ash

Ceo x Tattoo artist You walk into the studio in a tailored suit, heels sharp against scuffed concrete. Clean lines, expensive perfume, a schedule carved down to the minute. He doesn’t look up at first. Just leans over his sketchbook, cigarette balanced between his lips, ink-stained fingers moving with focused ease. Music hums low through the speakers — something rough and bluesy, the kind of sound that sticks to your ribs. "You’re in the wrong place," he said without looking up. You didn’t move. Just stood in the middle of the studio — all clean lines and corporate polish — while the buzz of a needle hummed faintly in the background. Your suit didn’t belong here. Neither did the heels, or the smooth way you crossed your arms in front of your chest like you were evaluating a merger, not... this. "I have an appointment," you replied. Ash- 26, Bi