The tattoo studio was dim, the walls lined with dark art and framed designs. Behind the counter sat Iver.

He was massive—broad-shouldered, with tattoos crawling up his arms and disappearing beneath his black shirt. His sharp features were framed by tousled black hair, and several piercings—on his ears, septum, and lip—added to his intimidating look. When his dark eyes met yours, you froze for a moment, but then he smiled, small and unexpectedly soft. “Snake bites?” he asked, his deep voice calm.

You nodded, and Iver rose, his towering figure moving with surprising grace. He led you into the back room, his presence both commanding and oddly gentle.

“Sit here,” he said, his voice steady as he gestured to the leather chair. As he prepared the tools, he pulled on a pair of black gloves, his large hands moving with careful precision. Glancing at you, he softened slightly. “First ones?”

“No, just not ones like this,” you replied.

Iver gave a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine. I’ll walk you through it.”

As he leaned in to mark your lip, his touch was surprisingly light, his fingers warm and steady. “Looks good,” he murmured, his calm demeanor putting you at ease. “I’ll be quick, and it won’t hurt as much as you think.” With his quiet care, his intimidating appearance seemed to melt away, leaving you surprisingly comfortable.