one of my favorite bits in lord of the rings is something the movies didn't really try to do because it's entirely internal, but sam's carrying the ring and it starts trying to do its work on him, so he's having these intrusive visions of himself marching at the head of a vast and terrible army, and he just starts laughing because, me? samwise gamgee? sam gamgee the general sam gamgee the dark lord are you for real? man i just want to go home and do some gardening. and the ring gets frustrated and it starts trying to figure out other stuff that would actually tempt sam and it's finally like, okay, but hear me out: imagine if you could have...A REALLY REALLY BIG GARDEN
You get a tattoo for him just over your rib cage and surprise your husband Yoongi with it
Marriage softened Min Yoongi in ways nobody talked about.
Not publicly, anyway.
The world still saw the same man—sharp tongue, sleepy eyes, dry humor delivered with frightening precision. Calm under pressure. Quiet in interviews. The producer genius with a permanent air of someone mildly inconvenienced by existence itself.
But at home?
At home he kissed your forehead absentmindedly while passing through the kitchen.
At home he held your hand under restaurant tables without realizing he was doing it.
At home he got offended if you used a blanket instead of him while watching movies.
At home he followed you around your apartment like you were gravity and he was simply subject to the laws of physics.
He loved quietly.
Constantly.
With the kind of devotion that lived in the smallest things.
Which was exactly why you got the tattoo.
Not because he asked.
God, Yoongi would never ask.
But because sometimes loving him felt too large for words alone.
“You’re staring at your phone like it personally insulted you.”
You looked up from the kitchen island to find your best friend grinning at you over her coffee cup.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“Shut up.”
She snorted.
You glanced back down at your phone again.
Specifically at the reference photo currently open on the screen.
Small.
Delicate.
Simple black ink.
The word:
윤기
Yoongi.
Written in elegant script.
Right over the rib cage.
Your friend nearly choked when she realized what she was looking at.
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
“You’re getting his name tattooed on you?”
You immediately defended yourself.
“It’s small!”
“That’s not the point!”
“It’s tasteful.”
“It’s insane.”
You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile.
Maybe it was a little insane.
But you kept thinking about the way Yoongi loved.
How every song he wrote carried pieces of the people he cared about.
How his fingers automatically searched for your hand in crowded places.
How he looked at you like you were something precious he still couldn’t believe belonged to him.
You’d been married for almost two years now, and somehow he still looked startled every time you kissed him first.
Still softened every single time you called him your husband.
Still loved you with this overwhelming sincerity he tried so hard to hide beneath sarcasm and sleepy grumbling.
And maybe getting his name tattooed on your ribs was dramatic.
But loving Min Yoongi had never been a casual thing.
“I think he’ll like it,” you admitted quietly.
Your friend stared at you.
Then her expression melted.
“Oh,” she sighed. “You’re gone gone.”
You smiled into your coffee.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I really am.”
The tattoo studio smelled like antiseptic and ink.
You sat nervously on the padded table while the artist prepared the stencil.
“You sure about the placement?” she asked kindly.
You nodded.
“Yeah.”
Just beneath your left breast, curved delicately over your ribs.
Private.
Intimate.
Somewhere only Yoongi would really see.
The artist smiled slightly.
“Name tattoos usually come with dramatic stories.”
You laughed softly.
“It’s not dramatic.”
“No?”
“No.” Your smile turned helpless. “I just really love my husband.”
The artist made a quiet awh sound.
“You’re cute.”
The stencil pressed cold against your skin.
Then came the needle.
You hissed immediately.
“Oh, fuck.”
The artist laughed.
“Ribs are brutal.”
She was not exaggerating.
The pain was sharp and burning, vibrating straight through bone. You squeezed the edge of the table, breathing through it while the buzzing filled the room.
But somewhere beneath the sting was excitement.
Because you could already imagine Yoongi’s face.
The way his eyes would widen slightly.
The way he’d go silent.
The way his hands would inevitably touch your waist like he needed physical proof.
Your poor husband.
You were about to emotionally destroy him.
Keeping the tattoo secret for four days nearly killed you.
Mostly because Yoongi noticed everything.
“You’re walking weird.”
You looked up too quickly from the couch.
“I am not.”
“You winced sitting down.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You definitely did.”
You forced yourself not to touch your side.
“It’s nothing.”
Yoongi narrowed his eyes immediately.
Suspicious.
You almost folded on the spot.
Marriage had made the two of you disgustingly attuned to each other.
He could tell when you were upset from the way you closed cabinets.
You could tell when he was stressed by how quietly he moved around the apartment.
And currently, he very clearly knew something was up.
“You sick?” he asked.
“No.”
“You hurt yourself?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
You panicked.
“Constipation.”
Yoongi blinked.
You blinked back.
Then he looked vaguely horrified.
“…Why would you say that to me?”
“Because now you’ll stop asking questions.”
“Tch. Jesus.”
You turned away quickly to hide your grin.
It worked.
Mostly because your husband was now deeply uncomfortable.
The reveal happened accidentally.
Well.
Mostly accidentally.
Yoongi had been away for three days working almost nonstop at the studio, surviving on iced americanos and spite.
Which meant he came home exhausted.
Hair messy.
Voice rough with sleep deprivation.
Pretty enough to make you stupid.
You were in the bedroom changing after your shower when he finally stumbled into the apartment sometime after midnight.
“Baby?” he called tiredly.
“In here.”
You heard his footsteps approaching slowly.
Then he appeared in the doorway.
And immediately softened at the sight of you.
Every single time.
No matter how long you’d been together.
No matter how many years passed.
Yoongi still looked at you like his entire nervous system recalibrated around your existence.
“There you are,” he murmured.
You smiled warmly.
“There you are.”
He crossed the room without another word and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, burying his face against your shoulder.
Home.
You felt him exhale against your skin.
“Tired?” you asked softly.
“Mhm.”
“You eat today?”
A pause.
“…Maybe.”
You snorted.
“Min Yoongi.”
“I had coffee.”
“That’s not food.”
“It has calories.”
“You’re impossible.”
His lips brushed lazily against your shoulder.
“Missed you.”
Your heart melted instantly.
Three simple words.
Soft with exhaustion and honesty.
You turned slightly in his arms.
“I missed you too.”
Yoongi looked at you quietly for a second.
Then his eyes drifted lower absentmindedly.
And stopped.
Completely.
His entire body froze.
You felt it happen in real time.
The silence stretched.
Yoongi stared at the delicate black script peeking just beneath your sleep shirt near your ribs.
His name.
Tattooed into your skin.
He looked genuinely unable to process what he was seeing.
Slowly—very slowly—his hand lifted toward your side.
“You…” His voice nearly disappeared. “What is that?”
Your pulse jumped.
“Well,” you said nervously, “it’s your name.”
“I can see that.”
His fingertips hovered just above the ink like he was afraid to touch it.
“You tattooed my name on your body?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds unhinged.”
Yoongi looked up at you.
And the expression on his face nearly wrecked you.
Overwhelmed.
Completely overwhelmed.
“You did this for me?”
You suddenly felt shy.
Which was ridiculous considering this man was literally your husband.
“I wanted to.”
For a second, Yoongi just stared at you.
Then he carefully pushed your shirt aside further, exposing the tattoo completely.
His breath caught.
The placement.
Fuck.
Right over your ribs.
Somewhere intimate.
Somewhere hidden.
Somewhere only for him.
His fingers finally touched your skin.
Gentle.
Reverent.
You felt the shiver move through him.
“When?” he asked quietly.
“Four days ago.”
“That’s why you were walking weird.”
You burst out laughing.
“Yes.”
“You told me you were constipated.”
“I panicked.”
A startled laugh escaped him then.
Soft and breathless.
God, you loved that sound.
Yoongi looked back down at the tattoo again.
Something emotional flickered across his face too quickly to fully name.
“You like it?” you asked carefully.
He looked almost offended.
“Like it?”
“Well—”
“Baby,” he interrupted softly, “I think I might actually pass out.”
You laughed again, warmth flooding your chest.
But Yoongi wasn’t joking.
He looked genuinely wrecked by this.
His thumb stroked carefully over the skin beneath the tattoo.
“You really did this,” he murmured to himself.
“I really did.”
His eyes lifted to yours again.
And suddenly there was something devastatingly tender in them.
“You love me that much?”
The question came out quiet.
Almost disbelieving.
And that—
That broke your heart a little.
Because despite all his success, despite all the love surrounding him, there were still moments where Yoongi looked startled by devotion directed at him.
As if some part of him still expected love to be conditional.
Temporary.
You reached up slowly and cupped his face.
“I would tattoo your name on every lifetime I get with you,” you whispered.
Yoongi’s expression crumpled instantly.
“Oh,” he breathed.
And then he kissed you.
Like he didn’t know what else to do with the amount of feeling inside him.
Slow at first.
Then deeper.
His hands slid around your waist carefully, mindful of the healing tattoo while pulling you impossibly close.
You felt him smile against your mouth suddenly.
“What?” you whispered.
“You know what’s crazy?”
“What?”
“I was already obsessed with you before this.”
You laughed against his lips.
“Good.”
“Tch.”
He kissed you again.
And again.
Like he physically couldn’t stop.
Eventually he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“You know I’m never shutting up about this, right?”
“Oh god.”
“I’m serious.”
“You barely talk.”
“I’m making an exception.”
You snorted.
But Yoongi was still looking at you with that same dazed expression.
Still touching the tattoo lightly like he couldn’t believe it was real.
“You’re insane,” he said softly.
Your grin widened.
“You married me.”
“Worst decision of my life.”
“Mhm.”
“Absolutely catastrophic.”
Yet his eyes were glowing.
Warm.
Adoring.
Hopelessly in love.
You brushed your nose against his gently.
“Still your favorite decision though.”
Yoongi didn’t even hesitate.
“Not even close.”
Then he kissed the tattoo itself.
Careful.
Lingering.
Like something sacred.
And when he looked back up at you afterward, his entire face had softened into something unbearably fond.
“My wife,” he murmured quietly, like the words still amazed him.
You smiled.
“Your wife.”
His arms tightened around you immediately.
Possessive.
Certain.
Cherishing.
And somewhere between the warmth of your bedroom, the soft city lights beyond the windows, and the feeling of Yoongi holding you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him—
You realized something.
You would’ve endured a thousand rib tattoos for this moment alone.
Hi my name is Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that’s how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I’m also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I’m in the seventh year (I’m seventeen). I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.
-The opening paragraph to My Immortal, posted 20 years ago today
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