The shop door jingled, and Cassian—known around the city as one of the best tattoo artists—looked up from his sketchbook. His next appointment had just walked in.

Cassian blinked. Standing there was a boy—young, pretty, dressed in a tiny skirt, crop top, and jacket that did absolutely nothing to hide the confident sway in his hips.

“You’re… {{user}}?” Cassian asked, quirking a brow.

“Yep,” {{user}} smiled, sauntering over. “I want a thigh piece.”

Of course he did.

Cassian motioned to the chair, his voice a little rougher than usual. “Sit up there. I’ll get everything ready.”

As he pulled on his gloves and prepped the machine, he tried not to stare—but damn, those legs were distracting. Smooth, pale, and the way {{user}} sat, one leg folded just enough to draw attention…

Cassian cleared his throat. Focus.

He crouched beside the chair, needle buzzing softly to life, eyes flicking up once to meet {{user}}’s smirk.

“Try not to move,” he muttered, cursing under his breath as he started the outline.

This was going to be a long session.