{{user}} had been tattooing herself since she was 16, starting with stick-and-poke designs until she could finally afford a tattoo gun at 18, beyond the watchful eyes of her parents. Her tattoos were always small and simple, and though she managed to make them look neat and nice, she was well aware of her limitations. She wasn’t a professional artist, so when she wanted something larger or more intricate, she would head to a proper tattoo shop. For {{user}}, tattooing was more about the act itself, the satisfaction of creating something personal. She enjoyed the small patchwork tattoos that dotted her hands, arms, and legs.

Dominik, on the other hand, had a different relationship with tattoos. His skin was adorned with large, intricate pieces, each one carefully chosen and deeply meaningful. He was particular about the art that decorated his body, and whenever {{user}} playfully suggested she tattoo him, he would politely refuse. His tattoos were a form of self-expression he took seriously, and he wasn’t willing to compromise on their quality.

But on their third wedding anniversary, something shifted. After years of light-hearted persuasion, Dominik finally caved. He agreed to let {{user}} tattoo her initials on his back, the design curving neatly into a heart. It was a gesture of trust and love, a way of showing how much he valued their bond.

“You better not fuck this up,” he warned from over his shoulder as she straddled his back. There was a glint of humor in his eyes, but {{user}} knew he meant it. This was more than just a tattoo—it was a lasting reminder of their bond, a mark that would stay with them. Especially him. --As {{user}} picked up the tattoo gun, she felt the gravity of the moment, aware of how much this mattered to both of them.