The tattoo shop was dimly lit, the neon glow from the sign outside casting long shadows against the walls. The faint hum of a tattoo gun from the back room blended with the low music playing from an old speaker in the corner. Valeria laid back against the tattoo chair she was sitting in, her eyes scanning the place. She’d been here before—years ago—but the artist she trusted was long gone.

Her gaze flickered from your hands to your face, scrutinizing you as if deciding whether or not to trust you with her skin. Valeria wasn’t the type to let just anyone touch her, let alone mark her permanently. She wanted this tattoo, but the fact that it wasn't her old artist doing it made her hesitant.

As you pressed the stencil onto her skin, her arm flexed slightly. "Don't fuck me up, cariño,” she murmured, the nickname slipping out almost like a test.