Chapter Text
“Do you want a tattoo?”
Puck looked up from the TV. Sabrina stood on the last few steps of the stairs looking at him expectantly. They were home alone, and he hadn’t heard a single sound from her in a few hours.
“I’ve never really thought about it,” he replied.
Sabrina rolled her eyes, impatient. “Right now. Do you want a tattoo right now? I have the stuff.”
“Why do you have tattoo stuff?”
“Why do you think I have tattoo stuff, moron? I wanted a tattoo. Do you want me to give you one too?”
Puck allowed himself a moment to mull over the idea of allowing Sabrina Grimm to tattoo him. “Prison style tattoos?”
“Yes, but I have sterile needles and stuff. It’s not as sketchy as it sounds.”
It sounded really sketchy, so even it being less sketchy than it sounds left a lot of room for sketchiness.
An idea occurred to Puck. “Would you let me tattoo you back?”
“Fuck no.” Sabrina replied. “I want to be able to wear a swimsuit around my family still. Cuts down location options to only stuff that would be weird to let you get all up in on. Besides, I already did mine.”
“What’d you do?” Puck asked.
As Sabrina rolled down the top of her leggings, he realized that she was absolutely correct in her evaluation that things would get weird if she let him all up in on these locations. A neat little star rested way, way low on her hip. A swimsuit would indeed cover it.
He tried to recover. “And what if I wanted to be able to wear a swimsuit still? Did you think about that?”
Sabrina paused, beginning to look a little uncomfortable. “You probably wouldn’t face many consequences if someone spotted you with a stick and poke. No one here really knows who’s in charge of you.”
“No one but me is in charge of me,” Puck replied. “What if I wanted to be able to hide it, though? Would you still do it if I asked for a real low tramp stamp?”
He’s just screwing with her. She’s accurate in her judgment that he wouldn’t get in much trouble, and he’s concerningly okay with having a visible tattoo from her. However, the warring emotions on her face are funny.
“Choose your location and I’ll decide if I’m willing to accommodate,” she finally declared.
“Willing to accommodate? I never asked for a tattoo in the first place,” he replied.
“Look, do you want it or not?” she asked. “We can negotiate details after you’ve told me a solid yes or no.”
Puck thought further on the idea and decided he was, indeed, pathetic enough to allow Sabrina to tattoo him on impulse and with zero reciprocity.
“Sure. Behind my ear? That’s not too noticeable.”
“I’d be willing.” She turned and went upstairs, and Puck took that as a sign that he should follow.
She led him to her bedroom, where on her desk he saw some needles in plastic packaging, a bottle of ink, some plastic caps, and purple paper that had an odd inky-floral aroma to it.
“Where’d you get all this?” he asked.
“Online. Sit in the chair,” she ordered. “What do you want tattooed?”
He didn’t have to think long. “A crown.”
She sighed. “Should’ve seen that coming. I’ll draw out a design on the transfer paper, tell me if you like it.”
It took her only a few seconds to lean over her desk and doodle out a simple outline of a crown.
“It has to be really minimalist to work out,” she said. “So something like this? Size okay too?”
Puck shrugged. “Sure. What made you go for a star?”
Sabrina carefully cut the drawing out of the paper. “It was less about the design and more about the body autonomy, really. I chose a star because it’s a nice shape and it was easy enough.”
“Fair, I guess,” he replied. Sabrina’s forms of teenage rebellion drove her family absolutely nuts, but he enjoyed them. It had made them able to become something he could call friends, at least, considering how often her desires to cause trouble led her to turning to him as an accomplice.
She grabbed him by the cheek unexpectedly to tilt his head to the side, gaining access to the canvas of skin behind his ear. “This side okay?”
“Whatever,” he choked out.
He felt her align the paper and dab something moist over it to make the pattern transfer, peeling it off only a few moments later. The slightest whiff of rubbing alcohol accompanied the motion. She handed him a hand mirror.
“Final thoughts?”
He looked at her little crown doodle. “Do it.”
She carefully poured a few drops of ink into one of the plastic caps and broke a needle out of its packaging. The first prick hurt just as much as any other needle prick would, but there was an extremely uneasy sound that made him start.
“Why did I just hear something pop?”
“There’s a layer of skin under the top layer I have to reach,” she said quietly, directly into his ear. “You keep pressing the needle in until you feel it kind of pop, and when the skin sticks a little to it as you’re pulling it out, that’s how you know it went deep enough. Not my fault you chose a place you’d hear it too.”
Puck finally realized now that he had gotten in way over his head, agreeing to let her tattoo him within what, five minutes of when she first pitched the idea? But she had already put down the first dot, so he thinks it’s probably too late to back out now.
He decided to just try to survive this encounter.
Several minutes of feeling her breath ruffling his hair later, he dared to complain.
“This is taking a while.”
Sabrina dipped the needle into the ink. “Yeah, well, as much as the concept of stabbing you a hundred times sounds appealing, in practice it’s kind of annoying if you’re going to whine the whole time.”
Puck fumbled for the mirror, angling it so he could get a glimpse at how far she’d made it. Not very far, but the linework was neat and careful, so he assumed that she was taking her time on making it come out well. Given how much blind trust he’d put in her for this, it was at least reassuring that she seemed to be trying her best.
He set aside the mirror. “How long did it take for you to do your star?”
“’Bout an hour. But this is easier, there’s not really any give on your skin here, so I’m not trying to chase the pop so much like I was on myself. It should go faster.”
Puck leaned back and waited for her to finish tattooing him, hoping that no important developmental wires of his got crossed by this experience.
“What’s that?” the Old Lady asked.
“What’s what?” Puck replied, distracted as he smoothed his sopping wet hair back. Basil had shaken his soda bottle before giving it to him, and as it exploded directly into his face, Puck felt nothing but pride.
And stickiness.
Relda tried to rub at the spot she had spotted when Puck pushed his hair off his face.
The spot in question being the tattoo Sabrina had given him last month.
The Old Lady gasped. “Liebling, is that a tattoo?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Puck replied, dodging the question.
“Where’d you get a tattoo from?” asked Jake.
The majority of the Grimm family had been lounging about in the living room, and Puck felt them all turn to look at him now.
The singular Grimm that hadn’t been in the room chose this moment to enter, ushering in Elvis from the backyard.
Henry Grimm, connecting dots rapidly (...much like one would connect dots in a stick and poke to create a line), called his daughter over.
“Sabrina. Show me your ears.”
She looked confused. “What for?”
“Now.” he gritted out.
She tossed her hair back and tilted her head from side to side to allow her father to see nothing but earrings. “What’s this all about?”
Henry pointed to Puck. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this tattoo of his, would you?”
She finally caught onto the situation she had just walked in on, and Puck saw mischief alight and then swiftly get hidden in her eyes.
“No idea,” she replied, turning on all of the teenage girl dramatics. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of getting tattoos with Puck. Don’t you trust me at all?”
Henry floundered. “Sometimes— with— just to be sure—“
“Ugh, whatever, I see how you see me. Leave me alone.”
She stormed up the stairs, effectively transferring all of the Grimm family attention away from the topic of Puck’s tattoo and onto damage control for her father’s thoughtless accusations that had upset her so badly.