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accioxreparo · 4 years ago

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ink stains

synopsis: soulmate au in which every mark that appears on your body also appears on your soulmate’s body including, as you discover one day, drawings. Needless to say you’re determined to make your soulmate smile, even if you haven’t found them yet.

pairing: George Weasley x ravenclaw!reader

warnings: none

a/n: Hi I’m late to the party but @thoseofgreatambition is doing a soulmate theme night and I’m a ho for soumate au’s so hopefully mine is decent enough lol also I may or may not be writing one for fred too but it’s taking me ages so

tagging: @the-hufflepuff-of-221b

~~~~~~

When you were six years old you woke up one morning to dark stains splattered all over your face and arms. You were confused and quickly grew panicked, absolutely positive that you had contracted Dragon Pox overnight. It had taken an hour for your dad to calm you down enough so he could explain with a small grin that your soulmate must’ve spilled an inkwell on themselves.

“What do you mean?” You had asked with wide, curious eyes.

“Well,” Your dad had reached for the bedside table and picked up a quil. “Everybody has a soulmate, Y/N. One day you start being able to see the marks that appear on your soulmate's body, permanent or temporary. For you, that day happens to be today.” He dipped the quil in a well filled with bright blue ink and handed it to you. “Why don’t you give it a try? Write your soulmate a message.”

“What if they don’t write back?” You had frowned then, suddenly worrying that maybe this mystery person on the other end would want nothing to do with you.

“Well that’s okay,” Your dad had been quick to reassure you. “They might not be able to see the marks yet. But one day they will and I just know they’ll be ecstatic to know you’re here.”

After that day there was a constant stream of doodles all over you. Vines snaking up your ankle. Twisting patterns winding around your fingers. Planets and stars littering your collarbone area. Stripes of random colors all over your palms as you mixed new colors. The most detailed pictures were always on your left arm though, that was where you practiced new drawings.

Occasionally you wrote a message but mostly you drew. Then one day you bought a book about charms to cast on drawings in Flourish and Blotts and you begged your dad every chance you got to cast them for you. After that at least a few pictures were always moving up and down your body.

When you got your very own wand at the age of eleven they were the first spells you practiced. By the end of your first year at Hogwarts you had mastered the whole book. Since then there was always a constant supply of different colored inks in your bag and pockets. The array of multicolored moving pictures that changed every day was your one connection to your soulmate.

They had yet to write back.

It had been ages since you first found your connection to your soulmate. You’d dealt with scars and bruises and occasional scribbled reminders but never once had you ever received even an acknowledgment of anybody seeing your drawings.

You tried not to let it bother you, you really did. But it seemed like every single person around you had known their soulmate for years, in one way or another. Some days the smile you wore wasn’t quite genuine, the longing you felt growing a little deeper at times, but never once did you fail to decorate your limbs with gentle reminders that you were there for your soulmate to find on themselves.

Not until that day. You were set to leave for school the next morning and your father had taken the week off of work to see you off. The two of you, your older brother, and your younger sister were probably too focused on the quidditch match you had going against each other in the backyard of your house. So much so that the bludger hit your way completely blindsided you.

The match ended with panicked shouts, a trip to St. Mungos, and your left arm wrapped tightly in cloth bandages as it rested in a sling while your bones healed.

It was only when you were sitting in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express that the strangest thing happened. Words scrawled in letters that weren’t your own had appeared on your right arm.

Nothing new today?

As you stared at the writing with wide eyes, more words appeared underneath those.

I’m sure this is bending the rules but I had to know. Something’s wrong isn’t it?

Frantically you dumped out the contents of your bag, scattering them all over the floor of the compartment. You dug around the mess you had made until you found a self-inking quil. Just as you were about to write your response you caught sight of the bandages on your arm and gave a defeated sigh.

“Would you like some help?”

You looked up and saw Luna, a friend of yours a couple years below you, watching you with an amused smile. The two of you would always sit up late in the common room together, swapping theories and stories about anything and everything.

“If you don’t mind,” You gave her a sheepish look and she only smiled before moving to sit next to you.

“What would you like me to write?” Luna asked as she took the quil out of your hand. You smiled and told her, watching as she took your arm and wrote out your words for you.

What makes you think something is wrong?

It was seconds later when you received your response.

Not once in the six years since I’ve been able to see your drawings have you let a day pass where you don’t add new ones. What’s wrong?

A smile graced your face and Luna was kind enough to help you continue the conversation happening on your arm.

I’m fine. Just a Quidditch injury. I’ll have the bandages removed by tonight, don’t worry.

Take your time. I don’t want you to hurt longer than you have to, love.

You were sure it was cheating, talking to your soulmate by writing messages on your arm. But if whatever soulmate forces were out there didn’t want you to talk to them then there shouldn’t have been such a simple loophole.

That’s what comforted you late that night, now gently scrawling messy words quickly on your arm that had been broken only the day before. Never before had you been more thankful for Skele-Gro.

Can I ask you something?

The print you wrote with was small on purpose, trying to keep as much room available as possible. It didn’t stop you, however, from doodling new little pictures on the back of your hand.

Go for it.

Why haven’t you ever said anything before? Why now?

You stared at the words you had written for a few moments before sighing and heading to the bathroom that was connected to your room. Only after staring at the words covering both arms now for a minute or two did you start washing away the ink you had put there.

For a minute you thought that you shouldn’t have asked. You stood in silence, watching as the remainder of the ink, the part written in your soulmates handwriting, was slowly washed away leaving only faint ink stains. Then to your relief a response came after it was all gone.

I was worried. And let’s just say I’m not as artistic as you are, my talents lie in other places.

For a second the writing stopped but then more words appeared, quicker than they had before.

Also I may have missed seeing you draw new pictures for me a little too much.

You beamed at the words and walked back to your bed. After the curtains were pulled around it you lit the end of your wand and picked up your quil again.

Do you like them? The pictures.

The response was almost immediate.

I love them.

***

“Miss Y/L/N.”

You jumped in your seat at the sound of a voice calling your name. Slowly you looked up from where you were taking notes on nonverbal spells. Professor Flitwick stood only a few feet away with an exasperated look on his face. Meanwhile both of the Weasley twins sat at their desk looking quite satisfied with whatever they had just done.

You’d been correct to assume they were behind whatever loud noise had been going on only minutes before. The desk the twins were sitting at was now charred and the other Gryffindors surrounding them were chatting excitedly about whatever it was you missed while your nose was buried in your charms book.

Neither Fred or George Weasley missed the fact that you were trying and failing to keep back an amused smile.

“You’ll be getting a new partner to do your project with,” Professor Flitwick lifted his wand and with a single flick a bag and a pile of unused textbooks was flying across the room and into the empty space next to you. “Mr. Weasley.”

Both boys stood at the same time wearing matching smirks and chorused, “Yes, Professor?”

You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle your laugh when Professor Flitwick sighed and shook his head upon realizing that he really should have seen that coming. “Mr. George Weasley. Come meet your new partner.”

Oddly enough said person didn’t look disappointed by the new assignment at all. Instead he grinned as he approached you, sliding into the chair beside you easily.

You could count the number of times you had spoken to George Weasley on one hand. The first time had been during potions when he’d asked to borrow some foxglove for a pompion potion. It wasn’t the potion you’d been assigned to brew but you hadn’t questioned it. The second time he’d walked up to you and your friends after a quidditch match to congratulate Ravenclaw on their victory against Slytherin despite the fact that none of you were on the team. And the third time was only a few weeks before when he asked to borrow a spare quil in transfiguration.

You doubted he remembered any of that though.

“So partner,” George leaned on the desk, head resting on one of his hands as he looked at you. “What do you know about,” He reached over to look at the piece of parchment you’d been taking your notes on. “Nonverbal spells? That’s our topic?”

“It is,” You nodded and reached for your notes, hoping he wouldn’t flip over the parchment to see the drawings you’d absentmindedly doodled during the lecture. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” George’s smile turned softer then as he stared at you, a fact which you noticed. You turned away quickly as you felt your face burn, hoping silently that it wasn’t too noticeable. “On the contrary. From what I hear you’ve already mastered a few nonverbal spells yourself Y/N, dearest.”

You froze then, not sure which revelation surprised you more. The fact that apparently you had developed a reputation without you knowing or the fact that George Weasley of all people knew your name.

You tried your hardest to fight the temptation to ask how he knew you and why.

“Class is almost over,” Your words came out rushed and a little too loud to sound natural. It wasn’t a complete lie. In just ten minutes you’d all be dismissed and that was hardly enough time to make even a small dent into your project. “We should meet sometime before our next class to get started if we want to have it done by the due date.”

“You’re so...ravenclaw,” George spoke after a few moments. When you looked at him again he was still giving you that same soft smile, a different sort of glint in his eyes than the one you were used to seeing every now and then.

For a second your thoughts drifted to the words scrawled on your right arm and the pictures on your left. They were covered up by the sleeves of your sweater as they usually were but you could picture the words you and your soulmate had written to each other earlier that day clearly.

“Is that a bad thing?” You found yourself asking, for some strange reason not being able to bring yourself to pull away from George’s gaze.

“No,” He shook his head gently almost immediately. “It’s perfect.”

***

You had to give credit where credit was due. When it came down to it, George Weasley could in fact step up to the plate.

Even now, an early Sunday morning the day after a trip to Hogsmeade, he sat right in front of you.

You knew for a fact he had been up late the previous night causing his usual mischief alongside his brother. One of the Ravenclaw prefects had been patrolling the halls and you overheard him complaining about having to send the twins back to their dorm for the fourth day in a row when he entered the common room.

It had made you smile.

You’d spent at least a couple hours each day alongside George for the past two and a half weeks. Some of that time had indeed been spent on your project but you found it easier to talk to him than you thought it would be. You couldn’t even begin to count the variety of tales he told you just to hear you laugh.

That, however, meant that the two of you had developed a tendency to avoid your work resulting in you being behind. The next day the two of you would have to present in front of the class. You had already gotten away with postponing the presentation twice.

The first time you had told Professor Flitwick that you needed more time to gather as much information as the topic deserved. The second time George had eaten one of the products he had told you he was working on, one he called a nosebleed nougat. It had worked like a charm and the moment you left the classroom with him he ate another candy and it stopped.

It was the only reason the two of you had woken up at that godforsaken hour of the morning on a Sunday. There was simply no other option now.

“I think all of our research is done and I can write up some notes for us to remember during the presentation,” You reached for another roll of parchment from your bag to do just that before dipping your quil in an inkwell filled with bright blue ink. “But we still need to practice some nonverbal spells for the practical demonstration. What do you think we should -”

It wasn’t until you looked away from the pile of books in front of you and at George that you realized he had dozed off. His head was resting on his arms which were crossed on the desk in front of him and he looked almost peaceful for once.

The corner of a piece of parchment was sticking out from under one of his arms and suddenly you couldn’t help yourself. Slowly you leaned forward until you could reach the parchment and you began to sketch a field of flowers on the paper in various ink colors.

You didn’t notice your own smile as you did so.

Then the end of your quil brushed across George’s face and he almost immediately bolted up in his seat. After rubbing the sleep out of his eyes once more he looked over only to find you biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“You look suspicious,” George narrowed his eyes at you playfully when he saw the look on your face, still not noticing the addition to his parchment.

“Do I?” You smiled then as you leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms in front of you.

“You do,” He leaned forward on the desk again and the grin you’d come to see on a regular basis returned. “May I ask why?”

“No reason at all. I’m just excited to learn some nonverbal spells is all,” You laughed as you stood from your seat, squinting a little at the late morning sun shining through the windows. “Speaking of, I’m gonna go search for some books a friend of mine recommended with some spells we could use.”

“Do we not have enough of those here?” George said as he glanced at the pile of no less than seven books, none of which he could remember anything about.

“Those are all on history and theory. We need something on practical application.”

“Right,” George let out a sigh as he reached for one of the unopened books. “You’re lucky I like you. I can’t remember the last time I did this much reading for a project.”

You hummed and then shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Don’t I feel honored.”

“Just get on with it,” George glanced up from the pages of the book he’d been flipping through and at you again, this time with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Faster we finish with this, the sooner we can sneak into the kitchens for a late breakfast.”

You were quick to agree. George watched as you disappeared behind one of the bookshelves. It was only when he was sure you were gone that he rolled up the sleeve of his sweater and reached for a quil, quickly scribbling a message to his soulmate on his right arm.

When he was done writing the message he caught sight of the flowers that you had drawn on the corner of his parchment and he grinned. Almost absentmindedly he started drawing flowers around your own, albeit a little simpler than the designs you had made. It took a minute for his eyes to widen, quil falling out of his hand, realizing that the flowers you had drawn on the paper he had already seen dozens of times before. In fact, a variation of them sat on his left arm now.

***

Finally four hours later you and George sat in the kitchens which you’d found surprisingly empty. Breakfast and lunch had come and gone and the two of you had gladly accepted a variety of foods from a couple of the house elves.

You were completely oblivious to the way George was studying you closely, trying as hard as he could to see if he was right.

“Puddlemere United,” He said when he caught sight of the patch sewn onto the jacket you were wearing. “I take it you’re a fan?”

“I sort of have to be,” You laughed a little when you saw the confused look flash on George’s face. “My dad is Puddlemere’s captain.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, promise,” You smiled as you shook your head. Without hesitation you pulled off your jacket, flipping it around so the back was visible, and pointed to a navy blue crest with the Puddlemere United logo and the word ‘captain’ across it in bold, golden letters. “Has been for a few years now and here’s your proof.”

But when you looked at George he wasn’t looking at the jacket at all. Instead he was staring at the variety of words and pictures covering your arms. You could see his eyes darting back and forth and quickly pulled your arm away and under the table.

“Wait,” He reached across the table and took your hand in his, slowly turning your arm around so he could see all every single stroke of ink. You could only watch as he gently traced the designs with his free hand.

The moment was soft, intimate in the purest way. You swore you could hear your own heart thumping louder each second that passed. It reached its peak when George placed your arm on the table in front of the two of you only to pull off the sweater he’d been wearing. It was then that the breath you were holding in left you.

Every single ink stain on your arms was perfectly reflected on his. Now that you looked closer you wondered how you hadn’t recognized his handwriting right away, you’d spent the last few months writing back and forth after all. You’d been so focused on the drawings and the writing that you hadn’t noticed what, or rather who was right in front of you.

“I knew it was you, you know.”

Your laugh was light when you finally dared to look at George once more. He was looking at you with pure and utter adoration and you were positive you wore the same expression. “Did you now?”

“I did,” George grinned as he took your hand again, more confident than he had previously been. “Remember our first year when I asked you for that foxglove? I was supposed to nick it from one of the shelves but you had your sleeves rolled up and I swore I saw the edge of the stars you had drawn earlier that day. I went to get a closer look but they were covered again.”

“And I suppose it was the same thing in transfiguration a month ago?” You shook your head with an amused smile as you thought back to the encounter. It all seemed so obvious now.

“It was. Same thing with the quidditch match a few years ago too,” He leaned forward as if what he were about to tell you were a secret. Suddenly it was like he couldn’t let you go, not that he’d ever want to now that he’d finally found you. “What made me almost certain though was the little drawing you left on my parchment earlier. I knew I’d seen those before.”

“Well I suppose it’s a good thing you’ve kept your eyes open unlike me apparently,” You were beaming as you glanced down at the matching pictures present on both of you. “What do we do now?”

“I’m glad you asked,” George immediately stood, pulling you up with him. He grabbed hold of your jacket still sitting on the table and started pulling you out of the kitchens. “Now that we’ve found each other we’re going to make up for lost time.”

“By doing what exactly?” You asked, eyebrows raised questioningly and a slight smirk on your face.

“Head out of the gutter, love,” George laughed as the two of you walked back up the stairs still hand in hand. He looked down at you with a wild grin on his face. “We’re going on our first date if you’re up for it.”

You agreed instantly and happily followed to wherever it was George would take you, just as you knew you always would from that moment on.

#the ending is eh but i love soulmates #hp fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter one shot #george weasley x reader #george weasley #george wealsey imagine #george weasley x y/n #soulmate au #george weasley fanfiction #c: george weasley #my stuff #my fics

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princessexplosionmurder404 · 3 years ago

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Adoration

A/N: My very first fan fiction! So why wouldn't I start off with my favorite boy? No CW's for this, except one small mention of alcohol in the first sentence. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1.1K

The whiskey burns my throat as I swallow. I’ve gained a reputation in this area. One I sheepishly hold the title for. I’m under protection by one of the top heroes, Dynamight. I, myself, often wonder how I’d caught his eye and gained the privilege to sit under his wings. Well, in reality it all boils down to my quirk.

I have the ability to make anyone…soft. If that describes it well enough. My quirk is called “Adoration”. Anyone, male or female, young or old, that looks into my eyes has no choice but to love and protect me, the effects lasting forever. Think of it as Medusa, except instead of turning to stone, they just feel the sudden need to protect me as if I were a weak child in the line of danger.

I hate this quirk because I don’t like bending peoples free will and playing with their emotions, so I try and wear dark tinted sunglasses whenever I can. He, however, somehow managed to catch me at the one time they’d fallen off my face. Let me explain.

The sun was bright as I’d walked my way through the park. The rays making my eyes squint even behind my blacked out glasses. Children laugh as they run around, chasing eachother playing their silly games. It amazed me, how lively people can be. I found a bench in a somewhat secluded spot, but still close enough to hear the heartwarming noise of childhood. I pulled out my sketchbook, and I drew.

I must’ve been there for hours, just sketching the various trees and animals that scampered through the lush grass. My sketchbook suddenly grew dark, although, as a figure stepped infront of me. I glanced upwards, seeing someone standing directly infront of me. “Hey cutie, what ya writing?”

My eyes narrowed at the pathetic attempt of tantalizing conversation. “I’m drawing, and I believe it’s none of your business. You can move along now.” He threw his hands up in surrender, but then proceeded to sit next to me on the bench. “I enjoy art too, y’know? It’s so freeing to be able to create anything that comes into your mind.” I chew on my cheek as I see he, in fact, hasn’t moved along as I’d told him to.

“If you must know, I’m drawing anything that I see. Building my artistic pallete.” I huff as I close my sketchbook, denying him entry to any of the pages inside. “That’s..a good idea. I like the way you think. How about you and me grab some coffee and you can show me some of your sketches.”

Anyone else would have been flattered at this. Classic, ‘oh, he wants to see my drawings! He’ll understand me, and we’ll fall in love and live a fairytale!’ No. That’s not what happens in real life, and my quirk has shown me that time and time again. “Really, I’m not interested. You may go now.” I dismiss him again, but he doesn’t budge. “Come on…one date! That’s all I’m asking of you. Can you manage one?” I chew on my cheek as I feel my resolve faltering and my quirk kicking in inside my head. “He could be the one! Just let him look into your eyes, let me into his head…” the words echo around in my brain. I cannot. “I’m sorry, but I cannot take you up on your off-“ He cuts me off by placing a hand on my thigh. “I’m going to ask again. Just one date?”

It feels like my thighs want to move on their own as a tingling feeling spreads through my body. Does he have some kind of control quirk? I fight off the feeling, trying desperately to pull his hand off of my leg. Where was a hero when you needed one? “Really, I’m flattered but I must say no…” I shakily get out, again trying to release myself from his grip. My sketchbook falls from my lap as I struggle. Heavy footsteps draw near as my glasses fall from their position on my nose. I glance up, locking eyes with a blonde haired man. Katsuki Bakugou.

I watch as that familiar pink tint glazes over his eyes, then disappears in a second. He quickly departs from his friends, who watch him walk away in confusion. “Hey! Let go of her, she obviously doesn’t want your company.” He reaches over, roughly gripping the mans wrist and ripping him off of me. I scramble to get up, shakily picking up my sketchbook and all the loose pages. The guy that was harrassing me ran off, only after being chewed out by Katsuki for not listening when I said no the first time. He bent down, helping me grab my papers silently and handed them back to me. “Are you okay? That guy was a creep, you were obviously uncomfortable.” I nod softly, chewing the inside of my cheek as I push my glasses back up to make sure noone else caught sight of my pink iris’s.

“It happens more often than I’d care to admit, it’s fine though. Thank you for stepping in, I think he was trying to control me with his quirk.” Katsuki growled as he helped me stand up. “Disgusting pig…he’s lucky I’m off duty right now.” A blush creeps onto my cheeks, only because Dynamight himself was talking to me. “Ah, well I have to be going…I better get home before it gets dark.” He nods, his hand going to the back of his neck instinctively. “Yeah, of course! Be safe getting home!” I nod and smile, turning around and walking away. A loud “Oi!” catches my attention as I turn around, seeing him run to catch back up to me. “Here.” He hands me a piece of paper. “It’s my phone number. If you’re ever in danger or you need someone, shoot me a text or call me. I’ll be there.”

A smile comes across my face. “Hopefully I won’t have to. But I will if I need to.” He adverts his eyes as he goes to walk away. “Or if you like, need someone to talk to or something…” as he walks back to his friends. I continue my walk home, feeling safe for the first time in a long time.

And that’s how all this happened. It’s also how I met my, now, best friend. If my glasses hadn’t slipped down my nose, who knows where I would be right now. But, what I do know, is that I’m glad I met him, my own guardian angel.

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou #katsuki #katsuki x y/n #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you

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sjjdkdkwo · 4 years ago

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Stephen never gave art much thought. He enjoyed art museums and visited them often before the accident. But he hadn’t really considered making any himself as he couldn’t do to do much past stick figures or lopsided flowers. With his hands damaged it’s even less possible that he’d ever even consider it. The one thing he does still try, (and unfortunately often fails) is attempting to restore his handwriting into something at least legible.

One day though he’s so put off by the ugly wobbly lines on the paper(they don’t look anything like words) as his hands are shaking worse than usual, that he stops trying all together. Dejectedly though he lets his hand wander around the paper barely paying any mind to the movements in his hand, until he starts putting a little more thought to where his lines are going. He stops and squints at the paper and finds it...looks like a rabbit. It’s ear is crooked and it’s eye is wonky but, it’s a rabbit.

Stephen can’t lie, there’s something almost giddy bubbling up inside him because as unsightly as it may be, his hands actually made something identifiable. Doubt quickly reaches his mind though and he wonders if it’s just wishful thinking. So he asks Wong.

It’s after a mission that he presents Wong with the folded paper, telling him he’d found it and figured it belonged to a child. He lies and tells him the simplicity and innocence behind it had made him pick it up (from Wongs look he knows he can see through him enough to know not all is true within in his words) and asks him what he sees.

Wong stares carefully at the picture before he answers. A rabbit. Stephen does his best not to smile. Still, he wants to make sure so he seeks out a second, a third, a forth and many more opinions before he decides he’s sure. Each time he carefully drops the paper when no one notices only to pick it up in feigned curiosity and ask “what do you think this looks like?” and again everyone says the same thing. A rabbit. And Stephen feels happier than he has in a long time.

So he decides to try again, alone of course, where no one could see him on the off chance he messes up this time. He tries for something a bit harder now, a horse. He tries to relax and let the lines flow like last time. He shuts his eyes once he finishes, almost nervous to see the end result before he opens them again. And it looks like a horse. Stephen is smiling wide as he stares at the horses squiggly legs and uneven eyes because even if it’s the most hideous horse he’s ever seen, again it’s still a horse. The cloak even shakes its collar in approval when he dares to show it his work and Stephen feels light as air.

It becomes a habit, whenever he can find the time among his constant duties. He’ll pick up a pen or a pencil and find something to draw and let go. Sometimes the items look better than others, but without fail each time he manages to make drawings that he can make out. He always makes sure to throw them out though, far to embarrassed of his new secret pass time even then. Until one day he has to rush off and leaves behind a drawing of Wong on the table of the library. Only for the pictures subject to find it.

Wong stares at the picture for a long time, taking in the shaky lines and the awkward shape of the figures nose. He’s certain if he asked anyone else what they thought of it, they’d tell him a child drew it. And he remembers the rabbit. Oh. That’s why Stephen had shown him the picture. He gives the picture another moment to sink in before a soft fondness overtakes him and he thinks to himself, it’s probably the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen. And tucks it into his pocket to keep.

Wong tries to find more drawings but to his disappointment, he finds none.

Stephen is hauling Wong up the stairs and into his room a few weeks later. When he reaches the small space he carefully lays him down on the bed to rest from the vicious attack he’d suffered. He rummages Wong’s drawers for something to treat his wounds when he stops. There inside one, tucked away carefully beneath a thin book is his drawing. When Stephen goes to pull it out he finds there’s a protective spell on the sheet of paper. Wong had not only kept it, but had wanted to preserve it. Stephen doesn’t know what to do, he thinks his face is to hot in that moment as he lets out a small smile. Beside him Wong groans and Stephen carefully shuts the drawer to tend to his friend instead. Something warm and nice settling in his chest as he looks over him.

Stephen keeps making drawings. Whenever he can, he’ll find new things to draw, sitting with heavy focus as he lets his hands work. He thinks his lines might even be getting straighter. Coincidentally he also starts forgetting to get rid of the drawings each time he makes them too, leaving them scattered all over the Sanctum. Where by chance, Wong always seems to find them.

And Wong? Wong gets a newfound appreciation for art, and a growing collection of pieces from his favorite artist, Stephen Vincent Strange.

#I read somewhere Stephen really does like art museums #how nice! :)#strange thoughts #wongrange #if you choose to see it that way?

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arhvste · 4 years ago

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KOZUME KENMA - WORK OF ART

request - could it be possible to get a kenma fic/scenario where his gf or girl crush is an artist and often draws him- probably hides it n testu or someone finds it and shows him so now they go on lip dates where kenma just plays his games and she draws him just like extra fluffy if you can I love kenma so much 🥺🥺🥺 if it’s too much then just something fluffy with ken ! thank you!

warnings - none

an - thank you for the request anon i just know kuroo the little shit would show his best friend all the drawings he finds 😈

classes were boring enough as it is but learning about the history or hiragana? what was the need?

sitting by the window seat, you had the obvious choice to stare outside the glass as class dragged along but you hardly found yourself looking outside at the window. instead, you would look and admire a classmate of yours.

kozume kenma.

he was one of the prettiest boys you’d ever seen. even his actions were so delicate and gentle to which would encourage the light butteries in your stomach to flutter a little more while you watched him. it wasn’t long before you found yourself sketching the bleached haired boy.

you were an avid artist with a beautiful talent. drawing kenma seemed a little out of your comfort zone at first. when you noticed you’d been sketching him for a few weeks you tried to consciously stop yourself, you didn’t want to feel like a creep who would just stare and draw someone. these sketches captured the boy’s calmness perfectly though and you found you couldn’t help yourself but continue, even deciding to add more detail into particular pieces you liked.

you told yourself that you were just using him as inspiration. you weren't infatuated with the boy, just inspired. no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself of this though, you found yourself enjoying drawing him more than anyone or anything else bringing you to the conclusion that yes, maybe you were perhaps a little smitten with him. not that you’d ever let him find out though.

your sketch book was littered with an assortment of drawings. some finished down to the smallest detailed and others half done, lazily sketched and yet to be completed. kenma took up most of the occupation of the pages though. surrounded by statues, flowers and other pretty things you often drew kenma as the centre piece for all your pages.

the drawings you skillfully created depended on your mood and kenma’s mood on the day. some days, kenma would be struggling to keep his concentration on the lesson going on in front of him, other days he’d be almost interested and looked as if he was putting more effort into his work. your most favourite days, were ones where kenma was lazily interested in the lesson. he would often propt is chin under his hand, eyes prettily fluttering occasionally while trying to stay awake (probably sleep deprived from excessive hours of gaming) and he would sometimes even use a thin black bobby pin to pin his long hair out of his face to stop his field of vision from closing in tempting him to fall into a slumber in the midst of class. those days were your favourite. he looked extra pretty.

today just happened to be one of those days as you gazed at kenma who at this moment had his hair messily pinned out of his face, eyes drooping every so often with the setters head dropping ever so slightly every time he felt the weight of sleep too heavy to handle. one hand placed under his chin, keeping his head from completely falling onto the desk and the other weakly holding his pen as he attempted to keep up with the classes notes.

you wanted to draw him in this moment really, but you did happen to feel bad for the blonde. he was obviously struggling to keep his head clear enough to focus so you decided now was a good opportunity to step out of your comfort zone a little.

“kozume-san? you whispered ever so gently.

kenma’s eyes widened slightly at the sound of his voice being called. he tilted his head in you direction and blinked his twinkly golden eyes at you

“hm?”

“d-do you want me to uh keep up with your notes for you?”

kenma’s eyes softened at the sound of your gentle voice.

“why would you want to do that l/n?”

“i can see you’re struggling to stay focused. we sit near the back and the teacher isn't interested in looking in our direction. you can catch up on a bit of sleep - o-only if you want though you don't have to!”

you knew you were blushing now. maybe you should’ve just minded your own business but in a split second you knew it was all worth it.

kenma gave you a small but genuine smile. fuck. it was so pretty. he was so pretty. his smile wasn’t blinding no, more of a gentle angelic glowing light that warms ones heart. the rare sort of golden light that can only be captured in a small time window each day and only through clear skies. you had made kozume kenma smile and you knew you were right to have stepped out your comfort zone.

“you’re observant. its much appreciated l/n, thank you. let me know how i can repay you after.”

his soft voice heavy with sleep sent the butteries in your stomach to go off in a frenzy. his delicate hands handed you his class book and he blushed so lightly it wasn't even noticeable at the subtle contact of your fingers brushing past each other.

he gave you a gentle nod as he laid his head down gently on his desk and gave into the strong craving to fall into a sleep.

drawing and writing were two things that came naturally to you. you were able at completing both tasks at a quick speed but you did it so flawlessly. you took a shy pride in your notes and classwork as you did with your drawings. both aesthetically pleasing to look at, but full of appropriate and useful content.

writing kenma’s notes alongside yours wouldn’t be a problem to you.

however, this would cause one in the unbeknownst future to you.

class ended about 50 minutes after you had encouraged kenma to have a small sleep. classmates were closing their notebooks and packing up their things. you gently tapped the sleeping setters shoulder with notes in your hand.

after a few taps the boy slowly lifted his head and gently rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. your heart melted at the sight of his eyes flickering while adjusting to the light. the slightly darkened sun depicting his eyes as gold speckled pools of honey, his nose scrunched up as he allowed his body to wake up. was there ever a time this boy was ugly? he seemed to be attractive doing everything, it wasn’t fair.

taking the book from your hands he nodded and gave you a shy smile.

“thank you, l/n. please tell me how i can repay you”

“oh! please don't worry about it! you looked like you needed a recharge i’m just happy you were able to do just that.”

“you’re a kind person l/n. but don’t hesitate to let me know if you ever need a favour.”

and with that, the setter packed up the few papers he had been resting on and then slightly bowing at you before heading out the door most likely to get ready for practice.

you smiled to yourself and headed out your classroom to leave for home knowing you had done a good deed for the day and you had happened to have your first direct interaction with the boy you’d been delicately sketching for the past couple of months.

“kenma! you’re 2 minutes and 38 seconds later than usual! we can't afford to have the brain of the team slacking.” kuroo teased his best friend with an irritating smile.

“was talking to a classmate. she helped keep me up with the class notes.” kenma spoke boredly as he set his bag down so he could change into his gym clothes.

“notes eh? offended you wouldn't just ask me for help. this feels like betrayal.”

kenma rolled his eyes at his friend’s childish behaviour and dug through his bag to look for his clothes.

“the offer was there so i just took it. besides, l/n’s handwriting is much more eligible than yours.”

“ouch. are they as detailed though?”

“probably even more.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“look for yourself.” kenma shrugged nodding towards his schoolbag.

kuroo wandered over to kenma’s bag and pulled the classwork book out.

“uh yeah i guess these are pretty ne- oHOHO what do we have here?”

kuroos eyes danced over the pages, a shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“i hate when you pull that face what’s wrong with you?” kenma’s disgusted face looked up at kuroo who looked like he was having an internal field day.

“l/n eh? i think someones got a little crush on you kenma.”

“what?”

kuroo turned the book around to show the pages to kenma who’s eye widened.

there was the pages you had littered with beautifully depicted drawings of kenma.

both boys were silent as kenma’s eyes scanned over the pages.

“no reaction? personally i’d be flattered if someone drew me that much and with such good detail too.”

kenma was still processing all the drawings as a million possible reasons for why you’d drawn him so much ran though his head.

did you think he was attractive?

was it a crush like kuroo had teased?

did you just need a reference and he just so happened to be there?

were the drawings actually him or were they just someone scarily similar?

“sooooo... you gonna talk to her then?”

kuroo smiled teasingly at the now blushing setter.

“i’ll just give this back to her. it’s obviously personal and she might even explain herself when she sees that i have her book.”

kuroo shrugged and put the book back in kenma’s bag.

“i think it’s cute kenma, take my advice, you should take the opportunity to get to know her a little, she's obviously interested in you.”

kenma snorted at his friends words slightly as he begun to follow him out the changing rooms and into the gym to join the rest of the team.

“ironic the relationship virgin is giving me advice.”

kuroo could only roll his eyes and laugh.

“to think you’d be the one to get a girl first, in my defence i’m too busy for relationships.”

“okay mr docosahexaenoic acid, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

you had just arrived home and you felt the weight of the day lift itself off of you as you threw your shoes off and dropped your bag to the floor in your bedroom.

you bag tipped over with some of the contents spilling out causing you to huff but get up and pick it up anyway.

then you saw it.

your heart dropped.

“fuck.”

‘kozume kenma’ was written on the front of one of your classwork books. how had you been so stupid in getting them mixed up.

you began to panic and think of solutions to this fresh dilemma.

“maybe i should just tell him that i just like him nows a chance? no that's stupid why would i do that? i’ll just tell him it’s a model that just looks similar to him. no, that’s not believable is it? fuck it. i’m moving country.”

you screamed into your pillow but then stopped when you remembered something.

kenma was in practice right now. there’s no way he could’ve opened the book and bothered checking the work right? why would he bother doing that?

you checked the time on your phone. 3:28pm. you still had a while until practice was over. that would be more than enough time to go into the changing rooms and swap the books before anyone notices. and even if he had opened the book already, when he saw his book was back in his bag, you could easily play it off as if he had dreamt the drawings up as he would’ve just woken up and still been drowsy.

you wasted no time grabbing your shoes and the book to sprint out the door. school wasn’t too far from your house, a 17 minute walk to be exact. your legs started to ache at the sudden intense action of you sprinting like your life depended on it. well, your life did depend on it. if kenma saw them and thought you were weird, what were you to do then? dropping out of school seemed like the most reasonable option.

finally reaching the gates you caught your breath. getting to school was a 17 minute walk but a 9 minute run. once you gathered your thoughts you quietly approached the gym to peek inside. there the team were training and focused on the court. going in through the front of the school and walking through the halls to get to the changing rooms through the back way, you gripped the book tightly as you got to the boys changing rooms.

a quiet prayer was muttered before entering. the changing room was surprisingly clean and didn't smell like over sprayed deodorant and excessive sweat like you’d imagined. you let out a sigh of relief as you scanned the room for kenma’s stuff before noticing it at the end of the room.

“just in and out.” you muttered under your breath as you walked swiftly over to the setter’s belongings

digging through kenma’s stuff proved to be quite stressful. you were so focused on not getting caught, you failed to noticed the door separating the gym and changing rooms open.

“uh l/n?”

you jumped and turned your head to the owner of the voice.

there stood a slight sweaty and tired looking kenma who had offered to return to the changing rooms to grab one of yaku’s extra kneepads.

“uhhh i can explain.. our books got um mixed up and i uh well -”

“you’re talented you know.” kenma gave you a small almost ghost smile.

your face instantly heated up at the small praise the boy had given you.

“w-what?”

“the drawings. i must say, i was surprised when i saw them but, you have talent y/n and... i don’t mind if you keep drawing me...”

kenma’s shy persona caused the last part to come out so quietly you almost didn't hear him.

“i’ll keep that in mind.” you smiled as you approached kenma to give him his book back.

he muttered a quiet thanks and went through his own bag to fish you out your book to give back to you. the tension was awkward but not heavy enough to drive either of you away instantly. both of you holding back in anticipation waiting for one of you to talk.

“so um, do you wanna maybe go out sometime? you don’t have to.”

your eyes softened again as you shyly nodded.

“i would like that kozume-san.”

“kenma. call me kenma.”

months had passed since then. you found you had things in common with the setter and found his neutral presence calming. he wasn’t too loud or in your face but he also wasn’t completely extroverted to the point where you’d sit in awkward silence like people often assumed he was like.

you had met his team and family and they all welcomed you with open arms eager to get to know the girl who had drawn kenma not only on paper but drawn him out of his comfort zone gently.

the two of you weren’t big on going out on dates. you would both often opt to stay in and enjoy each other’s company. kenma would game and you would draw, the two of you engaging in soft and relaxing conversation. kenma would never admit it out loud, but he loved the days where you would draw him. he would act like he was too immersed in his game to notice you sketching away but he felt a sense of pride in him whenever he noticed you using him as your model.

you had grown more confident in yourself and often allowed kenma to see your drawings. you decided since you were using him as your reference, the least you could do was show him how you portrayed him and every time he would compliment and praise you for your work.

“you know i’m glad i felt extra tired that one day you offered to do my notes.”

you hummed and looked up at your boyfriend.

“yeah? i’m just gad you weren’t weirded out by my book.”

kenma offered a gentle smile at you.

“weirded out? i was taken aback but not weirded out. i was ever so slightly flattered even. thank you for seeing some sort of beauty in me.”

brushing his hair out of his face you smiled softly as you leaned closer to his face to whisper your final words before pressing a delicate kiss to his lips.

“no, thank you for being a work of art.”

#kozume kenma #kenma x reader #kenma x you #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!

241 notes · View notes

isabelleashmore · 3 years ago

Text

Invisible Moonlight: Padmé Amidala/Sabé for @star-wars-wlweek

Padmé winged easily through the steps, whisking Sabé along with her, and for a moment, they were waltzing in their nightgowns through the ballroom of Theed Palace, Sabé’s touch electric at the small of her back. It was only on her planet that petticoats and ballgowns, stiff and unforgiving on the bodies of Imperials, turned beautiful, their hems flaring vibrantly over the floor with their soft, silken sighs.

It was only in Sabé’s arms, dancing through her memories of Naboo, that Padmé became weightless.

(Or, Padmé and Sabé have a romantic night to themselves following the rise of the Empire.)

Rating: Teen

@star-wars-wlweek

Read here or on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33233989

Invisible Moonlight

“Were you surprised?”

Sabé whispered the question as if they were kids at a sleepover, scared to be caught out of bed after lights-out. They essentially were, Padmé reflected, only this time, it was being caught in bed that would get them in trouble. She tried and failed to banish that image from her mind: palace guards breaking down the door to her and Sabé’s hidden bedroom, finding them tangled up in the sheets and in each other. A humiliating arrest, after which they would be hauled to the throne room and tossed at the feet of a furious Emperor Vader. He’d throw his jealous little tantrum right then and there, which would subside only after he’d locked away his wife and executed her lover, all without ever addressing the women who frequented his room each night. The sparks of resistance that she and Sabé had so painstakingly kindled would be snuffed out; Luke and Leia—well, thank the gods that they were Anakin’s, too, because envisioning her children at risk, especially as a byproduct of her own actions, squeezed the air from Padmé’s lungs faster than if she’d been chucked off a skyscraper—

Sabé curled an arm around her waist, breaking her free from her ruminations. Padmé’s lips twitched into a fragile smile. Sabé’s every touch felt like a lullaby, like a murmured, “I’m here.” They had taken all the necessary precautions, she reminded herself: Dormé was covering for them and Anakin was spending the night with his own mistress. Not that Padmé thought of Sabé as her mistress. If anything, she liked to imagine that she was her girlfriend, and sometimes even indulged in fantasies of one day calling Sabé her wife.

Emboldened by the dream kneaded into that word—wife—Padmé giggled and touched her nose to Sabé’s. “Was I surprised by what?”

“Realizing that you were attracted to me. Were you surprised?” Sabé shimmied coyly out of Padmé’s grasp; her sultry, side-eyed gaze was enough to send tingles down Padmé’s arms. She found herself admiring Sabé’s lip gloss under the muted, golden light, the way it drew attention to the delicate purse of her lips, and thinking about how, whenever she was deep in thought, those lips would fall open just slightly, like a rosebud puckering into bloom…

It took Padmé much too long to focus on the question. She inhaled and blew out a slow stream of air, hoping Sabé hadn’t noticed. “Yes,” she hedged, “and no. I mean, there were some things about us that finally made sense. Like back when we were girls, and I got jealous when Harli Jafan started flirting with you—”

“You did?”

A blush stole into Padmé’s cheeks at Sabé’s unabashed delight. “Why else did you think I was upset about her trying to kiss you? I should have realized it earlier, but everyone around me just assumed I was only into men. Maybe I assumed it, too. Until…”—she met Sabé’s gaze from beneath her eyelashes—“until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Sabé smiled and took Padmé’s hand in hers, absentmindedly tracing the lines of her palm. “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you so sure that people had those assumptions in the first place? No offense, but I can’t imagine Theed Palace being thrown into chaos over your sexuality. Yané and Saché were openly a couple, and I was out as bi before I signed on as your handmaiden.”

“It wasn’t that. I’m sure that if I made a point of coming out, everyone would have been supportive, but…” Padmé rested her head on Sabé’s shoulder, pondering how to translate her emotions into words. “My parents and sister were always asking me when I was going to bring home a boy. Maybe I started to believe that that was the ultimate goal, that liking anyone else made me somehow…less than. And then one day, Anakin happened to accompany me to my parents’ house. He was only there as my bodyguard—a Jedi one, at that!—but my whole family leapt to the assumption that he was my boyfriend. Sola and my mother were so happy—relieved, even—and…I don’t know. I told myself that none of it would matter if I could just fall for Anakin, but then I caught myself thinking, how would they have reacted if I’d brought home a girl instead?”

“I know your parents,” Sabé said. “I’m sure they would have been supportive.”

“Oh, they would have, if they had known. But I brought home you and Dormé a few times and they never assumed either one of you was my girlfriend.”

“It’s probably because you’re so feminine,” Sabé said with a hint of bitterness. “No one ever expects feminine women to be into women.”

“No one ever expects women to be into women.”

Sabé’s only response to that was to grip Padmé’s hand a little tighter.

They sat together in silence until Padmé had collected her thoughts. “I think,” she confessed, “that I was most afraid of seeing the shock on their faces. It would have felt too much like letting them down, like turning my back on a dream they’d had for me since childhood. No, more than a dream: an expectation.” She worried her lip. “I don’t know when ‘assumption’ turned into ‘expectation’, but it did, and I couldn’t bring myself to ruin it—not for them, and especially not for myself. I still don’t know of anyone in House Naberrie who isn’t heterosexual, and there was enough tension between my relatives and me as it was, what with some lingering contention over my career choice and my not-entirely-pacifist politics—and then this—!” Padmé didn’t realize she was crying until the tears were flooding down her cheeks. She clapped a hand over her mouth, just in time to muffle the sob that escaped her. “Gods, I wish I had told them—now that Anakin won’t even let me talk to them—”

“Hey, hey, hey…” Sabé stroked Padmé’s hair with her free hand, pausing only to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? We all move at our own pace. I knew pretty young, but if I’d figured it out just a little bit later, I would have had the same insecurities as you. Probably more of them, since in my case they would have been justified.”

“Stop it, Sabé. You know how I feel about you talking yourself down.”

“I know, love.” Sabé raised Padmé’s chin to drop a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth. Somehow that still ignited every nerve in Padmé’s body. “For the record, my career path was also hard for my family to accept. Being chosen as your handmaiden was an honour, of course, but my parents were just so hung up on this fantasy of me following in the family tradition, playing hallikset in the back row of some orchestra for the rest of my life.”

Padmé sighed, wiping the last of her tears on the back of her hand. “I think that’s one of the main problems on Naboo. Everyone wants their child to go into the arts, but we still need people who can run the government or fill any of the other thousands of jobs that are necessary to our planet’s survival. My father did support my engagement in politics growing up, but even he still hoped that I would ultimately pursue a career in the arts. Thankfully, once I announced to my parents that I was running for Princess of Theed, they understood that politics were my calling and stopped trying to wrangle me into an artistic pursuit. But before that, they’d tried everything: poetry, original oratory, debate, the like. My mother had desperately wanted me to be a musician, like you, but I wasn’t a standout talent at any particular instrument. At least I took all those years of dance classes—”

“No way, that doesn’t count. Everyone takes dance classes.”

Padmé shoulder-checked Sabé in mock offense. “How dare you dismiss my prodigious dance skills. I’ll have you know, I was recommended to a couple of ballet conservatories thanks to my ‘natural poise and diligence’.”

“Oh, I can believe it. I was watching you dance tonight.” Sabé’s voice had taken on a genuine, if a bit seductive note. She grinned and dropped her lips to Padmé’s ear. “You want to know a secret?”

A thrill shot down Padmé’s spine. “Yes…”

“I was jealous tonight, love. Really jealous, having to watch you dance with him in front of everyone. His hands, just…digging into your waist, as if to lay claim to you or something…” Padmé was horrified to find that the passion in her girlfriend’s voice, so hot and sensual a second ago, had suddenly been zapped dry. “Gods!” Sabé cried, sharpening and spitting the word like it was dirty. “That man is insufferable, I—I hate him!”

Padmé remained silent, rubbing the silk of her nightgown between her fingers. She had thought for a moment that this was going in a different direction, but then somehow Anakin had ruined it without even being here and—no. She refused to let the thought of him spoil her mood. Instead, she took a deep breath and examined the small, windowless bedroom that she and Sabé shared. Already a warm pulse of pride was pushing out the anger in her chest. They may have lost the bulk of their past lives to Anakin, but they had still succeeded in making this one thing their own.

Padmé’s favourite shimmer-silk robe had taken up permanent residence on the back of the desk chair, and Sabé’s hallikset case lay nestled at the foot of their bed. On the walls, they had hung every holophoto they’d rescued from Anakin’s war on the past, regardless of whether said photos were personally relevant to them. Decade-old letters from Padmé’s sister and Sabé’s brothers, penned on real arbovellum paper, were piled lovingly on the vanity; next to them, a meticulous arrangement of eyeshadow palettes and perfume bottles. What really caught her eye, though, was Sabé’s music player, its bulky form squatting somewhat obtrusively in the corner. Sabé had held a strange affection for the battered old thing since Padmé had known her, despite—or perhaps because of—her brothers’ alleged attempts on its “life” over the years.

“Sabé,” she proposed lightly, “how about a dance?”

Sabé followed her gaze to the music player, and her eyes widened in surprise. “What, right here?”

“Why not? We’ve got music and two people who know how to waltz. What more could we need?”

“Hmm…fair point.” Sabé stood up from the bed, her hips swaying just slightly as she approached the music player. Padmé felt a fresh blush heat her cheeks. “I’ve still got this recording my brother gave me a few years ago, from the orchestra he was playing with at the time.”

“Perfect.” Padmé closed her eyes just before the first strains of music wove through the air. When she opened them again, Sabé stood before her like a vision: her hair haloed by a cross-section of candlelight, her hand extended to Padmé with the palm up. “May I have this dance, my lady?” she asked in a manner so formal, they could have been at an actual ball. Padmé giggled like a lovestruck teenager and took Sabé’s hand, pulling her eagerly to the centre of the room. Their nightgowns traced the movement with a cool flutter of silk. “You may,” Padmé whispered belatedly, unable to look anywhere but into Sabé’s eyes.

She could feel the night wrapping them up in moonlight they could not see, driving them closer, closer, closer until her breasts pressed up against Sabé’s, whose open lips hung just a tantalizing breath away. Lost in the glossy expanse of her girlfriend’s pupils, mesmerized by an orchestra’s melancholic cries, Padmé let the past flood the present, transforming the world around her. She was dissolving into another time, a place where thousand-pound chandeliers hovered overhead like they weighed nothing at all, where moonlight came streaming through arches and marble reflected the world at her feet. Padmé winged easily through the steps, whisking Sabé along with her, and for a moment, they were waltzing in their nightgowns through the ballroom of Theed Palace, Sabé’s touch electric at the small of her back. Padmé gasped into the cello’s sonorous vibrato, each pull of the bow a tug-of-war between desolation and desire. It was only on her planet that petticoats and ballgowns, stiff and unforgiving on the bodies of Imperials, turned beautiful, their hems flaring vibrantly over the floor with their soft, silken sighs.

It was only in Sabé’s arms, dancing through her memories of Naboo, that Padmé became weightless.

The bow paused on the string, still trembling, as if on the cusp of climax. Padmé’s eyes fluttered closed and Sabé kissed her, firmly on the mouth and then more passionately, parting Padmé’s lips beneath her own. Padmé clung tighter to the curves of Sabé’s waist, unable to suppress a shiver as the music exploded around them. Sabé’s lip gloss tasted of strawberries, of carefree summers in the open air of the Lake Country. Padmé tugged insistently on her girlfriend’s bottom lip, frenzied by the elusive sweetness of home, and felt Sabé deepen the kiss in response.

Coruscant was a cold planet, in every sense of the word. But Sabé always managed to make it just a little bit warmer. As soon as their lips had parted, Padmé lowered her head to Sabé’s ear. “One day,” she promised, “after all of this is over—the Empire, the Rebellion, everything—I’m going to take you to Varykino. We’ll put ourselves first for once and leave everything behind. No Amidala, no handmaidens…just us. Well…except for maybe one thing.” She laced her fingers through Sabé’s and gently stroked the side of her palm, hoping it would distract from her own quickening heartbeat. “I…I’ve decided that I’d like to raise Luke and Leia with you, Sabé. Assuming…that’s something you would want?”

Sabé’s rosebud lips dropped open in shock. Padmé panicked and nearly jumped in to amend her request—what she would actually say was beside the point—but then Sabé laughed—a full-bodied, dazzling laugh—and breathed, “Padmé…” Her fingers were feather-light on Padmé’s skin as she lifted her face to hers; Padmé was met with the glorious sight of Sabé’s eyes, glistening beneath a thin layer of tears. “I can’t think of anything else I’d want more than to raise children with you. I love you.”

Giddiness overtook Padmé then, a rush like free-falling back into love. The laugh that emerged from her was watery, nowhere near as melodious as Sabé’s, but she didn’t care. “I love you, too,” she replied, and because that still didn’t feel like enough, “I love you, I love you, I love—”

Sabé kissed her again, robbing her lips of the words so that only raw passion remained, and in that moment, in that small, windowless, beautiful room, Padmé’s cares slipped away beneath the invisible moonlight.

#starwarswlweek2021 #padme amidala #sabe #starwars #sabedala #dancing #lesbian romance #lgbtq+ themes #naboo royal handmaidens #post order 66 #padmé amidala lives #emperor vader au #wlw writing wlw

19 notes · View notes

sevlgi · 4 years ago

Text

patient

requested: yes

group: mamamoo

pairing: hwasa x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contents: tattoo artist!hwasa, flustered!reader [15/33]

warnings: none

synopsis: It’s hard for you to be patient about your next tattoo session when your artist is so damn gorgeous.

a/n: um??? I love tattoo aus???? also don’t come at me for the name, I’m not creative

word count: 1.9k

“Elegant Chaos.”

You test the name out on your tongue, staring up at the slightly grimy neon sign of the shop. The entire front is one-way glass, so all you can see is your own reflection and the ones of the people bustling around you.

Before you can make up a decision to open the door to the store or not, someone else does; a pretty brunette woman steps out and smiles at you, crazy beautiful with full lips and crescent-eyes. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah.” You show her the printed-out address your friend sent you and step a bit closer. “Is this a tattoo shop? I searched the address up but nothing resulted, I was referred by a friend.”

She barely takes a glance at the address before flashing another bright grin. “Oh, yep! This is our tattoo shop, we opened a couple months ago. It’s weird that we’re still not showing up, but oh, well. Want to come in?”

You barely register her quick words but step into the shop after her, the smell of rubbing alcohol, paper, and perfume vaguely stinging your nose. “I’m Solar, the receptionist,” she introduces, walking behind what you presume to be her desk. Out front, some teenagers talk quietly, a tall, dark-haired boy with a sleeve sipping at a banana milk.

“Cool. Uh, I’m Y/N. I don’t have an appointment, is that okay?”

Solar nods, tapping at her phone. “Sure. Jungkook over there is just waiting for Byul to finish her other client, and Wheein is prepping to pierce the kids. Hwasa’s our best artist, anyway, does that sound good?”

Her question startles you from staring at the intricate sketches taped all over the walls, the same 3 signatures stamped everywhere. “What?”

She laughs, though it’s not rude. “We have one artist left, Hwasa, but since you’re referred, you probably don’t have someone in mind, right? You can go to see her now, she’s free.”

“Great. Do I just...?” At Solar’s nod, you walk past her and into the back. The studio’s quite small, to be honest; there are 4 stations, two of them occupied. One of them, who you guess is Byul, is tattooing an elderly man, her sleeves rolled up to reveal the art on her bicep.

The second, probably Wheein, is wiping down her tools, and she’s the first to notice you. “Hi!” she grins, turning the music blasting from the radio down with her ungloved hand. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. Solar mentioned that I should come find Hwasa,” you explain, eyes widening at the complicated art being tattooed on the elderly man. “Are you...?”

“No, I’m Wheein.” Ah, so you were right. “This is Byul, she’s a bit preoccupied,” Wheein smiles, dimples poking into her cheeks. “I’ll get Hye- sorry, Hwasa for you.”

She hurries out to the back, and you can hear talking through the open door, before she comes back, the woman you presume to be Hwasa behind her.

Instantly, you’re starstruck; she’s stunning in a way that’s completely unique, long dark hair and tanned skin contrasting beautifully. The only makeup she wears is a bold red lipstick, her tank top showing the delicate tattoos she has. “Hey, I’m Hwasa,” she greets, sticking her hand out. Her nails are long, too.

“Y/N.” You accept the handshake, trying not to stare. “Uh, Solar said you were free for a consultation?”

“Yeah.” She sits at one of the free stations, clearing the things scattered on the table. “So, what’re you looking for? Do you already have a design chosen or am I freehanding?”

You fumble in your bag for a piece of paper, sliding it over to Hwasa. “Um, this is just something my friend drew up for me. I want it pretty small, on my forearm.”

The dark-haired woman shrugs, unfolding the paper. “I could do that. Is this your first tattoo?”

Nodding, you watch as Hwasa taps her long, red-painted nails on the desk. “Okay. Is this part of a sleeve or by itself?”

“Uh, how long would each one take?” To be honest, you have no idea why you said that; you didn’t consider a sleeve at all, though you considered multiple tattoos or a large one. There’s just something about the other woman that makes it impossible for you to think.

She considers the question before answering, “Depends on the size and how many small ones you want to work in for the sleeve, but I’d recommend a separate session for each small square, so maybe 8 or 10. I’ll be done with this in less than 30 minutes, though, if it’s just the one.”

To be honest, the only thing causing you to consider a sleeve is getting to see Hwasa again, and you curse your own attraction to her when you blurt, “Maybe a sleeve? I have to think about the other ones I want to work in, though.”

“Okay. I can just do the one today, and we can schedule another day for you to come in and design the whole thing,” she offers, picking the sketch up. “I’ll go make this into a stencil, then.”

“Sure.”

When she takes the sketch and walks to the back room, you slump down in the chair and pivot to look at the others. You quickly realize how long you were talking with Hwasa; Byul is already working on the coconut-haired boy, and Wheein is already done with the teenagers.

She seems to be the outgoing type, and waves at you while sanitizing her needles and packing her kit up again. “So, how did it go? Are you going to start today?”

“I am, yep. You’re already done with the kids?”

Wheein nods, placing the studs back into their cases. “Yep. They just wanted more lobe piercings, it’s really easy. I’m a tattoo artist, too, but I think the kids like me more. Except for Jungkook over here, they think Byul’s intimidating.”

“I’m not!” the other woman protests, hands still steady as she works on the boy. Her voice is deeper than you’d expect. “You literally call me a hamster.”

Flapping a hand, Wheein flashes you her dimples again. “So, what do you think of Hwasa?”

“Huh?” you blink, brain basically short-circuiting. “Uh, she’s a good artist? I saw some of her sketches, yours too; you’re all really talented.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. Wait, you’re not straight, are you?” she narrows her eyes at you, scanning you from head to toe. “Maybe my sense is broken, I didn’t peg you for a...”

“I’m not. Straight. I’m a lesbian.” Your cheeks burn to say it aloud, though nobody really reacts, not even Jungkook. “Are you?”

Wheein shrugs, “I mean, I’m attracted to women. All 4 of us are- Hyejin, Byul, Yongsun. Solar, to you. And we make sure everyone who comes in is accepting, we won’t serve bigots.”

For whatever reason, you’re almost relieved to hear that Hwasa’s also attracted to women in some sense, even though it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s attracted to you. “Oh. That’s cool.”

“Yeah. So, is it just one tattoo or a sleeve?” Her knowing smile puts you off a bit; how did she figure it out? “A lot of girls who come in here change their original idea because of Hyejin-ah. You’re obviously attracted to her, to, so it’s no surprise.”

“Is it really that obvious?” you groan, surprising yourself with how open you’re being about it. “Do you think she knows?”

“Probably,” Wheein giggles, nodding when Solar pokes her head in the studio to tell her something. “Anyway. I’ve got to go, good luck!”

She waves as she leaves, the only noise left in the studio being the quiet music and Jungkook’s quiet talking. He seems just as awkward as you are, lifting his free hand in a half wave.

You’re saved by Hwasa returning with a stencil. “Here. Does that look good?”

She’s modified the original design just the tiniest bit, making the lines a little bit darker and the shading simpler, and it looks... “Perfect.” You grin, a weight on your chest lifted by your conversation with Wheein. “Should we start?”

“Sure.” She brings you over to one of the actual tattoo stations, the seat already smelling sanitized. You can barely listen as she explains what the process will be like- cleaning, the actual tattooing, pain; you finally come to when she asks, “Are you ready?”

“I... yeah. I am.”

It’s quiet until the buzzing of the tattoo gun brings you to life, the tiniest bit of fear sour on your tongue. Hwasa looks concentrated as she peels the stencil off, not exactly reassuring, either. “So. Is there a meaning behind this?”

“Uh, not really. Are there meanings behind yours?” You gasp when the needle first touches your skin, the cold wipe taking off excess ink.

“I have some matching tattoos with Wheein,” Hwasa explains, smiling at the mention of the other girl. “Uh, one is Maria, my Christian name. Wheein has more, but all of us have some kind of meaning behind ours. It’s not bad to have no meaning, though.”

You wince as she continues with the linework, slowly getting used to the pain. “Are you and Wheein...”

She looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Together? No, we’re best friends. I haven’t been with someone in a few years.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Hwasa laughs, wiping your arm once again. “Nothing, I guess. I’m just patient enough to wait for the right person.”

“Patient. Right.”

Conversation flows smoothly, mostly light topics. You learn each other’s ages, and you’re told to call Hwasa ‘Hyejin’ instead. You learn when she got her first tattoo, and when she learned to tattoo others. The more you talk, the more drawn in you are, fascinated by her every word.

The half an hour is over far too fast. “Done,” she announces, smiling as she turns off her gun. “Take a look.”

It looks gorgeous, as expected, though Hwasa plays off your barrage of compliments. “Uh, should I pay now?”

She shrugs, placing saran wrap over your arm. “We’ll go talk with Solar about that, she’s better with pricing than I am. But it probably won’t be much.”

“What? Why?” you frown, examining the tattoo. Usually, discounts only happen when something goes wrong, or you have a coupon. You’re pretty sure neither of those things apply.

Hwasa pauses, turning to send you a small smirk. “Well, the cute ones usually pay less.”

Your heart practically stops, though you force yourself to walk to the front with her. “Besides, you’re probably coming back again soon, right?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah. I think so. When will that be? The next session, I mean.”

She frowns, tapping at the tablet Solar hands her. “You can come in as soon as you’re free to design it, if you want, but you have to wait a bit for the next session, especially if you’re doing the things close together. If you want, I can give you my number.”

At your stricken expression, Hwasa’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “So you can send me ideas, for the sleeve.”

“Ah, of course.” Your cheeks burn as you take out your cash, counting out a surprisingly small amount. “That sounds good. I guess I’ll just have to be patient, then.”

“I guess so. Call me, Y/N,” she smiles, handing your phone back with a new contact in.

Being patient is going to be so damn hard.

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chaerrie-on-top · 4 years ago

Text

He Compliments Your Insecurity (7/7)

he (unknowingly or not) compliments your insecurity/insecurities

JUNGKOOK:

insecurity: your adventurous personality.

being the youngest, jungkook often held the traits of seeking a thrill. he was often up to no good with another member in the group, whether it be taehyung or even hoseok, but when he met you everything seemed to change. you had often been told off by friends and family for being too curious or for exploring too much. you were called nosy or mocked for seeking too much excitement. daredevil had started to become a bad connotation to you. meeting jungkook reignited the burning fire inside you, and your fun side came back in no time. the two of you would often roam the streets of korea, or other countries you all would visit. these moments you shared with jungkook were often some of your favorites, and looking back on the good times made you thankful for meeting a person who knew how to bring out your fun, youthful side.

TAEHYUNG:

your love of arts.

for as long as you could remember you always loved art. whether it be music, drawing, writing, painting; anything. you adored it. being able to express yourself through your own creations amazed and intrigued you. but the people around you thought otherwise. through your teenage years, while you were growing up and expected to go to college, get a job, and eventually have a family one day, high expectations were set on you. your parents wanted you to pursue in a more 'realistic' career, for example a doctor or lawyer. they often looked down on your dream of attending art school and pursuing a career in your field, and this made you doubtful of your passions. until you met taehyung. taehyung was an artistic person himself, so he understood how you felt and knew how to support you regardless. he'd always encourage you to create artwork, and he'd be the first to support whatever you did. he might have known it, but his endless support was what kept you going, despite the contrasting views others had of your dreams.

JIMIN:

your shyness.

growing up you only had a small group of close friends, and you were never really one to socialize much. while everyone else stayed out partying, you'd prefer to stay in and read or hangout with a very close friend or two. your parents constantly nagged you for this trait, and you were often pressured into uncomfortable situations of meeting others, that resulted in low self esteem and anxiety. you knew your family only wanted what was best for you, but socializing was hard for you and a skill you lacked. you grew up hating yourself for this, and wishing to just be like everyone else. once you met jimin, who could be a bit shy himself, he taught you to be able to open up to other people, by thrusting the fame and the rest of the members into your life. meeting all of them allowed you to learn to maintain and make new friendships, yet still know your limits and be able to appreciate how you are. jimin made it known to you that being shy is perfectly okay, as long as you're happy and in some kind of healthy relationship with others.

NAMJOON:

your body.

like most girls, you often stressed over the smallest things; weight, legs, butt, arms, stomach. it seemed like their was a new insecurity of yours every day of the week, and you often found yourself staring into the mirror, criticizing any body part you could possibly think of to judge. namjoon could tell you struggled with self esteem, even if you weren't vocal about it. he'd secretly watch the way you looked into the mirror, eyes trained on a certain area, or the way you'd seem to overwork yourself in diets or exercise. he hated how low you thought of yourself and how negatively you tended to treat his body. namjoon fully understood what it was like to not love yourself, but he wasn't always sure how to approach your insecurities. eventually, he couldn't bear seeing you this way anymore and made it his duty to take better care of you. while you got ready for the day he'd complement you, if pictures paparazzis released of you he'd comment on how cute you looked going on about your day. literally any situation gave namjoon an excuse to slip in a comment or two.

"your thighs look really good in those jeans," he'd kiss your cheek, fingers looping in the belt loops of your favorite pair of jeans.

"your arms look amazing. you've been lifting weights, haven't you?"

namjoon's eyes would squint shut pulling your smaller body close to him as he hugged you, hands running over your belly. "your stomach is so cute. how are you so perfect?"

HOSEOK:

your energy.

all throughout your school career you were constantly labeled as 'class crown' or 'the loud friend'. at first, the labels made you feel almost unique and maybe even appreciated, until people began making them out to be a bad thing. you were a naturally bubbly and energetic people, the mood maker, and you found enjoyment in brightening people's lives. why did people think it was bad for you to be happy? why did others bring you down for bringing others up? none of this mattered to hoseok, though. heck, he was an energetic, loud person himself, so he found himself falling for your similar personality. being able to make other people smile with you was one of his favorite moments the two of you shared, and it only made him love and appreciate you more. hoseok had nicknamed the two of you the 'mood maker couple' and the name had stuck so that even the other boys called you both this. being constantly taught it's okay to have a dynamic personality by hoseok and the rest of the members really helped you to get over your insecurity and made you confident.

and in the end, it even strengthened your bond.

YOONGI:

your hair.

yoongi wasn't exactly the best with making compliments, so usually he stuck with complimenting the simple things about you. of course you know how he is and that he truly means it whenever he compliments you, so you don't get caught up in his compliments being meager. but the one thing he compliments the most is your hair. most days your hair is rebellious, and doesn't fall the way you want it to, or maybe will only cooperate in a certain style or two. either way, yoongi always thinks it looks effortlessly amazing, and he always catches himself playing with it. whether he's twirling random pieces around his fingers, attempting to braid parts of it, or just combing it through his fingers, he loves the way it looks and feels.

"ignore my hair," you'd say upon seeing him during breakfast. it hadn't cooperated that morning, and you had ultimately decided to just throw it up into a ponytail.

"it's cute," yoongi would fondly smiling, reaching a hand up and running his fingers along your hanging hair. "you know i love when your hair is up..."

SEOKJIN:

your smile.

you didn't really like the way your face looked when you smiled; on other people their smile looked just fine, but you always thought it made you look weird. your eyes would squint in the most unattractive way, your teeth would look bigger, maybe it drew more attention to your nose. whatever the reason was, you hated your smile. but seokjin loved it, causing the thought of seeing it becoming one of his motives when cracking jokes or trying to make you laugh. he loved the way your eyes shimmered and squinted in pure joy, or the way your perfect teeth would be on full display. he thought your smile was gorgeous, and a day never passed where he didn't make this known.

#bts #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bangtan #bangtan boys #bts fanfic

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soulmate-game · 5 years ago

Note

Awesome, cool (on RE: Marivel). Caaaan we get... uh, Soulmate Game version of marvel/ml crossover? Marinette x Peter? Or just Marinette meeting Peter via Dr. Strange in your Lady Strange AU (post-endgame maybe??). Take your pick (or do both?) and thank you if you do write them!!

MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Yes.

This is a crossover between my Lady Strange AU and my Soulmate-Game AU, but since this is a different pairing it receives a different bond. I hope you like it!

—*—*—*—*—*

“I think somebody drew on me in my sleep,” was the first thing he told his Aunt and Uncle, who just blinked at him for a long moment with their toothbrushes half in their mouths. Peter was supposed to be getting ready for school in his own room, but instead, well.

His guardians’ eyes landed on the two childish, but extremely clean doodles on the top of Peter’s shoulders. They were ladybugs, one in red ink and the other blue. Only the outline was colored at all.

The little boy was tearing up.

“I don’t know how they e-ended up here. Why would s-somebody draw on me? It’s mean. Is this the boogeyman? Does…”

He was interrupted by May and Ben’s laughter, shrinking into himself as the adults tried to get ahold of themselves. Ben was the first to sober up, sinking to his knees and carefully laying a gentle hand on Peter’s naked arm, making sure not to come close to the new mark on his shoulder. The poor boy had stopped putting on a shirt altogether in favor of worrying over the doodles.

“No, no,” Ben soothed, running his other hand through Peter’s cinnamon hair. “No boogeyman. This is a good thing, Petey.”

He sniffled, looking up at his father figure warily, a hopeful spark in his eye. “It is?”

“Yeah. Do you remember what we told you about soul marks?” He asked his nephew, who was starting to calm down. The boy nodded, pushing his thick glasses back up his nose from where they had started to slip.

“Almost everyone has one,” he started to recite, furrowing his brows to try and remember what he had been told.

“And they can come in hundreds of different ways,” May filled in, kneeling beside her husband. “Some people have a picture or a name on them to represent their Destined. Some people are colorblind, or missing just one color until they meet their other half.”

“Some people can switch bodies or hear a song in their head that tells them how their soulmate is feeling,” Ben agreed. “There are tons of Bonds. Not everyone has a physical mark. But you,” he nodded to the ladybugs on his nephew’s shoulders. “You do.”

Peter started panicking again. “Oh no, I have two soulmates? What am I gonna do? What if they don’t like me, how can I love two people, I—“

“Relax, honey,” May rustled Peter’s hair with a soft smile. “I don’t think you have two, I think your mark is more complicated than that. Look, the ladybugs are exactly the same except for the color. The mark will probably do something exciting later, when you meet them.”

“Something exciting?” Peter parroted, making Ben chuckle.

“Yeah, but for now they are just cute pictures. Pictures which better be covered up by a shirt soon, or you’ll be late to school bud.”

“Ack!” He had forgotten he was still shirtless. “Sorry Uncle Ben!” Peter Benjamin Parker dashed back to his room as fast as his seven-year-old legs would carry him.

—*—*—*—*—*

Seven years later.

Marinette hummed, analyzing her reflection. Her halter top looked nice, a new design of hers. Tikki hovered near her, similarly happy with the clothing. And then the Kwami squeaked in dismay when her holder reached for foundation.

“Woah woah woah, what are you doing Marinette?!” The little god asked, tempted to take the makeup away. “The shirt makes your soul marks stand out so beautifully! I’m not a huge fan of spiders, but yours are so cute!”

The pigtailed girl blushed bright red, looking into the mirror to see both of the little doodles on her shoulders at the same time. They really were adorable, one cartoony spider on the top of each shoulder, one red and one blue. She didn’t wear the crop top to show them off though. She wore it because she needed to feel confident, and her usual blouses weren’t cutting it. She wanted to feel powerful, free, anything to escape the feeling of water droplets on her skin and the sight of people pinned by buildings, drowning. Blue skin, glassy eyes—

Marinette’s shook her head, taking a deep breath. The halter top she was wearing was a carefully, artistically dyed swirl of baby blue and baby pink. Strategic gathers in the cloth swirled the two colors around one another, bringing them to a small pinpoint of pale purple at the very point where the cloth had first been pinched and curled.

It was whimsical, it was childish and mature all at once. It was what Hope felt like to Marinette. The very thing she needed to try and heal from the whole Syren disaster a few weeks earlier.

“I like them too,” Marinette finally responded to her Kwami, running her fingers over the blue spider, the one on her right shoulder. It had completely vanished when she got home after the Syren attack, proving her father right from when he had told her all those years ago that her Bond was likely more than just a few doodles. “But only my parents know about them. I know the Miraculous suits are pretty much indestructible, but I don’t want to take any chances with this crazy world. If my shoulders ever get exposed while I’m Ladybug, I don’t want anyone to be able to connect that to Marinette,” she explained, slowly and regretfully spreading foundation over both marks and spritzing setting spray over it so that the makeup wouldn’t move anytime soon.

She knew why her blue spider had temporarily vanished. She had thought maybe she had just been imagining it before, when she would occasionally be in the middle of an anxiety attack and think that her blue spider was a little paler than usual. Or on the few occasions when she was going days without sleep, or overextending herself for her friends and her red spider would look a little dull.

She wondered what that meant for the person on the other end of their connection.

—*—*—*—*—*

And then she found out. She was fifteen, and it was about five in the morning. Marinette jolted out of bed, feeling a searing heat on her right shoulder. Throwing her shirt off, she saw it— her red spider was glowing. She felt herself trembling, but she didn’t know why. Tears were raining down her face, but she wasn’t sad. Her hands felt oddly wet and sticky, but they were completely clean.

The teenager shared a long, bewildered look with Tikki before carefully letting her fingers brush over the red spider. And she understood.

Anger. Guilt. He’s blaming himself. He’s dead. My fault. My fault. Blood. Is she feeling this? I’m making her feel this. Stupid. Worthless. Mistake. Mistake.

Marinette pried her hand away from the mark, gasping from the influx of emotions. She didn’t know details, probably to protect the identity of the person on the other end of the Bond, but she got the gist of it. The longer she had stayed on the connection, the more lucid thoughts she got straight from the boy himself. None of it had been promising.

She was able to surmise this; someone close to him died, or was dying. Her hands probably felt sticky because of the literal blood on his. Oh Kwami, he probably saw them die right in front of him. Probably held them.

And there was no Cure to reverse it for him.

But the most important part was that he was blaming himself for it, and Marinette couldn’t stand it. She ground her teeth, and touched the mark again with full intention of making sure he knew it wasn’t his fault. That he wasn’t worthless, and that she wasn’t mad at him for this.

But nothing happened. She tried touching the blue spider, but nothing happened. She tried meditating, hoping they had a mental connection—nothing. Absolutely. Nothing.

The heat was gone from her shoulder, the connection over.

Marinette raged at her inability to help a boy she never met.

—*—*—*—*—*

Four months later, she knew the situation was about to be reversed. She stared down at the old man in front of her, frail and weak but forcing himself to stand and hold the heavy box in the air in front of him. The weight made his twig-thin arms shake, and the pigtailed girl quickly snatched the item before it or the man holding it dropped.

“Master,” she whispered, her eyes frantically searching his. “Don’t. The magic, Tikki’s magic, can help. I’ve been practicing. Don’t—“

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of Sabine Cheng and biological daughter of Steven Strange,” the old man started, making Marinette snap her mouth shut with the force of his words. She didn’t know how he found out about her biological father, but didn’t bother asking. It wasn’t important, and he had too many possible ways of finding out through magic. No, his words right now were the only things she found worth focusing on in that moment. “I, Wang Fu, find myself too old to carry on my duties as Grand Guardian. But you are the best student I could have ever asked for. A True Ladybug with a soul of creation, a disciplined mind, and an open heart. I name you as my heir, and as the new Grand Guardian. Do you accept the transference of my title?”

Marinette didn’t want to. The wise eyes boring back into hers said that he knew, that he would understand if she refused. But Marinette also knew that refusing would not grant her the happy ending she wanted from this situation, only regret. His eyes said that he knew that, too.

“I accept,” she didn’t know how she was able to croak that out, but she managed somehow. “Wang Fu, I will gladly take on the title of Lady Strange, the new Grand Guardian. I vow to protect as you have protected, to guard the innocent and punish those who try to upset balance with the Miraculous. To keep the Universe as peaceful as possible with my power.”

“Then let my wisdom become yours,” Fu finished the sacred speech, closing his eyes as a bright green mist was born from his feet. It grew, sliding up his body until it exited his head in a giant luminous cloud like a swarm of fireflies on a misty night. Marinette refused to close her eyes, stubbornly keeping her gaze on Master Fu as the magical green fog covered her own body and sank into her skin. The knowledge of the Guardian’s language and traditions appeared in her mind, along with the rest of Fu’s wisdom and experience with the Miraculous.

“Young lady? Are you alright, you’re crying.”

Marinette took a deep breath, her eyes still locked onto the brown orbs that no longer recognized her. Slowly, she put the miracle box down on his bedside table.

“Yes, I’m fine. How do you feel?”

The old man wobbled, and the young girl had to catch him before he fell. “Let’s get you into bed,” she decided for him, getting a nod and a grateful smile in return. It was after he was in his bed and his eyes were starting to droop that he spoke again, this time in Mandarin.

Which Marinette now spoke, like a final gift from him to her.

“Are you my granddaughter?”

Marinette bit her lip, placing a gentle hand on Fu’s shoulder before responding in the same language;

“That’s right.”

She didn’t need a heart monitor to know when his pulse stopped. She could feel the magic of life drain from him, the Creation that made him who he was disappearing from his form. She dropped, her legs no longer able to support her weight, and sobbed into his comforter.

It happened then, she could feel a phantom hand on her right shoulder. Trying to provide comfort but not able to speak.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I want you here. But thank you. For everything. Thank you.

She didn’t know if she was trying to send those thoughts to Fu or to the boy trying to help her despite never having met her.

—*—*—*—*—*

This is part 1, because Tumblr doesn’t allow me to post the whole thing. Stupid word limits >:[ part 2 right here

#marinette x peter parker #mlb x marvel #soulmate au #spiderbug #bio dad stephen strange

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morningfears · 5 years ago

Text

Rose Tattoo [Chapter One]

Rating: PG-13 | Swearing, mentions of death, mentions of a panic attack.

Summary: Inspired by this blurb. | Calum is a tattoo artist. Stevie is getting her first tattoo. She’s terrified but determined and though Cal looks tough, when he takes off his jacket, Stevie notices the marker staining his arms and realizes that he’s a gentle giant who lets his son use him as a living coloring book. They hit it off but are either of them ready for anything more? [I’ll come up with a better fic summary later, promise.]

Word Count: 8.3k

series masterlist | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

Stevie could see the clouds of her breath curling around her face, rising and disappearing just as quickly as they appeared, as she weaved through the crowds cluttering the sidewalk. She was uncomfortably aware of the eyes on her, small-town tourists staring at the shock of green hair atop her head, as she waited at a crosswalk. She focused on the music blaring in her headphones, on the bitter cold nipping at the slivers of exposed skin, on evening her breathing and keeping her face void of emotion, as she attempted to ignore them.

She hadn’t lived in New York long, barely two months, but the adjustment period had been painfully short. She’d learned, almost immediately, the best ways to avoid anyone asking her for directions or tips about the city. She’d also learned how to navigate the city through the path of least resistance (read: tourists). She rarely crossed paths with them, usually only on the subway to and from her office, as she tried not to venture too far from her own neighborhood. However, it seemed unavoidable today.

Stevie’s job kept her in the same general area. She usually met artists she was scheduled to interview near her office for coffee or in the park nearby if the weather permitted. Her neighborhood, though not perfect by any means, had everything that she needed to live - including an overpriced grocery store and a Vietnamese restaurant whose staff knew her, and her usual order, by name. There was a gym close enough and a coffee shop that made the best chai latte she’d ever had. The only things it lacked were the things that she rarely needed, like a good tattoo shop.

The tattoo shop at the end of her block with blinking neon signs and Sailor Jerry-esque artwork covering the walls didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. The owner, and the most prominent artist, lived across the hall from her and seemed more concerned with his reputation than with good art. The shop itself catered mostly to a certain brand of wannabe Instagram influencers and specialized in a type of tattoo that she didn’t want. So, to her dismay, she found herself having to step outside of the comfort zone she’d constructed and venture across the city to a tattoo shop a friend from work recommended.

Stevie felt a flurry of emotions swirling in the pit of her stomach as she drew closer and closer to the shop. She was excited, of course, because she had always loved tattoos. Her dream as a child was to be covered in them, a dream that she abandoned when she realized that she was too indecisive for something so permanent. However, she was also terrified. Needles had always been a fear of hers. Although she’d been pierced several times, her nose and ears and belly button were all bejeweled, none of her piercings took longer than a few minutes. The needle was in and out before she could really think about the choice she’d made and that was it.

Tattoos, on the other hand, were a different story.

She knew that the appointment would be at least a few hours long and the thought of sitting there for so long, immobile as a needle was repeatedly driven into her skin, made her nauseous as she stood outside the shop and attempted to control her breathing. She knew that she would be fine once they began the process, it was just getting into the shop and getting started that freaked her out. She knew, though, without a doubt that she had to get the tattoo. She couldn’t back out but the thought of postponing briefly crossed her mind as she stared at the bright blue neon sign in the window.

After sending Calum her references and telling him exactly what she wanted, he recommended two sessions. Her tattoo consisted mostly of fine lines and intricate detail, something Calum was comfortable with but knew would take more than the standard few hours, and neither really wanted to plan a day session. The first session was for line work, to get the basic outline of the tattoo onto her skin in black ink, while the second - scheduled for two weeks later - was to be spent adding color and detail. It made sense and she was happy that he didn’t push a day session but she almost wished she could just get it all over with immediately. At least that way she would only have to begin a session once.

As she stood outside the shop, gathering herself and hoping that she didn’t look as panicked as she felt, the world around her faded. She no longer heard the noise from the street or the loud hum of neon. She didn’t see the bright blue glow or the buildings reflected in the shop’s plate glass window. She didn’t notice the people passing her by, brushing past her without so much as a glance in her direction, nor did she notice the one person who decided to stop as her nerves held a firm grip on her. It was all white noise and a meaningless blur as she breathed in deeply through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.

Stevie only became aware of the person when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Stevie jumped, startled out of her reverie, and turned to face the stranger. She recognized him from the few photographs she’d seen on his Instagram - there were very few of his face but he’d posted one recently so she recognized the buzzcut and fading blue dye - and felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment as she met Calum’s eyes. She had hoped that she would have herself together by the time she met him, she didn’t want to give him pause, but that seemed to be out of the question as he stood in front of her.

He didn’t look nearly as intimidating in person as he did in pictures and that eased some of the worry in the pit of her stomach. However, Stevie still found herself shrinking under his gaze. A few tattoos - the majority stark black and traditional, a mixture of intricate lines and simple designs from what she had seen online - peeked out of the collar of his shirt, a few more decorated his hands, and she tried not to stare as she took him in. His eyes, contrary to the mask of indifference he wore, were soft and concerned as he moved his hand from her shoulder and let it drop to his side.

Calum stared at her for a moment. He hadn’t made it a habit to stop and chat with pedestrians he happened across, regardless of where he happened across them (including in front of the tattoo shop where he worked). In the six years he’d lived in New York, he’d learned how to keep walking. He knew how to tune out the city around him and had gotten over the deep seated desire to help lost tourists or recent transplants. But something about this girl was different.

Her short hair, an artful mix of dark brown and green, was mussed - Calum assumed it was both the wind and her seemingly nervous habit of running her fingers through it - and her knuckles were white as she clutched her jacket tight against her body. Her face, illuminated in the late afternoon sun, looked mildly panicked but he could see a steely resolution in the set of her shoulders. It was interesting, the mixture of emotion he saw swirling in her eyes, and he felt compelled to speak to her.

“Sorry for scaring you,” he began, his voice quiet and soft in the din of the city as to not frighten her further but loud enough for her to hear, “but I just wanted to see if you were alright?”

It took Stevie a moment to gather herself, to formulate a response and push it through the thick cotton of panic that had formed in her mouth, but Calum seemed in no rush as he watched her knit her brows and internally assess herself. “Sure,” she nodded quickly, the word forced from her mouth and sounding garbled as she brought a hand up to run her fingers through her freshly dyed hair, “yeah. I’m fine. I’m just, uh, just a little nervous is all.” When Calum raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue speaking, she added, “About getting a tattoo, my first one. I mean, I didn’t just pick a random tattoo studio to have a breakdown in front of. I know that it’s silly but, yeah.”

Stevie noted that Calum’s gaze were curious, maybe a little amused, but in no way judgmental. He understood her apprehension and saw it more often than not with his clients. Getting a tattoo was a big commitment; they hurt, they could take hours to complete, they could be expensive (if they wanted a good tattoo), and they’re permanent. Although he had more than his fair share, Calum still felt a lingering nervousness in the back of his mind any time he added a piece to his ever-growing collection (though it usually faded to a sort of excitement, something of an adrenaline rush) but he remembered how nervous he had been for his first tattoo and couldn’t blame her for needing a moment to settle her nerves.

“It’s not,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “It’s normal, especially for the first one. Nerves are a part of the process,” he stated with a nod that suggested finality as he moved out of the path of pedestrians. She stepped to the side - subtly, he noted, but just enough to put a small distance between them - and averted her gaze as he glanced at his watch. He lifted his head, turning his gaze to her once more, before he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be Stevie, would you?”

“Yep,” she nodded, placing an emphasis on the ‘p’, before she huffed out a sigh, “although I wish I was anyone but at the moment. Calum, right?” When he nodded, Stevie copied the gesture and offered him a weak smile. “Sorry you’re getting stuck with such a baby for a few hours. I have to get this tattoo. I’m just…” She paused, her eyebrows furrowed and her shoulders dropping, before she added, “Needles.”

Calum raised an eyebrow at her explanation as he took in the septum ring and the several studs and rings in her ears. He was sure he’d seen a flash of silver when she opened her mouth and he felt certain that if he looked closer, he’d see a barbell in her tongue. “You have a nose ring,” he pointed out as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and took in the gunmetal ring looped through her septum, “and I’m pretty sure I saw a tongue ring.”

Stevie huffed indignantly and crossed her arms over her chest as she turned her head. Her cheeks, already pink from the cold, deepened in color as the embarrassment heated her body. “Tattoos and piercings are different,” she defended as she glanced at the people passing them by, “one lasts thirty seconds, at most, and the other takes hours. I’d rather be jabbed with a needle once than have someone keep stabbing me. It’s…” Stevie paused, searching her brain for the right words to adequately describe her feelings, before she settled on, “It’s the repetition, I guess.”

Calum laughed at Stevie’s explanation and she wanted nothing more than to turn and walk away from the conversation. She imagined that he didn’t mean any harm - she hoped that he didn’t, anyway - but she didn’t like feeling like she was being made fun of. She knew that she was being overly sensitive, that her anxiety lowered her threshold for rationality, but she still didn’t like it. However, she wanted Calum to tattoo her - she needed him to tattoo her - so she bit her tongue and stood still as she contemplated her next move.

Calum, sensing the shift in Stevie’s attitude, shook his head and pushed away from the wall. “If that’s how it is for you, that’s how it is for you,” Calum offered with a shrug as he attempted to catch her eye again, “but, trust me when I tell you that you probably won’t be my worst client this week. As long as you don’t faint, you’re miles ahead of a guy I had a few days ago.”

Stevie paled at the mention of fainting and Calum realized, too late, that that might not have been as reassuring as he’d intended it to be. He’d hoped to put her at ease, to relax her before he brought her into the shop, but with how tight she was wound, he didn’t imagine he would be able to. Instead, he sighed and stepped around her to head toward the door. “You ready to head in? I’ve got some designs drawn up. We can look at them and you can decide which one you like best.”

“Sure,” she nodded as she stepped through the door and into the studio itself. “Sorry I’m so early. You know how some people are chronically late? I have the exact opposite problem.”

“You should stick around, teach us your ways,” Calum hummed as he followed her in. “No one here is ever on time.”

“Fuck you. I am always on time.” Stevie turned just in time to catch sight of a crumbled ball of paper flying toward Calum’s head. The culprit, a man with inky black hair and an array of black and red tattoos, was seated at a drawing table and smiled at her when she caught his eye.

“When you own the place, I guess you can never really be late,” Calum deadpanned as he stepped around her and gestured for her to take a seat on the couch in the corner. “Hang out here for a second,” he instructed as he reached for the crumbled ball of paper on the floor, “I’ll go grab the designs and we can talk about placement and get everything figured out.”

Stevie nodded and watched as Calum navigated the array of equipment with practiced ease. He paused for a moment, long enough to nudge the - well, the owner, she guessed - and laugh as he messed up a line, before he disappeared through a door marked ‘staff only’. She glanced around the building, her eyes raking over the various paintings and prints and flash sheets that covered the walls, and found herself getting lost in the artwork as she waited for Calum to return.

**********************

As Stevie was twenty minutes early for her appointment - something that he appreciated; he would rather clients arrive early and have to wait for him to be ready than have them arrive late and derail his schedule for the day - Calum didn’t feel so bad taking a moment to breathe as he sifted through his files to find the few designs he’d created for her. Though it was barely three in the afternoon, his day had already been long. He’d been up since four that morning and he wanted nothing more than to finish her tattoo and head home.

The tattoo itself was fairly simple in concept, a bouquet of roses in shades of red and green with a ribbon tying them together (the only odd detail was a small skull pin on the ribbon), but the tattoo itself was quite large. He’d warned her, over email, that it would likely become close to a half sleeve if he made it as detailed as she wanted and she hadn’t been deterred at all. Despite it being her first tattoo, something she mentioned, she seemed incredibly committed to making it work.

Normally, Calum wouldn’t have minded sitting for a full session. The tattoo wouldn’t have taken more than ten hours and, though he hated marathon sessions, he could’ve done it. However, their schedules never quite clicked and the only time Stevie could get into the shop was after three in the afternoon. In another life, four years earlier, Calum wouldn’t have hesitated to accept staying in the shop until one in the morning. A session that ran late into the night would’ve just been another day at work for him. But, as fate would have it, he was no longer able to schedule his life so selfishly.

The deciding factor in his availability was - and had been for nearly five years - his son.

Calum became a father at the young age of twenty and his apprenticeship (back when he first began tattooing), his bookings now, his life; they all revolved around Tāne’s schedule. He had a babysitter, one that watched Tāne after school and kept him until Calum’s last appointment of the day finished, but it wouldn’t be fair to either his son or the babysitter to accept an appointment that lasted so long. Even if it was a one off appointment, he wanted to get home, to have dinner with his son and read him a bedtime story or just tuck him in, just as much as he wanted the babysitter to be free to go home and do her homework or see her own parents.

Calum had seen friends, men older than him and even some younger, that let their lives be consumed by their work and made their families pay for it. They chose local celebrity, fleeting online fame, over their home lives and he’d seen what it could do firsthand. He’d seen them end up divorced and alone, unable to get weekends with their children despite promising to be there for them. He’d seen them depressed, missing a part of themselves they hadn’t even known they’d had until it was gone. He’d met the teenage children of older artists and had been told stories about their childhoods, dealing with the absence of their fathers. And he desperately wanted to avoid that.

Calum wanted to be present for his son. He wanted to be a steadfast figure in his life, to be there whenever he needed him, so every decision was made with him in mind. His decision to cut a ten hour session into two shorter, five hour ones was made with Tāne in mind. It gave him time to pick up his son from school - they got out at 1:00 on Fridays - and spend a few hours with him before he had to disappear to the shop. It also helped ensure that he would be home in time to tuck his son into bed before he passed out himself. It ensured that he wouldn’t be dead on his feet, dragging into the living room as Tāne begged for chocolate chip pancakes and Saturday morning cartoons. It ensured that he wouldn’t be a shell of himself, present in body but absent in mind.

It ensured that he would be able to give his son the attention he deserved.

He leaned against the counter, staring at the transfer paper in his hands without truly seeing it, and took a deep breath. He could already feel the tension in his shoulders. It was present after the long morning he’d had and he could already anticipate the aching pain that came with sitting hunched over for hours at a time. He’d done a marathon session the day before, an eight hour tattoo that ended with a beautiful piece and a customer he could count on seeing again, but it left him aching and ready for a day off. However, as he lifted his head and turned to face the shelves, he reasoned that at least this session wouldn’t be so bad with the placement of Stevie’s tattoo.

After gathering himself, after clearing his head, Calum grabbed the items he would need from the supply closet and returned to set up his station. He imagined that Stevie would be sitting on the couch, waiting patiently as she attempted not to panic, but to his (almost lack of) surprise, he found her sitting on one of the extra artist stools with her chin in her hand as she watched Ashton outline a tattoo he was working on for Michael. Ashton looked calm, happy, even, as he explained the design to her and Calum rolled his eyes.

Stevie was cute, that much he could admit. Her hair, something she’d smoothed since stepping into the shop, was a shock of green among the blacks and blues of the shop. She was a strange mixture of hard edges and soft lines with but Calum imagined that that only added to her intrigue. Her cheeks seemed permanently flushed despite the warmth of the shop and Calum imagined that it was her nerves. Ashton, however, seemed to have a sixth sense for flirting with cute, nervous clients and it was starting to get old. He told everyone it was to help them be at ease, to calm their nerves before the tattoo, but Calum imagined it was more to help him get laid.

He let them be for a moment, long enough to drop the items he’d gathered onto the stand beside his station, before he decided to interrupt them. “If I could have my client back, mate,” Calum called, glancing over at the pair of them as he unzipped his jacket and began to shrug it off, “we can go ahead and get started.”

Ashton, used to Calum’s interruptions, shot him an easy grin as he nodded. “I was just keeping her company until you were ready for her. She’s all yours,” Ashton assured him with a mock salute before he returned his full attention to the drawing in front of him.

Stevie smiled at Calum, a little uneasy grin that seemed to be a reflex more than anything, before she returned the stool to the station she’d grabbed it from and crossed the shop to join him. As he arranged his set up, his movements steady and practiced, Stevie shrugged off her coat and paused for a moment. She glanced around the shop, empty save for her, Calum, and Ashton, before she asked, “I have on an undershirt. Like, I’m wearing a tank top beneath the long sleeve. Do I just…?”

Calum glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, an amused laugh leaving his lips as he watched her hesitate. “Yeah,” he nodded as he grabbed the black ink, “long sleeve has to go. You can take it off out here or there’s a bathroom over there.”

Stevie stood frozen, seemingly unsure, and Calum almost urged her toward the bathroom but before he could, she gripped the hem of her long sleeve with one hand and the hem of her tank top with another. She tugged the black garment up and over her head, huffing as it mused her hair even further and as she hit her elbow on the corner of the countertop behind her. She remained stuck in the garment for a moment, struggling to free herself, and Calum had to bite back a laugh as she rubbed her elbow with a frown on her lips.

“Right,” she nodded after dropping her shirt onto her bag and taking a moment to watch him set up - something he felt almost too aware of. “Where do you want me?”

Calum didn’t look at her as he arranged the little pots of ink on his workstation. Instead, he nodded his head toward the designs laying on the counter of his station. “Have a look at those for me,” he encouraged as he reached for the box of gloves beside him, “let me know which one you like the most and we’ll see how it looks in terms of placement and size.”

Calum’s station was in a corner of the shop. There were mirrors surrounding him, something that he felt almost neutral about most days, but he used them to his advantage as he watched Stevie through the mirror. He watched, curious, as she carefully traced her fingers over the designs laying on the counter and analyzed the emotions on her face. She hadn’t told him what the tattoo was for, he hadn’t asked, but he had gotten good at recognizing emotion in his years as an artist. He’d always been good at reading people, it was a gift, but he’d learned how to spot grief despite the many faces it wore as he’d done more memorial tattoos than he could count. Each circumstance was different, everyone dealt with grief in their own way, but the tattoo serving as a memorial explained why she felt so strongly about getting the tattoo (including the size and details) despite her obvious nerves.

Although he was outwardly the most reserved artist in the shop, he had always been the one that felt the deepest connection with other people. He empathized far too strongly for his own good and sometimes he hated that part of his job. He sat with people for hours, inking permanent memorials into their skin and listening as they told him stories of parents or grandparents or, God forbid, children that had passed and his heart bled for each one. He never knew what the session would bring - whether they would be an open book or whether the grief was too fresh to even consider speaking - and he didn’t know what to expect with Stevie. Usually, he knew what he was hoping for - more often than not, it was a happy medium that didn’t leave him emotionally drained by the end of an appointment - but with Stevie, he found himself unsure of what he hoped for.

But, by the way her hand shook and her breathing stuttered when she followed the outline of the skull with soft fingers, Calum knew that, regardless of the session itself, he hoped that the experience would bring her some semblance of closure.

Calum was finished setting up his station by the time she chose a design. He didn’t want to push, not when he could see tears glittering on her lashes, so he leaned against the counter and waited for her to speak. “This one,” she finally breathed, her voice quiet in the nearly empty shop. “This one’s perfect.”

The design wasn’t much different than her original request, it was still a bouquet of roses with the ribbon and skull (a detail she’d insisted on), but there were a few smaller flowers throughout as well as a few more intricate lines and details. It was, without a doubt, the hardest of the drawings to place onto her skin, it would bump the session up to twelve hours instead of ten, but it was his favorite, too.

Calum never gave his opinion on which design a client should choose. At the end of the day, it was their body. However, he found himself breathing, “I was hoping that’s the one you’d go for,” before he knew what he was saying. He didn’t know why but something about her vulnerability made him want to assure her that she was making the right decision.

Stevie looked up from the counter and when he met her eyes, his heart broke for her. He could see a glassy sheen of unshed tears and beneath the layer of nerves, he could see just how lost she looked. It was a jarring change, gone were the flushed cheeks and doe eyes, replaced by sadness, and it was hard to keep himself together as he watched her nod. “Let’s get this stencil on, then, and see what it looks like,” he mumbled, his voice quiet as he reached for the stencil and beckoned her closer to him.

Stevie seemed lost in her own thoughts so Calum worked in silence. He didn’t speak as he placed the stencil on her upper arm, exactly where she’d asked for, and was glad to see that the measurements he’d used had worked in just the way he’d hoped. It was a big tattoo, especially for the first, but - and Calum wasn’t sure if this was his own selfish desire to make his tattoos look as if they had always been a part of his clients’ bodies - it looked like it belonged.

Calum stared at it for a moment, his eyes raking over the pale purple lines on her skin, and he decided that it was beautiful. It fit her perfectly, exactly the way he’d hoped it would, and she echoed the thought as she breathed, “It’s beautiful. It looks perfect.”

“The placement is okay?” he asked, just to be sure, as he nudged her toward the full length mirror to get a better look at the angle. She stared at her reflection for a moment, her eyes glued to her right arm, and nodded. Calum, happy that she was happy, repeated the gesture and pointed to the chair. “Okay. Take a seat for me and we’ll. Get started.”

Stevie settled into the chair and kept her eyes on her hands, folded across her lap, as Calum settled onto his stool beside her. He could see the shaking in her limbs, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried to steady her breathing, but she was quiet. She didn’t want to give him pause, he realized that, and he admired her follow through as she was clearly panicked. The only sound that echoed through the shop was the scratch of Ashton’s pencil against paper and the sound of traffic outside. Calum almost didn’t want to break the silence. It wasn’t awkward, just pensive, but he had to get started so he said, “I’m going to start with a line, just to give you a feel for it. Remember to breathe for me and let me know how you’re doing. If you need a break, tell me and I’ll stop.”

Calum kept his eyes on her arm as he traced one line onto her skin. He heard a sharp intake of breath over the hum of the machine but, to his surprise, she kept perfectly still. She was rigid, almost alarmingly so, and had her nails dug into her palms but she nodded at him. “I’m fine. It’s fine,” she assured him, her voice tight as she stared straight ahead at the artwork on the wall, “Go ahead.”

Stevie kept her posture for the first thirty minutes of her tattoo. Those long minutes passed in silence, Calum focused on the bigger lines that gave the entire image shape, and Stevie kept her eyes on the wall. He glanced at her every so often, just to make sure she hadn’t passed out, and was somewhat surprised at how well she seemed to be holding herself together. Her anxiety faded as they went on, her body relaxing and her breathing evening, and nearly an hour into the process, Calum could feel her eyes on him.

Stevie watched him work but her gaze wasn’t scrutinizing, just curious. She was engaged in the process and Calum was glad to see that she’d calmed at least somewhat since their initial meeting. He didn’t mind silent sessions, ones where the clients didn’t speak at all, but he was curious. He wanted to know exactly what the tattoo stood for so he asked, “Why a bouquet with the skull?”

Stevie hesitated, her eyes glued to his hands as he traced another line, and he almost retracted his question. However, before he could open his mouth, she sighed and leaned her head back against the headrest. “It’s for a friend,” she offered, her voice quiet and barely audible over the buzz of the machine. “She died a few months ago.”

Calum occasionally offered his ear to clients - some he didn’t have to offer it to, they were more than willing to spill regardless of his feelings on the matter - and he felt the need to listen to Stevie’s story. So, as he paused to wipe at the ink on her skin, he asked, “You want to talk about it? I’ve been told tattoo artists are like therapists. Just, less frequent visits. For most people, anyway.”

Stevie cracked a smile at Calum’s attempted banter and he was surprised at the feeling of accomplishment that blossomed in his chest. He never really invested himself in his clients’ lives, he had his own shit to worry about, but he felt for her. Losing a friend so young - she had to be his age or younger - and one that meant enough for her to face her fear and get a tattoo for had to be hard. And, if her accent was anything to go by, she was a long way from home and likely didn’t have anyone to vent to. So, he felt compelled to offer her an open ear.

“It was cancer,” she finally answered after such a prolonged silence that Calum had almost forgotten he’d asked. He glanced up from the line he was working on and frowned as she kept her eyes on the ceiling. “Her name was Angela. We were best friends for ages. She was the first friend I made when I moved after Katrina and we did everything together. We went to college together. We were going to move up here together. But she got sick.” Stevie paused for a moment, gathering herself, and Calum almost reached for the box of tissues on Luke’s station but stopped himself as he continued tattooing. “She dropped out, couldn’t keep up with the work because of the chemo, and that was it. She died. She had this bucket list, all these things she wanted to do before before she died, and I promised her I’d finish it for her. The tattoo was the next thing on the list. She really wanted the roses. You wouldn’t have thought it, looking at her, but she loved flowers.”

“Shit,” Calum breathed, his voice barely audible despite the absence of the buzzing machine. “That’s… I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what else he could say.

“Don’t be,” Stevie shrugged before quickly apologizing for the movement. “She’s not suffering anymore. It got really bad toward the end. She was in a lot of pain. I would’ve preferred she got better, of course, but an end’s an end, I guess.” She paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she attempted to blink back tears, before she added, “The skull is this ring she wore literally every day. Her mom gave it to me.” She lifted her left hand and pulled a long chain from beneath the neckline of her tank top. At the end dangled a small silver ring in the shape of a skull with two red gems for eyes.

Calum, despite his countless jokes about how much they annoyed him, couldn’t imagine losing any of his friends. They were his brothers, they always had been, and he knew that no matter how much they exhausted him, he’d be lost without them. They made his world better, they made his son’s world better, and if he lost one of them, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to properly function. He admired what she was doing, finishing her friend’s bucket list, and felt honored to be part of the quest.

However, before Calum had the chance to tell her as much, Stevie shook her head. “Sad hours are over,” she laughed as she brought her left hand up to wipe at her eyes. “What about you?” she asked, glancing at his arm. “Your tattoos are beautiful. I really like the intricate line work - it looks good on you - but it looks like someone’s been coloring outside the lines.”

Calum was mildly thrown off by the sudden shift in her attitude but found himself glancing at his forearms, at the tattoos she could easily see beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt, and flushed as he caught sight of the neon marker staining his skin. “My son,” he explained, smiling sheepishly at her. “He likes coloring in my tattoos. Some of them are a little too intricate for him to stay inside the lines but he likes it and the markers stain.”

Calum could see Stevie’s face light up with a smile out of the corner of his eye. The crushing sadness, the loss, that had been so clear only a moment earlier faded slightly as she took in the marker staining his skin. “That’s so sweet,” she cooed, her accent growing thicker as she brought her left hand to her heart. “He’s got a living coloring book. How old is he?” She paused for a moment, considered her question, and then added, “If you don’t mind me asking, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Calum assured her, a soft smile on his lips as he nodded toward the photo of Tāne he kept on his station. “That’s him. He’s almost five.”

“Four and three quarters, thank you,” Ashton, who had been silent throughout their conversation, interjected with a bright grin as he was given the opportunity to talk about his pseudo-nephew.

“Four and three quarters,” Calum agreed with a laugh, “yeah. He gets offended if you forget that part.”

“I’m the same way with my height,” Stevie nodded, “I get it. He’d adorable. He looks just like you and I’m assuming he’s got the artist thing down, too?”

“He’ll put us all out of a job one day,” Calum agreed with a smile as he glanced up at her. “He was a tattoo artist for Halloween. Had Ash give him tattoos like mine and everything,” Calum confessed with a grin as he thought back to the shock of seeing his son, dressed in a small pair of Docs and covered in Sharpie.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that was incredibly adorable but also got you a lot of funny looks.” When Calum laughed, Stevie smiled. “I’m guessing the curls are what you used to look like?” she asked, glancing at the photo once more before she returned her gaze to Calum’s buzzed and blue hair.

“Mm, yeah. Once upon a time,” Calum nodded. Calum studied her, glancing at the green and brown mess of curls, before he asked, “What about you? I’m guessing the same was true for you before you chopped and dyed yours?”

“Brown, yeah. Curly? No. I wish. My hair was limp as fuck,” Stevie laughed as she tousled the green curls with her left hand. “It was gross and unhealthy so I cut it all off when I moved up here. I dyed it, too. I always wanted green hair and people don’t give a shit about your hair color here.”

“They did back home?” Calum asked, reaching out to wipe at her skin. When Stevie nodded, Calum asked, “Where is home?”

Stevie paused, staring at him as he added another line, before she said, “I’m sure you can tell by the accent, but I’m from the south. New Orleans. Well, not really New Orleans because if I was from there, they wouldn’t have cared about the hair - they see far weirder shit on the regular, believe me, but that’s the closest city you’d know.”

Calum nodded, certain that was true - he barely knew anything about New Orleans, let alone Louisiana as a whole - before he asked, “Why New York?”

“We had this running joke,” Stevie began, shifting in her seat as the discomfort of sitting still for nearly two hours started to set in, “that I was going to move to New York to become some obnoxious fucking fashion blogger or something and that Angela was going to follow me and be my photographer. That’s not exactly what happened but, well, close enough.”

“How close is close?” Calum asked as he pushed away from her and pulled off his gloves. “We can take a break for a second. Get up, move around. I’ll grab you some water.”

It was unlike him to be so invested in a client’s life but he felt at ease chatting with her. Something about her was easy, like talking to an old friend, and he felt himself growing more and more curious about her life. So, he kept the conversation flowing and was happy to hear her answer.

“I write for Rolling Stone,” Stevie told him, her voice following him as he moved toward the back to grab a bottle of water for himself and one for her. “Angela was going to be a photographer. Her editing skills were out of this world and she had an eye for detail like no one else. All of my work, the writing samples I sent in, they were a package deal. They all came with photos from her. We both had jobs lined up but… Anyway, I couldn’t stay at home so I took the job. Packed it all up and here I am.” Calum watched as she wandered around the shop, her right hand flexing as she attempted to wake it from where she’d sat with it so still for nearly two hours. She moved slowly, carefully, and paused at each flash sheet to study it just a little closer. “What about you?” she asked after a moment of silence, turning her head to glance at him over her should. “There’s a twinge of something not New York there.”

“Australia,” Ashton answered for him, a wide grin on his lips as he stood from his drawing table and stretched his arms. “All of us hail from the land down under. We packed it all up and moved here after Cal, Luke, and Mike finished high school. It was supposed to be a temporary thing but here we are, six years later.”

“You’re a lot farther from home than I am,” Stevie noted as she returned her gaze to the flash sheets on the wall. “But I guess some places just become like home, regardless of whether you mean for them to,” she offered with a shrug and Calum couldn’t help but agree.

He hadn’t meant for New York to become his home. He, like Ashton said, hadn’t intended to stay very long at all. The goal was to get enough experience under a talented enough artist to return home and open his own shop somewhere in Sydney. He wanted to be near his parents, near his sister, but something about the city sank its claws into his heart and kept him rooted in the Big Apple. He’d decided to stay before Tāne and now, now he couldn’t imagine disrupting his son’s life. Now, New York felt more like home than his real home did, though he sometimes felt the familiar ache to return to warmer weather and familiar scenes settle in his bones.

As the conversation lulled, Stevie returned to the chair and Calum found himself surprised at how quickly her appointment seemed to pass. Her initial nerves, the crippling fear that had seen her almost have a panic attack on the sidewalk in front of the shop, disappeared after the first few strokes of his machine. Getting started had been the hard part. Every part of her body had been tense and Calum was worried that she would stop breathing and pass out on him. However, once he’d settled into a groove and got her talking, sharing stories of her hometown and telling Ashton what bars to avoid should he ever venture down south for Mardi Gras, the appointment flew by.

He didn’t get attached to clients often, didn’t truly enjoy their presence beyond them being easy to work with, but he liked Stevie. She was his dream client, easy to work with and good at sitting still. She didn’t seem to mind the pain - or, if she did, she didn’t say anything about it. She sat calmly, never forcing conversation but letting it flow naturally, and Calum found himself at ease as he worked on her. The rough morning he’d had melted as he talked with her (and occasionally Ashton) about music and he was almost surprised when he added the last stroke to her outline. Her upper arm was covered in a beautiful bouquet of roses, only missing the red and green ink, and he had to take a moment to admire the beautiful, finished (for now) product.

“Alright,” Calum began as he pulled away from her and nodded his head toward the full length mirror she’d first taken a glance at her arm in, “take a look and let me know how you feel.”

Stevie walked across the shop, groaning as she got the blood flowing in her legs once more, and stopped in front of the mirror. Calum watched her face, his eyes on trained on hers, and breathed a sigh of relief at the awed look she wore. Her left hand came up to her arm, her fingers not quite touch the fresh ink, as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was quiet, scrutinizing, but Calum could see the approval in her eyes. It looked like she’d wanted it to, exactly as she imagined it would, and that was all he wanted.

Stevie was quiet for a moment, gathering herself, before she turned away from the mirror to look at Calum. “She would’ve loved it,” she breathed, her voice cracking slightly as she smiled at him. “I know it’s not finished yet but it’s already so perfect. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Calum nodded, a small smile on his lips as he gestured for her to return to the chair, “I’m glad it’s doing her justice. Let me wrap it up and we’ll get you out of here.”

Wrapping her tattoo took only moments and, after she paid, Stevie was out the door with a final heartfelt thank you and an agreement to return the same time two weeks later. Calum watched her leave, his eyes glued to the door, and remained in his spot behind the desk until Ashton said, “She was cute.”

Calum blinked, surprised at the sound of Ashton’s voice, and rolled his eyes as he let the comment settle in his mind. “She’ll be back in two weeks,” he informed him with a sigh, “you can ask her out then.” Normally, that wouldn’t have irked him so much, imagining Ashton taking one of his clients out for drinks. However, something about him asking Stevie unsettled him and he didn’t like the annoyance he felt in the pit of his stomach as he imagined Ashton flirting with her.

However, the annoyed was short lived as Ashton tossed another ball of paper at his head. “Not for me, dickhead,” he huffed as he stood from his chair and turned off the lamp at his station. “For you. You two would look good together.”

At that, Calum turned and stared at his friend. It wasn’t in his nature to attempt to set him up, to even encourage him to date, and he wondered what the change of heart was about. However, he didn’t bother to ask as he stated plainly, “No,” and moved to clean his station so he could get home to Tāne.

“Look,” Ashton began as he crossed the shop to help him clean, “I know that you don’t want to make things difficult for Tāne and you’re still on edge after El but it’s been three years. One date won’t be the end of the world, mate.” He paused, weighing his words carefully, before he added, “You talked more with her today than you ever have with a client. You guys clicked.”

Calum was quiet as he considered Ashton’s words. He had spoken more with Stevie than he ever had any client. He’d felt comfortable with her, the conversation flew naturally and five hours passed in the blink of an eye, but he couldn’t bring himself to consider that as an option. He knew that time had passed for him to move on, he had moved on, but he didn’t want open himself up to another heartbreak. Not when the first one was still weighing so heavily on his life. So, instead of telling Ashton that he was afraid of loving and losing once more, he deflected the conversation.

“El’s lawyer called this morning,” he sighed as he returned the box of gloves to his station. “I’ve got other shit to deal with that doesn’t involve finding a girlfriend. And Stevie - she’s nice but she’s got other shit on her mind, too. Just leave it, mate.”

“Wait, El’s lawyer? She’s not still trying to get custody, is she?” Ashton asked as he stopped cleaning and turned his full attention to Calum.

“Mm,” he confirmed with a sigh as he dropped the bottle of antiseptic cleaner and took a seat on his stool. “Still thinks I’m an unfit parent. She thinks that she and fuckface will do a better job. They want to move to Boston and she wants to take him with them.”

“Fuck, Cal,” Ashton breathes as he reaches out to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. She doesn’t deserve custody and I’ll help you however I can. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded as he reached for the discarded tissues he’d used to wipe at the ink on Stevie’s tattoo. “I know.”

Calum knew that his friends would help however they could. He knew that, like Ashton, Michael and Luke would do whatever he needed of them to help him keep his son and the job he loved so much. He also knew that, when the dust settled around the latest in his ex’s attempts to unsettle his life, Ashton would return his attention to the topic of Calum’s lack of a partner and, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t exactly mind it. He was steadfast in his decision to focus on one problem at a time - his most pressing being his impending battle for custody - but maybe, just maybe, there would soon be room in his life for someone else. And maybe, just maybe, that would be the girl with the rose tattoo.

______________________________________________

Author’s Note: So. Thoughts? Feelings? I’m really excited for this. I’ve had this fic in mind for ages. The first chapter wasn’t as fluffy as I was imagining it would be nor is it as filled with Calum being a dad but there are some soft moments and I’m really looking forward to continuing it. I have it all planned out and I’m already halfway through chapter two I’m pretty stoked. Also, I’m trying to do it from both perspectives (Stevie’s and Calum’s because a) there are things about Stevie I don’t want you to know yet and b) it’s about single dad!Cal so. Anyway!). Let me know your thoughts!

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!): @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijutreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle , @p0laroidpictures , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss , @blueviiolence , @loveroflrh , @empathycth , @luckyduckydoo , @tobefalling , @bandsandbooksaremykink , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985 , @wokeupinaustralia , @lucidlrh , @canterburyfiction , @cal-is-not-on-branding , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o

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out-of-jams · 5 years ago

Text

Chivalry || ksj

Summary: And they say chivalry is dead.

Pairing: Seokjin/Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Genre: Idol!Reader. Idol!BTS. Drabble. Fluff.

Warnings: None.

A/N: This idea came to me randomly after watching a compilation on youtube of male Kpop idols being gentleman to female idols hahaha. And this is this result:

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

| | Masterlist | |

You were going to kill your stylist.

Not because she’d ruined your hair or destroyed your make-up. No, it was because she’d thought that it would be a good idea to force you to wear a short-sleeved dress in forty degree weather. Without a jacket and without leggings.

With your trembling bottom lip caught between your teeth, you couldn’t help but throw an envious glance at your groupmates. Their stylists had the foresight to at least give them jackets. Meanwhile, you were freezing half to death, stuck on a stage in front of thousands of people where you had to pretend that you were fine.

Why they’d decided to have a K-pop competition festival outdoors in the middle of October was beyond you. And why they had to proceed to give out awards for said competition on a stage packed with artists, without heat lamps, where the clouds looked like they would spill open at any moment, was also a doozy.

And so, there you were, placed at the end of your line of groupmates right next to the MC. Who, might you add, was dressed head-to-toe in appropriate winter gear. What you wouldn’t have given to be her at that moment. The words she was speaking into the microphone clutched in her gloved hands went in one ear and out the other.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care about what she was saying, seeing as how your group wasn’t quite at that high level of popularity yet. But it was hard to concentrate on her words when you were so busy forcing yourself not to shiver. Though the goosebumps raised on your bare skin more than likely gave away your peril to whoever was watching the live broadcast. And the leader of your group had just given you a sad, sympathetic look while she watched you practically freeze to death right in front of her. So much for group solidarity.

Maybe your company would give you compensation if you died.

At least then you’d finally get paid more.

“And the winner for best--”

You completely tuned out whatever the MC was about to read off the white card held up in front of her face. Though you had to give her props for even being able to hear herself past the large, fluffy earmuffs thrown over her ears. It wasn’t that you didn’t care who the winner of the competition was, but since you guys were thrown up against Twice, you knew you didn’t stand a chance.

Which was exactly why it wasn’t a surprise when your group lost.

The crowd erupted into cheers and the girls on the other side of the MC bowed their heads modestly and accepted the award. Your own group applauded and Yoomin, the rapper and eldest, could barely contain her enthusiasm. She’d been a huge fangirl of Twice ever since they debuted. So it was a surprise that she was even still standing and conscious after being in their presence for the past half-hour. It was the only award you were up for and you’d lost.

You weren’t disappointed.

Well, not until the sky finally opened up and poured rain faster than you could say, “Oh no.”

Shouts burst from both the crowd and the girls gathered on the stage as the freezing rain ruined perfectly styled hair and carefully applied make-up. The males on stage seemed almost nonchalant about the whole thing, though some of them threw their hands up protectively over their heads like that would somehow make a difference.

You were just too busy trying not to turn into a human version of an icicle.

With hair sticking to your neck and dress clinging to your figure, you couldn’t help the pout that pulled at your lips. You didn’t really care about your hair or your outfit being ruined, you just wanted to be warm.

“Due to the inconvenient weather,” the MC spoke from under the shelter of her umbrella. (Where she’d gotten it so quickly, you had no idea.) “We’re going to resume announcing all award winners inside the KBS tent in tweny minutes. Thank you!”

You couldn’t help but send up a silent thank you to whatever higher power granted you such a boon. The stage slowly started to empty of idols, most of the girls scampering down the small set of stairs first. Since you and your group were closest to the front, there was a little bit of a line to the exit on the far left.

So there you were, frozen and trapped, with your arms wrapped around your middle like some kind of protective barrier against the chill, when it happened. You hadn’t even been looking.

But the sudden heavy, thick material thrown over your soaked hair drew you out of your silent cursing of the weather. You blinked as the lingering warmth of the suit jacket over you seeped into your glacial skin. The scent that hit your nose was subtle yet overpowering with a certain type of masculinity that you couldn’t piece together with your scattered brain.

Your hands came up to clutch at the material automatically, pulling it closer around yourself in an attempt to keep warm. It draped over your figure and drowned you completely, as if it’s owner was some kind of giant.

Like a meerkat, you popped your face out of the jacket and spun around so fast that you accidentally bumped into Yoomin at your side. Her hands came up to steady you with an, “Are you okay?” But you weren’t paying attention. No, you were too busy scanning the mass of retreating backs on the stage.

It wasn’t very bright up there, and with the way every guy in the immediate vicinity were dressed in dark colored clothing made it even more difficult to find your mark. Your eyes narrowed with a squint, ignoring the rain that slipped into your partially opened mouth.

“Who?” Slipped from your lips without permission as you continued to spin back-and-forth in place like a broken top.

“I didn’t see.” Yoomin answered your unfinished question. Luckily, she’d always been able to put together your incomplete thoughts.

“Come on, guys.” The leader of your group gestured to the two of you to catch up with the rest of your group as they walked quickly to the thinning line at the stairs.

With a frown of disappointment, you followed. Though you didn’t stop scanning the crowd.

And your efforts paid off.

Because right there, barely seen between a gap of bodies in the distance was a jacketless man. You could only see his back, and boy was he tall. Then again, pretty much everyone was tall compared to you.

His hair was lavender under the light and the once bright pink color of his button-up shirt was darkened with the rain. And boy, oh boy were his shoulders broad. You wished you could recognize him without seeing his face, but sadly you just weren’t that gifted. But luckily, as cliché as it was, he turned to look back right as he reached the stairs.

Atlas, better known as Kim Seokjin from the world famous group BTS, met your gaze through the heavy downpour. Upon realizing that he caught your attention, the handsome man lifted his plush lips into a smile and winked.

Kim Seokjin of BTS just winked at you. And then scrunched his nose in immediate embarrassment at his actions and quickly turned back around before you could react.

“Damn.” Soomin whistled lowly from your side and you didn’t even have to turn your head to see that she was following your line of sight. “Can’t wait to see the fancams of that.”

God, you really hoped that no one else caught that. Because murder by ARMY wasn’t exactly how you planned to go out. Despite that, it was still too bad that he’d taken his leave before you could manage to form an appropriate response.

Well, it was a good thing you’d have to find someway to return his jacket. It’d be rude to just keep it, afterall. Right?

#bangtanarmynet #bts fic #seokjin #seokjin fic #seokjin drabble

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ericsonclan · 4 years ago

Text

The Eye of Captain Kidd

Summary: Louis and Clementine go on a double date with Ruby and Aasim where things don't go according to plan...

Word Count: 5407

Read on AO3:

Louis’ boots thunked gently against the wooden steps as he made his way above decks. The bright afternoon sun made the pirate captain lift up a hand to shield his eyes as a warm smile overtook his face. The gentle sea breeze brushed through his hair, causing his dreadlocks to sway this way and that as his gaze traversed the upper deck of Ol’ Kickass. Willy and AJ were in the midst of a rather lively duel. Each young pirate threw around piratey insults with such heart that none of the older members of the crew wanted to let them know that their insults made little to no sense. Willy hopped up onto the edge of the ship and wrapped his arm around a rope while he gave a toothy grin to his friend.

“Hey that’s not fair!” AJ gave an angry pout, his nose scrunching in annoyance as he looked at his older friend.

“It’s totally fair! Right, Tenn?” Willy’s question made the gentlest of the pirates glance up from the sketch he was doing of their duel with a small smile.

“I feel like it's a bit unfair,” Tenn’s words made Willy give a groan, a small frown pulling on his lips.

“Fine,” Willy hopped down. “I’m still gonna kick your ass though!”

“Heh, you wish, stupidhead,” AJ lunged forward with his wooden sword which Willy blocked with a laugh.

Louis chuckled softly as he shook his head. He was glad that the youngest of the pirates were having fun and not feeling a care in the world. His eyes wandered over to Marlon who was sidestepping this way and that as Rosie wagged her short stub tail and panted happily. A worn-down, twisted series of old clothes that formed the pitbull’s makeshift toy was in Marlon’s hand before he gave a hefty toss towards the wheel. The drool-covered rag toy landed beside Omar’s feet, causing the cook to stop his conversation with Brody about the favorite locations they had discovered thanks to their life of piracy.

Brody looked confused for a moment until she saw Rosie bounding forward and lunging at the toy with a playful wag of her tail. The pitbull happily munched on the toy while Brody and Omar crouched down and began to shower her with many loving pats. Louis glanced over towards the center of the deck where Prisha and Violet lay in a hammock. Violet’s arms dangled over the side while Prisha’s arm was protectively wrapped around her love. The hammock gently swayed from the wind. The two seemed to be in a serene state of peace now that they were in each other's arms.

“Are you prepared?” Aasim’s voice made Louis turn his attention to the starboard side of the ship where his friend and cartographer stolled forward in his sharp red pirate coat. His fluffy shirt collar and lacey wrists always made Louis chuckle internally but after being berated by Ruby a few times about teasing Aasim on this topic, Louis felt it best to just leave it be.

“I sure am!” Louis gave a big grin to his friend. “A date with my darling and two of my dear friends in the fair town of Silvermoon. Nothing could make me happier!”

Aasim’s eyes flickered with an emotion Louis was unsure of when he said the name of the town but it was gone in an instant. Before Louis could pry, the warm, comforting voice of their ship’s healer appeared. Ruby walked beside Clementine who shared a kind smile with Louis as she made her way towards him. “What are y’all talking about?”

“Simply the joys of being able to share this splendid day with our loves,” Aasim leaned over and placed a tender, soft kiss on Ruby’s cheek. The romantic gesture made Ruby’s already red cheek grow brighter as she looked over at Aasim.

“Aww you’re too sweet, Pookie,” Her hand reached for her love’s, intertwining it with her own.

“So where are we heading today?” Clementine asked with excitement in her eyes.

“I say we grab some grub in the finest establishment,” Louis played with his captain hat for a second before jogging forward and interlocking his hand with Clem’s. The gesture made Clementine’s smile grow.

“Sounds good to me. Should we head out?” She looked over at the other couple who both nodded.

“Yes, let’s.” Aasim led the way with Ruby down towards the docks while Clementine and Louis followed close behind. Clementine leaned over and planted a quick kiss on Louis’ cheek, causing the pirate to give a goofy grin before his eyes grew large as his love snatched his hat and placed it on her head.

“You’re quite the sneaky one,” Louis smiled over at Clemenitne who had a smug expression on her face.

“True. I just thought that the hat would look good on me,”

“You look beautiful,” Louis whispered, causing both pirates to blush. Louis quickly cleared his throat and looked back toward Ol’ Kickass. “We’ll be back before sunset. Make sure to keep the ship safe.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Mitch gave a smirk from the port end of the ship before he turned his attention back to the younger pirates. “I’m gonna show you how to fuck up some bandits.”

Clementine shook her head and continued to walk beside Louis. The two couples made their way into the town.

“I saw that Prisha and Violet were conked out of the upper deck hammock,” Ruby spoke up as she led the way with Aasim.

“It seems they stayed up all of last night working on a new fighting technique for Violet to help with her blindspots.” Aasim stated, his eyes looking a little sad at the last part of his sentence.

“So that’s what all the noise was last night. Now wonder they passed out,” Clementine exclaimed.

“Yeah, I got up for watch duty on the crow’s nest and I saw them practicing.” Louis added. The four were silent for a moment, taking in the loss their friend had received to heart. Louis glanced down, worried about Clementine’s peg leg.

“Caught ya!” Clementine’s playful voice startled Louis as he looked up at her.

“Shit, sorry.” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Clementine’s smile faltered for a second when she saw that her words did little to lift up Louis’ mood. “Hey, I’m going to be careful. If I feel like the pain gets to be too much, I’ll let you know.”

“There��s nothing to worry about, Louis,” Ruby looked back at her friend. “With the three of us here we could drag Clem back to Ol’ Kickass if we needed to.”

Louis gave a short nod.

“Let’s focus on the double date,” Aasim’s voice drew the others’ attention. “I happen to know of a great place here called The Lost Cove. Surprisingly, even though it bears that name it has awful seafood but their chicken dish with rosemary and garlic potatoes is phenomenal.”

“Sounds delicious,” Clementine’s stomach practically growled at the thought of the food.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Louis stopped in his tracks causing the other three to do the same. “How do you know about good food in this port town? We’ve never set foot in Silvermoon before.”

Aasim’s eyes grew slightly large before he glanced at the ground. “Well, you see,” He rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, “This was one of towns I pulled a con in,” “Really?” Ruby looked surprised at that as did the other two before they burst out laughing.

“Better watch out for the guards then or they might recognize you and think you’re itching for another good con!” Louis gave his friend a teasing smile.

“No, they won't. He didn’t have his goatee back then,” Clementine’s words made Louis chuckle harder.

“Holy shit, you’re right!” “No, she isn't’!” Aasim gave an angry huff. “I did have my goatee back then.” His words did little to stop the couple from laughing though until Ruby spoke up.

“Now, wait a gosh darn minute. Aasim is a different man than he was back then. He’s changed.”

Aasim smiled lovingly at Ruby then looked back at the pair. “That’s right.”

Louis and Clementine quieted down before the pirate captain spoke up. “True, he’s a pirate now which is a far more respectable profession than con artist,”

Clementine snorted at Louis’ words until she saw the look that Ruby was giving. With a nudge to his ribs Louis glanced up, the smile disappearing on his face as he cleared his throat.

“Chicken sounds good. Lead the way,” Louis’ words closed off the teasing and they continued through the town. Aasim led the way, pointing out different spots and shops that he said were good. Clementine and Louis shared some looks, knowing that they’d tease Aasim later when they had the chance.

“Ah, here it is,” Aasim’s voice made the group stop as their eyes wandered up towards the sign. It read “The Lost Cove” is faded golden letters. One of the hinges on the sign had broken, leaving it dangling awkwardly towards one side. “Don’t let the sign fool you. This place has good food. You have my word on that.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for? Let’s head in,” Ruby took a step forward before Aasim opened the door and held it open for his love. His hand that still held hers guided her forward. Once Ruby had made it inside the cartographer held open the door for the other two who gave their thanks as they entered.

Entering the tavern, the group was hit with the smell of ale and the lingering aroma of food roasting on a fire somewhere nearby. The scent made Clementine’s stomach growl which led the pirate to give a small, embarrassed smile.

“That table looks nice,” Ruby walked toward a corner table. Aasim jogged forward and quickly got the stool from Ruby, pulling it out for her to take a seat. Louis soon followed suit, giving a small bow as he pulled out the chair for his lady. Once Ruby and Clementine were seated the two remaining pirates took their spots around the table.

A girl with black hair and piercing green eyes walked forward towards their table with a welcoming smile. “What will you be having today?”

“Two of the crowned chicken specials,” Aasim held up two fingers with a friendly smile. “And four tankards of ale.”

“Sure thing,” The girl disappeared within seconds. The four pirates sat around, their eyes quickly checking to see if any wanted posters of them or their crew had made it to this small patch of the seven seas. After a thorough examination proved that no wanted posters were anywhere near they began to relax just as the tankards of ale showed up. The four of them drank and made small, simple conversation while they waited for their meal to arrive.

Louis was in the middle of one of his favorite tales that he had in his repertoire from his years as a pirate. It was about the time that Mitch accidentally smooched a sea creature and ended up catching his pants in the rigging. It was around then that the two platters of food arrived. The serving girl put down the platters filled with chicken roasted to perfection. The crispy skin shone lightly with grease and juice trailed down the roast birds’ sides. The smells of the different spices that brought out the chicken’s mild yet tempting taste made their mouths water. Surrounding the roast chicken were small fingerling potatoes cooked with herbed butters and sprinkled with salt. After the girl had placed down the plates and wished them a pleasant meal the pirates began to eat. Louis and Clementine tore apart the chicken, each of them tossing food back and forth and bartering for different parts of each other’s meal while Ruby and Aasim took their time, delicately slicing the meat and giving balanced, fair servings, only eating once they had gotten enough of everything on their plates.

“Honestly,” Ruby shook her head, “Would it kill you to have some table manners?”

“Sowwy,” Clementine apologized with her mouth full. Specks of chicken and potatoes shot out, causing Louis to snort, getting ale up his nose and into the back of his throat. Clementine gave her love a few whacks on the back before they both continued to eat. Aasim tsked in disapproval but that seemed to do little to improve the pair’s eating habits. After a while though Louis and Clementine restrained their hunger and worked on showing basic table manners. That made a small, appreciative smile to appear on Ruby’s face that remained there for the rest of the meal.

After the chickens were picked clean, the potatoes demolished, the tankards dry of ale and the meal paid, the four pirates decided to head out. “Gotta say, Aasim. That was really delicious,” Clementine gave a warm smile to her friend who seemed proud that his memory had served him well.

“Yeah! Man, if our luck remains, maybe the others can get a share of this food too,” Louis gave a grin before intertwining his fingers with Clementine’s once more. Ruby moved forward and held the door for them.

“Thank you, my treasure,” Aasim walked out and held the door so that Ruby could step through. The two shared a loving smile then proceeded to catch up with the other couple. They walked through an alley to return to the center of town. Clementine was about to speak up and ask what they should do next when a voice appeared in front of them.

“Excuse me,” A frail voice called out, making them all look forward. A person with a dirty grey shawl moved forward and stopped before Louis. “Have I seen you before?”

The four shared a concerned look for a split second.

“I don’t think you have, “ Louis gave a charismatic smile. “I have a pretty common face so I bet you’ve just seen someone like me,”

“I don’t think so,” The elder shook their head, their face scrunching up in concentration. “I think I would remember a face like yours.”

“Oh! Thank you,” Louis gave a smile, showing that he was genuinely touched. “But sorry, you have the wrong person.

“Hmmm, well I’d still like to give you this.” The person reached into their pocket, withdrawing a necklace with a leather chain. The centerpiece of the necklace was a translucent stone which held a deep blood red splotch in the center of it. Something about the necklace drew Louis’ eye, mesmerizing him as he got lost staring in its depths.

“How many ducats do you wish to sell it for?” Aasim raised an eyebrow, thinking that the elder would surely spout some tale of this necklace and say it was worth far more coins than it truly was.

“None,” The person’s statement made all of them look shocked, taken aback by that response. Before any could speak up the elder reached for Louis' hand, placing the necklace in his grasp. The stone was cold to the touch as Louis’ grip tightened round it.

“Why-” Louis paused when he looked up and noticed that the shawled person was nowhere to be seen.

“That was… odd,” Clementine glanced around left and right for any sign of the person.

“They sure were a speedy fella,” Ruby responded, her mind still trying to figure out how they disappeared so quickly. “Louis? What are you doing?” The redhead’s question drew everyone’s attention to Louis who had fastened the necklace around his neck. He turned around dramatically, his tailcoat fluttering in the wind.

“I thought I’d give it a try. It was a gift after all. It would be rude to not wear it,” He gave a big grin.

“Idiot,” Aasim shook his head. “What if that necklace has some curse on it?”

That made Louis’ eyes widen for a split second before he waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, you worry too much. So, Clem, how do I look?”

“You look great. I think it adds to your looks,” Clementine’s smile grew when she saw how flustered that compliment had made Louis.

He cleared his throat and gave a goofy smile. “Well if my darling loves it, what more confirmation do I need,” Louis pulled on the sides of his pirate coat. “So, where to next?”

“Well, I saw a cave on the beach a walk west from Ol’ Kickass. We could head there.” Ruby offered.

“A cave?” Clementine tilted her head slightly before an excited smile overtook her features. “Sounds interesting. Who knows what we could find there.”

“Sea glass, shells, maybe even treasure,” Louis beamed at the thought.

“I highly doubt it,” Aasim added dryly.

“Aww come one, Pookie. There’s no need to be a wet rag. Let’s go and explore it,” Ruby gave Aasim’s hand a gentle squeeze. The cartographer looked down at his love with a warm smile. “Alright, my dove. Let’s explore the cave.”

“Hear, hear!” Louis cheered and led the way, taking long strides and chatting happily with the other three about what they could possibly find. Ruby and Clementine chimed in here and there adding their own guesses while Aasim very occasionally added his input. The warm white sands covered their shoes as they made their way towards the cave. The aura emitting from it made all four pause for a second in awe. An eerie yet tempting feeling came from inside. Whatever lay within the cave was calling to them and the four pirates listened as they made their way within. Once inside, however, they were filled with disappointment. All the cave held was a few rocks and pebbles and a small, measly body of water. Droplets fell down from the ceiling of the cave, making the water ripple as the sound echoed throughout the cave.

“Well, this was a disappointment,” Aasim gave a sad sigh. Clearly he had been excited about the impossible possibilities too.

“Well, it’s still a cool-looking cave,” Clementine took a step forward. “I think I see something sparkling on the walls.”

Ruby joined her friend at those words and held out her hand to one of the cave walls. Her fingers brushed against small crystals that were embedded within it.

“It does look pretty,” Ruby shared a smile with Clementine.

“True, at the very least this makes for a cool date spo-” Louis’ smile disappeared and his eyes were filled with fear as he lifted up a shaky finger. “What the shit is that!”

The others’ eyes shot over to where he was pointing. There hidden halfway in the shadows was what looked to be a pale white creature that was slowly struggling to get up. After a few more seconds it became clear it was something unearthly. The being’s body groaned and creaked as it dropped its foot forward with a thud. With a few more steps it was fully in the light, revealing that it was not some creature or beast but a skeleton.

“What in tarnation?!?!” Ruby took a step back while Aasim moved forward, protectively putting a hand in front of Ruby.

“Let’s get back to the-” Clementine turned around and stopped her sentence, her golden brown eyes shaking with disbelief. “Ship….”

There blocking the exit were more skeletons, alive and armed with sabers and cutlasses.

“What the hell is going on?” Aasim placed his hand on the hilt of his blade, his eyes hardening.

“Who knows, but it looks like we gotta fight our way out,” Louis drew his sword and rushed forward. With a cry and a mighty swing his sword came crashing down on one the skeletons in hopes he could shatter its defenses.

-----

“Fuckin’ A!” Mitch crowed happily. “Bet you can't beat that,” The pirate flashed a smug, cocky smile over at the blond.

Marlon returned the expression and gave a short laugh. “That spit shot wasn’t worth shit. I’ll easily be able to beat it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mitch moved forward. “Prove it. Put your money where your spit is. Five ducats says you can’t.”

“Heh, deal,” Marlon shook Mitch’s hand and was about to prepare his saliva for the long travel out to sea when a voice appeared behind them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Prisha peered out from her comfortable place on the hammock.

“Spitting contest,” Mitch replied simply. “I’m gonna whoop Marlon’s ass at it.” “Spitting contest?!?!” Willy scampered forward along with AJ. Both boys looked intrigued by the statement.

“That’s right, but you can't join this round. I need to get Marlon’s coin first.”

Marlon scoffed. “Watch this,” With a deep, throaty sound Marlon produced as much saliva as he could before taking a deep breath and spitting. The hefty amount of saliva flew through the air and landed a little ways away from Ol’ Kickass with a soft plunk.

“Damn it!” Mitch grumbled, a frown pulling on the corners of his lips.

“Told ya,” Marlon gave a smug smile then held out his hand. “Pay up.”

Mitch swore under his breath and tossed the coins forward which Marlon caught with ease. Prisha gave a soft laugh which made Mitch’s eyes shoot up and glare at her.

“What? Got something to say, Prisha?”

“Nothing that you would want to hear,” Prisha had a cocky expression on her face as her arm pulled Violet closer towards her.

“You’d just say a bunch of shit that isn’t true anyway,” Mitch’s words made Prisha’s smile falter. She never liked it when someone insinuated that she had done something she hadn’t. The change in her expression made Mitch’s smile grow. “That’s what I thought.”

“I won’t fall for your weak attempt to goad me into a spitting contest.”

“You’re doing the spitting contest?” AJ looked over at Prisha with large eyes.

“Umm, well,” Prisha started but Willy interrupted her before she could continue.

“Are you gonna do it?” Willy looked at her with such sincere excitement that it made Prisha hesitate in saying no.

“Guys, she’s kind of stuck in the hammock,” Marlon pointed out which made both of the younger pirates’ faces fall.

“I’ll join the competition,” Prisha stated, making AJ and Willy look excited once more. Ever so carefully, Prisha untangled herself from Violet. The others offered to help but Prisha insisted that it would definitely lead to Violet waking up. Once she had successfully slipped out of the hammock and made sure that Violet was secure she moved forward to join the contest. Marlon was up first, giving his best try as his saliva flew in the air and landed around the same spot as before. Mitch was next. After gathering up a rather impressive amount of spit he took his turn and surpassed Marlon’s attempt.

“Ha!” Mitch was relishing in his victory when Prisha pushed him aside.

“I’ll show you how it’s really done.” Prisha took a deep breath then positioned her feet in what she deemed the best position. After gathering a fair amount of saliva she tilted her head and spit. Her saliva flew through the sky and landed past the other two by quite a fair distance.

“What the fuck?!?!” Mitch grabbed the ship’s side and leaned forward. Marlon looked just as surprised, his eyes blinking in shock.

“That was awesome!” AJ hopped up and down in glee.

“So cool!” Willy agreed, stomping his feet excitedly.

“How did you get your spit to go that far?” Marlon turned and looked at his friend.

Prisha had a proud look on her face. “It's quite simple. If you balance the amount of saliva in your mouth and tilt your head at the right angle you can get a trajectory that will surely clinch you the win.”

Marlon and Mitch looked lost about that explanation while AJ and Willy both pulled on Prisha’s arm, begging her to teach them the secret spitting technique.

“Hey,” Brody’s warm voice stopped the excitement for a moment as the auburn pirate strolled forward. “Do you know if Ruby said when she’d get back?”

“She didn’t give a time,” Marlon replied.

“They said they would be back by sundown,” Prisha added, her eyes narrowing for a second when she saw the concern on Brody’s face. “Why?”

“Oh, it's no big deal. Omar just burnt his hand a bit and I was wondering where the ointment is.”

“I know where it is. I can go with you if you’d like.” Prisha offered. Brody looked surprised for a second that Prisha knew of the location but when the realization of why hit her, the auburn pirate felt a bit bad.

“Okay, that would be great,” Brody walked alongside Prisha and quickly changed the subject. “Think they’re having fun on their double date?”

“I’m sure they are,” Prisha gave a soft smile. “Knowing them, I’m sure they’re enjoying the time away from the ship.

-----

“God, I wish we could go back to the ship,” Clementine groaned as she swung her cutlass out at another skeleton, knocking its head clean off. She knew that it would do nothing to stop them though. As they had discovered after Ruby delivered the first decapitation, the skeletons wouldn’t die. No matter how hard Louis hit or how strategically placed Aasim’s attacks were it did nothing to deter the skeletons from attacking once more.

“They just keep getting back up!” Ruby grumbled in frustration, blocking an attack from a rapier that a skeleton wearing pirate garb sent her way. Curling up her free hand, the fiery redhead sent it crashing against her opponent’s skull. The head bounced off with her punch and cracked against the wall. Aasim stared in awe of his love, completely taken in by the badassery of Ruby. He was so entranced he failed to notice a new skeleton had made its way over to him.

“Better keep your eyes on the fight, good buddy.” Louis playfully wiggled his eyebrows at Aasim before blocking an attack and sending a swift kick towards his opponent. The skeleton was sent flying, knocking over three others in the process. “I am the greatest pirate of all time!” Louis pulled on the sides of his coat when suddenly Aasim gripped his collar and yanked him backwards. That move saved Louis from serious harm. Aasim disarmed the skeleton before grabbing it by its collarbone and tossing it against the wall.

“Any plans, guys?” Clementine stood back to back with Ruby as they faced the next onslaught of opponents together.

“Nothing comes to mind,” Louis ducked an attack and sent a flurry of his own. “What about you, Aasim?”

“I don’t recall-” Aasim paused for a moment, his face scrunched up in concentration when his eyes lit up with an idea. “I may have something,” Aasim’s statement made the other three smile at their newfound hope. The cartographer sidestepped another opponent before continuing. “Prisha and I found these old scrolls a while back from a seller off the coast of the western bank of Deadman’s Bluff. He was a rather odd fellow who-”

“Pookie, I love your stories, but I need you to hurry along with it,” Ruby crushed a bone under her heel then proceeded to link arms with Clementine and spin her around.

“Sorry, my treasure. My point is we found scrolls talking of cursed objects.”

“Cursed objects?” Louis looked confused for a split second before his eyes grew wide. “Oh, shit!” Louis spun around and dodged the attack.

“Your necklace!” Clementine stumbled, her peg leg getting caught in one of the eye sockets of a skull. The skull shuffled around before a headless skeleton picked it up, causing the pirate to lose her footing.

“Clem!” Louis ran forward and caught her while Ruby and Aasim worked together to push back the swarm of enemies.

“I’m fine,” Clem gave a reassuring smile which seemed to ease Louis’ fear for a moment.

“Aasim, hurry up with the solution!” Louis snapped which made his friend frown.

“I’m trying to remember!” Aasim shot back a look of annoyance before slamming a skeleton into the cave wall. The four continued to fight off the incoming attacks for a few minutes when suddenly Aasim let out a small gasp. “I got it! The scroll that Prisha and I studied spoke of a blood sacrifice that would break the curse on certain objects. There’s no guarantee it will work, but…”

“We don’t have time for buts,” Ruby’s sword pierced through a skull that she flicked off with annoyance.

“Rubes is right. Here goes nothing,” Louis grabbed the necklace and tore it off his neck. Taking his blade, he pressed the sharp edge to his palm and slid it across an inch or two. Pressing his fingers into a fist, he let his blood drip down and splatter against the stone on the necklace. The thick red covered the delicate translucent stone and soon the whole stone matched the red splotch in the middle. It seemed as though it did nothing at first. But after a moment the skeletons stopped their attack. All their skulls turned and looked towards Louis as though waiting for an order.

“What's going on?” Louis whispered over to his love.

“I have no fucking idea,” Clemenitne whispered back, still gripping the hilt of her cutlass.

“Remarkable!” Aasim walked forward and studied the skeletons curiously. “It seems as though that old tale was true.”

“Old tale?’ Ruby asked. Her hand wrapped round Aasim’s arm and pulled him away from the opponents in case they suddenly attacked again.

“There was a tale going around a tavern that Marlon and I visited a few stops ago speaking about an object known to command a group of skeletons. They were said to be the remains of those that sailed with Captain Kidd.”

“Really?” Louis whispered. He and Clementine glanced down at the blood-soaked necklace. “If that’s the case... I, Louis Mason, captain of the Ericson Pirates, demand that you stop fighting and, um… shit,” Louis didn’t really know what to say next. “Just rest and don’t go hurting people anymore.”

The skeletons stared blankly at Louis before their bones shook around violently, causing them to drop their weapons. After a second the bones fell to the ground, clattering against each other until there wasn’t a single skeleton left standing.

“Good lord,” Ruby sheathed her weapon and let out a long sigh of relief. “That sure was one hell of fight,”

“No kidding,” Aasim took a shaky breath.

“We did good, though. Right, Clem?” Louis smiled over lovingly at Clementine when he noticed that her weight was shifting. “Clem!” Louis grabbed onto her waist as her knee buckled.

“Sorry, guess I’m at the limit for my peg leg,” She gave an apologetic smile.

“It's understandable,” Aasim stated simply. “Shall we head back to the ship?”

“That would be for the best,” Ruby looked over and saw that Louis had swept Clementine up into his arms which she protested against for all of five seconds before enjoying it.

“We’ll have quite the tale to share with the crew when we get back,” Louis led the way with a smile.

“We sure will. But after I patch up your hand,” Ruby added.

“True, true. As far as double dates go in the life of piracy, I’d say it wasn’t our best but hey, maybe in the future we’ll look back and realize this isn't even our worst double date,” Louis gave a grin but that didn’t convince the others.

“Don’t jinx it,” Aasim shook his head with a small frown.

“Louis,” Clementine placed a hand on his arm, “How about we try to make this the worst date out of all our double dates, now and in the future.”

“Hear, hear. Here’s to not getting our asses kicked by skeletons in the future and to many more double dates.” Louis crowed. “So, wanna double date in the next port town?”

Ruby and Aasim shared a look then glanced back at Louis.

“I think we’ll take a rain check on that,” Ruby offered a warm smile towards her friend.

“Okay, well I’m sure that Prisha and Violet would love to go on a double date with us anyway,” Louis continued to chatter as he led the way towards Ol’ Kickass. The four pirates smiled and laughed as they made their way to their seaworthy vessel, looking forward to being back with their crew.

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writing-mermaid · 5 years ago

Text

Shades of blue

Summary : When a young artist is fascinated by the shade of blue in the eyes of the posing model.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader; Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter

Warnings : None

Word Count : 2067

Square Filled : @star-spangled-bingo : Model AU

Author’s note : Also written for @buckybarnesbingo ‘s fluffathon, with the prompts Admire, Art, After, Nuzzle, Cutie and Chocolate. Don’t forget that feedback is appreciated and really important.

Song of the title : Shades of Cool - Lana Del Rey

Masterlist

Star Spangled Bingo masterlist

Bucky Barnes Bingo masterlist

Buy me a ☕

Steve Rogers walks through the room, slaloming between the easels of his “students” of the day, while looking at their paper sheets. In the meantime, he looks at the model, his best friend James Barnes, who accepted to pose a few times a week because he needed the money for college. Steve understood why, because he too, had to look for a job to pay for his school fees. When he found that job, he knew it was the perfect one as he is majoring in arts.

Concerning James Barnes, rather Bucky, he needed it to continue his literature studies, his parents still had to pay for his five little sisters’ studies, and he couldn’t ask for them to have one more loan, since he lost his last job. When Steve told him about the model job, he frowned and said that he would try, even if he doesn’t think that this would be his thing, but he needed to eat and pay for his books. That’s how, for the first time in his life, Bucky finds himself naked in a room full of strangers, drawing him.

Sitting front row, Y/N Y/L/N is studying the handsome model’s eyes color. She cannot decide what color they are. Blue, definitely blue, but what shade ? Because it seems that the color changes when the light changes. At some point his eyes are bright blue, a minute later they can have the color of the sea, and a few seconds later, the color of a stormy sky. She’s concentrated on his face, and his face only, the rest of his body doesn’t interest her, just his face, his blue eyes, his red and kissable lips, that three days stubble, his short chestnut hair, her charcoal scratching the surface of the white sheet in front of her.

Steve stops by the Y/H/C haired girl sitting at the front row. He admires her work. Unlike a lot of people in the room who drew Bucky full or his body, or some parts, she’s only drawing his face. Steve looks at the precise lines she’s drawing. She seems to be mesmerized by Bucky’s eyes and Steve can understand why, his best friend’s eyes are sort of a mystery to themselves. Her gaze doesn’t live his and it seems that Bucky noticed. The way she looks at him above the easel makes Steve think about that scene from Titanic where Jack draws a naked Rose like as she says, “one of his French girls”. Steve works here for a few months now, and it’s the first time that he sees her. She puts down her black charcoal, searching for a blue one.

“This is an amazing work”, Steve suddenly says, making her froze.

“Thank you”, she answers, slightly blushing at the compliment.

“You really managed to capture everything of his face. His gaze, his mouth, nose, freckles. Though, you seem to be in trouble with the color of his eyes. I must admit that I myself never managed to find the good color.”

“How do you know that I have trouble with finding the model’s eye color ?”, Y/N asks, curious to know.

“Oh, Bucky is my best friend, and he was my very first model when I started to draw when I was a kid. Even now, when I happen to draw him, I still don’t find the right color, so I make drawings of my girlfriend Peggy or of landscapes, that’s less complicated”, Steve explains. “I’m Steve Rogers by the way”, he adds, extending his hand.

“Y/N Y/L/N”, she replies. “Sorry, I won’t shake your hand, or you’ll have charcoal everywhere.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Anyway, if you want to, I can introduce you to him after this session, which will be finished in fifteen minutes”, Steve adds, checking his watch.

“Thank you, Steve”, she smiles at him.

The last fifteen minutes pass like a blink of an eye and Steve thanks everyone for attending to his lesson and listening to his advice. Y/N starts to clean her easel, closes her sketchbook and puts her charcoals back in their box. Meanwhile, Bucky slips back the robe that he abandoned two hours ago on a stool next to him. At the second Y/N left the room to wash her hands, Bucky walks to Steve, who’s cleaning the leftovers.

“Who’s she ?”, he asks his blond friend.

“New one, just like you. Very good one though. She’s the only one that drew your face and not your body. I even saw one or two people very busy to draw your…”

“Please no, this is really embarrassing”, Bucky face palms himself.

“You should wait for her to come back; I think she has something to ask you. I told her that you were my best friend and that I can introduce you to her.”

“Please don’t tell me she wanna draw my wienie”, Bucky whines.

“Who wants to draw your wienie ?”, a beautiful brunette says, entering the room, making a beeline to Steve before kissing his lips.

“A new girl, very good artist, and I really don’t think she wants to draw his wienie”, Steve explains.

Steve tells Peggy about Y/N and her skills, saying he hoped that she would be okay to show her work to them. Y/N finally comes back in the room. Steve introduces her to Peggy and Bucky.

“Do you think you can show us your work ? If you want to of course.”

“Yes, sure, after all this is an art class and you are the model”, Y/N says, motioning to Bucky.

She opens her sketchbook again, revealing a few previous drawings before she finally found the one of Bucky she made barely an hour ago.

“This is really amazing”, Peggy whispers, as she’s afraid of saying this out loud.

Bucky looks at the drawing, speechless. He cannot believe how a drawing could look like him so much. It’s almost like he’s looking at himself in the mirror. Everything his perfect, every line, every freckle, his three days stumble, everything is there.

“May I ask you something ?”, Y/N questions, making Bucky getting out of his bubble.

“Yes, sure.”

“Would you accept to pose for me ? I mean not here but in private, I wanted to work on your eyes and it’s not possible in a room full of people. Of course, I will compensate you for your time.”

“I… I don’t know, it’s the first time I’m doing this, isn’t it unprofessional ?”, he asks Steve, turning to him.

“Not necessarily, you’re free to do what you want. You can pose for Y/N if you want to.”

“So yes, I’d love to”, Bucky says, turning to the young Y/H/C haired woman in front of him.

“Great”, she exclaims, “this is my phone number”, she adds, handing him a little piece of paper with her phone number.

And then, a week later, Bucky finds himself in a tiny apartment, under the rooftop. It’s a very small place but Y/N managed to make it her home. She even have sort of a balcony.

“Please make yourself comfortable”, she says from the kitchenette, “I’m coming as soon as the tea is ready.”

Bucky looks at the room, it’s a medium open space. In a corner, there is Y/N’s bed, a pile of book at its feet, not far from it, her desk, with a laptop and a few pictures of her friends and family, he supposes. In the middle of the room, there’s a couch and a tiny red table facing a small television. In the opposite corner of the bed, there’s an easel, a stool, a tiny chest of drawers and drawing material. A ginger cat walks along the window’s low wall before scratching the pane.

“Oh, that’s my cat, Oliver, can you open the window for him please ?”, Y/N asks Bucky.

Bucky nods and lets the cat in. Oliver rises his head towards Bucky, smells his hand and purrs when Bucky scratches him behind his hears.

“Here we are”, Y/N says, coming back in the room, carrying a tray with two mugs, a tea pot, different flavors of tea, and chocolate biscuits, along with a bowl of milk for Oliver. “Please, serve yourself”, she adds, while putting down Oliver’s bowl.

They talk about everything and nothing, whilst drinking the tea when Bucky finally comes back to the main subject.

“So, tell me exactly why you want me to do for you ?”

“Well, as I told you, I’d like you to pose for me. See last week during Steve’s lesson, I draw your face and I had a problem for your eyes. I mean, the light changed so many times and your eyes color changed with it. I’d like to find the best light to do them justice. Your eyes are really unique.”

The next week, Bucky comes back at Y/N’s apartment, to find her painting on her balcony when he enters her home. A few minutes later, he finds himself sitting face to face with her, under the natural light. It takes a few hours for Y/N to make a new portrait of Bucky with the accurate eye color. But then, it became a habit for the two to have posing seances. First, she works on his eyes, then she moves to his nose, lips, chin, hair after a few seances. During it, they both start to know each other, the more time they spend together, the more they start to fall for one another.

Y/N decides after a few weeks that she’d like to move on to his body if he’s still okay to pose for her. Bucky agrees, without admitting yet that he loves spending time with her. And when Bucky poses half naked, Y/N notices what she didn’t during Steve’s class, Bucky’s broad shoulders, his perfect abs, his strong arms, his beautiful hands. Oh, his hands, Y/N starts to think about what they would feel on her body if he used them on her. Oh jeez, she thinks, I start to have sinful thoughts, this is really no good.

One evening, after a long day of posing, Bucky sits on one of the low walls of Y/N’s balcony, one of his legs hanging in the air, leaning his back on one of the walls. The days has been quite hot, and the evening is still warm. Y/N comes back from the kitchen with two beers, Bucky is partially turned away, Oliver on his lap. Y/N smiles at the sight, thinking that she could get used to this.

“Yes, you’re a cutie”, Bucky is patting the cat’s back. “You’re the best kitty in the world.”

“Don’t start this with him, he’s gonna beg for it the next time you’ll be here.”

“I don’t matter”, Bucky says, “I like this little fellow, after all, he accepted me here, he didn’t have to at first, he could have thought that I would still his pretty mom from him.”

Y/N blushes at Bucky’s word. She sits in front of him, handing him a beer. She mirrors his position on the wall while the sun is going down. In the sunset light, Bucky’s gaze is more intense than in any other light she has seen him before. Oliver jumps of Bucky’s leg when Y/N moves closer to him. Y/N turns her head to the setting sun, her left hand on her leg. Bucky looks at her, she’s glowing in the sunlight and Bucky finds her more beautiful than he did before. She was so adorable with those stains of paint. Bucky moves closer, he wants to kiss her so bad. He extends his hand to lace his fingers with Y/N’s one. Y/N turns her face back to Bucky, their gaze meeting. Bucky leans towards Y/N who meets him halfway. Their lips touch softly, Y/N slides a little closer, climbing on Bucky’s lap. Once there, she deepens the kiss, sliding her fingers into Bucky’s hair. After a few minutes, she pulls away, catching her breath, her forehead against his.

“What about now ?”, Bucky asks.

Y/N doesn’t answer, she just gets up and grabs Bucky’s hand to lead him to her bed.

The next morning, Bucky wakes up nuzzling Y/N’s hair, her bare back to his bare chest. He props his head on his elbow, looking at her peacefully sleeping, silently thanking Steve for the model job.

Taglist :

@the-geeky-engineer, @feelmyroarrrr, @bakugou–katsukii, @hellomissmabel, @mandy19875, @howlingbarnes, @belleetlabeast, @theashhole, @sebbytrash, @crazychick010, @bionic-buckyb, @callamint, @just-another-fangirl777, @learisa, @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt, @mokacoconut, @marvelbase001-blog, @thefiregypsy, @snowyseba, @theycallmebucky, @buckysberrie, @speakcroissant, @fangirlwithasweettooth, @tequilavet, @iamwarrenspeace, @melconnor2007, @buckybarnesappreciationsociety, @mrshopkirk, @poealsobucky, @maiden-of-gondor, @jurassicbarnes, @abovethesmokestacks, @thisismysecrethappyplace, @arawynn, @sebbys-girl, @captainrogerss, @murdocksmartinis, @supersoldierslover, @totallynotashieldagent, @crazy-little-thing-called-buck, @4theluvofall, @supernaturaldean67, @prettyyoungtragedy, @papi-chulo-bucky, @just-a-kj-blog, @lenavonschweetz, @forever-graphically-frozen, @buckysglow, @winterscldicr, @whothehellisbella, @bethanystan, @asirenscalling, @after-avenging-hours, @winchester-with-wings, @angryschnauzer, @callingmrsbarnes, @suz-123, @writingruna, @sugardaddytonystark, @angelicthor, @thatawkwardtinyperson, @themistsofmyavalon, @redgillan, @loricameback, @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan, @farfromjustordinary, @you-and-buckyb, @bucky-made-me-do-it, @lovelykhaleesiii, @newmooneyfanfiction, @lovely-geek, @fanfictionjunkie1112, @thefanficfaerie, @littlemarvelfics, @cordytriestowrite, @firefly-in-darkness, @caplanreads, @my-emotional-self, @imaginingbarnes, @searchingforbuckyfavs,

88 notes · View notes

junietc · 4 years ago

Text

ink flows well when drawing flowers (adriennette)

adriennette x flower shop and tattoo artist au

pairing: adrien x marinette

word count: 4489

warning: none, just an immense load of fluff

summary: marinette often finds herself spending time at a certain blonde boy’s flower shop

a/n: it felt only fitting that i made marinette the tattoo artist since she was super into drawing and adrien is just adorable as fuck as flower shop owner. also, happy five year anniversary miraculous! thought i would celebrate with this fluffy one-shot

feel free to leave some requests and hope you enjoy ~

~~~~~~~~

Dupois road was known for its multitude of shops and variety of small cafes that adorned the streets; but what it wasn’t known for was its little flower shop that stood at the end of the road. It was small and not all that well known, but those who went there always left a good review and frequently returned as regular customers.

Though Marinette Dupain Cheng was not one of those customers, she did find herself drawn to the quaint little shop and quite fond of its owner, Adrien Agreste.

No matter the day, she always seemed to find time to stop by the small shop. The large windows allowed for a bountiful stream of light to illuminate the store and the sun seemed to only rival the warmth of the smile that Adrien would give her as she walked in.

“Back again already?” Adrien’s voice was obviously teasing but inviting, nonetheless.

“It’s my lunch break and I’d much rather spend it here than stuck third wheeling Alya and Nino.” She took her usual seat across from him near the end of the counter. “Besides, it’s not as if I’m harassing your customers. If I vividly recall, plenty of your costumers find me absolutely charming.”

Marinette smiled goofily in attempt to poke fun at the blonde. It had been merely a week ago that a customer had walked in when Adrien was feeling slightly agitated and reacted more abrasively than usual. So, Marinette tried to assuage the situation by being her cheerful self and was thereafter deemed “absolutely charming”.

Marinette giggled, taking out her sketchbook as Adrien rolled his eyes at the girl before joining her, resting his elbows on the counter-top. “Remind me why you keep coming in here?”

“I’m offended, Sunshine, I always thought you enjoyed my company.” The two shared a laugh before she went back to her doodling and responded properly. “I suppose flowers are a common request, so practice is always helpful.”

Marinette worked at the tattoo parlor just a couple stores down from the flower shop and was one of their most popular artists. Though she herself wasn’t adorned in tattoos like some of her coworkers were, she did have a couple scattered across her body. There was one of a ladybug on the inside of her ankle done by her best friend Alya and another of a cluster of macrons on the side of her rib-cage in honor of her parents’ bakery opening up its second store in London. There were various other little ones that she might’ve given herself with a stick and poke on late nights where there was nothing else to do, though those held less of a significance.

Moving away from the counter and into the back-storage, Adrien’s voice rang with a question. “Well then, what flower do you need for today’s practice?”

Marinette thought for a moment, eyes trailing around the shop, looking at the various arrays of plants that adorned the walls and clusters of flowers placed in vases. The store smelt fresh and the floral perfumes eased her nose after being cooped up in a room with somebody for at least an hour. “You choose for me this time,” she finally responded, eager to see what he would pick out for her.

“Are you sure?” she heard him ask. She hummed a yes in response and flipped to a new page in her drawing book. “Alright, then. A white gardenia for you, Ms. Marinette.” He walked back in holding a white flower in his hand. “White gardenias symbolize purity and trust and are given to convey the message that the recipient of these flowers is lovely.”

“Is this your way of telling me that you find me lovely, Agreste?”

“Quite the flirt, aren’t you?” he rolled his eyes as she smirked taking the flower from his hand and examining it. It was a beautiful flower and Marinette was delighted to understand what it had meant. This was something that she looked forward to every time she entered the shop. Learning what each flower meant was a joy because it meant that she could give her friends and family flowers not only for the beauty of them, but with a secret message.

Placing the flower down in front of her, she sketched out the basic shape of the flower in pencil, later adding the petals and smaller details. Once she felt confident enough in her design, she changed to her pen and drew a replica. Adrien watched her draw, fascinated by her precision and focus. His eyes were glued to her paper and were only interrupted by the sudden ringing of the chimes above the entrance door.

The sound alerted Adrien as he stepped away from Marinette and smiled at the customer. “Welcome! Can I help you with a flower arrangement or are you just browsing?” It was his usual greeting that Marinette had grown accustomed to hearing after popping into the store every so often. The lady that had walked in smiled at him before speaking.

“Hi! I’m looking to buy some flowers for my girlfriend. She’s coming home after being gone for a year working abroad so I’m picking her up from the airport.” She looked excited; her eyes filled with a sense of joy that caused Adrien to smile.

He nodded and thought for a moment before quickly dashing to the storage room once again. He came out with a pair of flowers: a pink lily and a white orchid. “Here, star gazer lilies and white orchards are both ways of conveying ‘I miss you’ but I think that considering she is your girlfriend, the lilies would be better suited. They symbolize admiration and missing another, so I think they’ll work out well.” He handed her the flowers and she inhaled its scent before smiling brightly.

“They’re perfect. I’ll take a bouquet please?” Adrien nodded before starting to build the arrangement. Marinette watched him carefully take the flowers and wrap them up in cellophane, his fingers folding the plastic gently and taping the ends with a sticker. As he handed her the flowers, she thanked him, paying for them before heading off with a smile evident on her face.

He waved goodbye before returning to Marinette who was still drawing and tapping her on the shoulder. “Coffee?” The smile on her face was enough of a response for her to slam her sketchbook shut and stand up.

“Sounds perfect.”

-----

Adrien was growing accustomed to hearing the tinkling of chimes at noon signaling Marinette’s lunch break. So, when he noticed it was already 1:31 and Marinette had yet to make an appearance, it was safe to say that he was slightly alarmed.

The bells suddenly chimed, and Adrien would be lying if he were to say he wasn’t the tiniest bit disappointed when his best friend Nino appeared through the doorway instead of the bluenette. “Nino! Surprised to see you here.” An automatic smile made its way to Adrien’s face as he and the bespectacled boy exchanged a hug. “I assume you’re here for some flowers?”

“Yeah, I need to pick up some flowers for Alya actually.” He scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. “It’s our six-month anniversary today and I forgot to buy some so here I am. At the best flower shop in all of Paris.”

Adrien chuckled at his forgetful friend before picking up a couple of roses in the back and creating a bouquet. “If it makes you feel any better, Alya came in this morning before her shift.” Nino’s eyes widened in surprise before laughing and taking the roses from the blonde. “You two really are perfect for each other,” he teased as Nino paid for the flowers.

“I suppose we are.” A heartfelt smile rested on the boy as he grinned at Adrien. “I noticed you looked disappointed when I walked in. You weren’t expecting a certain tattoo artist, now were you?”

Though he refused to admit it, his felt his cheeks tinge pink as the words left his best friend’s lips. “I – she usually comes in much earlier, so I was concerned alright. It’s nothing like that.” He was reassuring Nino but at the same time if felt as though he were trying to reassure himself. He didn’t like Marinette, did he?

“I didn’t mention any names.” Adrien’s cheeks turned a more violent shade of red as his friend laughed. Nino made no further mention of the girl but something about the smug smile that tugged on his lips made Adrien think otherwise.

After his friend left, Adrien went back to work, rearranging the bouquets or sweeping any loose petals that were scattered across the wooden floor. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen had passed before the doors to his store opened again. His back was still turned away as he tried to reshelf some flowers, so he responded with his typical greeting, “Welcome! If you need any help with an arrangement, I’ll be with in a just a second and but if you’re just browsing go right –”

“Didn’t you just switch up those flowers yesterday Sunshine?” a knowing voice teased him, causing him to turn around.

“I reckoned you were finally going to show up. I suppose the shop was getting a bit too quiet for my taste,” he joked as the girl made her way to the counter. “Don’t you have a shift right now?”

Marinette clucked her tongue before dropping off her things on the counter top. “Alya’s watching for me. She owes me a shift anyways considering how many times I’ve taken hers because of an impromptu date with her boyfriend,” she walked over to where Adrien was, holding up a couple of the flowers that he was moving. “Need any help?”

“What? No practice today?” Adrien took the flowers from her hand and placed them into a vase, moving the flowers around for the prettiest arrangement. “Could you pass me those roses? The red ones,” Marinette nodded, reaching over to grab the flowers but as she was trying to pass them to him, her foot tripped over the broom that Adrien had left leaning against the wall. Before she could face-splat against the floor, Adrien quickly discarded his flowers and caught her, arm slipping around her waist.

“Agh!” Marinette squealed as he held her upright. His arm was snaked around her waist, supporting her balance and their faces were close to the other. The room was quiet and all that could be heard were the sounds of their hearts beating rapidly. A blush tinged both of their cheeks as they stared into the other’s eyes.

Adrien was quicker to react, apologizing profusely; “are you alright? Sorry I really should have put that broom away earlier I just wasn’t expecting –” before another word could be spoken Marinette stopped him with her own apologizing.

“You’re sorry? I should be sorry! I was being careless and clumsy, and I should’ve watched where I was going before –” Marinette rambled, only to be cut off by somebody clearing their throat. The two looked behind them to see a man who couldn’t have been all that much older than them with a grin.

“Though I apologize for interrupting the two of you I was wondering if I could get some help with a bouquet?” the two young adults both blushed at the reminder and immediately separated. Adrien was quick to clean up before aiding the man in his needs.

Marinette went back to her spot at the counter and tied her hair up in a bun, trying to avoid contact with either males in the room, doodling in her sketchbook. From what she had gathered this was the man’s first date and he wanted it to be perfect. She smiled at the thought of being gifted flowers, her pen quickly sketching the scene in front of her.

From her spot at the end of the counter she watched as he wrapped the peonies he had selected into a bouquet and handed them the man at the other side of the register. Her lips tugged into a smile as she watched him graciously converse about the man’s upcoming date and how excited he was. Something about watching Adrien easily talk to all his clients always made Marinette filled to the brim with happiness. Looking down at the drawing in front of her, she traced over the lines on his arms of the still image of him handing the flowers to the man.

“What’cha drawing now?” his voice had suddenly rung as Marinette jumped in surprise.

“Adrien! I didn’t see you there,” she quickly squealed, slamming her sketchbook shut as he leaned over her shoulder. She turned around, eyes meeting the blonde. She was startled by how close he was to her yet again. Her eyes seemed to travel down his face, admiring his features as the sunlight hit them. In attempts to diverge the conversation and hide her now rosy cheeks, Marinette motioned towards the shelf; “do you need any more help with cleaning up? I’m here for the rest of the hour.”

Adrien looked over at the small mess that they had made before nodding.

“That would be perfect.”

-----

The tattoo parlor that Marinette worked at had a drastically different aesthetic than the little flower shop Adrien was used to. The walls were a dark grey colour that contrasted with the white designs that decorated the walls. There were shelves placed around the parlor that were filled with knick knacks and various other decorations. On the walls were also different framed artworks and photographs of tattoos or drawings and most of the light came from the pot lights that were sporadically placed above him.

He made note of how the shop was always playing music as he walked in, waving hello to Alya who was leaning against the table that stood in the front of the parlor.

Her eyebrows raised upon seeing the ex-model as she faked surprise. “Agreste? What are you doing here? Ooh lemme guess, here to pick up Marinette for your first date?” the auburn-haired girl teased.

“Haha, very funny Alya,” Marinette walked in, a smile appearing on her face when she saw Adrien. “You ready for your first tattoo?” How Marinette had convinced Adrien to get his first tattoo he knew not. But he was still eager and excited for the experience and it didn’t hurt the he would get to be around Marinette some more.

Alya’s face contorted to one of shock. “A tattoo? If somewhere to tell me that the Adrien Agreste were getting a tattoo, I would’ve never believed it.”

“Well a lot of people didn’t believe I quit my father’s modeling agency and opened up a store but here we are,” the three laughed at his response before Marinette made signal for him to follow her into the area in the back of the parlor.

She motioned for him to take a seat on the large longue chair in front of him and disappeared for moment, returning with a booklet. She handed it to him and opened the book. “You can look through here if you want any ideas but considering this is your first tattoo, I would recommend going for something simpler than the designs that are in the back of the book.” Adrien thought for a moment flipping through the contents of the book, stopping at certain designs, contemplating them before continuing to look through the rest of them. “Nothing catching your eye?” she asked.

“Actually, I was thinking of doing a flower, but I still don’t know which one,” Marinette smiled. Of course, he would want a flower, he does work in a flower shop after all. “I thought it would be only fitting since you practice drawing flowers in my shop all the time.”

“A flower by yours truly? I suppose it is rather fitting,” she smiled and thought of the varieties of flowers that he could choose from. “What flower are you thinking of? A rose? That one’s popular. Perhaps a lily? You always liked those. Maybe a –”

“You pick for me,” the confidence in his voice took Marinette by surprise. Though she was touched by the trust that he had in her for choosing a reasonable tattoo, she was still taken a back that he wanted her to choose his first tattoo.

“Are you sure? But this – I mean, this is your first tattoo you know?”

“I know.”

“Then why would you want me to –”

“Because I want the tattoo to mean something to me.”

“You work in a flower shop and yet none of those flowers mean anything to you?” Marinette deadpanned, ignoring the cheeky grin that appeared on the blonde’s face.

“The one you choose will,” he said it with pure confidence as he smiled. It would be a blatant lie to say that Marinette’s face had not turned bright red at his remark.

Curse how smooth he was.

She tried to smother her blush as she pondered. What would be the best choice for Sunshine boy himself? An idea clicked through her mind as she smiled excitedly. “How about a sunflower? The only flower that could rival with you, sunshine boy.”

The smile on Adrien’s face was more than enough to know that Marinette’s choice was a perfect one.

After ten minutes of coming up with initial design and chatting with Adrien, Marinette settled on a smaller, simple design, very minimalistic and Adrien decided on placing it on his left upper arm, near the shoulder. After prepping the design and cleaning the area where the tattoo was going to go, Marinette was ready to get started.

Adrien was surprisingly good with the pain and remained still throughout the process. The two talked for nearly the entirety of the time, catching up about life and just gossiping about their friends.

“What’s your favourite flower Marinette?” he winced slightly, due to the pain. Though she was used to him pestering her with questions, she still wondered how many questions the green-eyed boy had in him.

Marinette thought for a moment, eyes trailing over his exposed arm before settling on an answer. “I suppose it’s always been a cherry blossom. Call me corny but they remind me of spring and it’s just always so beautiful to see them,” she paused from her work and pulled down slightly on her t-shirt, showcasing her collarbone. “I got it done when I had just turned twenty. Probably my most painful one but I love it nonetheless,” on the skin underneath her collarbone was a cherry blossom branch that reached out to her shoulder. It was pink and delicate looking and somehow Adrien found himself staring at its beauty for much longer than he’d anticipated.

“You say it as if you haven’t been twenty in ages. You’re only twenty-one Marinette,” he mentioned with a provoking smile.

“And you’re only twenty-two. So, don’t try and act like you’re so much wiser than me Sunshine,” she teased him before going back to her work.

Adrien leaned back into the chair and thought of his life a couple years ago before he had decided to open his shop, how his father would react to such ludicrous idea. Not only is he “tarnishing” his skin but the idea that his first tattoo would be of a sunflower? He would have been thrown out of the house if he were still living there.

They continued to talk, somehow stumbling across the topic of dating. “How did it go with that one guy you went out with?” though he didn’t show it, Adrien was tinged with jealousy. He wasn’t quite sure why though, just the feeling, perhaps the idea of Marinette being close with somebody else made him upset. It was probably just that he was afraid she wouldn’t pop into the store as often. Yeah, that seemed like a suitable response.

“Kim? We didn’t go out. We’re just friends, have been since we were in middle school,” the idea of dating her swimmer friend was one that Marinette refused to think of. Though she was confused as to why Adrien thought it was a date. “Though he did say that he had a friend who was potentially interested. I think his name was Luka, I’m going to be meeting with him in a couple days.”

An exasperated sigh slipped out of his mouth. Though he didn’t wish to intrude on her love life, he still felt compelled to tell her that going on date might’ve been a bad idea. Why? He had yet to find an excuse suitable enough to tell her because based on what he had read in books and in movies, “I don’t know”, was a bullshit answer. “Oh?” he managed to respond.

“You holding up alright?” she asked him sincerely. Her words seemed to be laced in concerned after seeing the blonde close his eyes in pain. He nodded his head and before she went back to work. There wasn’t much more left to do, just a couple touch ups and details and before they knew it, Marinette was done.

Standing up she handed him a mirror to look at the final product. “And we’re done! Wasn’t so bad now was it,” she gave herself a little pat on the back for her work. Adrien examined the tattoo and smiled upon seeing it.

“It looks perfect! What do you think?” the flower was beautiful, and Adrien couldn’t have been more ecstatic about the results. His eyes looked up to meet Marinette’s and she flashed him a grin.

“Almost as bright as you, Sunshine boy.”

-----

Call it fate, call it not wanting to spend an hour stuck in the tattoo parlor where her coworkers were complaining about how their boss wasn’t letting them break for the weekend, whatever it was, it caused Marinette to spend another one of her lunch breaks at Adrien’s flower shop.

“I’ve got a pot of pansies for you to practice drawing, their sitting in your usual spot,” Adrien responded, currently on the phone. Marinette looked over to see a fresh pot of purple pansies and smiled. She took a seat and started to draw, waiting for Adrien to get off the phone.

Her eyes were focused on the drawing in front of her. The ink of her pen slowly running out especially considering how long she’d had it for. She included a beautiful intricate design engraved into the pansies and went over the lines in ink, shading where she felt like made sense.

She felt his figure watching her process from behind the counter and met his eyes. “Thoughts?” she asked him, curious to know what he thought of the drawing. She turned her sketchbook so that it would face him, and he looked at it eagerly.

“It’s gorgeous as always,” he grinned at her, lightly tracing over the drawing with his finger. “You know, pansies were actually used in the Victorian Era for secret courting. They mean loving thoughts or that you are thinking of the other,” he continued to ramble on about the flower and Marinette watched him, finding it adorable how nerdy he would get about flowers and what they meant.

Not that she would admit that to anyone.

Marinette inhaled the sweet scent of the pansies and played with its petals. “I had no idea that these were such romantic flowers,” she had to admit that hanging around Adrien had opened her eyes to how many other flowers there were. Before their encounter she could probably name only a couple flowers but now her floral vocabulary consisted of at least twenty. “You know I had a client ask me for a tattoo of a gardenia and they looked so excited when I knew what they were. What would I do if you didn’t have your little flower shop?”

“I’m sure you could find another flower shop to practice at,” Adrien chuckled, heading to the back to start on another arrangement order.

But none of those flower shops would have an owner as charming as you. Marinette thought watching him come up with a cluster of pink and red roses. The two sat in a comfortable silence, Adrien messing around with an array of flowers at the counter as Marinette sat on the opposite side, now practicing drawing the bouquet of hyacinths that Adrien had given her after the pansies were done. Her pen moved along the paper, eyes shifting from up to look at the flowers to back down.

Fiddling with the rose in his hand he asked her a question. “How did your date with the Luka boy go?” His voice seemed quieter than usual, as though he had been nervous to ask. Shrugging her shoulders, she kept her eyes on the piece in front of her.

“It was alright,” she hummed, fingers outlining the corners of the paper. “But we both agreed that we would be better off as friends.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Adrien set down the roses. “Well if you’re any interested, my friend thinks you’re cute,”

Marinette didn’t look up from her drawing but snorted in response, “What friend?”

“Me,” swallowing whatever pride he might’ve had left, he confessed. “I’m the friend.”

His voice seemed nonchalant and a smug smile rested on his lips as the words escaped his mouth but the rapid beating of his heart in his chest was a dead giveaway that the boy was nervous. The pen in Marinette’s hand nearly dropped in surprise. “Oh? You should’ve told me earlier. I think your friend is quite adorable himself,” she let out a laugh as her eyes finally met his.

“Really?”

“I mean, it’s hard to resist a ball of sunshine,” Adrien snorted at her comment as he leaned closer to her from across the counter. His face was much closer to hers than it had ever been, his green eyes more vibrant than usual. Marinette smiled, moving closer as well, leaving a smaller space between the two, a heavy blush marking her cheeks.

“Is it now?”

Adrien sealed the space between their lips, a smile forming as they kissed. It was soft and delicate, the smells of the roses he had left on the table filling the air. After they parted, a pair of lovesick smiles were prominently displayed on their faces.

“And it’s even harder to resist when that ball of sunshine is as good of a kisser as you are,” she teased once more, causing him to roll his eyes before locking their lips once again.

#adrienette #miraculous ladybug #miraculous imagine #miraculous lb #miraculous au #adrien x marinette #marinette x adrien #flower shop au #tattoo artist au #flower shop tattoo artist #fluff #adriennette fluff #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

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tibbinswrites · 5 years ago

Text

Suptober Day 25 - Tattoos

“I want a tattoo,” Cas said one morning, completely out of the blue and while Dean was still dangerously in his first sips of his first coffee.

“You’ve got tattoos.” Dean bit back grumpily, though Cas knew better than to take his ire seriously before ten am.

“Yes. I want another one.”

“Okay...” Dean drew out the word like he was waiting for Cas’ point.

“Can I?”

Dean snorted and placed his mug down on the table, “I’m not your mother, Cas. You’re a grown ass practically immortal being. If you want a tattoo you don’t need my permission.”

“I know, but… would you help me? I don’t want to end up disappointed and I don’t know how to tell if a parlour is a good one or not.”

Dean squinted at him through the steam from his coffee, considering.

“Sure,” he said. Go grab my laptop, we can have a look around.”

Xxx

Dean was almost done with his mug and a lot more cheerful when Cas returned a few minutes later, he took the laptop and flipped it open, searching for nearby tattoo parlours and going onto their various websites.

“I don’t suppose sanitation really matters to you,” Dean said, flipping through some pictures of a studio before dismissing it. “Seeing as you can’t get infected and all, but it says a lot about how much a place cares about the art it makes. If you can stumble in there at three am and demand Bob Ross’ face on your ass then you’re not in the right place.”

“Why would anyone-?”

“People.” Dean answered with a shrug. “Those are the kind of places we went to get these,” he gestured at his chest, “but these are practical, they just had to be copied from a drawing we supplied, if you want an actual design, you need to find an actual artist, not just someone with a tattoo gun who can draw hearts and fancy swirls and a passable wolf.”

Cas wrinkled his nose at the thought. He did want a proper design, something beautiful, something meaningful, something his. But the task seemed monumental for him let alone a stranger.

“Here are the ones that look decent.” Dean said a few minutes later, showing Cas a set of six tabs. “What do you want to get anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Cas said, feeling touched that Dean was walking him through this but overwhelmed as he clicked on the first tab and a slew on images popped up. “How am I supposed to choose?”

Surprisingly, instead of mocking him, Dean smiled and shuffled his chair closer so he could see the screen too.

“Look through the artist portfolios,” he directed, pointing to the option at the top of the screen. “Most will have links to their own websites with more of their work. You’re not looking for the perfect design, just the perfect style. Some are better at portraits, others at more geometric stuff, some do different things with colour. You can narrow it down by crossing out the ones you don’t like.”

Cas nodded solemnly and turned his attention back to the screen. The first artist had lots of strong black lines and straight edges. The second a lot of portraits, neither of which really appealed to him.

He seemed to search for hours. Dean was refilling his coffee when Cas found what he was looking for.

“This one.” Cas said, looking up to see Dean jump at his voice. “I want her.” He tried to keep his tone neutral but from the slight crinkle at the edge of Dean’s eyes he hadn’t been able to hide the excitement in his voice.

“Alright, let’s take a look.” Dean said, leaving his mug at the machine and coming over to look at the screen over Cas’ shoulder. “Nice,” he agreed.

Castiel felt a warm buzzing in his stomach, he was glad that Dean liked it too. The image on the screen was a rose, not what Cas was looking for really, delicately done, with a fine outline, but it was the colours that were magical; midnight blue and deep, rich purples blended in the petals, with a shimmer that looked almost metallic, smudging across the lines slightly, not enough to ruin the image but just enough to be imperfect, to feel right.

Castiel booked a consultation for the following week.

Xxx

Cas sat in the waiting room of the tattoo parlour, tapping his foot nervously while Dean sat next to him. Dean had insisted on coming with him and Castiel hadn’t thought to object, the last time he’d gotten a tattoo he’d been alone, and although the pain was minimal compared to some of the torments he’d endured as an angel, experiencing it as human pain was different and he had wished for company, even if Dean only would have mocked him and compared him to an infant.

“What if it turns out bad?” He asked quietly, “I still have no idea what I want, what if I can’t think of anything? What if she doesn’t have the right colours, or-”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted patiently, “it’s just a consultation, no needle is getting near your skin without your say so. If she draws you something and you don’t like it, she’ll change it for you. If she doesn’t have the colours she’ll order them in and we can go back when she’s got ’em. If you don’t have any ideas we can talk it out. It’s gonna be fine”

Cas was grateful for the reassurance, but he was still nervous nonetheless. He just didn’t want to be disappointed. This felt important and he didn’t want to mess it up by choosing the wrong thing. The artist, Giva Chaudhary, was exceptionally talented, but none of the images in her portfolio had really spoken to him. He was worried that they would get there and she would be unable to produce the thing he wanted on his skin forever and he would either have to go home with nothing, or settle for something that was less than perfect.

“Mr Novak?”

Miss Chaudhary was a small woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, her black hair was bound in a long plait and she had a smile that seemed almost too large for her face.

“Yes.” Castiel said, standing to shake her hand. “Miss Chaudhary, you work is beautiful.”

“Well thank you, but don’t bother with the ‘miss’, Giva is fine.”

“Cas,” Cas offered, and then, because Dean was leaning to shake her hand too. “This is Dean, a friend.”

“Moral support?” Giva asked, her dark eyes twinkling, “Understandable, a first tattoo can be a scary business.”

“It’s not his first,” Dean said immediately, “but this one’s important, he wants it to be right.”

Giva nodded and gestured them to sit, she did as well, laying a sketchbook and some pencils on the table in between them.

“So, Cas, do you know what you’d like?”

Cas felt himself flushing and stammered out an apology which Giva waved away, “Not a problem, that’s what these talks are for, yes? If we don’t figure it out today you can always come back another time. So what drew you to my work in particular?”

So Cas told her, he answered her questions and looked through her books. She made some further sketches as he talked, of nothing in particular, nothing important, and so her sketches, while lovely, were nothing like what he was looking for. Dean was quiet throughout, Cas kept glancing at him to gauge his reaction to each piece but he remained stubbornly neutral. This only added to his confusion, how was he supposed to decide if he didn’t know if Dean would like it or not?

“I wonder if I might ask your friend to go and get us some sandwiches from across the street.” Giva said after thirty minutes of light conversation and not much progress.

Dean was reluctant, but agreed when Cas nodded to him and left with a significant ‘call me if you need me’ look.

The second the door closed, Giva let out a long sigh. “Perhaps you can speak more easily now,” she said. “I notice you very much want his approval.”

“I trust his judgement,” Cas said, carefully.

“I don’t doubt his judgement, only that in this case, his opinion matters less than yours. He will approve the most if you’re happy.” Giva said with a kind smile, as though she saw this kind of thing all the time.

“You care for him deeply,” she said

“I-” there was no sense in denying it. “Yes. Dean and I… we’ve been through a lot.”

“Tell me,” Giva said, sitting back in her chair, sketchbook at the ready.

Cas cleared his throat.

“Err… Well… I suppose you could say I come from a very strict background,” he began, picking his words carefully. “When I first met Dean, more than a decade ago now, I pulled him from a dark place; it was a duty for me at the time, to keep an eye on him, look out for him and his brother, to try and keep them on the righteous path. Dean… Dean disliked being led.” He felt a small smile tugging at his lips. “I found myself admiring that, helping him more that I was supposed to and as I grew closer to Dean, I began to see my family for what they truly were. They tried to get me back, keep be under their control but I fought for my freedom because Dean showed me how.”

“Freedom is an important thing.” Giva said encouragingly as she sketched, “Worth fighting for. But it can be difficult if family disagrees with your choices.”

“I made many mistakes that I can never redeem.” Cas said, “A lot of bad decisions that got people hurt. Dean forgave me even when he had every right not to, while my family betrayed me, cast me out, hunted me.”

“A fall from grace, sounds like.” Giva muttered, Cas looked up sharply but the petite woman wasn’t even looking at him, she was focused on her sketch.

“That would be… incredibly accurate.”

“So why the tattoo now?” Giva asked, her pencil stilling for a moment, “This is your first important one, but you waited ten years?”

Cas tilted his head, formulating his answer before speaking, looking down at his own hands, “For years after I met Dean, my body didn’t feel like my own. Like it was someone else’s and I was just stealing his life. It has taken me a long time to… settle into my own skin, as it were. These clothes are his but they fit me now and so have become mine. My other tattoos are copies, but this will be the first thing about my body that isn’t inherited.”

Giva nodded again and asked nothing more, continuing to sketch in silence, she tore three separate pages from her notebook when she was done and laid them out one by one.

Cas didn’t even look at the third sketch, the second one was perfect.

Xxx

“So I drive all this way and I have to drive all the way back again in four days but you’re not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I don’t want you to see it before it’s done.” Cas said, holding Giva’s sketch tightly to his chest. Before Dean had come back in with sandwiches, they had discussed minor tweaks and colours and Giva had given him the sketch to look over in case he wanted to change anything else before his appointment, she assured him that even the day of, if there was anything that he wasn’t certain of it could be changed to his liking as long as he told her before she got her needles out. In fact, all Dean knew about the piece was that it was going to be large and on his back, and that they would probably need more than one appointment to get it all done.

“If it’s Bob Ross’ face, I’m disowning you.” Dean griped.

“You don’t own me,” Cas pointed out. “So disowning me would be pointless.” And then, “and it’s nobody’s face.”

Xxx

It was worth the wait. That was all Dean could think a few weeks later when Cas dropped his shirt so that Dean could see the healed and completed piece. No wonder Giva had looked so pleased with herself after Cas’ last session, no wonder Cas had been beaming through red eyes.

Wings.

If Cas had asked his opinion he’d have said perhaps a little on the nose but he would have been eating those words.

They covered almost the entirety of Cas’ back with anatomically correct (he was assuming) detail but they were by no means static, the top half was full and thick with shimmering feathers, so dark they were almost black, but whatever ink Giva used caught the light, sending beautiful tones of blue, green, purple and magenta skittering across them. They swept down the curve of Cas’ spine where the feathers began to thin, hints of red and orange entered the mix, not enough to take away from the beauty of the above, just a subtle transition where some of the feathers were burning and curling into ash, then further down still those burnt and falling feathers twisted in the air, transforming into butterflies the same colour as the healthy feathers that weaved around the now bare bones of the wings.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Cas, they’re incredible.”

“I can’t manifest my wings,” Cas said quietly, “but I want you to see them as I see them. They are perhaps the thing I miss most about my old life; the symbol of what I was, powerful and grand and sure. But I’m not bound by their rules anymore. And what I am has changed into something more compressed, more human but infinitely more free. That transformation is largely because of you, Dean, and I can’t thank you enough.”

Dean barely realised he had reached forward to touch one of the burning feathers until Cas shivered under his touch, his fingers followed the wings in their progression, along their changes, they followed Cas’ story and he was the one who should be thanking Cas for letting him be a part of it. Without thinking, he dropped his lips to Cas’ shoulder and pressed them there. Cas turned to meet him and their mouths fitted together like they were made to, like they had done this before a thousand times, like, perhaps, they should have.

@winchester-reload

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