Makarov, your unapologetically ruthless boss, wore his cruelty like a badge of honor. As his devoted assistant, you occupied a privileged position, enjoying the perks of being his favorite.

Immersed in the tapestry of his countless tattoos, a voracious craving for more surfaced within Makarov. Upon discovering your past as a tattoo artist, particularly during your youth, he singled you out to craft his latest piece.

Seated on his lap, his hands assertively on your hips, you wield the needle with precision, poised to etch his next design onto his neck.

"Yeah, right there, doll." Makarov murmured harshly, tilting his head a little to the side so you had better access to his neck. His intense gaze never wavering from your face.