🍒Breakup Tattoo🍒 ft Izuku Midoriya
You didn’t expect to be here tonight.
Actually, you didn’t expect to be anywhere but home—curled up in blankets, binge-watching movies that would make you forget everything. What else were you supposed to do after being dumped by your long-term boyfriend, the one you’d poured so much time and effort into trying to keep things together with? It wasn’t a clean break either—no quiet, mutual agreement. It was one of those breakups filled with yelling, tears, and so much emotion that, by the end, there was nothing left to do but let go. Saying you were drained would be an understatement.
So yeah, you figured tonight would involve early 2000s girl power movies and a pint of ice cream. That was until your best friend suggested a girls’ night.
You hadn’t been out in forever—not because you didn’t want to, but because your ex had always made you feel guilty for it. He didn’t like going out, and he didn’t want you going out either, even though that’s exactly how the two of you met. Over time, you stopped wanting it too. But tonight? Tonight was different. A girls’ night was long overdue.
You and your friends got ready at your apartment, laughter echoing off the walls while the speakers blasted nostalgic bangers. Your confidence crept back in with every outfit change, every sip of pre-game drinks, every chorus shouted together. By the time the Lyft arrived to take you to the first bar, the night had already started to shift something inside you.
It wasn’t that you’d forgotten the breakup—but for the first time in a long time, you were starting to feel like you again. Not the girl who had tried to shrink herself to fit into someone else’s idea of love, but the one who laughed too loud, danced without caring, and didn’t need anyone’s permission to be free.
The night flew by in a blur of glitter, sweat, and shared drinks. One club to the next, shots and cocktails, off-key singing and dance-floor confessions. You and your girls had made a playlist specifically to remind yourselves that men weren’t essential to your joy—and tonight, you believed it.
Just when you thought it was time to head home, something caught your eye.
Flash Tattoos & Piercings.
It practically glowed under the neon lights, like a dare written just for you.
"This is exactly what I need," you said, feeling a bolt of adrenaline hit. Something impulsive. Something fun. Something for you. The kind of move you hadn’t made in years.
You all rushed inside, though one of your friends lingered near the door, clearly nervous. You smiled—she was always the cautious one.
A pink-haired girl at the front, who introduced herself as Mina, welcomed you all with the kind of bubbly energy that instantly made you feel like this was the right call. You and one of your friends were immediately drawn to the flash tattoo binder she handed over. Your eyes sparkled as you flipped through it, hunting for something that felt like a fresh start.
“What are you thinking?” you asked your quieter friend. She looked hesitant, biting her lip before answering with a small smile.
That made you grin. Holes in your face weren’t exactly your style, but ink? Ink you could get behind. You’d always loved the look, but never actually made time to go through with it. Until now.
As you flipped pages and listened to Mina suggest piercing ideas for your friend, you burst out laughing at the mention of nipple piercings. Definitely not her vibe—but imagining it had you and your other friend cackling.
That’s when the door to the back opened, and the whole shop seemed to quiet.
A grumpy-looking blonde guy stepped out. Tattooed arms, resting scowl, the whole “I don't want to be here but I am hot” package. You noticed your friend stare a little too long, and you couldn’t help the teasing smile that tugged at your lips.
“Maybe I’ll get a piercing instead,” you joked.
He was cute, sure—but way too serious-looking for your taste.
He told you the other tattoo artists would be out shortly, then called your nervous friend to the back. You watched them go, then turned back to the flash binder, still hunting for the perfect piece. As you chatted with Mina—who was now giving you tattoo tips and telling you stories about her own spontaneous ink—you realized something:
This wasn’t just a random night out.
This was the start of getting your power back.
You were still flipping through the pages when your eyes landed on it.
It wasn’t big or dramatic. It wasn’t screaming for attention or covered in fire and thorns like some of the others.
Clean lines, a little floral, a little abstract. It looked like something from a daydream. A soft symbol that somehow made your chest feel a little lighter just looking at it.
"This one," you said softly, fingers brushing over the plastic sleeve like it was something sacred. “I want this one.”
Mina peeked over your shoulder and grinned. “Ooh, good choice. That one’s Izuku’s work. He does clean line stuff like a pro. Very gentle, too.”
As if on cue, a voice called from the back.
“I’m ready for whoever wants to go first.”
You turned around—and there he was.
He wasn’t what you expected.
In your mind, anyone working with needles and ink had to have at least one intimidating trait. But the guy standing in the doorway… looked like he’d just come from some indie bookstore or maybe a cafe that also happens to be a cat shelter. Soft curls fell over bright green eyes, his black sleeves pushed up to reveal inked forearms. There was a nervous sort of confidence in him. Like he knew he was good but still wasn’t used to people saying it.
“I’ll go,” you said, standing up straighter.
His gaze landed on you—just for a moment too long. And then he gave a small, crooked smile. Not quite shy, but close.
“Cool. Uh, I’m Izuku,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll be the one tattooing you, if that’s alright?”
You nodded. “Only if you’re as gentle as they say.”
That made him blink—then laugh, soft and breathy, like you’d surprised him.
“I’ll do my best,” he said, voice dipping into something more sure of itself. “Come on back, and we’ll get it stenciled up.”
The back room was calmer, quieter, lit by warm lighting and low music buzzing from a speaker on the shelf. He gestured for you to sit.
“So,” he started, glancing at his sketch. “Where were you thinking of placing it?”
You hesitated for a second, then smirked slightly, lifting your top just enough to reveal your ribcage. “Here,” you said. “It’s a little risky, but I figure… I’ve been playing it safe long enough.”
You watched his throat bob as he swallowed—eyes flickering to your exposed skin, then quickly back to your face.
“Good choice,” he said, clearing his throat. “Uh—great placement. It’ll flow really well here.”
Your lips curved into a sly smile, your voice just a touch silkier as you leaned back. “You gonna be able to focus down there, or should I choose somewhere less… distracting?”
He froze—eyes wide—then let out a nervous laugh, blush blooming at the tips of his ears. “I—I’ll manage,” he said, fumbling for the stencil. “Promise.”
“Good,” you said, stretching your arms behind your head, just enough to make it interesting. “Wouldn’t want to be the reason your line work gets shaky.”
You saw the corner of his mouth twitch as he turned away to grab gloves, clearly fighting back a grin.
Oh yeah. This night might’ve started with heartbreak—but it was definitely ending with a little power shift in your favor.
You watched as he worked—prepping the stencil, carefully applying it to your skin, his touch featherlight and professional. There was a quiet focus to him, like he cared deeply about what he was doing. The stencil paper rustled gently in his hands, and then his fingers brushed against your skin—light, focused, respectful. He wiped down the spot first, the alcohol swipe cold enough to make you shiver slightly.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “That part’s always freezing.”
“It’s alright,” you said with a soft laugh. “Honestly, it feels kinda nice.”
He chuckled, then carefully pressed the stencil against your skin.
The pressure of his fingers was steady, firm enough to apply it cleanly but still somehow soft. He stepped back once he was done, nodding to the mirror on the wall.
“Take a look. Let me know if you want it higher or lower. I can always re-place it.”
You turned to the mirror, heart skipping.
The image stared back at you—wildflowers curved elegantly along your ribs, delicate yet fierce, each petal soft but strong against your skin.
Your reflection looked confident.
Like someone who wasn’t drowning anymore.
Like someone reclaiming something.
You exhaled, slowly. “It’s perfect. Don’t move it.”
The male gave you a warm smile before nodding. Already feeling a little proud of the placement. “ Perfect, let's get you comfortable and get you your new tattoo.”
“You’re good at this,” you murmured, glancing at the delicate lines forming across your skin in the mirror.
He looked up from where he was prepping the tattoo machine—his gloved hands steady as he loaded the needle cartridge and set the voltage on the power supply. The soft hum filled the quiet room, grounding the moment.
A small smile tugged at his lips, flustered but clearly pleased. “Thanks. I, uh—I like when people trust me with stuff that means something.”
Your eyes flicked to his hands, admiring the care he took with each step. “You seem like the kind of guy who takes everything seriously.”
He glanced up at you again, something playful dancing behind his lashes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not bad,” you said, letting your voice drop just slightly. “Just… intense.”
He laughed under his breath, the sound low and warm. “You think I’m intense?”
“Maybe a little,” you teased. “You’ve got this whole quiet, mysterious thing going. Bet it works on a lot of girls.”
He shook his head with a soft smile and wheeled his stool closer, the buzz of the machine quiet for now. “I don’t think most girls would call tattoos ‘mysterious.’”
“They would if you look at them the way you just looked at me in the mirror,” you said before you could stop yourself.
That made him pause. His eyes lifted slowly to yours—green and unreadable for a beat too long—and then he looked away, clearly fighting a smile as he adjusted the angle of your chair.
“You always this bold with strangers?” he asked, voice soft but undeniably curious.
“Only the ones who get to see me with my shirt half-off.”
He barked out a laugh then, shaking his head. “Touché.”
He leaned in, gently adjusting your position so your closer to him. His hands were confident and careful, the kind of touch that lingered just a second longer than necessary. Not inappropriate—just… noticeable.
“Alright,” he said, voice lower now as he wiped the stencil area again. “I’m gonna start here. It’ll sting a bit at first.”
You nodded, settling in. “I can handle a little pain.”
He met your gaze, a flicker of something more serious behind his smile. “I never doubted that.”
The buzz of the machine started up again, and this time, it wasn’t just adrenaline that made your heart skip.
You let out a soft breath, smirking. “Well, I figured if I was gonna let someone stab me repeatedly, he might as well be cute.”
He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “Gotta be one of the better compliments I’ve gotten mid-session.”
You tilted your head just enough to glance at him. “Oh? What’s the usual?”
“Mostly variations of ‘ow,’ ‘oh my God,’ and one guy asked if I was single while he was getting a skull on his ribcage.”
“Right? Nothing like pain to spark a connection.”
The machine buzzed on as he leaned in again, the scent of his cologne just faint enough to notice. After a moment, he asked, “So… why this one?”
You hesitated. “You mean the design?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It feels… personal.”
You stared straight ahead, blinking at your reflection. “It is.”
There was a pause. Not the awkward kind—just open space, like he was letting you decide how much to give. You swallowed and shrugged a little.
He glanced up at you again, brow lifting just slightly. “Ah. Say no more.”
You smirked. “You don’t wanna know the tragic backstory?”
He wiped gently at your shoulder. “Only if you wanna tell it. But I’m guessing he messed up.”
“Oh, he did,” you said, a little too easily. “Took me a while to realize how much.”
He kept working, a little more focused now, but you could feel something shift between you.
You gave a soft laugh. “Not exactly. I’m not trying to make him jealous. This one’s for me.”
“Even better,” he said. “That’s the best kind.”
You turned your head toward him again, voice quieter now. “You ever get one for a breakup?”
He met your gaze. “Nah. I usually go with tequila and bad decisions. But this? This is healthier.”
You grinned. “You saying I’m well-adjusted?”
“I’m saying you’re handling it better than I would. And,” he added, his eyes dragging briefly from your ribs to your face, “you wear it well.”
Your lips tugged into a slow, pleased smile. “You’re not just saying that because it’s your work?”
He smirked. “I mean, I do excellent work. But no—I meant you.”
There was that pause again. The hum of the needle. The weight of new beginnings.
Your lips curved into a sly smile, your voice just a touch silkier. “Careful, Izuku. You keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking this is more than just a tattoo.”
His hand stilled for a second—barely—but you caught it. His eyes flicked up to yours, wide with a flash of surprise before he quickly ducked his head again, pretending to refocus.
“I—uh,” he cleared his throat, his ears tinged red, “I just meant... you wear it well. The tattoo. I mean. It's suiting you.”
You laughed softly, leaning your cheek against your shoulder as you watched him. “You always get this nervous when pretty girls flirt with you, or am I special?”
That earned you a full-on flustered smile—genuine, shy, and a little crooked. “I—I wouldn’t say nervous, exactly. Just… caught off guard.”
“Is that a yes?” you teased, arching a brow.
He chuckled, low and bashful. “Okay—maybe a little nervous. You’re kind of… distracting.”
“Distracting, huh?” You tilted your head, letting your fingers toy with the hem of your top where it slipped down your shoulder. “That’s a new one. Usually, guys just call me trouble.”
He glanced up again, and this time, he didn’t look away quite as fast. His voice was softer. “I think that’s what I meant.”
The hum of the tattoo gun filled the pause between you. But now, it felt less like a background sound and more like a current—you could feel the tension building, subtle and electric.
You watched him as he leaned in again, the machine dancing over your skin with featherlight pressure. His lashes were long behind his glasses, his focus intense—but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was fighting back another smile.
“So,” you said, voice lilting with interest, “when this is done… do you disappear into the back like a tattooing ghost, or do you ever let your clients buy you a drink?”
He nearly dropped the wipe in his hand.
“I—uh. I mean, sometimes? Not usually. I try to keep things, y’know… professional.”
You smirked. “Shame. I was thinking about celebrating a fresh start. Seems only fair to include the artist who helped make it happen.”
Izuku hesitated, caught somewhere between professionalism and the way your words made his ears turn even pinker. Then, finally, he gave a nervous little grin, eyes flicking to yours with something brighter behind them.
“I guess… for a fresh start, I could make an exception.”
You let out a soft, victorious hum, your smile turning more genuine. “Good. I like exceptions.”
He blinked at you, clearly trying to play it cool—but his flushed cheeks and the way he fumbled just slightly with the aftercare ointment told you otherwise.
The moment hung between you again—just a beat longer this time.
And maybe, just maybe… something worth breaking your own rules for.
The needle continues its work, and the sting of it settles into a dull throb. It's definitely different than you expected, and the pain isn't as bad as you thought it would be, but that doesn’t make it feel any less intense.
He’s been working quietly, his focus steady, but you can tell he’s aware of every movement you make. He looks up at you briefly, eyes soft and slightly nervous.
"How’re you holding up, pretty girl?" he asks, his voice low and almost soothing. There's a small flicker of concern in his gaze as he keeps his hands steady on your skin.
You nod, giving him a half smile. "I’m good," you reply. "Just a little sting here and there."
The tattoo continues, but soon you feel the pain ramp up, the needle digging in just a bit deeper. Your body tenses involuntarily, and you can't help but flinch a little.
He notices right away, pausing for a moment. His eyes soften, and he leans in just slightly, his voice dropping to something a little warmer. "You’re doing great, honestly. You’re way tougher than you’re giving yourself credit for."
You let out a small, shaky laugh, trying to keep it together. "It’s just... a little painful, that’s all."
He gives you a shy smile, his hands steady again as he moves the needle. "I get it," he says quietly. "But, I have to admit... you’re making it look way easier than it should be."
The compliment lingers in the air for a moment, and something about the way he looks at you makes your heart beat a little faster. You glance up at him, meeting his eyes, and there's a quiet moment where everything seems to slow down.
"Thanks," you reply softly, your voice tinged with amusement. "Guess I’m not as much of a wimp as I thought."
He chuckles, the sound warm and light, though there's a hint of a more playful edge in his voice now. "Definitely not. You’re a pretty tough girl... and a pretty girl in general, I think."
His words catch you a little off guard, but instead of pulling back, you feel your face heat up. You offer him a teasing smile. "Oh? Compliments now? Are you just trying to distract me from the pain?"
He shrugs, a small grin on his face as he keeps working. "Maybe a little," he admits. "But mostly because it's true. You're looking gorgeous, and I can’t help but mention it."
The tattoo stings again, sharper this time, and you try to shift your focus. "Well, thank you, I guess," you reply, the words coming out a little more breathless than you expected.
He leans in a bit closer, his voice soft and low as the needle works. "Almost done, I promise. Just a little longer, and I swear it’s going to look amazing on you."
His breath brushes against your skin as he speaks, and the small, flirty moment hangs in the air between you, the sweet compliment and the warmth in his voice doing a lot more to distract you from the sting than you'd expected.
You didn’t rush to move when he finished. Not right away. The buzzing of the tattoo machine had stopped, and the soft drag of a cloth across your skin lingered just a second longer than necessary.
“Done,” Izuku said, voice quieter now. Like the air between you had changed.
You sat up slowly, adjusting your top just enough to peek at the mirror behind him. The ink was fresh, outlined in crisp black and wrapped with care, but it wasn’t just the art that caught your eye.
It was the way Izuku watched you take it in.
“You like it?” he asked, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear it anyway.
Your smile was slow, a little smug. “It’s perfect. Looks even better than I imagined.”
Izuku ducked his head again, biting the inside of his cheek to hide the way his lips twitched into a smile. “Good. I’m really glad.”
You leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on your knees, voice low. “So, about that drink…”
He looked up at you again, eyes meeting yours fully this time.
You could see it in them—the inner war between “don’t mix business and personal” and I want to see you again when my hands aren’t holding a tattoo machine.
Izuku hesitated, then pulled his gloves off slowly, snapping them free and tossing them in the bin. “There’s a place a couple blocks from here,” he said finally, voice cautious but warm. “Nothing fancy. But they do great drinks and it’s...quiet.”
“Perfect,” you said. “Lead the way, artist.”
Izuku led you back to the waiting area, his steps a little slower than before, his attention clearly on you as he watched you take in the fresh ink on your skin. The buzz of the shop faded into the background as he came to a stop near the counter, handing the receptionist the receipt, but his gaze remained focused on you.
"You doing alright?" he asked, his voice low, still holding that comforting warmth.
You couldn’t help but smile, eyes flicking to the wrapped tattoo before meeting his again. "Perfect," you said, your voice soft but teasing. "It’s better than I imagined, honestly. Might need to get another one now."
Izuku grinned, his gaze softening as he looked at the wrapped ink on your arm. "I’m glad you like it." His hands moved to slowly remove the plastic wrap from your tattoo, carefully making sure it stayed intact. There was something about the way his fingers moved—precise but gentle—that made the air between you two feel charged.
"Alright," he continued, his voice a little quieter now as he wrapped a fresh bandage over the ink. "Here’s the deal. You’ll want to clean it a few hours after, and make sure to moisturize it, but not too much. No swimming or soaking it, just let it heal slowly. You don’t want to mess it up." He smiled at you, his tone warm, and you could tell he was trying to make sure you didn’t have to worry about it too much.
You leaned in slightly, the playful glint in your eyes never fading. "Got it," you said, your voice dropping a bit as you looked him over. "Clean it, moisturize it, no swimming. Easy enough."
Izuku chuckled, his eyes shifting from your tattoo to your face. "Exactly. And, uh... no sun exposure for a while, either. You’ll be good as new in a couple weeks."
You smiled at him, watching the way his eyes lingered on you for a moment before he pulled back, clearly trying to stay professional. But then, you noticed him pause, the familiar glint in his eyes softening as he spoke again.
"Look, I know you’ve been through a lot," he said, voice a little quieter. "So, I’m not going to charge you for this one. Consider it... a little gift. You’ve earned it."
You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your lips lifting in a mischievous smile. "A gift, huh?" you asked, taking a step closer, your voice teasing. "Guess that means I’ll have to find a way to pay you back for it."
Izuku’s eyes flicked to yours, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he was trying to hold back a grin. "You don’t have to," he said, his voice almost too casual, though the slight flush on his cheeks gave him away. "I just... thought it would make you feel a little better."
You leaned in just a bit more, the playful tension between you both thickening. "Well, I do love a good gift," you said, voice low and flirtatious. "But if you insist on giving me one, I’ll just have to find a way to repay the favor. Maybe over drinks? Or something more... personal?"
Izuku’s breath caught, and for a moment, he looked a little lost for words, his cheeks darkening slightly as his eyes met yours. He cleared his throat, his smile a little more nervous now. "Maybe we’ll see," he said, voice soft but tinged with something else. "But no rush. I’ll leave it up to you."
You turned towards the counter thanking Mina, the playful exchange hanging between you like a promise. As you paid and made your way toward the door, Izuku’s voice followed you, soft and teasing.
"Just make sure you take care of that tattoo," he called out, his tone light but with a hint of something more. "Wouldn’t want it to get ruined before I get a chance to see it again."
You shot him a quick glance over your shoulder, a flirty smile playing on your lips. "Oh, don’t worry," you replied, your voice full of promise. "You’ll see it again. And when you do... I’ll make sure I’ve repaid you properly."
With that, you left, both of you knowing this wasn’t the last time your paths would cross. The tension in the air lingered, thick with unspoken intentions and a playful future waiting to unfold.
