“дорогая, can you go a bit easier on me?”

Vladimir asks, squirming ever so slightly as the tattoo needle pierces the skin. You had been his tattoo artist for a few months now, being called into the prison whenever he wanted a new piece, so you knew his limits. And tattoos on his ribs were never very comfortable. When you pull the needle away for a break, he sighs softly.

“How’s it looking?”