging at your lips due to his infectious energy. You pulled his shirt out of its tucked away position in his trousers to push out the final buttons, humming in delight at how he began to affectionately stroke the back of your head.
“If you hate my job so much, you could always get me one at your place!”
“I wouldn’t even let you tattoo fake skin.”
“You underestimate my artistic abilities.” Nagumo responded, which earned him a shake of your head and a light, breathy laugh.
With the last botton disconnected, you pushed the white shirt from his body, fingertips brushing against his skin ever so slightly — enough to send a shiver down his spine. You draped the fabric over your arm, stilling for a moment now that his torso was left entirely bare before you to scan over the area. The admiration was painfully evident in your eyes, a result of how perfectly toned he was, but also from the countless tattoos scattered across his skin. No matter how many times you were granted the opportunity to see them, you were always left in a trance. It wasn’t the artwork itself that had you so mesmerised, but rather, how much his tattoos suited him, how much they completed him — how they just made him, well, Nagumo.
“You’ll make me blush if you keep staring at me like that.” He teased, effectively removing you out of your daze.
“You know what? Wash your own clothes.” You huffed with a blush of your own developing to a deep shade of crimson. You dropped his shirt to the ground beside the tie and jacket that he had mindlessly discarded of earlier, stepping back over to the table to seat yourself in front of it once again.
“Don’t be embarrassed! It’s cute how much you love me.” Nagumo spoke as he dropped to sit opposite you.
“You’re very lucky that I do love you.” You muttered back and proceeded to tug a fresh pair of gloves over your hands.
“Awe, and I love you!” He beamed, propping his elbow up on the table with his chin resting comfortably in his hand. Nagumo paused for a moment, his eyes fixated on you whilst the sound of the machine’s hums filled the room once again. The look of deep concentration on your face when you began to delicately shade the design in front of you made him smile, one that was proud and bright, and his words escaped from him a little softer. “I love you so much.”
You grinned at his affectionate display, although it seemed to contain something else — sadness, like he always detected whenever the two of you shared a moment like this. To know that he loved you, to hear it escape from his lips like it was the easiest thing he could say to you, was something that you could only describe as bittersweet. It was a dream to hear him confirm it and completely feel the sincerity of his words, but as much as your heart swelled with adoration whenever he uttered them, it shattered at the same time, knowing it could be the last time that you ever heard them.
You had developed complete confidence in his abilities, especially since he had never returned home to you with more than a scratch. However, it was difficult to not fear for his life just a little when you didn’t know the true extent of his job, which you were somewhat grateful for upon further consideration; learning the depths of his profession probably wouldn’t alleviate your worries. A basic explanation of his job was enough information to leave you nauseous from overthinking, and that’s why he only disclosed the bare minimum of what he did, never once going into detail about the missions that he was assigned.
Maybe it was to spare you the distress, or maybe it was actually because Nagumo didn’t want to taint you any further than the moment that he provided you with a simple summary of his work.
He saw an innocence in you when you first met; a regular person that just wanted to become a tattooist with no knowledge of hitmen or The Order. The most pure and normal thing in his life, and perhaps that was what made him so drawn to you — you were the perfect balance to the chaos that he chased every day. Nevertheless, a piece of the innocence that he immediately noticed within you seemed to disappear just as quickly when he gave you that very brief explanation.
He killed people.
A chilling confession for anyone to hear, but you still stayed with him, and you would always stay.
“What are you thinking about?” Nagumo called out to you, tapping the hand that firmly held the fake skin down, the other hovered with the machine still in your grip.
You blinked slowly, your eyes meeting for a split second before you lowered the needle back down. “You.”
“Awe, you really do love me, don’t—”
“And how I might not see you again after tonight.”
Nagumo hummed, his head falling to the side. You sighed and silenced the machine one again, dropping it to the table as you tuggged the tight gloves off your hands. “You know what I’m talking about.”
He knew exactly what you were talking about, simply because this wasn’t the first time a discussion between the two of you had started this way, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
“We just had this conversation. I’m absolutely perfect at my job, remember?” He replied. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m always gonna come home safe and alive, just the way you like me!”
“Promise?”
“Promise!”
You silently stared back at him for a moment, exhaling softly before you finally spoke. “I need to know that you won’t forget that promise.”
“Of course I won’t.” Nagumo responded with a wide, reassuring grin.
You believed him, you really did, but you still craved the feeling of being completely certain that he would always remember — something that words alone were failing to do. Your eyes flickered to the machine settled on the table, trailing between the pot of black ink and the half finished piece in front of you, until they eventually landed back on Nagumo. He curiously watched the way you scanned over his form, mostly fixating on each tattoo that adorned his skin, which soon encouraged an idea to form in your mind.
Pushing yourself up from the ground, you exited the room to gather the necessary equipment, soon returning with everything in your arms. You placed a roll of clingfilm and a blue marker beside you, and then proceeded to fold a soft towel several times. With the fabric neatly bundled, you pushed the fake skin aside and replaced it with the plush towel, an excited look on your face as you peered up at Nagumo.
“Put your arm here. Inner side facing me.” You instructed whilst gathering the marker and pushing off the cap.
“Anything for you, my love,” He playfully began and lowered his arm down, which was immediately grabbed to be tugged closer towards you. “but what is it that you’re doing exactly?”
“Tattooing you.” You answered, the pen hovered over his wrist in preparation.
“Really? Well, can you at least tell me what you’re putting on my body for the rest of my life?”
“My name.”
Nagumo paused, his eyes lighting up as he processed your words. He loved the idea, but he couldn’t resist the urge to tease you about it. “That’s quite a big commitment! Should we get married next?”
You scoffed and pressed the pen to his wrist, delicately dragging the ink across his skin to form the first letter. It was gentle, feather-like, his body tensing in an attempt to suppress the giggle threatening to erupt from him with every flick against the surface. When your movements stilled and you peered up to stare at him, he innocently smiled back, certain that he was about to be lectured for unintentionally fidgeting.
“I hope that wasn’t an actual proposal.” You mumbled with a raised eyebrow, soon returning your attention to finalising the writing on his skin.
Nagumo felt a wave of relief wash over him when he realised he wasn’t going to be reprimanded, a soft laugh escaping from him. “Of course not. The proposal I have planned for you is a lot more romantic!”
You playfully rolled your eyes and placed the pen down to slip your hands into a fresh pair of gloves. With the machine in your grasp, it noisily began to buzz, your finger dipping into the balm to smear a patch on his wrist. “Ready?”
Nagumo nodded enthusiastically, his eyes following the needle dipping into the pot of ink before it was pressed into the area of the first letter. He didn’t flinch or wince at the initial contact, most likely due to the fact that he had experienced this so many times before, or perhaps because he had developed a tolerance to pain in general throughout the years spent in his kind of profession.
You couldn’t recall a time that you had ever spent this long in pure silence; it was comfortable and you appreciated the opportunity to focus without distraction, but it was unfamiliar to you to not hear his voice for such a significant amount of time. Unbeknownst to you, Nagumo was desperate to talk, to hear you speak too, and the moment you raised the needle to sanitise a paper towel and dab at the excess ink, he immediately took the chance presented to him.
“I guess I’m gonna have to give you that proposal sooner than I thought.”
“You weren’t joking about that?” You muttered and patted a small amount of balm on his wrist again, the needle sinking back into his flesh.
“Completely serious!” Nagumo joyfully said. “I’m stuck with you for life now either way, so why not just make it fully official?”
You glanced up to see him gesturing towards the tattoo that was still in progress, your expression unimpressed. “Stuck with me?”
“I’m kidding!” He laughed for a moment, stopping with a somewhat nervous look when you continued to glare back at him. “Uh, darling? I’m no tattooist but you’ve had that needle stuck in my skin without moving for about thirty seconds now and I’m getting a little worried..!”
“Well if you want this to look good, I suggest you stay quiet.” You threatened in a deceivingly sweet tone.
“As you wish!”
He complied with your order, never once parting his lips to speak as the needle continued to trail over his skin. Nagumo kept his gaze fixated on you with an evident look of adoration at how deeply concentrated you appeared. Despite the lack of conversation, he couldn’t be bored in the silence that enveloped the two of you; he found it entertaining enough to watch you perfectly print your name into his wrist and occasionally peer up at the focused expression you wore as you did so.
The noises from the machine ceased, urging him out of the trance he had become lost in as you proceeded to drag a fresh, sanitised paper towel over the tattoo — visibly finished when he inspected it — to clear the excess ink and blood. It was cold, soothing to the sore feeling that had accumulated from the repeated press of the needle, and he hummed in delight at the relief it provided. You turned to your side to gather the clingfilm and tore off a piece, his arm raised in preparation for it to be wrapped around him.
Nagumo stole another quick glance at the finished piece before he was unable to view it clearly from the layer of clingfilm, complete awe on his face as he did so, which was instantly noticed by you. The sight of him so evidently impressed made a subtle shade of pink tint your cheeks; it was just a tattoo of your name, something that was quite plain in comparison to anything else that was already on his body, yet he stared at it like it was a beautiful, detailed design that had required hours of your time to put on him. You flattened the film over his wrist, carefully weaving it around with a few small, affectionate pats to his palm once you had finished.
“All done.” You sighed in relief, freeing your hands from the confines of the tight gloves.
“My girlfriend is sooo talented!” Nagumo exclaimed proudly, his eyes glistening whilst he admired the masterpiece — what he considered to be, at least — that was now permanently on his wrist.
“It’s just my name.” You sheepishly laughed and began to gather the countless amount of used gloves and paper towels, rising from the ground to dispose of them.
“It’s my favourite!” He announced as he fell back to lay on the ground with his arm raised, unable to remove his gaze from the delicate writing.
You quietly returned and stepped over his body, the action effective enough to finally turn his focus away from the fresh tattoo. Nagumo curiously watched you lower yourself to straddle his waist, a smirk tugging at his lips as he shifted his hands to settle on your hips.
“Is this how I’m supposed to pay you?” He whispered in a teasing voice and trailed his fingertips up your shirt. “I hope you don’t ask for this kind of payment from your other clients.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” You huffed and grabbed his hand before he could reach any further, raising it up to display the new tattoo. “The only payment I want is for you to promise to come back home to me every night.”
Nagumo blinked a few times and tilted his head to the side. “I already promised you that.”
“This is so you don’t forget that promise.” You tapped below the writing a few times, the clingfilm rustling beneath your fingertip. “Whenever you’re in a dangerous situation, look at it and remember that you promised me that you’ll always come home safe.”
His heart ached at your words; had anyone ever cared about his wellbeing to this extent? Nagumo’s eyes softened at the pleading look in your own as he reached his unwrapped arm out to push your head down against his chest, desperate not to nudge the tattoo that you had poured all of your love and attention into. The gentle thuds of his heartbeat, content and relaxed, combined with the slow strokes that his hand gave the top of your head tempted your eyes to flutter shut.
“I will.” He answered you in a tone that was barely audible, but you heard it clear enough, a content smile on your face at the reassurance.
Nagumo pondered over a thought for a moment, poking you several times to gain your attention. You raised yourself up, a confused expression on your face when you caught sight of the visibly excited look on his own.
“Can I tattoo my name on you now?”
“Not a chance.”