come-on-shitty-boys

[come-on-shitty-boys]

Happy birthday to the Miya twins <3

[come-on-shitty-boys]

one day I’ll finally write that ridiculously elaborate fanfiction that I’ve been carefully constructing in my daydreams for months and then you’ll be sorry. you’ll all be sorry.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// The Sex Appeal of Lines. inked 07 //

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*The nature of this series may be not be appropriate for all readers. Content warnings include: vulgarity, heavy swearing, and implications of adult relations.  Due to these themes, this series may not be suitable for readers under the age of 16.  Reader discretion is advised.*

Heavy silence filled the air, the only sound being the soft scratch of Kuroo’s red ink pen marking across the small stack of pages you had handed over to him. Homework was due by the end of the day on Friday, so there you were, the clock continuing its monotonous ticking as seconds turned into minutes, trying not to focus too much on just how much he was marking your page. Maybe he was just making stars by all of your perfect lines?

You had to bite back your scoff. Praise? From Kuroo? That was a joke. You’d be lucky if he wrote a “Good Job!” at the top of your homework, but the way he was holding his head in his free hand didn’t make you like your chances. 

Kuroo swivels in his chair, finally turning to face you. There are no words as he holds the stack of pages out to you, just annoyance shifting in amber eyes. He watches you as your eyes drift from his face down to the paper in his hand. You don’t even need to look at the other pages to know that he’s failed you. Red circles and Xs litter the page. 

“Nice try, kid, but you’re going to have to do better than that if you want to tattoo,” Kuroo says, pushing your work into your hands as he stands from his chair.

You quickly thumb through your stack of paper, eyeing all of those stupid little lines with all of those stupid little marks to showcase your failure, a physical reminder that you’re not cut out for this. You can feel the frustration bubbling up in your chest. A week’s worth of work is about to be fed to the recycling bin and you were going to have nothing to show for it. 

Breath. Just breath.

While this has already become one of the most frustrating and grating experiences of your life, forced to scrub toilets and tile floors until you could see your reflection, treated like you didn’t belong by the one person who brought you into his space, you couldn’t let that fucking bastard see you break this early. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction of knowing that every muscle in your body was screaming at you to just give up and take the easy route down the street. 

A deep breath in and out. Your fingers unfurl from the deathgrip that they had held. It’s too early to let him see you defeated. Chin up. You will do this. 

“Are you going to at least tell me what my problem is or are you just going to tell me that I’m doing it wrong?” You ask, eyes following your so-called mentor as he attempts to walk away from you. 

Kuroo doesn’t even give you the decency of a falter in his step, pulling his jacket from the hook on the wall, shouldering it on. “Maybe on Monday, kid. I don’t have time for you tonight.”

“What? Hot date with your hand?”

His unamused stare is your only response before he turns away, taking his scarf and wrapping it around his neck. Kuroo does a quick pat of his pockets, working his way through a mental checklist of essential items. Keys, wallet, phone… A nod to himself as each item is in its rightful place on his person. 

“Kuroo.”

“Y/N.”

And just like that, it’s like your brain short circuited. Your name dripping from his tongue for the first time since you’ve known one another. There wasn’t even a sneer as he said it, just an even cadence of the syllables, and he’s looking at you with expectant eyes as if you’re going to tell him something life changing. It’s just those amber eyes staring into yours and you swear that given the opportunity you would pass out right there. You nearly forgot how attractive he was when he wasn’t being such a complete and utter asshole. The sharp jawline, the perfectly mussed hair, the far too attractive sculpt of his shoulders in that jacket-

He snaps at you, bringing you back to reality. Whatever Kuroo that had been standing in front of you merely seconds ago was replaced by that dull, annoyed stare of the mentor that you had come to know and not love in the slightest. “You have something to say or are you just testing out how my name sounds?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight what, kid? You’re really starting to get on my last fucking n-”

“You’re showing me tonight,” you state, trying to make yourself appear taller, pushing your shoulders back, leveling him with that same boredom that he gave to you on an hourly occurrence.

“I already told you-”

“And I don’t care. Tonight and I’ll have the assignment back to you on Monday. Perfect.” There’s a moment of hesitation in him, you can see it in the way his eyes flicker from you to the clock on the wall. “Please,” you add.

He must’ve heard that quiet desperation in your voice, because Kuroo sighs, removing his scarf and coat. “Fine. But if they aren’t perfect, you owe me double on Friday. Sit,” he orders as he reaches your side, pulling his chair out for you.

Kuroo takes your failed assignment from you, laying it out on the desk before grabbing a fresh pen. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you think is wrong?”

You take a moment, examining all of those lines on the page. It was hard to pick out the mistakes when there were just so many. Breath.Stop thinking about how good his fucking cologne smells. Lines, Y/N. Focus.

It’s like torture, staring at your handiwork all marked in failure, forcing yourself to further examine exactly what you had done. “They’re shaky,” you finally say. Not a lie. There were plenty of lines that had been circled that had more than a slight wiggle to the stroke.

Kuroo nods, pointing out a few that exemplified what you had said. “I would guess that your grip was too tight, drawing too much with your wrist rather than your whole arm, so any imperfections were just amplified. But, a little shake is to be expected. We’re people, not robots. The uneasiness of your lines is definitely a problem, but that’s not my major issue with this assignment.”

He pauses, taking a moment to pull a stool over to sit next to you. “Look here. This is happening on a lot of your lines. It’s like you get to the end of your stroke and just give up,” he says, circling a large section of your work. As soon as he points it out, you can see exactly what he’s talking about, there’s a drift in every single one of your lines as you pull away. Clean, straight lines becoming sloppy at the last moment, an easy fix on paper and a near impossible one on someone’s skin.

“You need to pull all the way to the end and lift up. Don’t let your hand pull you one way just because you’re done. It’s an easy habit to fall into. I mean, it feels natural to just let your hand fall like that, but that’s you end up with all sorts of fucked up lines on someone’s skin. Draw with your whole arm and when you’re done, pause and then lift straight up. It’s going to take some getting used to, but this is what I was saying when your technique was shit. Someone has to humble you before you fuck someone up for the rest of their life.”

“I’m pretty sure you can humble someone without making them do your drycleaning,” you say, casting a sidelong glance at him.

The corner of his mouth twitches into a soft smirk. “You’re probably right, but it keeps you out of my hair for a couple hours so I can work without you breathing down my neck.”

An eye roll from you is followed by a snort from him. “You could’ve just told me to fuck off, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure I do, kid, but you’re just a complete pain in my ass every time,” he says. And then you’re laughing, a smile on your face that has him completely enamored, unable to keep a smile from his own lips. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, suddenly hyper aware of how close the two of you were sitting, the way your shoulder brushed against his when you moved. 

Fuck.

“Lines.” He really doesn’t know if he’s saying it for you or for himself, snapping you both back to the present moment, pushing a pen into your hands. He clears his throat, moving his stool away from you in an effort to dull his racing heart. “Show me your lines.” 

You just nod, taking your time to steady your hands before doing a single pull on the page. You try your best to do what he had said, to stop and lift, but it’s like your body just resorts to it’s natural habit of giving up right at the end of your stroke. 

“Draw with your whole arm, not just your wrist. Again,” Kuroo says, getting up from his stool to stand behind you. “Here, like this.” Before you have the chance to object, he places a gentle hand on your elbow to help guide your pull, stopping you at the end of your line. “Perfect,” he breathes. “How did that feel? Did you notice the difference?”

His voice is right next to your ear, each word warm against your skin, sending that all too familiar shiver down your spine with each reverberation. Kuroo’s hand is still on you and you’re all too aware of the pads of his fingers on your arm, a roughness to them from years of the vibration of a tattoo machine. If he noticed the way that your breathing faltered, he was kind enough to not say anything about it.

“Kur- oh! Yo, my bad. Didn’t realize you were busy.” Bokuto’s overwhelming cadence has you both jumping, quickly separating as if you had just been caught by your parents. His eyes are darting between the both of you, brows furrowed as he tries to connect the dots in his head. 

Kuroo clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. He’s staring at his shoes, trying to avoid eye contact with the piercer, hoping that he won’t notice the tinge of red that has crept up to the tips of his ears. “No, you’re fine. We were just wrapping up.”

Your cue. Anyone with an ounce of sense about them can feel the overwhelming awkward energy in the air as you stand from the chair, quickly putting your things in your bag. “I’ll see you Monday, Kuroo. Sorry for keeping you,” you say, shouldering your things as you make the suddenly far too long walk from the desk to the door. Silence hangs in the air, only disrupted by our sneakers against the floor. You pause just as you’re about to leave Kuroo’s office, just once to catch those amber eyes that are watching you intently.

“Have a good weekend, kid.” 

Quiet fills the shop once again until the twinkling of the bell over the door alerts everyone of your departure.

If only that quiet stayed, because the minute the door closes, Bokuto’s eyes are wide as he shouts, “Akaashi! Team meeting!”

“Y/N literally just left. Can’t this wait until- Why does Kuroo look like he just got grounded?” Akaashi says, rounding the corner to pause next to Bokuto.

“He has a thing for them! The apprentice!”

Kuroo’s head shoots up, eyes rolling as a look of exasperation takes over his features. “I do not! I was helping them with their assignment.”

There isn’t a single look of belief on Bokuto’s face as he pulls Akaashi in front of him to recreate the scene that had happened only minutes before. The hand on the elbow, the whisper of words directly into the ear. “How’s that? Does that feel good? Dude!” With an incredulous shout, Bokuto is pushing away from Akaashi, just a prop in his display. “What fucking porno was I about to walk in on?!”

“You’re being ridiculous, Bokuto! Nothing happened and nothing is going to happen!”

“God, not if you did that,” Akaashi shudders, brushing himself off. “That just gave me a major case of the ick. No wonder you’re still single. Besides, they’re seeing Daishou, aren’t they?”

“They literally said that it wasn’t a date.” 

“You were pretty insistent on calling it a date.”

“It wasn’t a date!”

Akaashi’s hands go up in surrender, taking a step away. “Fine. It wasn’t a date, Kuroo. They just got dinner and a few drinks. He probably walked her home and that was it.” Everyone can hear the lies in his words. They all saw them, the little round bruises that you had tried to cover with makeup. But you were going to need one hell of a concealer to hide the deep purple of a hickey marked onto your skin.

Kuroo doesn’t even have time to respond before he’s being hit in the face with his jacket. Bokuto is standing over him, an expectant look etched onto his features. “We’re getting drinks because someone has some fucking explaining to do and for once, it’s not me.”

{Taglist: @boosyboo9206 @zamorazz @universal-s1ut @localgaytrainwreck @sydsopher // never miss an update! send an ask to be added to the inked taglist!!}

[come-on-shitty-boys]

inked will be posted on Saturday this week!!

[come-on-shitty-boys]

casual MSBY

[come-on-shitty-boys]

inked will be taking a week off 🫡 I’ll be back next week I promise 😤

[come-on-shitty-boys]

may i be tagged in the k. ink series 😳☝🏻

Yes, absolutely!! Thank you for taking an interest in the series, love 😙💕

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// So A Snake Walks Into A Bar. inked 06 //

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*The nature of this series may be not be appropriate for all readers. Content warnings include: vulgarity, heavy swearing, and implications of adult relations.  Due to these themes, this series may not be suitable for readers under the age of 16.  Reader discretion is advised.*

The Winged Viper was easily the seediest bar on this side of town with at least one bar fight ending in someone being dragged out the back door every night, the kind of place where eye contact with the wrong person might just end with you being pulled from your stool by the collar of your shirt, whiskey breath in your face as you blink through the insults. But there was something about the dingy establishment that always brought you back. Maybe it was the drinks where the shots were poured just a little too long or maybe it was the Halloween skeleton that just stood by the door year round, donning different hats and decorative pieces for the changing of the seasons. 

Or maybe it was him and that stupid smile on his face as he raised his hand in your direction, waving you over, pausing only for a moment to laugh at something the bartender had shouted at him. Yeah, maybe it was Daishou Suguru who already had your drink sitting on the strangely sticky table, a basket of onion rings ready to share. This had become the Friday night routine years ago when you had both outgrown the loud music and overpriced shots of the clubs downtown, always a little too crowded by the city’s college students. Instead, you both had begun opting for the not-so-quiet and only ever so slightly less crowded atmosphere of The Winged Viper, just becoming a part of the regular group of bikers and college professors who found the bar just as endearing.

Daishou’s crooked smile greets you as you slide into your seat across from him. He’s washed the ink from his hands and replaced the collared shirts that he favors in the shop for a simple t-shirt, showing off the tattoos that flowed down his arms, transforming himself from the professional artist into just another guy to blend in with the crowd. 

He can’t even get a word out before you’re dropping a binder on the table. That stupid black binder that Kuroo had stuffed full of drawing assignments for you. A waste of paper. A waste of your apprenticeship. “The fuck is this?” He asks, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as he flips open the proof of deforestation that you had just slammed in front of him.

And then he’s laughing.

Face relaxing as his fingers weave through his hair, bright laughter ringing through the bar. “You’re fucking kidding me! This is insane, Y/N.”

“No, trust me! I know! I’m the one drawing 300 fucking lines everyday! ‘Ru, I’m going to lose my mind and it’s barely been a week,” you say, rubbing your face between your hands.

His lips quirk into a teasing smile, raising his eyebrows at you. “You know, I’m pretty sure I told-”

You don’t think it’s possible to roll your eyes harder and Daishou can only chuckle at your dramatics, watching as you fully lean into the eye roll and stare at him with a playful annoyance written across your face. “Yeah, yeah. You told me so. I thought you were just talking shit! I didn’t think he would actually be this terrible! Suguru, the closest I’ve gotten to tattooing is washing his ink cups. How am I supposed to learn if he won’t even sit down and tell me a little about what he’s doing? I don’t even know what the machine feels like in my hand! How do I turn it on? Do I do the linework first or do I do color first? Is it like watercolors where I start light and go dark or do I-”

“You’re thinking too much. It’s been a week.” That playful grin sinks into something more sincere as he looks at you from across the table, taking your hand to really get you to focus on him, except now you’re not focusing on his words, but rather the way his hand fits so nicely in yours and his thumb running over your knuckles, the soft brush of the calluses of his hands from years of tattooing and drawing. His mouth is moving and you’re sure that whatever he’s saying is important, but fuck. Have his eyes always been that green? They’re crinkling as he says something that makes himself laugh. Maybe you should laugh too? His fingers are finding the spaces between yours and you see him stop talking.

Fuck.

You’re supposed to say something.

“Yeah, I completely agree,” you say.

Daishou clicks his tongue, waggling his finger at you in mock disappointment. “I knew you weren’t paying attention.”

“I was absolutely paying attention!” You object. “I was listening the entire time.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Sure, Y/N. And just what are you agreeing with?”

“I’m agreeing with what you said! It’s not my fault if you don’t remember what you said.”

“Gaslighter.”

“Okay, fine. I wasn’t listening! What did you say?” You sigh.

“I was saying that if Kuroo doesn’t work out, you can always come apprentice with me,” he offers, locking eyes with you, sincerity swimming in the green. 

Friends. 

That was the label that you two had settled on back when you had met, back when you had drunkenly stumbled to bed with him.

Just . . . friends.

A heavy pause between the words to fill in all that was unsaid, time to see his eyes dart down to your lips before reaching your eyes again.

Just friends.

A confirmation as your hand drifts from his shoulder to his chest, eyes following the path of your fingers as they trail further down his body to hook onto the belt loop of his jeans, a firm tug to pull him against you, the only invitation he needed to push his mouth to yours, pressing you back against the wall as his hands found your waist.

Just friends who sometimes make out.

Shirts are thrown across the room and pants are kicked off in the least sexy way possible as he nearly trips over himself, but it’s fine because his mouth is on your neck, pushing you back down on the bed, teeth grazing skin in that way that never fails to have your mouth falling open.

Just friends who sometimes also have sex.

His hand squeezes yours gently, bringing you back to the present moment. You don’t want to look at his face as you pull your hand away, because you know there would be a flash of sadness swimming across his eyes, no matter how hard he denies it. “I can’t, ‘ru,” you say.

“Why not? I can teach you everything he can and I promise, I won’t make you polish the tile with my boxers.”

“Ew! Is he going to make me do that?”

Daishou winks, smiling at you softly. “I won’t give him any ideas. But I’m serious, Y/N.”

You blow out a sigh. “I know you are, but this is something I have to do on my own. I really appreciate it, but it’s not going to feel right if I let you mentor me. It’ll feel too easy, like the whole opportunity was just handed to me on a platter.” You couldn’t let yourself do that. It was the one thing that had held you back from apprenticing with Daishou in the first place. He was a brilliant artist and one of your best friends, but you couldn’t shake the nagging feelings that he would’ve just given you the apprenticeship without having to really work for it. He would tell you that that wasn’t true, that you really did deserve to apprentice with him, but that couldn’t stop that nagging in your head.

Besides, Kuroo’s work aligned more closely with your own style. Daishou had fallen into the realm of realism, being able to push colors in a way that seemed like a picture had been printed directly on the skin. But, Kuroo– He was an artist unlike any you’d seen in your life. Pushing the boundaries of composition and form in ways that didn’t just utilize the shape of the body, but enhanced it, finding ways to draw the eyes around unlike any other tattoo artist you had studied. He was everything you wanted to be and more. There was no one else that you wanted to learn from, but fuck–

He was a prick.

And you weren’t about to forget that, especially when he wouldn’t even look at you when you walked into the shop the next morning. His head was buried into his newest flash sheet, inks spread over the counter as he pulled an outline, but you did see those amber eyes quickly dart in your direction before returning to their work.

“How was your date?” Kuroo muttered, leaning back from the page to examine his handiwork from further away. You could see his features scrunch in distaste as he re-wet an area of ink to remove some of the pigment to try to fill the space again.

But, you’re too busy rolling your eyes as you hang your jacket by the door. “It wasn’t a date.”

He snorts, dipping his brush back into the blue ink. “Sure it wasn’t.” 

“Why do you care?”

“Did I say that I care?”

You round the counter to stand opposite of him, busying yourself with making a pot of coffee to only further enable Akaashi’s caffeine problem. “Then why would you ask how it went?”

“I’m just trying to be polite,” he says, pushing a smile that really looks more painful than anything. “We’re going to be stuck with one another until you either finish this apprenticeship or quit, so my apologies for trying to make this a little less dull for the both of us.”

“Yeah. Okay, fine.”

“So? How was it? You never said.”

“Because it wasn’t a date, Kuroo.”

He finally looks up at you, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Does he know that? Because guys don’t look at people like that unless they’re into them.”

You roll your eyes, helping yourself to one of Akaashi’s clean mugs as you pour yourself a cup of coffee. You raise the pot in a silent question to Kuroo who just gives a slight nod in answer. Two steaming mugs on the counter. Cream and sugar for him. Black for you. 

“We’ve talked about it.”

“And?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a nosy bastard?”

For the first time since you’ve known him, you swear Kuroo smiles at you, a true genuine smile as if he doesn’t hate your presence after all. There’s the faintest glint of mischief in his eyes as his lips shift into a smirk. “I’m not nosy. I’m just curious.”

“Curious about things that don’t concern you, like usual,” Akaashi states as he passes behind you to refill his mug from the fresh pot. He turns his attention towards you. “Ignore him. He’s a gossip at best, and meddlesome at worst.”

“I do not meddle!”

Akaashi slowly draws his eyes away from his mug to stare blankly at Kuroo. “Do you want to tell that to Tsukishima or should I?”

“Okay, so I meddled once,” Kuroo states, splaying his hands out as if it was only natural to get in the middle of another person’s business every now and then.

You didn’t know that it was possible to roll your eyes with such overwhelming drama until you saw the unparalleled amount of sass that Akaashi threw into that single movement. Steel blue eyes met amber in a look that could only be described as complete and utter disbelief. No words passed between the tattoo artist and the clerk for a long moment, just facial expressions of exasperation as a silent conversation took place.

Until Akaashi gave up, groaning in frustration. “You sent that poor barista flowers every week on Tsukki’s behalf! You can’t do that, Kuroo! You can’t go to the coffee shop and flirt with him and then say, ‘Oh, hey! Actually, my friend is really into you’. That’s meddling, Kuroo.”

“It wasn’t even that bad,” he scoffs.

“Tsukki got blocked and you’re no longer welcome at that coffee shop.”

“So, he wasn’t into my pick-up lines! How is that my problem?”

“You harassed him!”

Amber eyes dart over to you at the stifled snort that you were trying to hide behind your hand. The sneer that you’ve come to know all too well pulls at Kuroo’s features. “You got something to say, kid?”

You choke down your laughter, struggling to swallow those final giggles as you shake your head. “Nothing! Nothing. It’s just not surprising that you don’t have any game.”

“I have game!”

“Yeah? And that’s why you’re still single and trying to weasel your way into my love life?” You tease, leaning forward against the counter to push the nonchalance as you quirk an eyebrow at him.

But his mouth just grows into a smirk as he matches your posture. “So you admit it? You’re seeing him?”

And that was all it took for you to push away in frustration, hands in the air as you walked away from this nightmare conversation. You’d rather be repainting the walls with a detail brush before you had to put up with his shit any longer.

Silence dances in the front of the shop allowing Kuroo to return to the flash sheet in front of him. It stays that way for a while, the clacking of Akaashi’s keyboard being the only thing to fill the silence in the early hours of the shop.

He doesn’t even look at Kuroo when he starts talking again, eyes solely focused on responding to the floods of e-mails from the previous evening. “Do you care?”

“About what?” Kuroo mumbles, swishing his brush in a glass of water, watching the water turn to that same electric blue color that he had been using only moments before.

“You know what. Daishou and Y/N.”

Kuroo’s scoff is enough of an answer, but just to further push his point, he looks up to look at the clerk. “No, Akaashi. I don’t care.”

And Akaashi just nods, glancing at his friend from the corner of his eye to where Kuroo was staring at the curtain towards the back of the shop, the direction that you since disappeared as if he was willing you to return. “Sure.”

{Taglist: @boosyboo9206 @zamorazz @universal-s1ut @localgaytrainwreck // never miss an update! send an ask to be added to the inked taglist!!}

[come-on-shitty-boys]

hi!! can i be added to the inked tag list? tysm!!

Yes, of course! Thank you so much for reading :))

[come-on-shitty-boys]

I’ve been silent for too long and can no longer bear to keep this inside: @come-on-shitty-boys is a good person and deserves many good things.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// There's A Snake In My Shop! inked 05. //

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*The nature of this series may be not be appropriate for all readers. Content warnings include: vulgarity, heavy swearing, and implications of adult relations.  Due to these themes, this series may not be suitable for readers under the age of 16.  Reader discretion is advised.*

“Well, well, well. Looks like the rumors were true, huh, alley cat?”

Kuroo could hear that damned smirk in his voice and it took everything in him to not growl at that snake that dared to enter his shop.

“Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of,” Kuroo snarled, amber eyes narrowing towards the door.

Daishou Suguru just smiled, raising his hands in surrender, but even the veil of nicety didn’t keep him from stalking towards Kuroo like he was just a piece of prey. “Hey, I’m not here to start shit. I just wanted to see if you had actually done it. Y/N told me that you took them on, but hell, I didn’t believe them. Said, ‘No way Kuroo Tetsurou would ever grow the balls to take an apprentice.’ But here you are! And here Y/N is!”

Kuroo’s eyes snap to you. “You know this piece of shit?”

“I’m pretty sure I told you that and I’m pretty sure that you just told me to shut up,” you say, crossing your arms. 

“I think your exact words were, ‘Keep that snake bastard’s name out of my shop,’” Akaashi offered, turning back to his computer as if this entire encounter were a perfectly normal situation. As if Daishou wasn’t sizing Kuroo up like he was his next meal, as if Kuroo didn’t look like a wolf ready to attack at the first wrong move.

Daishou’s mouth twitched into a smirk as he shifted his weight to lean against the counter next to you. “We met when Suguru was still in law school,” you shrug.

*It had been close to over three years at this point, that day when you met that disheveled 1st year law student in the library, nose not pressed in some boring law textbook, but hands gracefully working over one of the most stunning realism portraits you had ever seen, face smudged in charcoal from one wrong swipe of his brow, pristine collared shirt now coated in the dust, but he hadn’t seemed to care as he just pushed up his sleeves, buffing out edges into seamless blends.

You had stopped, completely absorbed in the way that he worked. That in and of itself was a masterpiece alone, but it was the way he looked up at you, catching your stare that had your face heating in embarrassment. But he hadn’t sneered at you or made you feel like you were some creep for watching him, he just stared back as if he was in a daze, high from the feeling of creating.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He’s staring, studying your face, eyes tracing over your features to take everything in, like he’s trying to remember the gentle sweep of your face and the soft curve of your lips. And you must’ve narrowed your eyes at him in confusion because he awkwardly clears his throat, holding out his hand to you. “Daishou Suguru.” But you just stare at him, eyes darting between his charcoal covered fingers and his face, black dust buried under his nails, tucked into the creases of the pads on his fingers. There’s an embarrassed smile on his face as he retreats his hand away from you. “Right. Sorry about that.”

“You’re an art student.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was an observation, so his bright laughter took you by surprise. The way that his head leaned back and his eyes shut in the purest form of joy broke your face into its own smile. 

“I’m in law school,” Daishou paused, taking in the confused look on your face as you eye the portrait in front of him. “I’m apprenticing at a tattoo shop, get a little bit of an extra income to put me through school, you know?”  

“You’re amazing,” you breathe, moving closer to further take in his piece. The faint highlights against the eyelashes in white charcoal, freckles dotting over the nose, the sure swipes of black that faded into the soft greys of the hair. 

He’s grinning up at you, moving his back from the seat next to him, wordlessly inviting you to sit. “Thank you. I’ve always loved realism work. There’s just something really incredible about how this one little stick,” he says, holding up the stump of charcoal, “can recreate reality so beautifully.”

And you can’t help but smile at the man with perfectly swept hair and neatly pressed khaki pants, he would be the picture of business professionalism if it weren’t for the smears of artistry on his hands, just as you can’t help sinking into the chair next to him.

But, oh, that was only the beginning. 

What started as study sessions in the library turned into long evenings in your studio as you both work in quiet company, offering critiques and easy conversation. It was laying on the couch in his apartment as he drew simple flash designs across your arms in Sharpie, whispering soothing words to you as if he were actually giving you a tattoo, an excuse to practice his bedside manner he had said. And then Sharpie tattoos turned into late night dinners in the tattoo shop, bringing him dinner on his long nights of learning his craft. Laughs shared over Lo Mein and egg rolls, the gentle swipe of his thumb over your lip, the thumb that had lingered there a moment longer than it needed to, just to wipe away that drop of sweet and sour. 

Months of longing and strictly platonic cuddle sessions only escalated by one too many shots at a bar to celebrate the end of another semester. Too many shots that had you both stumbling over one another, giggling the entire way back home, arms wrapped around the other as if that would help keep the other from falling. A red light at a crosswalk had you turning in his arms to stare up into those eyes that you had come to know all too well, but it was the way that his hands slid to your waist and the slip of your fingers up his torso, gripping the front of his shirt that had you pulling him down to your level, lips pressed together in breathless wonder, the slightest nip of his teeth to elicit that gasp from your throat. You don’t remember the rest of the walk home, but you do remember the desperation, the need, that reflected your own emotions as clothes were pulled off the minute the door clicked shut behind the two of you. You remember the feeling of his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck, trailing down your chest, your stomach –

“Just this once,” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair. Daishou said nothing. Just humming a response against you, sending shivers up your spine and a sigh from your lips.

Just this once. 

You lost count of how many times you each had whispered those words to the other. They were said every single time and you both believed it. At least for a while. Until his phone buzzed at 11 p.m., begging for him. Until he attached a scandalous pic to his good morning text, an unvoiced invitation.

Daishou now smiles down at you, bumping you with his shoulder. He’s still the picture of that boy you met in college, the perfectly put-together hair, the overly professional outfits, stains of his craft on his skin. Except now he runs his tongue over the twin piercings in his lips when he’s nervous and there’s the faintest hint of a tattoo peeking from his collar, just one of many. But you can still see that snake that curls from his collarbone to his bicep, the tail cuffing around the muscle, a path that your fingers, your mouth, have traced more times than you can count. 

“How are you liking it so far?” He asks, snapping your thoughts back to this damned shop.

You don’t even get the opportunity to answer before Kuroo cuts in, that same lazy stare that made you feel so small that first day only made Daishou smile in amusement, giving you a side-eyed glance.  

“We’re fine,” Kuroo states flatly.

“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t talking to you, alley cat, but thanks for sharing. Y/N,” he says, turning his back to Kuroo to fully face you, physically cutting him from the conversation. “Like I was asking before we were so rudely interrupted, how are you liking your apprenticeship so far?”

“Oh, you mean how do I like being his personal maid? It’s glorious,” you snort as your eyes roll. 

Kuroo’s scoff takes you both out of your conversation, Daishou casting him an annoyed glance. “What, alley cat?” He drawls.

“He’s always in a mood. Just ignore him,” you mutter, nudging Daishou back towards you.

“Listen, pip squeak. If you want to keep this apprenticeship, you better learn to watch your mouth. I’m not going to put up with you telling this fucking snake to ‘just ignore’ me in my own damn shop, got it? And if that’s going to be a problem for you, then you can both get out,” Kuroo hissed, stalking between you and Daishou to stare down at you. 

Daishou let out a low whistle. “Someone’s got his whiskers in a bunch. I’ll get out of your hair, alley cat. I was just stopping by to make sure that you were taking care of my old friend, but it seems that I have overstayed my welcome,” he says slowly, beginning to walk towards the door.

“You weren’t even welcome to begin with.”

“And yet, you always let me in the door. Sounds like you don’t hate me that much.” Daishou’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Later, Kuroo. Oh, and hey! Have you noticed that your sign outside says ‘Kink’? You might want to get that changed before someone thinks you’re running some kind of sex dungeon.”

“Get out!”

Daishou hisses a laugh, sticking out his tongue at his rival. “I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.” 

And then he’s gone, the tension in the air being the only sign that he was ever there in the first place. 

Kuroo slowly turns to look at you. “He’ll see you tonight? You’re hanging out with that snake?” His amber eyes are narrowed to you, not even a twitch of amusement on his features.

You simply raise your brow at him, shooting him an incredulous look. “Why do you care? I’m pretty sure that you were the one who said that we weren’t friends. I can hang out with whoever I want after hours.”

“Well, yeah. But, him?! Are you serious?! He’s the fucking worst!”

There’s a laugh bubbling in your chest. All of his previous annoyance has given away to this dramatic show. If he wasn’t behaving like a teenager throwing a tantrum, maybe you would’ve given a little bit more stake to his words, but how could you when he was dramatically running his hands down his face to truly express the anguish that the mere thought of Daishou was causing him.

And it was that sound, that choking laughter that had Kuroo’s eyes finally finding your face, peering at your between fingers. “And just what are you laughing at?”

“I didn’t know that you could be such a drama queen,” you tease, smirking up at him.

“Excuse you,” he starts, wagging a single finger at you. “I am not a drama queen. I am appropriately dramatic for the situation. He’s a nuisance!”

You simply shake your head, turning towards the stack of worksheets that had been left on the counter. “He’s a good guy. I don’t understand what your problem with him is,” you say, taking a few sheets and feeding them into the 3-hole punch.

“I don’t have the time to get into all of that bullshit right now,” he huffed, checking his watch. “I have a client in 20 minutes. Get that in the binder and you can get out. I don’t need you hovering for the rest of the day.”

Kuroo turns his back to you, beginning to retreat until you interrupt his muttering to himself. “Can I watch?”

“Watch? Watch what?” He’s taken aback, staring at you in confusion.

“Watch you tattoo. If you won’t let me try, then can I at least watch?”

Your mentor is sighing, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Not today, kid. I’ve told you. Get your technique down and then we start talking technical stuff. It’s not going to do you any good if you don’t have a machine in your hand to know what the hell I’m talking about. So, I’ll see you tomorrow and have fun on your date.”

“It’s not a date!” You shout, but he’s already pushed the curtain aside, disappearing from the front of the shop.

“It’s totally a date,” Akaashi mutters, thumbing through his book of crosswords. 

Fuck.

You forgot about him.

{Taglist: @boosyboo9206 @universal-s1ut @zamorazz // never miss an update! send an ask or a dm to be added to the inked taglist!}

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Inked will be posted around 6pm CST tomorrow 🥳

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// Kuroo Tetsurou: Deforestation Enthusiast. inked 04. //

prev << 04 >> next

*The nature of this series may be not be appropriate for all readers. Content warnings include: vulgarity, heavy swearing, and implications of adult relations.  Due to these themes, this series may not be suitable for readers under the age of 16.  Reader discretion is advised.*

Afternoons were Kuroo’s favorite part of the work day.  With the day’s routine settled into place, it gave him the perfect opportunity to zone out. Just him, the hum of the machine, and whatever the hell his client was droning on about now. One final wipe and- 

“Alright. You’re all done,” Kuroo smiled, wheeling his stool away from his client. “Go check it out and let me-”

“Hey, Kuroo? I finished your list.”

Heads snapped towards the swinging door separating Kuroo’s space from the rest of the shop. Fuck… He had forgotten about you. You had walked in the shop that morning and Kuroo hadn’t even bothered to greet you. He had left a piece of paper, outlining all of the chores he needed you to do for the day on the front counter with Akaashi. ‘DO NOT BOTHER ME’ had been written across the bottom of the page, underlined three times just to get it through your head.

It obviously didn’t get through your head.

“Was there a question in there?” Kuroo drawled, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees in the pure picture of annoyance. You begin to open your mouth to retort but he puts his hand up to stop you. “What part of ‘Leave me alone’ did you not comprehend?” He shakes his head, black hair falling into his eyes as he turns back to his client, a smile back on his face.

“Sorry about that! My new apprentice still needs some house training. So, what do you think?”

“It’s as perfect as always, Kuroo. Thank you,” his client smiles, sitting back in the chair.

“Perfect! I’m going to get a couple shots of it for my portfolio and then we can get you finished up, cool?” The client nods, settling back as Kuroo finishes up the final steps, repeating the care instructions that he’s prattled off so many times that it’s become as natural as brushing his teeth. “But you already know all of that shit, so just keep doing what you’ve always done. You have my number, so if it gives you any problems, just shoot me a text or come on in. I’m going to get cleaned up back here, so Akaashi can take your payment and you’re set.”

The thick silence was only interrupted by the quiet spritzing of the cleaning bottle as Kuroo wiped down the chair. He crumpled up the rag, tossing it in the trash as he stripped off his gloves, yellow eyes turning to meet yours. “What did I tell you, kid? If you’re going to work with me, you gotta learn to move those legs. Quit standing there and help me get this cleared out so I can set up for my next appointment.”

You’re barely at his side when he’s already handing you his ink cups. “Dump that ink out and sterilize them. They go back over in that cabinet when you’re done.”

“Are you ever going to teach me how to tattoo or am I just going to be your housekeeper until I’m done with your shit?” 

“Are you ever going to clean those like I asked or are you just going to keep running your mouth until I kick you out of my shop?” Kuroo smiles up at you with a look that’s more sinister than kind, watching as you roll your eyes before traipsing off towards the sink in the corner to clean the ink.  “You have a good eye for composition and you obviously understand color theory, but your technical drawing skills are shit.”

You pause in your task to look over at him. “You know, that was almost a compliment.”

Kuroo stands from his stool, long legs carrying him across his work area to where you stand. The little space by the sink is cramped, his body pressing up against yours as he mutters a quiet, “Excuse me,” replacing bottles of ink on the shelf. “It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. It was just a fact. I’m not teaching you how to tattoo until you can draw.”

“But I can draw. Isn’t that why you took me on?”

He barks a laugh at you. “If you think that being able to draw is all this job fucking takes, then you might as well leave now, kid. You can make sick art, but believe me when I tell you that you can’t draw. You’re covering sloppy linework and bad anatomy with good color saturation and dynamic poses. I’m not letting you anywhere near a tattoo machine until you fix that shit.”

And just like that, he’s pushing back past you, leaving you to trail after him like a lost puppy, breaking into a near jog just to catch up with him. “So that’s it? I’m just not going to get to tattoo?”

Those black boots halt and you can’t stop before you awkwardly bump into him. “What was rule number four, kid?”  He watches your face as you wrack your brain, scoffing at your silence. “Listen, kid. I will teach you how to tattoo when you can show me that you have the fundamentals down. But until then, welcome to the reality of apprenticeship. It’s not all fun and getting to make art all the time. You can’t expect someone to let you permanently alter their body if your lines are shaky.”

“My lines aren’t-”

“Don’t argue with me, kid. You’re the one who came to me. You’re the one who came in here and annoyed me into taking you on. I don’t have to do this, you know. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re here or if you find some other artist to take you on. So if you don’t like how I’m doing things, by all means, get out of my shop,” Kuroo sneered, towering over you. He didn’t miss the way you instinctively ducked away from his looming form, looking up at him with something that might be read as timidness.  “Akaashi just got some new jewelry in. Go help him with the display case.”

And without another word, he stalks away from you, saying nothing as he slides into the chair at his desk and opens his sketchbook to a new page.

“He’s always that much of an asshole,” Akaashi’s voice comes from behind you. “Come on. Up front.”

The desk clerk slides a stool over for you to sit on and you didn’t realize just how much your feet were killing you until you were able to sink down, doing your best not to immediately lay down against the display counter to relish in the much-needed break. This was nowhere near what you had anticipated your apprenticeship would be… Sure, you knew that it wasn’t going to be all rainbows and butterflies, but this kind of menial labor all day? You didn’t realize that becoming an apprentice meant also becoming the shop housemaid.  Fuck, maybe you should’ve just listened when he told you to go. In the first week, you hadn’t even so much as touched a pen, let alone gotten an opportunity to show off your skillset. You had been stuck cleaning ink stains from the tile floor, polishing every damn piece of jewelry until it shined brighter than the fucking sun, sent on meaningless errands that did nothing to help you learn about tattooing. 

And now look at you, sorting individually bagged pieces of jewelry to be ready to sell. At this rate, you were closer to becoming a piercer than a damn tattoo artist.

Akaashi clears his throat, securing a golden hoop to a fake ear to display the latest jewelry selections. “I’m sorry, you know. About him.”

You just shake your head, trying to focus on your task. “It’s fine. I was warned… I just thought- I don’t know what I thought. I mean, I had heard that he could be a little rough around the edges, but I didn’t expect him to be that much of an asshole. And don’t get me wrong, I can put up with a lot, but this isn’t the fun playful shit talk that I’m used to.”

“I know. This is all new to him too, not that that’s an excuse for how he’s treating you, but just give him some time. Kuroo has never been the warmest guy around. He’s just playing a part right now, trying to be the big bad mentor that he thinks he should be,” Akaashi says, turning his finished curation towards you. “What do you think?”

Stunning. That’s all there was to say about it. The soft whites of the opal stones that he had used to create a small constellation in the flat of the ear contrasted beautifully with that gold hoop he had placed through the conch. Triple lobe and an anti-tragus to bring the star motif back to the bottom with some added dangling elements to pull the eye to all of the points of his masterpiece.

“Are you a piercer?”

Akaashi huffed a quiet laugh at your question. “No. Needles aren’t really my thing.”

“Akaashi, I think you need to find a new place to work.”

He grinned at you, eyes crinkling ever so slightly beneath his glasses. “Believe me, I know. But, in all seriousness,” he starts, placing his curation into the display case alongside the others, “I spend a lot of time researching jewelry and what stones go with what metals, what’s ‘in’ when it comes to styles and what no one is buying anymore. They try to stay up with what’s popular so they can learn what they need to in order to best advise their clients. Being able to take care of this one small thing takes some of the weight off their shoulders.  That’s all I’m really here for - just to help out where I can.”

You’re about to respond, to commend him, but the printer begins whirring, spitting out page after page after page. It’s not long after that the sound of Kuroo’s chair being rolled away from his desk and the steady beat of his footsteps enter your ears. 

Akaashi scowls as the printer continues to spill out sheets of paper, burning through the ream of paper. “What? You printing out a damn manuscript or something? What is all this?” He asks.

Kuroo says nothing, just taking the already unnecessarily large stack of paper and sliding open a filing cabinet. He thumps a binder down in front of you followed only by that freshly printed stack of pages. “Hole punch… Where the hell did I put the hole punch,” he grumbles to himself, pushing his fingers through his hair, yanking open drawers, bending down to look under desks, standing on his toes as if he needed to be any taller to see on top of the shelves.

“You going to tell me why you just became the leading cause of deforestation or are you just going to keep looking around like a meerkat?” You retort, thumbing through the stack. “Jesus, what is this shit?!”

“You’re homework for the next few months,” he mutters, finally rifling through the right drawer to pull out the 3-hole punch that he’d been searching for. “I spent the past few nights coming up with a lesson plan that we’re going to follow to get your technique up to where it needs to be.”

“Lines? Basic shapes? Kuroo, this shit is insulting. I know how to make a fucking circle!”

Kuroo simply cocks his head at you before grabbing a pen and a sticky note, holding them out to you. “Okay, then show me. Show me that you can make a circle in a single pass.”

Wordlessly, you take them from him. You can feel your hand shaking. Stupid fucking-

“Breath.”

You look up at Kuroo, his yellow eyes unusually soft as he watches you. Fixing your grip on the pen, you quickly draw your circle. 

“Fuck.”

It’s lopsided. More egg-shaped than circular. Kuroo takes the pen from you, flipping over the sticky note and you’re just left to watch as he slowly drags the pen across the yellow paper. His circle isn’t perfect either, but it’s damn near close. He tuts his tongue. “I locked my wrist on the upstroke,” he mutters to himself, examining his handiwork before crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash.

“I know that you can make all these perfect shapes digitally, but there’s no holding down the pen to create a perfect circle while you’re tattooing. Do that and you’re going to have one pissed off client. You have to nail these fundamentals now or you’re going to be paying the price for it later. So here’s how this is going to work,” Kuroo pauses, picking up part of the stack. “This week, you’re going to make 100 vertical lines, 100 horizontal lines, and 100 diagonal lines every day. Take it nice and slow and get used to the pulling motion. Try not to rotate the page, because you can’t rotate a client’s arm a thousand different directions to get the right angle. You need to switch the way you’re seeing something? You’re the one who has to move.”

“So I’m going to spend all week just making lines? You’re joking, right?”

“I wouldn’t have printed all these pages if I was fucking joking. Give me your lines by the end of the day so I can look over them. I need 90% of your lines to be damn near perfect before we can move on to the next lesson. If you fail, you’re doing this again next week.”

You stare at him, absolutely baffled. 300 lines a day? He has to have fucking lost his mind to think that you can’t even make a simple line without screwing up. “Did you have to do this as an apprentice?”

Kuroo laughed. “Dude, hell no. I was lucky to get through that apprenticeship without contracting some bloodborne illness. But, I had to pick up what my mentor didn’t teach me somewhere. Believe it or not, I’m trying to make you successful, kid” He props his elbows on the counter, pushing the three-hole punch towards you. “Now, you can either get all those pages in that binder, or you can just carry that stack around like an idiot, but I’ll be honest with you, I don’t accept crumpled assignments.”

“Kuroo, this is like 300 pages!”

He smirks at you, pushing himself away. “Closer to 500, but you get the idea. Have fun!” And he’s about to walk off, about to retreat back to his space to put his headphones on and not speak to another soul for the rest of the day.

The bell jingles as the door to the shop opens.

“Well, well, well. Looks like the rumors were true, huh, alley cat?”

{Taglist: @boosyboo9206 @universal-s1ut @zamorazz // never miss an update! send an ask or a dm to be added to the inked taglist!}

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Out of all the boys in hq I can’t believe this asshole actually has a girlfriend

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Baseball AU || Catcher Iwaizumi

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Drawing a randomly generated Haikyuu character (almost) every day until I give up  

55. Kuroo Tetsurou

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