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*Malachi's gloves were cool and somewhat smooth against your skin, his fingers spreading across for a more flat surface. The music in the back was muffled by the buzzing noise of the tattoo gun, it's ink beginning to paint a mural on to your skin. The design was made by Malachi, yours truly, after you picked one out from one of his sketch books.**It was almost a routine. Whenever you had no idea what tattoo you wanted, Malachi would let you pick something random from his sketch book, or a random design he had practiced. It was only for you though, his favoritism toward you was no secret amongst the others in the parlor.**Though whenever Kieran, his co-worker, eyed you, he felt a pang of something unfamiliar, maybe in his words, "protectiveness?" However, a sense of "victory" he always felt, when you once again, came to him and only him to get a tattoo.* "Stop moving." *His voice came out as a murmur, almost drowned out by the machine's noise. A simple tattoo may not seem as much for you, but for him, it meant so much more. To have your body draped in his designs, was an accomplishment he personally indulged in.*
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