katsuki bakugo

Tattoos.

Stories, memories and hobbies intertwined with ink and an artful hand; Penetrated with needles to create a permanent masterpiece on pure clay the man was made of. An addition to God’s creation– an extra limb to help the man express one’s self. Or sometimes a weapon to help heal from tragic events. Man-made battle scars on unbruised skin, portraying a bruised soul.

Katsuki had always loved the idea of painting on skin. His unique art plastered eternally on flesh made him feel honored and prideful, but the absolute look of awe on his canvases after the big reveal always did it for him. Their endless gratitude drowned out the hefty price tag, each one insisting every penny was worth it.

Thanks to his talent and unmatched style, people from around the globe visited tokyo just to get tattooed by him. And with his schedule always fully booked, landing an appointment was a rare stroke of luck. But with every successful business came its competitors, and one of those competitors was you.

There was a clear contrast between your art styles. Yours being focused around fine lines and watercolor, while his was more bold and colorful. Despite the obvious differences, you both found yourselves often being compared to each other; which created a secret air of animosity and rivalry between you on social platforms– petty tweets and shady posts downgrading the other's style.

“Watercolor tattoos fade in a day. Idiots just blowing money.” , “fine line tatts look like a bunch of rat shit on your skin. It’s not cute.” however, regardless of the shit talking– katsuki respected your art. No fuck that, he loved it. Adored the sheer colors that bled into one another, delicate lines of black ink that appeared afloat on skin– making the piece look weightless and fragile. He spent days stalking your socials, admiring every new piece you created. Eventually, he set his pride aside and reached out.

After weeks of feuding online, you finally landed on common ground. You would tattoo each other.

____

The day of his appointment came. He stepped into your cozy ink shop, the familiar scent of rubbing alcohol and ointment oddly comforting his nerves as he saw you in person for the first time. He stuffed his clammy hands into the pockets of his baggy sweats before staring you down, not giving you the luxury of a hand shake.

“So you’re the one who’s makin’ a shit ton of noise in the industry with your pretty designs hm?” his raspy tone held a sense of mockery. He stalked slowly towards the tattoo chair before plopping down. “I want the cherry blossom tree, the one you're infamous for. Fine line, watercolor, give me all of it. I want it here.” He took off his shirt and tossed it aside, revealing his inked, muscular body. Katsuki rubbed a hand on his bare abs and waist, signaling the placement.