Stay still, Pretty ༉‧₊˚.
🥡 ; Vi being a shameless flirt, piercer/tattoo artist!vi, pathetic simp!reader, lots and lots of pet names (vi uses them)
The name was written in elegant cursive across the front of the studio—a place for all kinds of body art. You weren’t the type to care much for piercings or tattoos. The only body modification you had were the standard lobe piercings, one on each ear.
But lately—though you can’t quite figure out why—you’ve been feeling a little bolder. A little more experimental.
The bells jingled as you pushed open the door.
The inside of Midnight Blues wasn’t what you expected. Dark walls, sleek black leather couches, and glass cases displaying an array of piercing jewelry gleamed under dim, moody lighting. The faint hum of a tattoo machine buzzed from somewhere in the back, blending with the slow strum of a guitar riff playing through the speakers. A hint of incense lingered in the air.
You inhaled deeply. Strangely, you felt calmer.
Not even two steps in, your eyes landed on her.
A tight, white tank top hugged her frame, paired with forest green cargo pants that sat low on her hips. She was all muscle and ink, tattoos running down both her very toned arms. Her pink hair—faded in some places, freshly dyed in others—fell in messy layers over her sharp features. She was counting cash behind the counter, fingers working skillfully, but her eyes… those sharp, calculating, all-knowing eyes… were on you. Running up and down your frame like she had all the time in the world.
This was, without a doubt, the most gorgeous woman you had ever seen.
The left corner of her scarred lip tugged upward. A single, pierced brow lifted.
“Lost, sweetheart? Or just liking what you see?”
You snapped out of it, clearing your throat and shifting your weight nervously. “No… no… I’m at the right place.” A nervous laugh tumbled from your lips.
“Yeah?” she drawled, sliding the cash into the register before closing it with a loud click. Then she moved. Three long strides, and she was standing in front of you.
Close enough for you to catch her scent—musky with a faint hint of citrus. Close enough that you noticed the freckles dotting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.
She smelled good. She looked good. Way too good.
“And what can I do for you?” Her voice was low, teasing.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus. “A helix piercing.” Your voice was even. Cool. Collected. Or at least, that’s what you hoped it sounded like.
Her smirk deepened. “Alright, sweetheart. Follow me.”
She turned, walking into the shop. You followed. And fuck, you shouldn’t have.
Because now your eyes were glued to her back. The tattoos that ran down her shoulder blades. The way the muscles in her arms flexed when she moved. The way her cargo pants hugged her ass so perfectly.
She stopped abruptly, pulling open the black curtain to her station. “After you.”
You stepped inside. The space was small but personal. A sleek black leather chair sat in the center, with a rolling tray of sterilized equipment beside it. To the right, artwork decorated the walls—her designs, you assumed. And just above the chair, glowing softly against the exposed brick wall, was a neon light in the shape of a pair of lips.
It was just like her—simple yet bold. Edgy yet soft.
Butterflies? Fuck that. A whole tsunami was happening inside your stomach.
You perched at the edge of the chair, hands clasped in your lap.
A chuckle. Low and knowing. “First time?”
You nodded, suddenly feeling very, very small under her gaze.
“I’ll take good care of you, pretty girl.”
Does she flirt like this with everyone?
The thought makes your blood boil, and you hate yourself for it. You just met this woman five minutes ago. Get a grip.
She stood in front of you again, snapping on her gloves. Then—
Two gentle taps on your inner thigh.
Your brain short-circuited.
Your legs parted slowly, breath quickening as she stepped between them, her fingers tilting your chin to the side. She marked the spot on your ear, murmuring something about placement, but you barely processed it.
“Don’t look so scared, sweetheart.” She laughed, voice dripping with amusement. “It’ll be over in ten seconds, promise.”
You barely had time to brace yourself.
You inhaled, eyes squeezing shut. “Okay,” you whispered.
The needle went through. You flinched, hands shooting forward on instinct—gripping onto the front of her tank top.
You felt the solid warmth of her beneath your fingers. The ridges of her abs, the heat of her skin through the thin fabric.
Your brain short-circuited. Again.
She glanced down at your hand, then back up at you, amusement flickering in her eyes.
“Easy there, sugar. Got a bit of a grip, don’t you?”
Embarrassment flooded your body as you quickly pulled back, stammering out an apology.
But she just chuckled, shaking her head. “No need to apologize. You’re fine.” Her hand brushed over your head, soothing your hair like you were some kind of pet. “There we go. All done.”
She grabbed a mirror, holding it up so you could see.
The violet helix piercing shimmered under the light, sitting perfectly against your skin.
“Wow…” You whispered, tilting your head slightly to admire it. “It looks amazing.”
She leaned in behind you, peering over your shoulder. “It does, doesn’t it?” Her voice was lower now, close enough that her breath tickled your neck. “You look great, doll.”
Heat rushed to your face. You barely managed a “Thank you.”
She chuckled, tapping your chin lightly. “You did good. Such a brave girl.”
You scrambled to pay at the counter, your hands slightly shaking as you fished out the cash. While she was distracted at the register, you spotted a small container filled with business cards.
You snatched one, stuffing it into your bag before she could notice.
As you turned to leave, she leaned lazily against the counter, watching you with a smirk. “See you around, pretty.”
You nearly tripped over yourself escaping the studio.
Once you were a safe distance away, you yanked the card out of your bag, running your thumb over the bold letters of her name.
Your heart was still racing.
And suddenly, getting a tattoo didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
