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alecmagnuslwb · 3 years

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Right In Front of Him - @doubleredweek Day 3

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Roy Harper came back wrong or at least that’s what everyone says.

He died bloody and violent and just shy of being an adult at the hands of a monster that wasn’t even his problem to begin with. Wrong place, wrong time. That’s what they called it. The young son of a billionaire killed by Gotham’s most notorious monster in the hopes of a payout or just for fun. Speedy and Green Arrow were never mentioned, Star City had replacements in the form of Oliver’s other son and daughter in no time to keep their father and the memory of their dead brother safe.

Jason never even got the chance to meet his big brother’s best friend and by the time Oliver Queen had slipped past Batman’s prudish defenses and no one kills in my city rules and avenged his son Jason had already picked up his mother’s bad habit.

Robin couldn’t be a drug addict, Bruce made that abundantly clear. And while Oliver Queen happily sat in prison doing the only thing he could to avenge the son he never expected, but loved all the same, Jason’s father labeled his son a problem.

Oliver got five years, the one and only time Jason can remember hearing about a rich guy using his money to get a lesser sentence being reasonable and justified. He thinks the jury probably wasn’t feeling too bad for the dead psychopath who had been terrorizing their city for decades either.

And then the son he avenged came back, but he came back angry. He’d been angry and vengeful and grateful and a million conflicting feelings that made the once shining bright example of the sidekick into a rogue, an outlaw.

The entire Arrow family still wanted him back anyways, no matter how wrong everyone said he came back, no matter how many lives his bow started taking. He kept his distance though, the rage of the Lazarus pit he’d been thrown in under control but still boiling under his skin.

And then for some inexplicable reason he picked up Jason. Grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him from a prison in the middle of nowhere that he’d quite literally joked and drank his way into and certain death because Dick tentatively reached out and asked him to.

Why Dick didn’t just do it himself Jason could care less.

Roy helped him get clean, helped him get back into the work of being a hero or well as close to one as he could get with a new identity and new suit and didn’t even bat an eye at some of Jason’s poorer choices.

Hell he hadn’t even mentioned when Jason started a brief affair with their teammate, who also happened to be his brother’s former fiancée.

Jason’s never said it out loud, but the broken angry sidekick that everyone wants to take ten steps back from is Jason’s saving grace. His best friend, the closest thing to home he’s had since Bruce sent him packing, quite possibly the love of his life.

And Roy doesn’t have a single clue.

He just loads his arrows and doesn’t know it drives Jason crazy when he slips past him a steadying hand on his lower back. He doesn’t know that Jason twistedly savors when Roy’s hurt and needs to be patched up just so he can get a little closer to his skin. He doesn’t know how much it makes Jason’s unlovable heart clench knowing that he’s the first and only person Roy has let get close since he came back from the dead. He doesn’t see it and Jason resigns himself to what they have, forcing himself to be content with what they are so he can keep him close.

“You should pick up this time,” Jason says frankly tired of watching Roy pace back and forth across their shared loft in nothing but a pair of low hanging sweatpants. He cares too, but he also really needs Roy to take a call in the other room and put on a shirt while he’s there.

“I don’t know if I can,” Roy says finally stopping his pacing. He pulls out a chair at the small rickety kitchen table where Jason is trying to figure out how exactly they’re going to pay rent this month flipping it backwards and sitting in it his arms resting on the back. He tosses his phone on the table the weekly missed collect call shining brightly on the screen.

“Why not?” Jason says looking up from his budgeting that’s giving him a headache. If Roy would just let them tap into the fund that Oliver has set up for him for things other than technical gear he wouldn’t be doing this. But that’s a conversation for another time, right now it’s the phone call conversation that needs to be had. As long as his good behavior continues Oliver only has a year left on his sentence and Jason knows he’ll call every single one of those fifty-two weeks if Roy continues to not pick up.

“He’s in there because of me,” Roy says running a frustrated hand through the floppy red hair on the top of his head scratching a little harder than necessary at the shaved down sides. “No matter what he says he has to blame me for some of that.”

“Roy,” Jason says reaching out and grabbing his hand that’s scratching far too hard and resting it on the table. “Oliver Queen has never been quiet or subtle about his opinions, if he in any way blamed you he would have said it by now.”

Roy sighs looking down at where their hands are still touching. Jason swallows hard once pulling his hand back quickly.

“He doesn’t regret what he did, you coming back didn’t change that at all,” Jason continues on trailing his fingers along the little marks along his inner elbow a nervous habit he’s never quite been able to shake. “A monster who killed you, who would have killed hundreds more if he’d been allowed to live is gone because he had to do something for you. Because he wanted to do something for you, you coming back was just the icing on the revenge cake for him.”

Roy sighs rubbing at his forehead like a headache is coming on. “How can you be sure about that?”

“Because I may have been three sheets to the wind the whole time the trial was going on, but I still saw the news. I saw his face in that courtroom and I know what someone with no regrets look like,” Jason says. He scratches at his elbow one last time before reaching out to place a hand on Roy’s wrist reassuringly. Roy’s not big on touch these days, like coming back made him sensitive to everything, but that rule doesn’t seem to apply when it comes to them much anymore.

“Plus, he calls every single week, and every time Dinah goes up to visit him he asks about you which results in her calling every other week too,” Jason adds on.

“If it was Bruce would you pick up?” Roy counters.

“Fuck no,” Jason says without missing a beat. “It’s a completely different situation and you know it, but nice try with the deflecting.”

Oliver is painfully sincere in a way Bruce could never be. The bridges were burned between he and Jason long ago, a call wouldn’t be anywhere near what Jason would need to think of him as his father again. Oliver and Roy’s bridge however is perfectly intact just a little neglected and in need of some care. It’s just waiting for Roy to walk across it again and whether Roy admits it or not he’s ready.

He doesn’t have the wake up screaming nightmares as much anymore, he hasn’t killed a criminal in months and the rage in him still boils, but only when it’s justified.

Roy chuckles with one of those tilted little half smiles of his. “Caught me,” he says just as the phone rings the familiar number popping up like clockwork. He takes a deep breath and slips his wrist out from under Jason’s fingers before he picks up his phone.

On the other side of the phone Jason hears the tinny robotic voice asking if he’s willing to accept a collect call from Blackgate Penitentiary and for the first time in nearly two years of calls, he says yes giving Jason a small nervous smile as he walks into the other room.

Roy’s not gone as long as he’d thought he’d be, he guesses that even with all the good behavior and the perks of being rich in prison Oliver still only gets so long on a phone call. Jason’s making dinner when Roy rolls out of his room, a shirt blissfully covering up his tattooed and scarred chest now.

“If Ollie is bulking up the way he claims he is in prison he’s gonna be able to kick Bruce’s ass when he gets out,” Roy says walking into the kitchen leaning back against the counter a reasonable distance from the open flame Jason is working over, but still a little closer than needed. Jason’s not complaining about the choice.

Jason chuckles as he stirs the contents of the pan in front of him.

“So it went well I guess?” he says turning down the flame so he can focus his attention on Roy.

Roy rubs at the light stubble on his jaw tracing along the scar that moves from the bottom of his ear to the corner of his lips, one of the many unhealed remnants of the day he died.

“Weirdly well, I mean there’s a lot still, but it was a good start. Thank you,” Roy says reaching out a hand and dragging his fingertips lightly down Jason’s arm a barely there breath of a touch, it’s unexpectedly intimate.

Jason just shrugs ignoring the tingling feeling of Roy’s fingertips against his bare arm. “I basically just told you to suck it up, it’s no big deal,” he says shaking off any gratitude.

“Not just for pushing me today, I just mean for a lot of stuff,” Roy says with a shrug not quite meeting Jason’s eye. He may not be biologically related to Oliver but that sincerity when he truly means something is a tone they share. It’s rare when Roy lets it out, harder for him to let slip through than it is for his father, but it’s there and Jason is grateful every single time.

“It’s nothing,” he says with a smile. “If the messed-up sidekicks don’t stick together I mean who will.”

Roy laughs at that and steps a little closer. Closer than he’s probably ever been before. Neither of them speaks or moves for a moment and for the first time since Roy pulled him out of that makeshift prison he can’t read what’s going on in Roy’s unearthly green eyes. He remembers Dick saying Roy had been hard to read without words even before he came back, how whatever was going on in his head always seemed out of reach, how he was an open book but only when he wanted to be. Jason has prided himself in being able to pick up on everything in every moment up until now.

And then Roy’s expression shifts like he’s made up his mind about something and before Jason can ask what it is Roy’s hands are on his neck and his lips are connecting with Jason’s. Jason responds immediately his hands flailing a little uselessly before they settle at Roy’s waist. The kiss doesn’t last long barely a few beats, but it’s everything Jason has been yearning for. It’s better than any fix he’s ever gotten.

“Sorry, I’ve wanted to do that for so long and I probably should have given you a warning or something,” Roy says when he pulls back trying to put much more distance between them than Jason wants.

“No,” he reassures quickly pulling Roy back in with his hold on his waist. “No, it’s okay. It’s more than okay.”

“Yeah?” Roy asks, quietly vulnerable in the small space between them.

“Yeah,” Jason says smiling. Roy nods and leans back in kissing Jason slow and softer than he ever thought the big bad Arsenal would kiss.

And it’s in that moment that Jason realizes maybe Roy does have a clue.

#my fic #jayroy #jayroyweek2021 #jason todd #roy harper #writersmonth2021

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marvelslut16 · 4 years

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Stick and poke

Prompt number: 7 “yes I did, what about it?”

Fandom: IT

Paring: Eddie Kaspbrak x reader (aged up to 17 or 18)

Rating: T

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of underage drinking. Mentions underage smoking. Mentions teens giving each other stick and pokes- I beg of you not to try at home! Swearing.

A/N: First time writing Eddie! I feel like all I write for now are Marvel and IT. Borderline punk and/or rebellious Eddie.

You and the rest of the losers are sitting in a circle on the floor of your underground clubhouse in the barrens playing a game of truth or dare. In the middle of the circle sits a large decanter of some brown alcohol you can’t be bothered to remember the name of, each time someone calls chicken they have to take a swig of the drink. As the game progresses, the liquid starts to steadily decrease, most of the time due to Richie’s questions.

The losers not caring if they get drunk, each one lied to their parents and said they were spending the night at one of the others houses. So none of them have to worry about stumbling home drunk in the middle of the night, instead all of them staying overnight at the clubhouse.

“Dare,” you smirk confidently at your friend with coke bottle glasses. So far you’re the only person to pick dare with the trashmouth, the rest choosing truth and most using chickens.

“(Y/N/N), I dare you to” Richie smiles mischievously, you regret letting the trashmouth in on your feelings for his best friend. “To kiss Eds.”

“What?” Eddie looks panicked and starts hyperventilating. He reaches for his inhaler, quickly taking two puss from it. “That’s disgusting! Do you know how many diseases you can get from a single kiss?”

Eddie continues to ramble on about how unsanitary it is and you eye the decanter, which Richie stole from his father’s alcohol cabinet, in front of you. You’ve had the least amount of alcohol so far this game and the only one not to chicken with Richie, you aren’t about to start now. You roll your eyes and turn to your left, where Eddie’s sitting beside you, you grab him by the face and pull him in for a quick peck.

Richie’s eyes grow considerably larger behind his glasses, Bev’s cigarette almost falls from her mouth as her jaw goes slack, Ben’s giggling at what just happened, Stan’s slapping a five into Bill’s hand losing a long standing bet between the two, Mike is whooping at you two. And poor Eddie is gaping at you, clearly flustered and looking for words.

“You kissed me!” you aren’t sure if it’s a question or an exclamation. What surprises you though, is that he doesn’t go for his inhaler again, nor does he reach into his fanny pack for one of his many pills.

“Yes I did, what about it?” you aren’t sure how you want him to respond to that, but you know it’s not the silence that you’re met with.

A few hours later you’re sitting in folding chairs in one corner of the clubhouse with Richie, giving him a stick and poke as he tells you about the latest prank he pulled at school. It’s a prank you witnessed, but that doesn’t seem to register in his slightly fuzzy tipsy brain. By now the few shots you had to endure our pretty much out of your system, feeling and abating completely sober unlike the rest.

“Quit moving!” you scold Richie for what feels like the hundredth time, he’s moving his hands while telling his story. Which isn’t helpful since you're trying to do his stick and poke of a pac-man ghost on his inner wrist, and he keeps almost screwing you up. Eddie’s eyes are on you as you finally wipe Richie’s arm clean, done with the little tattoo.

“You want one Eddie spaghetti?” you hold up the needle you just used on Richie. You reach into the fanny pack wrapped securely around Eddie’s waist, which causes the poor boy to grow flustered again, pulling a disinfecting wipe out of it to wipe the needle clean. After that you use Bev’s lighter, running the flame over the needle to make sure it’s sterilized.

“N-no, he stutters out, eyes focused on the way your lips form your words. “My mom would kill me.”

“She doesn’t need to find out about it Eddie,” you wave the needle teasingly in front of his face. He’s as sober as you, possibly even more than you, so you trust his judgement. If he had anymore than two shots all those hours ago you never would have asked. “You just need to hide it until you move out in a couple months.”

“Okay!” you’re surprised when he agrees, so is Richie who is staring with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“What do you want and where do you want it?” you ask, quickly adding the next sentence when you notice Richie about to speak. “Beep beep Richie.”

“I’m not really sure,” Eddie plays with the zipper on his fanny pack, taking a seat across from you in the chair Richie recently abandoned. “But it has to be somewhere I can hide it.”

“Hmmm,” you start mentally ticking off places you can’t do the tattoo, your mind coming up with multiple scenarios on Mrs. Kaspbrak accidentally finding the tattoo. “I could do the base of your neck, like where the collar of your shirt goes. Or I could do your side, below your ribs.”

“How about my side,” it isn’t a question so much as a statement. “I want to be able to see it.”

“Any ideas on what you want, or do I get to surprise you?” Eddie fiddles with the bottom of his shirt and you wonder if he’s going to back out.

“Surprise me,” Eddie nods, confident in his decision.

“Do a penis!” Richie hollers, taking a swig of the alcohol left in the decanter.

“Shut the fuck up Richie,” Eddie snaps and you giggle at the two.

“You need to take your shirt off Eds,” you both blush at your words, causing Richie to wolf whistle.

“Look at the Edster stripping for (Y/N)!” Richie hollers a little too loud, not that you’re worried anyone will hear you in the middle of nowhere.

“Beep beep Richie!” Bev calls back, leaning her head on Ben’s shoulder.

You scoot your chair beside Eddie’s, facing his right side you put one leg going behind his chair and the other towards the front, sitting in a v-like shape. You grab another wipe from Eddie’s fanny pack, cleaning the area of skin below his ribcage, Eddie’s right hand shoots out and grabs your knee, squeezing his eyes tight before you even have the chance to dip the needle in the ink.

“As much as I enjoy your hand on my knee,” you admit. “It’s kinda in the way.”

You pry his right hand off of your skin, placing it on the back of your chair. He reaches his left hand across his body so he’s once again holding onto your right knee. You let him stay in the position, knowing he needs it mentall, and he’s managed to not twist his side and mess up your tattooing area.

You decide to do a larger tattoo for Eddie than you did Richie, go big or go home. Right? You contemplated doing a small little fanny pack, but you didn’t want Eddie to take your teasing as an insult. Instead you decide on a basic mountain range, three overlapping triangles, and a sun poking out from behind them, a simple circle. A simple serene tattoo that Eddie can look at and calm down to when he has a panic attack.

As you actually start to tattoo his side, his grip on your knee tightens. You don’t mind though, you’re enjoying the weight and warmth his hand provides. Eddie’s eyes are on you the entire time, committing your concentration face to memory. He tries not to shiver every time your fingers run over his exposed skin, a warm fuzzy feeling growing within him.

You’re focusing so intently that you don’t notice when Eddie becomes slightly more adventurous and lets his hand drift up to your thigh. Finally done with the tattoo you wipe it clean a final time, leaning back to admire your work. It’s your best tattoo yet, if you do say so yourself.

“Remember to clean it everyday,” you aren’t sure why you’re giving Eddie, of all people, hygiene advice. He isn’t Richie, he has common sense. “And if it gets infected tell your mom right away, don’t try to hide it out of fear of getting in trouble. I’ll take all the blame Eddie, say I made you get it because I wanted to practice.”

Eddie squeezes your thigh as he compliments your work, sending a bolt of electricity from your thigh to your heart. Before you know it his lips are crashing into yours, this kiss far better than the one earlier in the night. The thumping of the blood in your ears drowns out the whoops and hollers from your friends. All you can focus on is Eddie; his soft lips on yours, the softness of his hair beneath your fingers, and the feeling of his hand moving from your thigh to your hip- his free hand also going to your hip, fingers digging in.

When you pull apart for air, he uses his grip on your hips to pull you onto his lap. Now straddling him, you comb your finger through his dark locks with blonde tips. He begged and begged Mrs. Kaspbrak to bleach them and she kept saying no. So finally Richie and Bev bought bleach from the store, and did it themselves. Needless to say she wasn’t happy, but after two doctor's appointments, with two different doctors, she finally concluded that Eddie wasn’t going to randomly fall over and die from the bleach.

Stan slaps a hand over Richie’s mouth to keep him from ruining the moment going on in front of the group. He’ll let Richie make fun of the two afterwards, but he doesn’t want his friends to get this close to finally being together, just to have Richie’s teasing make the both of you chicken out and ignore each other. He’s not sure he can handle all that pining again, the entirety of the losers club isn’t sure they can handle that again. Your hands slide down from Eddie’s hair to his still bare shoulders, pulling him in for another searing kiss.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always

#eddie kaspbrak x reader #fictober20 #day 15 of fictober #eddie kaspbrak #eddie kaspbrak x you #eddie kaspbrak x y/n #it chapter one #it chapter 1 imagine #it chapter 1 #it imagine #eddie it imagine #eddie spaghetti

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outofangband · 4 years

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What is your complete list of Maedhros's scars? Before, during, and after Angband.

OK!

So! I’m going to make a few different sections:

Pre Angband/Pre Beleriand:

Maedhros has a small scar on his left hand from a time he was watching the timer on a fire for his father and babysitting at the same time. Unfortunately, looking after three little brothers and a highly complex, dangerous metal working project doesn’t usually end well and long story short, Maedhros ended up with a small burn right below his thumb.

Angband and scars related to the aftermath of Angband (I’m going to put this under a cut because there’s going to be headcanons about torture and PTSD. Also please feel free to check out my headcanon here about Maedhros’s Angband injuries!

edit: even though the darker parts are under a cut, I did still leave some undescribed because I wasn’t sure how dark the asker wanted me to go. but if there is interest I can elaborate!

second edit: this is a list of specifically scars, not a list of injuries (though I can do that too)

Also feel free to ask about any of these because dark headcanons is how I like doing things! I highlighted the ones I talk about often or are most important to me (also have this headcanon here)and I didn’t link all relevant pieces but I did link one or two favorites

Feel free to send me any as a prompt!

Scars on his back, legs, thighs, buttocks, and stomach from whips of all varieties including the flaming ones of the balrogs. He also has a few lashes on his feet from those.

Several brands. The one that all Angband prisoners are burned with but also a few others, some purely to humiliate him, some to indicate that he was particularly prized/hated by Morgoth. Have a drabble with the first branding here

Brands and scars in various shapes including his family crest and the Star, the Eye, and Melkor’s crown. He has the word kinslayer carved into his skin as well. In multiple languages

A tattoo of a bird.

He’s got a few other tattoos of various derogatory things. Possibly again kinslayer or dispossessed.

A jagged, long scar on each leg from when multiple bones were broken

Scars on the top of his head from Morgoth’s claw like nails. These were reopened several times and became infected right after Maedhros’s rescue so his hair had to be cut to treat them properly. Maedhros later cut his hair again for reasons I think I’ve talked about but would be happy to re discuss if wanted! to be honest there are also scars from that all over

some marks on Maedhros’s left wrist (and right wrist too in verse where he doesn’t end up on Thangorodrim) as well as his ankles, thighs and upper arms from prolonged restraint with chains. this caused other unseen injuries too in his muscles and nerves

Notched ears

thin lines on the sides of his face and the top of his forehead from a muzzle and other metal gags. These you have to be closer up to see

burns on his legs, neck, chest and back

marks on Maedhros’s neck and the back of his neck from an iron collar and right along his hair line from the sharp edges of various crowns he was forced to wear

Bite marks in an assortment of places and from a variety of sources, some of whom were mindless creatures who knew no better, some DEFINITELY did know better

scars from Mairon’s medical tools, mostly on his chest and neck. these are more precise and some of these actually do fade almost completely.

discoloration and scarring from various acids and other substances

some of the scars are also from injuries being untreated/mistreated and reopened

lashes on his genitals and inner thighs as well as a few bite marks

Burns from boiling wax (yes that’s from my Halloween story)

there’s internal scarring too from a variety of sources

added note: for his later years in Angband, he’s hidden away, kept with Melkor, occasionally seen by Sauron and a few of the higher ups, so injuries from the orcs and most of the balrogs no longer happened.

Scars that I don’t even want to say where they’re from but that look like from hot water over his legs

several teeth gone from er...extractions

There are other changes too that aren’t exactly scars. There are changes to his eyes for example

After Angband:

scars from various tortures that Maedhros picked at over and over again, out of both boredom and anger and general awful trauma stuff

Uh. I have a verse/scene where he does stuff because of RTS but that might be another post because of how potentially upsetting it is

smaller scars on his forearms from training too hard with unfamiliar weapons

#Maedhros #The Silmarillion #In the Iron Hell #musing and meta

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aegyotrashcan · 7 years

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Unwilting Rose | Taeyeon Fluff

Anon: Recently i've been having Taeyeon feels (her album f**ked me up) so may i request a scenario where Taeyeon and her girlfriend go get matching tattoos?

Character: Kim Taeyeon Word Count: 1458

“Are you sure?”

You look up at her, as she leans over you. You’re sat at the table, with Taeyeon standing behind you, her arms around your shoulders. It’s a warm feeling, to have her around you like that. Not just physically warm, from her body heat, but warm from the inside out.

Taeyeon kisses the top of your head.

Although the matching tattoos idea was hers, she was perfectly okay with not going through with it. There was nothing she hated more than the thought of forcing you into something.

“Are you sure?” she repeats.

“I’m sure,” you reply.

You can’t see her smile, but can feel its warmth on your back. It’s radiant, like sunlight. Not the sun itself, with its red flames and deathly heat. But like the light that reaches the Earth. The kind that trickles through trees, that creates patterns on grass and on your skin. It’s the type of sunlight that brings promise of flowers and baby animals and summer.

That was her smile.

“Let’s go to the shop, then,” Taeyeon says. “Let me just go find my keys.”

It doesn’t take long for you both to squeeze into her car. Well, it was her mother’s car, in fact. Her car was getting a new tire in the repair garage after a stray nail did some damage to it. Not just any tire, mind you, but a specialist kind that took a week to deliver from Italy. Although you both appreciated her mothers kindness, there was a feeling of unease in this car, much different compared to the comfort from yours. It was one you had both made memories in. Countless trips, countless karaoke sessions, and two heated nights in the backseat. Nothing could replace the warm memories you had in that hunk of metal, that Taeyeon lovingly named ‘Betsy.’

Taeyeon struggles to shift the gear stick before you pull out the driveway. And into town. It’s the time of day when the schools end, when buses and parents fight each for room in lane ways. You both make friends with a friendly girl, who waves at you from the back of a yellow bus.

“Ah, I remember being that little,” Taeyeon sighs. “I never got the bus though. I used to walk to school with my friends. Such a simpler time.” She speaks as if she’s centuries old, although you often teased that she was.

You reach out to hold her thigh. She briefly pats your hand, a simple sign of love, before the light turns green and then both hands return to the steering wheel.

Forty minutes later and you were pushing open the door to a tattoo shop. A bell tinkled above you. The receptionist looks up, smiling warmly.

“Hello, how are you?”

“We’re good. thank you,” you reply. “We were just hoping to book an appointment.”

A tattooist came over to jot down your instructions. Taeyeon wanted hers on her wrist, while you chose your inner, upper arm. The tattoo, itself, was the same. A simple, red rose to symbolize love. Nothing complicated would do your feelings for Taeyeon justice. The delicate beauty of a rose was just enough.

Your appointment was in two weeks time, and you were both sent off with instructions on how to prepare for the tattoo.

Taeyeon was more giddy than you on the day, although you were really excited too. It was both your first tattoos, ever. At first, you both researched articles and YouTube videos of people’s experiences. Which only served to freak you two out so you decided against it. Amber promised that the pain was temporary and entirely worth it. And you trusted her far more than some strangers on the Internet.

Once at the shop, the tattooist went through the checklist again, of pre-tattoo instructions. And you had to sign a form too. However, once everything was sorted, you were both taken to the back of the shop. A man was already in there, a woman hunched over his arm to add more art to his sleeve. He was sweating and his red face was scrunched up.

Taeyeon shoots you a worried look.

Stencils are placed where you both wanted tattoos, wiped away and reapplied until you’re both entirely happy with the positions. You volunteer to go first. Yes, you were nervous. But going first would ease Taeyeon’s fear, then you could hold her hand afterwards as you tried convincing her it wasn’t that bad. You would brave it for her. A hundred times over if you had to.

She sits next to you, holding your free hand. Her eyes are trained on your face as the tattooist begins.

You hold back your hiss.

And you feel Taeyeon squeeze your hand.

“So are these couple tattoos?” your tattooist asks. He didn’t look like how you always imagined tattooists to look. Sure, he had some tattoos. Some, being the key word. For the most part, his skin was rather bare.

“Yeah,” Taeyeon replies. “We’ve been together for five years.” You look over at her and she smiles, eyes crinkling. For someone close to thirty, she was so child like. Her features were youthful and her eyes shone. But despite this, she was mature too. She was a leader, the quiet kind, but a leader nonetheless. She looked out for you, tried to shoulder her hardships and troubles and ease yours.

This tattoo was for you, for her, and for the relationship.

Many people scoffed at couple’s tattoos. But you weren’t your average couple. You weren’t young and dumb, dating for just two weeks and planning a future together. You were committed. For eternity. Only five years were spent dating but for two years before that, you chased after her. You spent almost every day showing your affection, asking for a date, just a chance to prove your worth. She denied you, at first. Her career came first, always. But she grew fond of you, of your determination. And the loneliness hit her. Idol life was tough, especially when you’re in the game as long as she is. Taeyeon wasn’t just any idol, mind you. She was the leader of the nations girl group. Any mistake of hers was nation wide scandal. Through all the struggles, you were there for her. And she realized that those two years before she agreed to your date, were years she wasted ignoring her feelings.

“Tattoos are eternal, right?” you comment. “So our love will end only when this flower wilts. Which it never will.”

“Ah! That’s clever!” he grins.

The tattoo took less than a half hour. You spent longer reading and signing forms and ensuring you were happy with the positioning. Despite how little time it took, it didn’t feel that quick at all, you admit. You pull your clammy hand from Taeyeon’s and switch places.

“Did it hurt?” she asks.

Your hands find each other again.

“A little,” you admit. “But it’s not that bad.”

“That’s a lie,” Taeyeon replies, smiling. You were trying to reassure her, she could tell. But she appreciated it.

Her reaction to the needle was a lot different than yours. While you grinned and bared it, she let out a hiss and squeezed your hand.

You started to laugh.

“This isn’t funny,” she growls. “This is the worst. How has Amber so many tattoos? Is she a masochist?”

The following twenty minutes dragged by.

Your laughter quickly faded as the pain from your hand became your second main priority. After Taeyon, of course. Only after asking if she was okay, did she need a break, some water perhaps, would you remember the throbbing in your hand.

“Okay, finished! You did a good job, Taeyeon, tattoos suck,” your tattooist praises. He wipes her tattoo clean and pushes his wheely chair back, making room for her to stand. “Do you wanna check it out before I wrap it up?”

Although it was on her wrist, somewhere easily seen, there was something different about seeing the tattoo full length. It was like a new attachment to her body. Seeing herself, pose with the new tattoo, made Taeyeon appreciate the strength of your love ... but also realize how cute it will look in Instagram photos.

“It’s perfect,” she says, but not so much about the tattoo. Her eyes meet yours in the mirror and she smiles. Even more perfect than the tattoo, or her cute future Insta posts, was her life with you. Many people say that nothing in life is perfect but Taeyeon disagrees. She could find no fault in her feelings for you, which made it perfect in her mind, and nothing could change her opinion.

“It’s really, really perfect,” she repeats, smile growing.

You smile back.

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