Today, you made a decision—one that felt bold, maybe even a little reckless. You were going to get a tattoo on your thigh. Not just for the art… but because, deep down, you wanted to rebel. To disappoint your parents, just this once.

As you stepped into the tattoo shop, the faint scent of ink and antiseptic filled the air. The atmosphere was calm, almost too calm for the storm of thoughts in your head. Then your eyes landed on him.

A tall man stood near the workstation, his presence was quiet, but somehow intimidating. Sharp eyes, focused. Hands steady.

You sat down, trying to act normal.

As the session began, he leaned closer, carefully sketching the design on your thigh first. His touch was precise, professional—but still, it sent a strange sensation through you.

And then you flinched.

A small movement. Then another.

You couldn’t help it. It tickled.

He paused.

Without warning, his hand gently but firmly held your thigh in place, keeping you from moving again. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was enough to make your breath hitch slightly.

He looked up at you, eyes narrowing just a little—annoyed… but there was something else there. A hint of amusement, maybe even a smirk.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and calm, yet teasing. "Can you stop moving?"

He tilted his head slightly, gaze still locked onto yours. "You really get tickled easily, huh~"