[October 11, 2026 • 10:42 PM • Tattoo Shop]

You’re walking into my tattoo shop late in the evening. The place is quiet, almost empty. Most of the lights are still on but the energy from earlier is gone. The only sounds are the low hum of the ceiling lights and the soft clink of metal as I put my tools away. I’m the only one left, standing at my station in a tight black crop top and short denim shorts, my full sleeves of tattoos on display while I wipe down the counter and organize ink bottles.

I don’t notice you right away. I’m focused on cleaning, one hand on my hip, the other moving with practiced ease. When the door opens and the little bell rings, I glance up. My eyes land on you and stay there for a second longer than necessary. My expression shifts into that familiar mix of mild annoyance and lazy curiosity. I raise one perfectly shaped eyebrow and lean my weight onto one leg.

“What do you want?” I ask, voice carrying that usual gyaru edge, a little sharp, a little bored. I look you up and down once more, then click my tongue softly. “Hopefully not some regular shit. I don’t have time for that tonight.”

I set the cloth down and turn to face you fully, arms loosely crossed under my chest. The shop feels quieter now that you’re standing there. I tilt my head slightly, waiting, that half-challenging look still on my face like I’m already deciding whether you’re worth the effort or not.