#tattoo artist kuroo

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// 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!}

[rinsoap]

˚ ༘ ♡⋆｡˚ ﾐ the big seijoh four's status!

✿²˖ ࣪ ➣ includes : oikawa tooru. iwaizumi hajime. matsukawa issei. hanamaki takahiro.

note : random headcanons lol. it was really fun so i may do this with kuroo, kenma, akaashi, and bokuto if i'm feelin crazy. BTW, THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE LATE TEENS-EARLY TWENTIES SO KEEP THAT IN MIND WHEN READING!

OIKAWA TOORU:

favourite song/artist/album: he's been super obsessed with 360 by charli xcx him n electronic pop are like this 🤞 he loves likes his rnb girlies so of course kali uchis is his favourite he knows all the lyrics to fue mejor and he doesn't even know spanish! the SZA version of course!!! bc his favourite album is ctrl by SZA the superior sza album

favourite movie/show: he likes psychological horror or classic 2000s romcoms so probably midsommar or 10 things i hate about you. look me in the eye and tell me he isn't a gleek. you can't.

favourite colour: dark blue. he thinks he looks the best in it he would be right

favourite subject/grades: math. he's lowkey good at it? his grades are pretty solid but his fatal flaw is that he gets bored easily unless it's something that really interests him or if it's something he's good at.

tattoos (yes/no): NOT REALLY! him and iwaizumi plan on getting matching tattoos. probably a little doodle of something knight related. he doesn't really want a lot of tattoos other than that.

piercings: he wants a nose ring but he's scaredddd omg. for his eighteenth birthday, iwa n mattsun n makki dragged him to the piercing shop to get it pierced bc he would not shut the fuck up about it 😭

celebrity crush: it changes all the time. he's in lovee with pinkpantheress rn. and also christian bale specifically his velvet goldmine premier look..... god he's so fucking fine sorry im projecting

IWAIZUMI HAJIME:

favourite song/artist/album: he's a casual neosoul enjoyer of course he grew up on it the filipinos love their neosoul n jazz so his favourite song since BIRTH has been on & on by erykah badu. it's between that and sometimes. he was GEEKED to know erykah was on a tyler, the creator song bc that is his favouritee artist real ones know he put suna on it's hard for him to name his favourite album that isn't by tyler but if he had to he would choose channel orange by frank ocean.

favourite movie/show: godzilla. nuff said. he's kind of a jojo's bizarre adventure fan. ok he's actually a huge jojo's fan he just likes to LIE and say he's just a "casual" enjoyer.

favourite colour: green or brown.

favourite subject/grades: literature/academia/history. he's really interested in reading but he can't stand writing essays. his grades are good, everyone thinks he's naturally smart but he did pretty awfully in elementary school until he got his act together lol.

tattoos (yes/no): YES kind of. matching tattoos with oikawa of course. i bet he's got a couple precolonial filipino tribal tattoos too lord he's so fine but other than that, i don't think he's a big fan of tattoos unless they're not very visible at first glance.

piercings: he's got a gold nose stud that he got drunk with mattsun one night and he lowkey regrets it until someone compliments him on it then his confidence is through the roof for the rest of the day

celebrity crush: steve lacy..... he doesn't know if he wants him or wants to be him. OH AND CLEO SOL. she is so beautiful and he is obsessed with her energy.

MATSUKAWA ISSEI:

favourite song/artist/album: he's a slut so his favourite song is probably dreams, fairytales, fantasies by A$AP ferg.... don't shoot the messenger! you cannot convince me that he isn't a crazy frank ocean dick rider. "what do y'all know about frank ocean" is his favourite phrase. he's been in his top artist for spotify wrapped since novacane came out. his favourite album is probably WASTELAND by brent faiyaz because yes i still do believe he is a brent stan.

favourite movie/show: all four of them are really into the spiderverse just ask him where he was when the into the spiderverse release date was announced. his favourite show would probablyyyy be death note he wants to fuck ryuk

favourite colour: pink, purple, and probably some obscure shit like amaranth.

favourite subject/grades: any weird extracurricular that doesn't require a lot of academic knowledge like jewlery making or somethin. it's not that he hates school exactlyyyyy, it's that he finds it soo boring. he has never studied for anything in his life but somehow, his grades haven't gone to shit yet, IN FACT, his grades are pretty good like Bs at worst. the whole team hates him for this.

tattoos (yes/no): YES. he had a tattoo phase for a brief period and he BEGGED all his friends to let him practice like he would PAY some of them. he didn't want to practice on himself at first because his pain tolerence is surprisingly low but hanamaki and oikawa pleaded him to stop being such a pussy because they didn't want anymore shaky ignorant tattoos lol. his phase fizzled out for a little bit and people are shocked that he has this skill because he's not a tattoo artist?? it boosts his ego lol

piercings: he's planning on getting a tongue piercing (and bringing hanamaki too so he can get the vertical eyebrow piercing he's been wanting for a while)

celebrity crush: like i said, he's a slut, so he has a handful... brent faiyaz, alexa demie, dominic fike, jhené aiko, summer walker.... and i get him!!

HANAMAKI TAKAHIRO:

favourite song/artist/album: this mf will listen to anything tbh but he's a fan of alternative bedroom indie music like wallows, rex orange county, and tame impala, so his favourite song is can i call you tonight? by dayglow. but we all know at his CORE, he is a barb... he loves nicki minaj him and oikawa were SO invested in the nicki/meg beef. speaking of, oikawa put him on so much electronic so now his favourite album is CAPRISONGS by fka twigs.

favourite movie/show: him n mattsun watch superbad RELIGIOUSLY do Not talk to meeeee. he will admit fully with his chest that total drama island is 100% his favourite.

favourite colour: pink obviously. sometimes he says vermillion for literally no other reason other than it sounds fancy. he doesn't even know what it looks like 😭

favourite subject/grades: he does not like school so he doesn't have a favourite subject.... he sits in the back on his phone mostly and copies off of iwaizumi and mattsun. oikawa Refuses to let him copy off him because he is STINGY and iwaizumi only does because hanamaki's grades are kind of abysmal 🙏

tattoos (yes/no): definitely. he has some ignorant patchwork on his upper arm and a couple of his thigh, a product of mattsun's tattoo phase. he likes em a lot but he only ever gets them when intoxicated tbh. he almost got a tramp stamp once but iwaizumi finally talked him out of it after an hour of protest. it was oikawa's idea of course.

piercings: LOOK AT HIS FACE AND THEN LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND THEN TELL ME HE WOULDN'T HAVE A SEPTUM. he's been thinking about getting a vertical eyebrow piercing but he's worried it will heal bad.

celebrity crush: his thoughts that are not about dylan minette are about kali uchis. need i say more.

[heartkaji]

★ 𝐒.𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒 ── 𝐌𝐀𝐏𝐒 !

❨ smaus ❩

⭒ headcannons ・ drabble ⭑

୨ৎ 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑

sugar boy — umemiya hajime

⁠girly girl — togame jo

french — togame jo

lose it — hayato suo

sucker — ren kaji

cherry red lipstick — suo hayato

fresh peaches — sakura haruka

winbre boys + thirsty tweets — various

winbre boys + couple tiktoks — various

alvin and the winbre boys — various

boy scout — umemiya hajime

tattoo artist — ⭒ kiryu

teenage dirtbag — ⭒ various

chupa chups — ⭑ ren kaji

hungry — ⭑ mitsuki kiryu

villain ! suo — ⭑ hayato suo

syrupy sweet — ⭑ kiryu

sharks — ⭑ ren kaji

999 okinawa — endo yamato

୨ৎ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊

poppies — isagi yoichi

2O women vs 1 egoist — various

teen romance — various

baby blue — nagi seishiro

gone, gone / thank u — itoshi sae

୨ৎ 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔

gloss — suna rintaro

superman — ⭑ kuroo tetsurou

my girl prettier — ⭑ suna rintaro

୨ৎ 𝐌𝐇𝐀

tarantula girl — dabi

sneaky link — katsuki bakugo

୨ৎ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂

skin — rayne ames ( mashle )

heart-eating spider boy — kinich ( genshin )

tie me up — kinich ( genshin )

[cannibalsrider]

Meet the off brand power rangers

Masterlist

Info dump cus I can

Lev is a tattoo artist after Yaku originally had dared him to go through with it

kuroo is a Neon Genesis Evangelion fan and when he first watched it he genuinely thought the angels were real and that there would be a first second and third impact because he was young as hell when he watched it with Kenma

Bo is a one piece fan because I feel like he would find it funny specifically Mr. Bon Clay

Akaashi is still a manga editor but sometimes he appears on kenmas streams he also gained a following because he once told a girl If she stopped asking him for bokutos number he would get her an autograph

I also didn't feel like doing a text part like I did for the first one cus my leg hurts

[causenessus]

❥ NESS' 1K FOLLOWER EVENT! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

❥ thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all the support you have given me! every single comment and like means the world to me i could not be more honored to have such kind people reading my works <3 here's my way of saying thank u!

❥ below is a selection of genres (2), one word prompts (17) and dialogue prompts (4). if you're interested, please send in an ask after you've picked a genre, prompt (either one word or dialogue or you can mix and match/do one from both! it's totally up to you <3), and a character for me to write it for!

❥ repeats and anon asks are totally okay!! and feel free to add any details if you want something specific to happen <3 the more i have to work with the better!

❥ everything will be written as a DRABBLE unless otherwise stated!!

❥ here's are some examples: "may i request ⭐️ and 🩷 with suna?" "can i ask for 💙 with sakusa?" "could you write ✒️ with atsumu where the reader is a tattoo artist...?"

❥ a small disclaimer!! i think honestly the only people i don't trust myself to write with is really anyone on shiratorizawa </3 unfortunately i just feel like i've never connected with anyone there i'm so sorry for any difficulties!

❥ i will most likely default to she/her pronouns and 3rd person but i can always do gn readers and 2nd pov! just lmk <3

❥ and without further ado... here's the lists!

GENRES ⁺˚⋆｡ °✩₊

fluff

hurt/comfort

ONE WORD PROMPTS ⁺˚⋆｡ °✩₊

✒️ tattoo

🍺 drunk

💍 wedding

📚 library

🚗 long distance

💕 childhood friends

🐶 pets

🫶 touch

💡 help

💤 sleep

⭐️ insomnia

🏠 domesticity

🩹 injury

🎒 school

🍳 cooking

💋 kiss

💔 cry

DIALOGUE PROMPTS ⁺˚⋆｡ °✩₊

❤️‍🩹 "you deserve more."

🩷 "can I come in? (I'm worried)" -> this prompt can double as just the first part ("can i come in") or the full thing! ("can i come in? i'm worried."

💙 "I like the way your hand fits in mine."

🤍 "it's nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today."

(thank u to @afyrian for heavily inspiring the layout of this event and you should totally go participate in their writing event as well!!!)

EVENT MASTERLIST ⁺˚⋆｡ °✩₊

more than anything else. | akaashi k. see you again. | kuroo t. see you at the altar. | suna r. ♡ (my favorite) domesticity. | kozume k. knuckles & callouses. | iwaizumi h. can't sleep? | sakusa k. almond butter. | suna r.

[capricornlevi]

fine lines & sunflowers - bokuto koutarou x reader

summary: you really should have known better than to make a bet with kenma -- now, you have to face your worst fear: getting a tattoo. To make matters worse, the artist - bokuto, your friends inform you - is apparently renowned for being unforgiving and harsh to newcomers. you need to see for yourself if he lives up to that reputation. timeskip bokuto!tattoo artist AU x reader.

cw: explicit sexual content, reader has a phobia of needles (not discussed in detail, but mentions of the phobia in the context of getting a tattoo), alcohol consumption (all sex is sober & consensual)

NSFW, 18+ - MDNI - MINORS and AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 8.2k

a/n: this is a birthday gift for my wonderful friend sofia @brainrot329 who is the world's most dedicated bokuto simp & also the most incredibly kind person i know ! happy birthday sofia !

___

The first thing you notice about the Black Jackal Tattoo Shop is how the neon sign above the entrance is so bright that it hurts your eyes. 

It’s late in the evening, the sun having set fully just over an hour ago, and the pavement is bathed in a bright purple glow that outshines any of the streetlights. It’s distracting, so much so that you wonder how their neighbours haven’t complained about it – but glancing at the bustling bars and liquor stores nearby, you can’t imagine they much mind. 

The second thing you notice is just how busy the place is. Even at this hour, every single one of the tables is occupied and there’s a line of people at the far end of the shop clearly awaiting their own turn. This was the last slot they had available and so you knew they were in high demand, but this goes beyond your expectations.

It’s just fifteen minutes before your appointment and so you hope that the queue will have thinned out by the time you head in. Obviously, you don’t mind waiting for a short while, but you don’t want to be here all night – more time spent queueing means more time to overthink. 

More time to start panicking. 

More time for you to chicken out or bolt away from the shop as though your life depended on it.

Even now, your legs threaten to buckle underneath you. Your pulse hammers in your ears, every shaky breath takes a great deal of effort. You’re terrified at what awaits you. 

But a bet’s a bet, and you lost it. You need to get this tattoo in order to face your friends with your head held high. 

And so it’s with a great deal of relief that the third thing you notice about Black Jackal is its obvious cleanliness. You swear you can see the floors sparkle from your vantage point on the other side of the street. The walls seem freshly painted - a nice dark blue colour, covered with golden-framed pictures of various intricate tattoo designs - and the artists are all sanitising the tables thoroughly when switching clients. 

Of course, you can’t tell all that much about a place from outside their door, but they certainly present themselves very professionally – nausea-inducing neon lights aside. 

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Reluctantly, you fish it out and check the notification despite knowing exactly what it will say.

Kenma: No backing out!

Kenma: But good luck <3

You wince and swear under your breath. Your long-time friend can be profoundly annoying at times like this, but you still type up a quick response to sate his curiosity – he’s probably waiting at his apartment with Kuroo and the others to see if you’ll actually follow through.

You: I’m waiting outside, I’ll text proof when it’s done

Three dots appear followed by a near-instantaneous response.

Kenma: Yay! Just don’t piss off Bokuto lol 

You sigh as you slip your phone back into your pocket and head to the nearby chain café to kill some time. 

In hindsight - perfect, glorious hindsight - you probably should have known better than to bet a professional streamer that you could beat him at Mortal Kombat. But in your defence, you’ve been playing the game since childhood and have won almost every single time - your win-to-loss ratio is somewhere in the region of ten to one - and it was far from Kenma’s favourite game, he rarely streamed it, so you figured you stood somewhat of a chance. 

And then one night, after far too many homemade cocktails served by Kuroo and Kenma in their shared apartment, you issued a challenge to the latter: the long-awaited Mortal Kombat tournament, best two out of three, and the rest of your friends would act as judges to ensure all rules were being followed.

If Kenma lost, he had to shave his head live on stream. His worst nightmare.

You, on the other hand, have always had a very vocal fear of needles and so you both quickly came to the same conclusion; if you lost (and you figured it unlikely), you committed to facing your own nightmares by getting a tattoo. 

To the shock of only you, Kenma won easily.

You sat in horrified silence for about a half-hour, only speaking up to accept the consolation shots of straight liquor that your friends diligently provided. 

You were just about to knock back yet another tequila when Kenma softened the blow just a little.

“You can pick the design, y’know,” he pointed out with a smile that only betrayed a hint of smugness. “I won’t make you get anything embarrassing.”

You scoffed, setting the empty shot glass down on their battered old coffee table. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Heard that Black Jackal place across town is decent,” Alisa piped up. She’d been in your corner for most of the bet, so you took her opinion to heart.

The next day, once the worst of the hangover had passed, you messaged the shop on Instagram.

“ Hey!” you’d begun, wondering if they could sense your nerves through the screen. “ Just wondering if you have any upcoming slots for a small fine line?”

You already had an idea in mind for the design, having spent the morning browsing online with Anisa; firstly, it had to be the tiniest tattoo physically possible. Secondly, in an area that didn’t hurt that much – you picked your forearm, where the websites rated it on the low-medium scale for pain (though you had your doubts). 

You also had a fondness for sunflowers (as evidenced by the heavy-handed decor in your bedroom), so you spent hours perusing the “small sunflower tattoo” tab on Pinterest. 

You had narrowed it down to three or four possibilities which you promptly screenshotted and forwarded along with your message to Black Jackal, receiving a reply a short while later. You partially wished they’d just ghost you so you could put it off a bit longer, but unfortunately, they were very enthusiastic to help. 

“ Absolutely! We have a slot with Bokuto at 8.30 on Friday?”

Begrudgingly, you agreed.

You informed your friends of your plans the next day, announcing it over dinner with everyone in attendance as proof of your dedication.

Once you read the reply aloud, Kuroo inhaled sharply.

“ Bokuto ?” he asked, incredulous. His tone of voice concerned you deeply.

“Yes?” you answered slowly, scanning the room to see everyone’s expressions. “Why? Is there something wrong?”

Kuroo winced. “Nothing.”

Obviously, you weren’t too convinced. 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Your friend started to worry his lower lip between his teeth. “It’s just …he’s … renowned for having, uh, very high standards, basically. Kinda has a scary reputation.”

“What do you mean?” you frowned, mind already conjuring up an image of this apparently terrifying Bokuto. 

“I think I heard something like that … he takes the craft very seriously,” Lev piped up, sympathy written all over his face. “He’ll call you out if you’re too nervous or shaky.”

“And if you faint …” Kuroo trailed off uncomfortably and your blood ran cold in your veins. “My sister got her ankle tattoo there and nearly ran out in tears.” 

You had scowled then, rolling your eyes to act as though you didn’t care, but your heart started to race at a thousand miles an hour. 

“Just behave like you know what you’re doing and you’ll be fine,” Kenma interjected, at least trying to be helpful. “You’ve nothing to worry about. You’ll be in and out in like twenty minutes.”

You nodded half-heartedly, lifting your fork to your mouth and grimacing at the sudden cardboard-like texture your meal had taken on.

Half an hour. How bad could it be?

Now, standing at your original spot on the pavement with a warm latte cupped in your shivering hands, you start to think you weren’t half as scared then as you should have been. 

A tattoo. A tattoo. On your body, forever , and they do it with needles. 

And to top it all off, your tattoo artist is apparently a cranky perfectionist who scoffs and jeers at newbies. Wonderful.

You check the time and see you’ve about five minutes to go before you’re due inside. You knock back a large swig of your coffee, surmising that the extra shot of espresso will be of help rather than hurt.

Once the cup is empty and you feel your legs are stable enough to carry you, you cross the street. 

Approaching the entrance step by step, you feel the neon light wash over you as you reach for the handle. The mahogany door is surprisingly light - or maybe your adrenaline has given you superhuman strength - and before you’re even aware of what’s happening, you’ve closed it behind you and floated across the tiled floor to reach the front desk.

The receptionist seems to be finishing up a call and so you idle by the desk, trying to force something resembling a poker face.  

As she starts to take notes while speaking on the phone, you can’t help but notice the incredible sleeve of black-and-white designs all up her right arm – you’ve seen them before on Black Jackal ’s online portfolio. If memory serves, Bokuto was tagged as having done most of the work.

After about thirty more seconds she politely hangs up the phone, fixes the claw clip holding back her dark hair, and scribbles something on a piece of paper before looking up at you with a bright smile. Her enthusiasm seems so genuine that, for a moment, it takes the edge off your fear.

“Hi, I have a slot at 8.30?” you say, clearing your throat. “With Bokuto?”

Recognition dawns on her face. She says your name as a question – you nod, confirming.

“I was the one talking to you on Instagram!” she beams, gesturing for you to take the consent forms, “Bo took a look at the pictures you sent on and has a couple of stencils ready for you if you want to take a look while you’re waiting?”

You force a smile and nod again, accepting the additional papers she hands you. She asks if you need to hang up your jacket; you shrug it off, the cold air making the bare skin on your forearms prickle with goosebumps. 

As if it’s necessary, she follows up by gently asking; “is this your first tattoo?”

“Yes,” comes your choked reply. 

She leans in to take your jacket, giving your shoulder a quick reassuring squeeze as she does so. 

“You’ll be fine, I promise! If the discomfort was that bad, I wouldn’t have gotten all these,” she holds out her arm for you to get a closer look at the gorgeous patterns. “The hardest part is getting in the chair, and you’ve pretty much done that already!”

Her smile reaches her eyes and you feel immensely grateful to have her in your corner if you do faint on Bokuto’s table. 

“Thank you,” you reply sincerely, heading over to one of the benches at the end of the room to start perusing the forms. 

It’s all fairly standard for a disclaimer. None of the potential complications listed on the sheet gives you any cause for concern since you’ve stocked up on all the products you’ll need for aftercare.

Plus, it’s not the after part that scares you. It’s the during part, with the buzzing and the needles and the judgmental glances you’ll get if you let out a yelp - 

“Hey! How’re you doing?” a resoundingly cheery voice calls out above you. “You nearly done with the waivers?”

The unexpected greeting shocks you so much that you nearly drop the clipboard. You look up to see a very tall, very broad man grinning down at you expectantly, tattoos covering his arms except the parts obscured by his white t-shirt and black gloves, a shock of silver hair held back with a metal hairband to keep it from falling into his eyes as he works. Something on his mouth catches against the light, glistening – a silver ring on the right-hand side of his lower lip, shifting as his smile widens. 

He seems … different than you expected. More animated, more enthusiastic. 

“I’m Bokuto - Bo, if you prefer - and I don’t know if Kiyoko mentioned it, but I did up a few stencils … ah, you have them there, great!”

You sit there, blinking up at him and then flickering your gaze over to the door as if mapping out your exit strategy in case this interaction turns sour. 

Maybe the mean part comes later. Maybe it only starts when you’re up on the table. 

“Anything you want me to go through with you first?” he asks when you don’t reply, a thick brow arched in anticipation of your answer. 

“Uh, nothing on here,” you reply, cool as you can manage, holding out the consent form for him to take back to Kiyoko. You hadn’t had a chance to look at his designs yet, but you don’t think you really need to; the one at the top of the pile matches your mental image perfectly. “And I think I’ll go for, uh, this one … here . If that’s okay.”

You hold out your chosen design and he takes it, somehow still smiling despite your demeanour being flighty at best.

Frosty and rude, at worst.

“Great! My favourite too. I know we’re not supposed to say that - client is always right, ‘course - but I was hoping you’d pick that one! Wanna get started?”

He gestures to one of the middle tables before snapping off the gloves.

“These are just the ones I use to clean up,” he answers your unspoken question once you’ve gotten up from your seat and glanced at his tattooed hands. “I’ll sanitise fully before we start.”

You weren’t looking at the gloves. You were looking at the intricate art covering what seem to be strong and giant hands, but you see no point in telling him that.

You slowly approach the table as Bokuto goes to deliver your forms. 

Turns out, what you saw from the street didn’t even do the place justice; the area is surgically clean, not a speck of dirt of to be seen, and the plush surface of the table looks as close to comfortable as you could have hoped for. The ceiling is covered with grey tile and the overhead lighting complements it, bright enough for the artists to have visibility but not glaring to the point it gives you a headache like the street lighting did. 

The framed pictures on the wall are even more beautiful up close. 

The art by Bokuto’s station especially . 

You hop up and sit at the edge of the table, hands clutching the side of the cushion for dear life as if falling off could kill you. 

The artist at the table to your right glances over, his face impassive even through the black medical mask that he’s wearing. When you turn your head, the artist to the other side does the same, casting you a look that’s entirely neutral except for his dark brows which seem to be permanently furrowed.

Their behaviour is closer to what you expected Bokuto’s to be like; not quite rude, not quite mean, but so professional and deadpan that you can’t help but feel your inevitable breakdown would inconvenience them greatly.

“So, you decided on the placement?”

Somehow Bokuto’s voice startles you again, having been too fixated on his coworkers’ reactions, but you hide your surprise better this time. You don’t jump, just lift your head and look at him; true to his word, he’s putting the final touches on the sanitisation process before starting any other preparation. 

“Hm?”

He grins, not too bothered at having to repeat himself once more. “Have you picked where it’s gonna go? Because I might have to make some changes depending on your decision.”

“Oh, the inside of my forearm” you blurt out, holding it out to show him.

Your brusque and sudden response means it’s his turn to look up in surprise, but there’s no judgment on his face when he does so. Instead, it softens, golden eyes taking on a hint of sympathy. 

“You nervous?” he asks, more quietly this time.

“ No, not really, ” but your answer comes far too quickly, your face heating as the words leave you. The vice-like grip that you have on the table only further disproves your answer.

He chuckles knowingly as he pulls on a fresh pair of gloves. “You wouldn’t be the first, y’know.”

“I’m not that nervous,” you object futilely. “Really.”

Bokuto takes his seat and pulls it closer to you; partly because he seems to think eye contact will help (it does) and partly to shield you from any eavesdroppers at the tables next to you (he does so successfully).

“Seriously,” he says, quieter again. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. If it’s too much, we stop. If you need a break, we stop. If you have any questions, I am more than happy to answer. Anything at all, no matter what. That sound okay?”

You nod instinctively but find yourself meaning it. He has a surprisingly calming presence, intimidating reputation aside. 

Maybe Kuroo isn’t a great judge of character.

“I’ll walk you through it, ‘kay? Just so you know what to expect,” he starts, and another nod from you shows you’re ready to hear the rest. “Firstly, since you want it here,” he leans over and points to your inner forearm, “we’ll need to have you lying on your back with your arm held out – we could do it sitting up, but this is more comfortable for us both since it’ll minimise any shaking.”

The table is quite comfortable. You’re with him so far.

“Then,” Bokuto continues, business-like but still kind in his delivery, “we’ll sanitise your arm and make sure the skin’s ready to be tattooed - it’s only a small area, so it shouldn’t take too long - and then we pop the stencil on. If you’re happy with it, I’ll get the last of the equipment ready and you just hold still for a while – it’ll be over before you know it. Sound good?”

The way he spells it out is a lot less intimidating than some of the resources you’ve read. He’s not being condescending, either, which is a huge plus – you know what you’re getting into, you’re not a child who needs to be consoled, but you’d just prefer for someone to speak to you like a human and just lay it out so you can mentally prepare.

Which Bokuto just did. Perfectly.

So in lieu of an answer, you lay down in the position he described, and try, for the first time, to return a smile.

He seems delighted as he pushes his chair back out to double-check the supplies.  “Alright! Let’s get this started!”

Staring up at the ceiling, you try to count the tiles to keep your mind occupied. Bokuto’s hands are gentle as he cleans the skin and applies the stencil but your arm still tenses under his touch.

He notices. “All okay?”

“Yep,” you murmur, starting your counting again. 

One tile, two, three -

“This look okay to you?” he inquires, and you pull your eyes away from the ceiling to check the design.

To his credit, it’s perfect. A bit bigger than you expected, but you can see now that changing the size would mean losing out on some of the detailing. 

It’s better than any of the ones you’d seen on Pinterest and you tell him as much. He laughs heartily, with such sincerity and energy that it’s almost contagious.

You rest your head back down and start focusing on counting the next set of tiles. 

No panicking. Not now. You’re nearly there.

Four tiles, five, six, seven -

Bokuto makes a few small adjustments. Your breath quickens. 

It’s so close to being over. Just grin and bear it. 

Eight tiles, nine - 

The needle starts to whirr.

It hits you all at once: a gut-wrenching burst of panic so strong it feels as though it could stop your heart from beating, and you bolt upright before the needle makes contact with your skin, already shaking like a leaf.

Everything’s too much now. The lights, the sounds of buzzing needles, even the low mumbling of the people conversing at the tables next to you – it all mixes into a terrifying cacophony that overloads your senses.

But contrary to what Kuroo and the others had told you, Bokuto doesn’t scold you. He doesn’t laugh, either. He doesn’t even look disappointed. He’s pulled back a little - just enough to give you some breathing space - but other than that, he’s the same. A soft smile, kind eyes, and it gives the impression that he has all the time in the world to help you. 

As nice as it is, it somehow adds to your humiliation. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, still trembling. You cover your face with your hands. “I’m sorry . I just … need a moment.”

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, genuinely puzzled. He sets the needle down in its place. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

What does he mean? He just saw your reaction, how is he so unbothered by it?

“Well, mostly sorry for … for that, ” you answer with a humourless laugh, finally moving your hands away from your face. “For freaking out, for losing it just there … god, I nearly jumped off the damn table .”

He huffs out a short laugh. “And? You wouldn’t be the first, that’s for sure – not the first today, even.”

You rub your eyes forlornly. “I just - it got very real all of a sudden. Too real. I’m sorry.”

He waves off your apology kindly but firmly. 

“No more sorry, alright?” 

Adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you find it in yourself to agree quietly. No more apologising. That much you can do. 

“And just so you know,” he continues. “I’m not in the business of tattooing people against their will. If you’ve changed your mind, that is absolutely and completely fine – can’t stress enough how fine it would be. We can even try another day, I can get this stencil off you-”

“No, no,” you interrupt, your mind clearing just enough for you to object. All things considered, you actually really, really liked the look of the stencil on your skin. You want this tattoo. You want to be able to go back to your friends with your head held high. You want to do this for yourself. “I want to do it today.”

“Okay,” he notes in agreement, meeting your gaze. “Then how are we gonna make this work?”

It’s quiet for a moment as you consider your next step. You wonder if Bokuto knows just how much this eye contact is helping to keep you from dying of embarrassment. 

You start to explain your fear in a way that hopefully sounds more articulate than the vague screaming that’s going on in your head. 

“I don’t know if this makes sense, but it’s not the pain that bothers me so much as the needle. All my life, it was never the shot itself that freaked me out, just the sight of the needle coming towards me.”

“I get it. Pain isn’t the issue, really, but looking at this ,” he gestures to the tattoo gun, “isn’t helping you get your mind off things?”

You swallow thickly. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, how about you tilt your head the other way? Akaashi’s about to clock out so you won’t be looking at his mean face for too long,” - at that, the man next to you stops cleaning the table and scowls - “and if you want, I’ll just keep talking so you’re not just staring at the wall for half an hour and you’re not focusing on the sound of the needle. If I need you to check anything - linework, shading - I’ll ask, and try and keep the needle out of the way for you. Whatcha think?”

Maybe it’s just the surge of intense emotion starting to subside, but the offer could just bring you to tears. There’s no pressure, no judgment. Just support and encouragement. 

You can do it. You know you can do it. 

“Sounds doable,” you answer after a slow, steadying breath. You lay down and tilt your head, seeing the tables next to you now clear. “Let’s do it.”

And this time, you don’t so much as flinch. 

The tattooing itself doesn’t really hurt at all. It’s not the most comfortable sensation in the world, but it’s not painful by any measure, likely helped by the fact that you don’t catch sight of the needle for most of it. 

Bokuto talks to you, and you find yourself chatting back with increasing casualness. The topics vary; work, family, how Akaashi used to be equally frightened of needles even though he vehemently denies it. It helps keep your thoughts clear. 

You ask him the tattoo questions that you weren’t able to find the answers for on Google, knowing his reply will be honest. 

He tells you a few college stories. One or two of them sound eerily familiar, but you don’t question it.

He asks you about your friends and about the bet that led you here. You give him the condensed version, explaining that the result was actually a lot closer than your friends had said and that if you had gone for best three out of five, you might’ve just won it. 

You ask about his lip ring, if it hurt to get it done. He says it didn’t. 

Your anxiety ebbs and flows throughout, but you don’t let it surface. Every time you feel panic surge through your chest you just ask Bokuto another question, letting his deep voice carry you away from the fear. 

Just as you’re about to chime in with another question about his first tattoo, he interrupts first. 

“ And … all … done.”

It feels as though only two or three minutes have passed, so thick shock envelops you as you ask incredulously, “ done ?” 

“Done,” he confirms, setting the needle down and starting on the aftercare. “If you’re happy with it, that is?”

You glance at your arm and can’t hold back a gasp at what you see. It’s as though Bokuto reached into your mind and recreated your idea perfectly.

You spend a few minutes admiring it as he cleans up, chatting excitedly as the thrill is yet to wear off, and you feel a strange disappointment knowing it's time to part ways.

Still, you don’t let it show, thanking him and tipping generously when it's time to settle up, saying your goodbyes to Kiyoko too before collecting your jacket.

Once you’re out the door, you snap a picture of your outstretched arm with the perfect tattoo in centre frame and send it into the groupchat, riding the high of your achievement. 

You: Told ya <3

Seconds pass before the replies start to flood in. 

Kenma: Holy shit you actually did it, I’m impressed

Lev: And she delivers! 👏

Alisa: ^^^^^ shut UP we knew she’d follow through 

Alisa: it looks amazing ahhhhh!!!!!

Kuroo: who’s “we” in this scenario

Alisa: shouldn’t u be saving this energy for twitter fights tetsuuuu 

___

To commemorate you successfully facing your fears, the gang all make plans to go for drinks the next day. In fact, Kenma’s so impressed that you followed through on the bet that he agrees to pick up the tab – Kuroo is delighted with you as a result. 

The table is reserved for the entire night and Alisa, Lev, and Yaku are driving separately there so you’re able to travel in one cab. Kuroo and Kenma spend the entire journey inspecting your tattoo, fully visible with the short-sleeved dress you chose for the evening since the protective wrap has been removed.

“Holy shit, it’s real, ” Kenma mutters, peering closer at the sunflower design.  

You laugh a little, taken aback at the continually disbelieving attitude he has towards it. “Yeah? Lots of people have tattoos - Lev has one. Alisa has four. ” 

“Yeah, but,” Kenma answers with a shake of his head. “It was your worst fear. I would have never shaved my head, y’know? Over some little bet, are you kidding?”

“Oh, you would have,” you grin, glancing over at Kuroo’s knowing expression. “We might have needed to be a bit persuasive, though . ”

Out of respect and perhaps just a bit of fear, he’s the first to leave the taxi once it’s parked and he makes a beeline to the counter to get your first drink.

The bar is busy but not too crowded, typical for this early in the night in this part of town – close enough to Black Jackal, come to think of it, and you could probably see the purple neon lighting if you peered out one of the windows. 

You let yourself enjoy the buzzing atmosphere as Alisa and Yaku take you out back to go dancing. The hours trickle by without you noticing. 

Once you’re teetering at the edge of being out of breath, you decide it’s best to get another drink. The others all join you, with Kenma going first to make sure the tab’s still open. 

The queue by the bar counter has thinned a bit since most people have made their way to the open floor to dance and chat. It’s relatively peaceful, so you tell yourself that’s the reason why you’re able to pick out the familiar head of silver hair with such alarming quickness. 

There are about six or seven people standing between you, most of whom seem to be other artists from the tattoo shop, but Bokuto’s the only one you zone in on. 

It makes sense that you’d bump into him in this place. Obviously, he’d come here after finishing work since it’s so close by. You’re not sure how you didn’t expect it.

You’re also not sure why you feel a sudden and peculiar sensation brewing in your chest, radiating out in waves, intensifying every time you think you’ve caught his eye.

You grab Alisa’s arm, pulling her to the side to inform her of the sudden development. 

“Bokuto’s here,” you whisper into her ear, sounding almost startled for some unknown reason. Your own tone of voice takes you by surprise. 

“What?” she calls out as she leans in closer, unable to hear you over the music. “ Whatcha say? ”

“Bokuto’s here, but I need a moment before I go say hi, ” you whisper louder this time, almost at regular volume. You can only hope that nobody but Alisa understands the implications of what you’re saying. 

But naturally, Kuroo picks up on your conversation with relative ease.

“Bokuto?” he asks far too loudly, glancing around in an entirely unsubtle way. “Where? Did you know he was coming?”

Heat floods your face and neck. “ Yes, Bokuto,” your scowl deepens, “and no, I didn’t know he was coming, you utter-”

Kuroo raises his hands in defence, a mischievous smirk etched on his face. “Hey, just asking! Maybe you took a shine to each other, how was I supposed to know?”

That hits a nerve for reasons you don’t quite understand. You keep your face as impassive as possible to avoid detection – you don’t really want to explore these feelings in such a public setting since you don’t even know what they are. Residual nerves, maybe?

“Why would you think that, Tetsu? You’re the one who expected I’d faint on the table.”

Kuroo has an immediate answer to your question. 

“I kinda figured you’d get along, to be honest,” he admits with more than a little smugness. “So wouldn’t be too surprised if you had invited him.”

You baulk at his suggestion. “No, you didn’t! You said he’d be a dick!”

He laughs heartily, throwing his head back as he does so, and you start to piece things together. 

“Do you - do you know him?”

“Yep!” Kuroo chirps. “Played volleyball with him in college.”

Your eye twitches. If you hadn’t been friends with Kuroo since your schooldays, you’d probably hurl your drink at him out of sheer frustration. 

Even as it stands, the jury’s still out on the drink-throwing. 

Hearing Kuroo’s howls of laughter, the others have now made their way into the conversation. 

Wonderful. You’re starting to worry the loud music won’t be enough to obscure the conversation from the parties concerned. 

“I was messing with you!” Kuroo clarifies, though it’s not really necessary at this point. “Bokuto’s a good guy. You probably could’ve spontaneously combusted with fear and he would’ve been the one to apologise for stressing you out.”

“You what?” Alisa gasps. She was out of the loop up until this very moment; her indignation on your behalf is quite satisfying. 

“I thought you all knew!” Kuroo replies after knocking back half of his beer, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. As if his tongue needed to get any looser.

You scoff. “I didn’t! Nobody ever knows when you’re messing with them!”

“And how did Kenma and Lev know what you were talking about?” Alisa asks, throwing an accusatory look at her brother.

Kenma shrugs, answering on Lev’s behalf too. “There are a few artists down there with a reputation for being harsh, and I assumed from Tetsu’s reaction it was Bokuto … but I actually was thinking of someone else, I guess. A friend of a friend with a bad case of resting-bitch-face? A - Akaashi something?”

You glance at the surly-looking man standing next to Bokuto and it all finally falls into place.

“So I acted like a complete freak for no reason?” you ask despairingly. 

With a grimace, you remember your monosyllabic answers to Bokuto’s initial questions, how you acted like a deer in headlights at every step of the process, how it took intensive intervention on his part to even get you back in the chair. 

Your friends jump to your defence. 

“You weren’t a freak- ”

“I’m sure you weren’t that bad-”

“Tetsu, you can be the actual worst- ”

It seems as though the rest of the group were about to settle into scolding Kuroo when you catch sight of Bokuto approaching, grinning as usual, lip ring glinting in the low lighting. 

It takes a second for you to actually comprehend he’s heading towards you and not Kuroo. 

Mercifully, the rest of your friends seem to realise it as soon as you do; they start to collect their drinks and get out of your way, Kuroo stopping for just a moment to greet his old friend - you still can’t believe you hadn’t figured it out earlier - before whispering something in his ear that makes Bokuto’s gaze flicker over to you. 

Oh, if he’s told something embarrassing, you’ll actually kill him. Before you can react to whatever Kuroo’s said, he turns and gives you a quick wink before joining the rest of the group on the dancefloor.

“Hey!” 

Bokuto’s greeting is cheery and bright, which should be encouraging were it not for the fact that it seems to be his default setting. 

His hair is loose now, the metal hairband clearly only for work purposes, and the silver strands that frame his face seem so impossibly soft you have to fight back the urge to run your hand through it.

Here. 

At a bar, in front of everyone.

Oh, so that’s what that feeling is.

“Hey!” you try to return his enthusiasm, ignoring the twisting in your gut from the looming realisation that you have a crush on the man you were terrified of not twenty-four hours ago. 

And he knows you were terrified of him, too. Probably still thinks you are. 

“So, Kuro was just telling me you know each other?” Bokuto beams. “Shoulda let me know! Could’ve told you a few embarrassing stories about him from college … and I probably did, come to think of it, but didn’t give any names yesterday. More than happy to now, though?”

A frazzled laugh slips out in spite of everything. “Yeah, we’ve been friends since we were little kids.” You pause for just a moment, considering his words. “But I’ll definitely take you up on that offer if it’s still open.”

“Oh, it absolutely is. Do you have about six hours spare to hear them all?” he hesitates for a split-second, looking more nervous than you think you’ve seen him. It passes soon, however, when he gets the words out; “... maybe over a drink?”

Oh . 

Okay. 

So it’s not just you who feels like this.  

Relief hits you first. Then a little gleeful sensation that you haven’t felt in a long while, followed by a burst of anxiety – but you’re not going to overthink this part, you assure yourself. There’s no point. It’ll just get you as worked up as it did yesterday, and then you’ll be filled with something worse than fear or embarrassment: regret . 

Besides, Bokuto seems just as he did during the session yesterday. There’s no impatience, no ‘ oh god I have to calm down this random person who’s gotten themselves stressed out for no reason’, no sign that he’s feeling anything other than enthusiasm at getting to have this conversation.

And so you happily add two more drinks to Kenma’s tab. 

“By the way … Kuro never actually told me that he knew you ,” you explain finally, once Bokuto’s finished one of his college stories. You’re not drunk, barely even tipsy, but the glass of wine has definitely made it easier for you to flirt back. “If I’d known, I probably would’ve tried to put on a braver face yesterday.”

“Are you kidding? You took it like a champ.”

You roll your eyes without any malice. “ No , I didn’t.”

“You did!” he insists. 

“I didn’t. ”

“Yes, you did.”

You scoff. “Well, if I did, it’s thanks to you .”

His eyes glint as they scan your face. “Whatcha mean?”

“You kept me sane. Couldn’t have done it if it weren’t for you, honestly.”

You lift a hand and rest it against his tattooed forearm, surprised at the taut muscles that flex under your touch. 

Brave. You can be brave for the second day in a row.

“You up for another?”

___

After you buy two more drinks, things move so quickly that neither of you even gets to finish them.

You’re not sure who made the first move - it might have been him, with the way his eyes sought out your lips at every possible opportunity; or it might have been you, with the way your hand didn’t budge from its place resting against his arm - but all that’s important is that one of you did make it.

Or maybe both of you did.

But it doesn’t matter, because now you’re outside the bar with your back pressed up against the cool stone wall, making out like a couple of desperate teenagers.

Despite the cold air surrounding you, everything feels hot; Bokuto’s lips crushing against yours, his tongue tracing against your kiss-swollen mouth, his hands on your waist as they pull you closer. 

Your skin almost burns under his touch. You get lost in it. 

It’s only when he pulls away, expression torn as though it pains him to do it, that you manage to collect your thoughts into some coherent order. 

You’ve long moved past the tipsy sensation you felt earlier, but your head spins for a different reason as you brace yourself against his strong shoulders, feeling light-headed in the best way possible. 

“Wanna-” he begins, pausing as if worried you’ll say no. You’re already nodding before he even finishes the sentence, and he laughs before leaning in to kiss you again.

“Where do you live?” you ask, pulling back a millimetre or two, and he answers. “My place is closer,” you explain then, tugging him away towards the street to flag down a taxi. 

In the cab, you check your phone as Bokuto rests a hand on your thigh, hoping to fire off a quick text to Alisa to let her know where you’ve gone.

Instead, you see that Kuroo, obviously having felt a little guilty from earlier, has sent you a couple of messages expressing his remorse. 

Kuroo: You okay?

Kuroo: Sorry for messing with you. Bo’s a good guy. he won’t give you a tough time about anything

Kuroo: I think you’ll really like him

You grin. He has no idea. 

You: All fine, and all is forgiven 

You: Your peer pressure paid off for once

You: Just don’t do it again or I’m pretty sure Alisa will kill you :)

With that, you slip your phone back into your pocket and rest your hand over Bokuto’s.

The very moment you pass the threshold of your apartment, his mouth is on you once again; the cool metal of his lip ring contrasts with the heat of the kiss, sending pulses of desire through your core. Your flick against it with your tongue and his eyes darken delightedly, pupils blown out with desire matching your own. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to reach the bedroom, shedding clothes down the hallway as you do so - a shirt tossed here, a pair of shoes thrown there - and soon you’re collapsing onto your bed in a messy tangle of limbs and bitten-off moans.

After a few moments, lifts his head up and grins, eyes travelling around your room. Your head rests against the pillow as you try to follow his gaze to see what exactly he’s looking at.

“Makes sense,” he mumbles fondly. “The design for your tattoo.”

Glancing at your sunflower-covered bedspread, the pressed petals framed on the wall, and the various other splashes of sunny yellow decorating your room, you accept his point with an airy laugh.

However, you’re not willing to dwell on it for too much longer – there are more pressing things at hand. Finally, you lift a trembling hand and tangle it in his hair, finding that it’s somehow softer than you even imagined.

You move your lips to this throat to kiss and suck and bite, and without you having to ask, he tips his head back to allow you more room, whispering your name in a heated and desperately low voice. He hisses as your pecks against his skin turn a little firmer, knowing there’d be a mark left were it not for the tattoos trailing up his neck. Now that he’s not wearing anything, you see the design trails down the broad expanse of his chest, over his firm pecs, further down until - 

He pulls you up into his lap and you let out a startled yelp that quickly turns into an almost pitiful mewl of pleasure. You rock back and forth against one of his impossibly thick thighs, marvelling at the solid muscle of his body as he takes your hips in his hands and guides your movements. 

You spend the next few minutes like this, grinding helplessly against him as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, with him just watching you with an expression that can only be described as awe-struck. He pays no attention to bulge in his own underwear, even though it’s so hard it looks almost painful – he is fixated on you, on your reactions, on the movements that draw desperate little breaths from you and the ones that make your back arch further. 

“Feel good?” he asks, almost dazed, hands running slowly up and down your thighs as you fuck yourself against him. 

“Mmhmm,” you answer – redundantly, given the other sounds that flow from your lips, “need more, though, p-please.”

He doesn’t need any further instruction, flipping you to lie flat on your back and going to spread your thighs which part easily for him.

Turns out he’s more than talented with his tongue as well. 

After what seems like hours of him taking you apart - of you gasping when the lip ring grazes against your sensitive flesh, of you begging for his fingers which he angles just right, of him voicing his own approval at your moans and taste and the way your thighs tighten around his face - he finally sits back on his haunches and gives you a look that you instantly recognise.

Eagerly, you roll onto your side and fetch a condom from the box in the nightstand. When you hand it to him, he finally, finally, slips out of his underwear - you can’t help how your eyes widen at the sight - then only just about manages to put on the condom before you hook your legs around his lower back and pull him on top of you. 

Although he lets out a chuckle at your enthusiasm, he angles you so carefully, and you realise with a soft ache in your chest that he’s trying his best to avoid touching the still-raw skin near your tattoo.

“It’s fine,” you whisper breathily. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

He replies by raising your arm so it’s resting by your head on the pillow. “Still, if you need to take a break or stop, just say, ‘kay?”

You agree without hesitation. 

Then, he brings his hips down until they’re flush against your own, his cock slowly and tantalisingly pushing through your folds to allow the anticipation to build (and for you to adjust to his size). But after how long he’s spent preparing you, he’s met with absolutely no resistance – on the contrary, you find yourself mumbling incoherent, slurred words that sound an awful lot like begging. 

“Can - can you-”

He kisses your jawline, the sensation of the ring making you shiver once again. “Can I what, hm?”

“Can you please-” a short, shallow thrust has you gasping mid-sentence, “ please fuck me?”

You almost cry out when he starts to thrust in earnest, slowly at first and then quicker and quicker once he fully surrenders to his own desperation. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with breathy moans and gasps start to echo around you, along with the tell-tale banging of your headboard against the wall. 

His thrusts grow hard, almost punishing, but the way he cups your face tenderly in his hands shows that his intentions are not to overwhelm but to give you what you need; you hadn’t realised it, but your hips had started to cant up to meet his every stroke. 

He praises you, too. Tells you how good you feel, how well you’re taking him, how he could do this forever. Every word out of his mouth makes you grip him tighter, your nails undoubtedly leaving marks against his shoulders. 

It doesn’t take long for you to come for him again. He doesn’t stop or slow down his movement; he lets you whimper and cry out against his muscled chest as you come down from your high, holding you close as his thrusts turn sloppy and erratic. 

He curses through gritted teeth as he comes, letting out a low moan that sends aftershocks through you. He thrusts deep and stays there; his face in that moment, so blissful and fucked-out, is one of the most gorgeous things you think you’ve ever seen. 

You stay like that for a while, boneless and utterly content, before he goes to remove the condom and wash up as you catch your breath.

When he returns, there’s no awkwardness. No overthinking. You ask for him to stay the night, and he does. He sleeps soundly in your bed with his arms wrapped around you.

It’s a strange sort of comfort you don’t often find with people, let alone someone you barely know. But he makes it easy to get to know him, and you’re all too delighted to learn more.

He stays for a while the next morning. He cooks breakfast, you make the coffee.

Things are much more straightforward from that point on.

___

You get your second tattoo exactly a year later. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t still a little nervous at the prospect of a needle so close to you, but it pales in comparison to the anxiety of your first one. This time, you find yourself looking forward to it more than you do worry. 

“Ready for round two?” Bokuto asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead before starting to get the station set up. The shop is closed, the manager having let you stay late for the occasion, and the peace and quiet only add to your newfound level-headedness. 

Just you and Bokuto. You can do this. 

You nod without hesitation, lying back on the table as though you’re a seasoned veteran. “No freaking out this time.”

He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance but the affectionate laughter cuts through it. “Still think I’m scary, huh?”

You shrug. “Not as much anymore.”

“Well, guess I can live with that.” 

When the needle starts to whirr, it doesn’t make you jump. There’s no feeling of panic or dread.

This tattoo is over quickly, like the last one, but it’s far more meaningful – you like sunflowers, sure, but you like this one better. You didn’t need to over-analyse the design since you can see exactly what it looks like on someone else.

Bokuto has an identical one freshly tattooed on his ring finger. 

[devilstruly]

Mafia and florist/tattoo artist au for the selfship ask game!!

god mafia aus always make me weak

i always feel like kuroo would be mr. big bad boss and i would either work for him or be hired to spy on/kill him no in between

the sexual tension is no joke

now the florist/tattoo shop one i'm not particularly big on

BUT

hear me out - tattoo artist sakusa

i would be weak in the knees

he can get any flower he wants

and anything else he wants fr

[pinkysweartoe]

Hiiiii, so like im looking for a haikyuu fanfic smut book on wattpad. My friend and i have looking for for so longgg. One of the one shot chapter their was reader x kuroo x bokuto. The setting was the reader was getting a tattoo at kuroos tattoo shop, kuroo was a tattoo artist and bokuto pierces. After the tattoo got done they were getting a little spicy and bokuto caught them? Or maybe he was invited? And then they had a bisexual threesome, bokuto topped kuroo, kuroo topped reader. Please help me find this!!!

[nkogneatho]

Nvm I want to know how many people are in your harem 😂

all of jjk men and i have assigned each trope to them like law professor higuruma, boss!nanami + baker!nanami, marine biologist who's secretly a pornstar!geto, virgin!choso, tattoo artist!sukuna and trueform!sukuna, camboy!gojo but i prefer gojo and toji mostly as they are in the anime.

for haikyuu, iwa, atsumu, suna, bokuto and kuroo

for blue lock, i have isagi, shidou and barou in top three

for aot, reiner, eren and erwin

for csm i have aki, himeno and quanxi

for tokrev, fuyu, shinichiro and shuji

[come-on-shitty-boys]

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

prev << 05 >> 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.*

“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!}

[miyababes]

kyoutani kentarou.

long fics. (5k+)

back to life by kyovtani [ tattoo artist!kyoutani ] [ nsfw ]

; [ part two ]

fics. (2.5k+)

of cigarettes and love confessions by kyovtani [ bad boy!kyoutani ] [ nsfw ]

short fics. (1k+)

how you like it by saetyrn9 [ nsfw ]

mutually assured destruction by hornime [ nsfw ]

drabbles.

playing with fire by hornime [ nsfw ]

when you pass out at practice by etherrreal (+ tsukishima, aone) [ sfw ; comfort ]

headcanons.

timestamps.

series.

smau.

responding to you texting them 'you hurt my feelings' after a fight by toru-oikawas-milkbread (+ oikawa, iwaizumi, matsukawa, hanamaki, kunimi, kindaichi, kuroo, kenma) [ sfw ]

smau series.

[emmyrosee]

POOKIE BEAR!!!!! there are so many im working on yall STRAP IN

Requests ❤️

Tattoo!artist sukuna w/ anniversary tattoos

baby!yuji and sukuna and reader beach day

Osamu meet cute

Baby!yuji and sukuna x reader argument angst

smacking sukuna's butt

sukuna saying feral things

sukuna not taking reader seriously

drunk!reader and sukuna

sukuna prom angst

Kiyoomi photobooth

Sukuna comfort

hq! setter dad au

kageyama hc

kuroo and his pregnant wife

osamu angst to fluff

oikawa morning routine

cutesy morning w/ tsukishima

sneaking glances w/ kageyama

sharing a bed w/ yamaguchi

sick days w/ kyotani

song fic w/ kiyoomi

cooking w/ osamu

kenma fluff

suna tickles you (thats a weird way to describe that PFFFF-)

dad!atsumu and uncle!samu and breast milk

bakugou angst

Drabbles ✨

Suna cringey piece

2 bugging Kiyoomi pieces

song fic w/ sukuna (angst)

Geto sandwich fic

affections w/ kiyoomi

mario kart w/ sukuna

dad!suna

more dad!suna but with ✨angst✨

bad singer reader x atsumu

Progress Halted!! 🥺

Can't Stop DNA (osamu angst- too sad to continue!)

Bakugou fight fic (suuuper long, mapping out story!)

body dysmorphia w/ osamu (inspo comes and goes)

kiyoomi anxiety fic (too real, got worried no one would like it lol)

kiyoomi x miya!sister fic (mapping out story)

sakusa angst (mapping out story!)

sukuna angst (mapping out story)

Gojo, Geto x Reader angst (mapping out story)

gojo angst (mapping out story)

jealous kiyoomi (changing plot too many times)

fight in car (character unspecified, mapping story)

sneaking glances w/ meian (mapping out story)

Smut 🫣 (no details bc these are for adult audiences only!)

kuroken x reader

roommates! geto and gojo x reader

ushijima

sukuna (6 pieces)

sunarin (3 pieces)

tsukki

osasuna x reader (2 pieces)

sakusa, osamu, atsumu hc's

osamu (6 pieces)

sakusa (2 pieces)

choso (but its mine so it may be deleted idk PFFFF-)

satosugu x reader (2 pieces)

sakatsu x reader

atsumu (2 pieces)

bokuto

imma be a busy giwl NDNDJSNSN-

IF UR READING THIS YOURE TAGGED SHOW ME YOUR BEAUTIFUL WIPS!!!!

wip title tag game

RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

Delicate

TBD

How helpful is f/o in the kitchen

Pairing: Buuhan x Reader

Untitled - “The people say you are cruel and you do nothing to change their minds. You…give them a reason to speak of you unfavorably.”

In Another Lifetime II - Shige

Untitled - There was an envy of you among the other parents in the school district.

Untitled - “Hello again. Sweetie.”

My Future is With you

Saiyans going to Black y/n's family cookout

CHAPT 2. CORRUPT

Thigh Sex. - Shinjuro Rengoku

Sex Pollen. - Xeno Trunks

Swan Song

Radship week

Over a beer bottle

Untitled - "I don't get it. I did everything right, I got you to love me. Y-You love me."

In Another Lifetime II - Paras

Taint and Ravage

Neither Goku, Nor Vegeta II

I wanna feel you in my bones.

Spoils of War

no-pressure tags: @dreadsuitsamus @yeowangies @actuallysaiyan @beneathstarryskies @vegeta-bananabluish @emmacornell @loki-love @vampcubus and anyone other writers interested in participating! ♥

[come-on-spicy-boys]

Imagine getting railed by kink krew. 🥴🥵 couldn't be me 😏

i’m not TELLING you that i want tattoo artist kuroo to fuck me stupid in his chair, but i am indeed heavily implying it 🥴 his dick piercing adding a little extra stimulation not only to your walls but it sends little shivers through his body with every thrust, bring the hottest pants from his mouth 🥵

[come-on-shitty-boys]

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

prev << 07 >> 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.*

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!!}

[achillean-heartbeat]

thank you for the tag @nacricissa !<33

i wish my wips were that organised in my head but unfortunately i just dump all my wips into a ggle docs folder under random names and call it a day

kniveswood- mafioso knives x assasin wolfwood

tattoo artist wade

kenma spends a week without kuroo

assassin x target

ocs mwah

wangxian mermaid au

Sigh.

Sigh. (draft)

"Well hello," you said, devastatingly./ Rien

"i remember" exercises

im too horny and i need to write it out

im angry

LESGOOOO

idk

streamer tsukki

sub tsukki dom yamaguchi

bdsm recs

theres more but theyre scattered somewhere on my hard drives. i should probably upload them on my drive.

heres the tags!

@kandy-katz @chrisentitled @illicitafair @kaloiid @fuckingqueenofhell @butinacoolway @konigs-mask @llobu-cerval @controlledbyrats @winterminty-2 @hieronymph @twilight-character-poll @wickedlybonafide @arcane-trail @twilight-good-yall-dumb @rexthegod0-o @purple-closet @drummer-gorl @petersboyf @zyxlittlelady @glxyaaandromeda @shakespeareanqueerian @honisu @emeraldeyes23 @lokinescence @karmiky

WIP files game

Thank you to @littletaxitt for the tag

Ok so instead of doing all the individual chapters like i usually do, all I'm going to do for this one is the actual wips and a couple of other things because I have the tabs open. Basically they're the wattpad stories that i don't post on wattpad and i know i say this a lot but i want to make it clear that's just where my drafts are please-

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, & then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPS.

-----

Forget me not drafts

Dahlia drafts

Rosemary drafts

Backstory timeline

Character timelines

Outlines

Backstories

Ghost AU

Worldbuilding hell

Playlist organizer

Canon timeline

Full timeline. Listen when your chapter names are dates you've got to make sure the timelines match

Flower symbolism stuff

Sage AU

Black rose AU

Sunflower AU

Zinnia AU

Iris AU

Red spider lily AU

Asphodel AU

Marigold AU

Lily of the valley AU

Satisfied AU

Time loop AU because I think it'd be very silly

Nothing happens ever AU

Zombie AU because the last of us has me in a fucking chokehold

Fish in a birdcage AU

Villain Leo because I think that'd be neat :)

Rosemary alt ending

Forget me not alt ending

Dahlia alt everything

Jaxon befriends a rat which is at this point an AU

Behind the scene moments to use as little flashbacks

Our word AU (???)

Gladiolus AU concept

-----

Tags if you want

@hrmkingizzy

@toribookworm22

@junypr-camus

@regalserpent

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs

@magicicada-lbwrites

@leisoree

@elizababie

[samwrights]

Inked [Kuroo]

@tamcitrus thank you so much for this request bb! And thank you so much for your support with Elixir, it means so so much to me! If you haven’t checked out Elixir yet, folks, the link is right [ here ] for ya.

This ended up being way longer than I anticipated and is slightly NSFW. Warning for language!

Also, I kinda had a good laugh writing this one. My most recent tattoo is a hand one and MAN that sucked. I have to get the knuckles touched up too 🙃 which this whole story reminds me...I gotta book an appointment with my artist.

It started out with a genuine to desire—Kuroo wanted a few simple tattoos. A few on his arm, maybe two on his chest or so. But two became an entire piece from his collar bones to his hips, and a few became a traditional, Van Gogh-esque type artwork until both arms came to match.

Kuroo is unsure of what he loves more, your work or the way your hands feel on him, even if they are dragging hot needles into his skin.

He never anticipated migrating the artwork up to his neck or onto his hands and knuckles, but as it’s happening, he’s unsure which one gives him greater satisfaction. With his hands, your fingers were intermittently grabbing at his own, trying to make the skin more accessible as you pounded the ink in. When trying to do the tips of leaves that were a part of the rose on his hand, you were concerned that he was going to flinch away from the needle. No matter how high a person’s pain tolerance was, the knuckles sucked.

Kuroo hadn’t even noticed, too enthralled by conversation with you. Over the years and sessions with you as his sole tattoo artist, he learned many things about you. Of course, there was the typical shop small talk, “how long have you been tattooing” or “what do you do for work”. But even so, Kuroo knew many things.

Like how you started your apprenticeship at twenty and now, for the last three years, you co-owned a shop with a buddy. He knew that being able to get an appointment with you was almost next to impossible—Kuroo typically had to book months in advance. At one point, you no longer accepted walk-ins. For professional reasons, it was due to not having adequate time to service your clients that had scheduled for you and had paid a deposit already. Kuroo knew it was because you were tired of tattooing infinity symbols on freshly turned ladies.

Learning the more secretive parts of your character was like an adventure he never knew he wanted to take. The first in-depth part of yourself that you revealed, entirely without meaning to, was how much of a perfectionist you are. Unfortunately, Kuroo learned it the hard way with a machine in your hand, digging highlights repeatedly in the realistic rose you had just finished on his neck.

“Okay, okay. That fucking hurts, I’m sure it looks great.” Despite trying to come off as commanding, Kuroo’s words came like weak pleas. Partially from being in pain, partially because he didn’t wanna move too much that it would disturb your work.

“Oh please, you like it.”

Well, you’re not wrong.

Another trait he witnessed first-hand is that you were adamant and ruthless—supposedly due to being an owner of the shop. Kuroo’s not convinced though and he believes it to be a part of your personality. The first time he had seen you so cold was awkward and, ironically enough, was also the same day you tattooed his neck.

Your previously scheduled appointment hadn’t shown up for an hour. Kuroo liked to come pretty early, mostly to make sure he’s got food in his system and he’s gotten his nicotine cravings curbed. He also brought you lunch, knowing you pretty much never left your studio. Even after having lunch together that day, your appointment hadn’t shown nearly two hours later. Kuroo wasn’t due for another hour, but after eating and getting cleaned up, you had moved on and started prepping for his piece instead. After mentally preparing himself for the needles that were going to be dancing along his neck, your client that had blown you off walks up the stairs, “all ready to go” or so he said.

“I’m sorry, you’ll need to reschedule your appointment downstairs.” At first, your tone is polite and friendly as always, but you’re focused on your work.

“I already booked an appointment with you? Why else would I be here?”

“And you were late, whereas my next client was early.”

“Do I at least get my deposit back?”

“Non-refundable.” At this, you point to the sign you had plastered on the wall just above your sinks. Your only two rules. No refunds and no dates.

“I want my fucking money back.”

“Yeah?” You snort. “And I want the two hours back of my time that you wasted. Which, need I remind you, your deposit only equates to an hour of my time. You’re lucky I don’t charge you double, now get the fuck outta my shop.”

Kuroo would have laughed if your hands were pressed around his neck.

So far, the most intimate details he’d learned hadn’t really been all that deep. Or rather, they didn’t seem like it to those that were looking from the outside. Considering Kuroo was in a band, it was obvious to both of you that music played a big part in his life. Knowing about a person’s favorite songs and bands tells a lot about them. It was easy for Kuroo to decipher, beyond conversation, since you always had music playing in the background as you worked. It’s not deep if you don’t know what to look for, Kuroo muses.

But he notices the way your eyes change with every song. Lately, the mood has been The Story So Far. You knew every song, every album, and every line. Though there were some that were only followed with delicate mouthing and whispers of singing along, there were others that were much more distinct when passing you lips. To Kuroo, that meant that those lines hit harder.

I wanna see why you love her

Why you’re good for each other.

“So why the no dating rule?” He asks, pulling himself from his reminiscing, as you’re starting the coloring on the tattoo at hand, pun intended. Kuroo is more than comfortable with you, sharing secrets he had only shared with his band.

“Boyfriends always try to get free shit,” you grumble out, accidentally pressing a little too hard into his wrist.

“So, does that mean if I ask you to dinner, you’ll say no?”

“...no.” Of course you wouldn’t. For the last three years since he started coming to the shop, you’d wanted nothing more than to cancel all your appointments and fuck him on your client chair. But the better part of you said no, not thinking he was going to entrust you with decorating his body for years. Naturally, lust grew into something more.

“No, as in yes? Or no, as in no.”

“No, as in no dating, Kuroo.”

“Soooo, are we skipping straight to the part where I fuck you into the ground or the part where I just marry you?”

Wanna see a specific character? Or a different head cannon? Want to see a whole story?

Send in requests!