5sos Imagines

Believe - Tattoo Artist!Luke

Luke had never been big on relationships - or commitment, in general for that matter. Tattoos were the only thing he felt strongly enough about to have permanently without hesitation - even the Spongebob one. He never really believed in marriage, either. Not for lack of positive influences: his parents were just as in love now as they had been when they got married, more so even, and if they could raise him without growing to resent each other then he was pretty sure nothing could break them.
But in the general scheme of his life, he had never seen himself married - could never picture himself in a suit, standing in front of his friends and family vowing to be with one girl forever. You knew most of that when you started dating him though; it was the reason you didn't push him into putting labels on anything, and why you let him find his own way to tell you he loved you (and that tattoo on his hand still made your heart flutter when you traced your thumb across it)
Even as much as he loved you, even as much as he couldn't imagine his life without you; his bed without you in it, his kitchen without you sitting on the counter as he cooked, his couch without you curled up in his hoodies; the little piece of paper that declared him your husband and you his wife sat uncomfortably in his mind.
There was one night, though, when the thought of making you his wife didn't feel so wrong. He'd come home from the shop in a horrible mood; tired and grumpy, his shoulders aching and his fingers cramped. You took one look at his downcast expression and his furrowed brow and knew he needed to relax. You moved in front of him, tangling your fingers with his and walking him straight to your shared bedroom. Directing him to the bed, you gingerly removed the red flannel and black tshirt he'd been wearing, and instructed him to lie back on his stomach, arms above his head.
He was too tired to argue, so with a raised eyebrow he did as you told him, not even questioning when you smirked and scurried out of the room. Your hands were full upon your return; a couple of cold beers in one, and a bottle of coconut oil in the other. You put the beer down on the nightstand and moved to crawl onto the bed gently, stopping by his ear and mumbling quietly, "Let me help you relax, baby." your breath fanning across him as you did, the hair at the back of his neck standing on end.
You moved over him, straddling his back and letting your hands run from his hips up the length of his torso, leaving a delicate trail of oil as you went; just enough pressure to cause a low groan to escape from the back of his throat, in that moment Luke couldn't think of a single thing that felt as good to him as your fingertips and palms moving across him, working to relax his shoulders. You paused briefly to move your fingers lightly over the ink marking the upper half of his back; you could probably draw the tattoos on his body in your sleep for all the time you spent admiring them, making mental notes of which pictures were in the spots on his body that drove him crazy the most.
"I don't think I'd hate being married to you," he mumbled out of nowhere, and you thought you must've misheard him cause his face was squashed against the pillows and his voice was quiet, but he turned his head and spoke again. "I mean. If I ever - didn't dislike the idea of marriage - I'd want it to be you."
"Oh?" You paused the actions of your hands; glad he couldn't see your face because you were blushing so hard you could feel your cheeks burning. It wasn't a secret, really, that you always imagined yourself walking down an aisle in a white dress some day, and when you thought about your future with Luke that was initially what you saw. But he told you he didn't really believe in it; that he was sure marriage worked for some people, but he didn't need a piece of paper to prove how much he loved you - he had a tattoo for that, and they were more permanent that most marriages these days.
It was the only time you'd really spoken about it, and you'd fought with him to begin with; made him sleep on the couch and refused to talk to him, until his second night on the couch and your stubbornness wore thin. You squished yourself on the cramped couch beside him; his arms circling around you, your face buried in the crook of his neck, cause your bed was too big and too cold when he wasn't in it. So you resigned to the fact that maybe you wouldn't have a wedding, and that was okay, because you knew this about Luke from the start, and he was your Person; you'd rather have him around forever without a ring than even attempt to find someone else who made you smile like he did, or pissed you off like he did, or who's arms fit around you like they were made to keep you safe. If that was the sacrifice you had to make to be with him, you were more than willing.
"I was just thinking," He mused, a soft sigh tumbling from his lips. You moved your hands along his shoulders, down his arms until your hands came to rest atop his and your torso was flush against his back.
Pressing your lips gently to his neck, you murmured quietly against his ear, "Well just for the record," his hands turned under yours and his fingers moved to fit in between yours perfectly. "I don't think I'd hate being married to you either."