I’m still doing Inktober but i got no internet connection at home right now, so all i can give you is batch uploads here and there. this is day 2-6, more of my OC “Butz” after the expressions prompt list by ohnips/offcells on instagram
(Modern Spiritassassin AU. Cloyingly sentimental. I’m so sorry for all the fluff. Vague, generalized background homophobia but nothing explicit.)
16. Roses are red, Violets are blue, You can do whatever you want to me. (please do.)
It starts as a joke. It starts because Jyn, in her flat direct Jyn way, asks a simple question, “Do you guys have anything planned for Valentine’s Day?” It means nothing. It is just idle chitchat from her lips, a random question that has more to do with a date on the calendar than anything else. This is Jyn. Who does not pry because she does not really know what to do with personal information anyway, certainly doesn’t want it. No, Jyn would rather someone ask her for help fixing their car than ask her for help with a personal crisis. Jyn does not want to see tears. Jyn does not want to know about the disquietude that sometimes haunts people alone at night when the darkness makes the inside of the soul rattle and shake like a tree limb against a window pane in fall when the wind is high.
Author’s Note: Once again this oneshot is inspired by @thehalcyonclub‘s Calum oneshot Green. I really enjoyed writing this one and it’s definitely more angsty than any of the other color oneshots. Let me know what you think!
Black was the color of the nails clicking away at the keyboard. Michael could tell they were freshly painted, not one chip evident. The dim lighting of the coffee shop reflected off the glossy finish. You were busy, typing away at a speed that forced Michael to look up from his own sketch book. He watched as your brows furrowed, your index finger bashing the backspace key with such a speed that Michael couldn’t help but chuckle. Soon, Michael’s curiosity got the best of him. He shut his sketchbook, tucking it under his arm as his feet carried him the short distance from his table to yours. With amusement in his eyes, he reached out his hand placing it on the keyboard halting your rapid fingers. “I couldn’t help but notice your skillful typing. Have you ever played video games before?” he asked, the corner of his lips twitching. “I’m Michael.”
Black was the color of the xbox controller thrust into your hands. You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up at Michael’s apartment only a few short hours after meeting him. Or why you were sinking into a bean bag with an xbox controller in your hand when you should have been working on the next chapter of your book. You didn’t have time to think, though, because the minute Michael’s butt sank into the opposite bean bag, he was resuming the came and you were forced to click random buttons on the controller just to stay alive. One game turned in to two, which turned in to three, until eventually Michael got bored of winning and took you out to see a movie. The first movie date of many.
Black was the color of the cat Michael and you managed to rescue on your third date. He had shown up at your doorstep on Wednesday night after his shift with the same look of amusement he had when you first met. It really wasn’t weird for Michael to show up at your doorstep on Wednesdays. In fact, Wednesdays quickly became your date night when Michael learned you didn’t have class on Thursday. No, the weirdest thing was that a bowling ball bag was laying forgotten by his feet as he cradled a fragile, frightened cat in his large arms.
“Is that a cat?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“I found him hiding under my truck at the shop tonight,” Michael said, carefully petting the cat. “I named him Midnight.”
“He’s cute,” you cooed, stepping towards Michael. Midnight looked up at you, his gold eyes sparkling in the moonlight. You scratched between Midnight’s ears before tilting his head up and scratching his chin.
“I was gonna take you bowling tonight but I couldn’t just leave him there to die,” Michael said. “Do you mind if we go to the pet store instead? I figured I’d make him the new mascot of the shop.”
“Is it sanitary to have a cat roaming around a tattoo shop?” you asked, zipping up your coat before stepping out of your apartment. You locked the door before taking Michael’s free hand and intertwining your fingers with his.
Michael, Midnight, and you made your way over to the parking lot. You climbed into Michael’s truck before he handed you Midnight, the cat snuggling into your lap. His purrs mixed with the bass line of whatever CD Michael had been listening to before he showed up at your apartment.
“I guess I’ll keep him in my apartment above the shop then,” Michael said, absentmindedly.
Though Michael trusted his instincts about lots of things, choosing the proper pet food was not one of those things. Which is how the two of you ended up spending over and hour in the store, perusing the cat food aisles and making sure to read every ingredient. Midnight had made himself at home in the cart as soon as Michael tossed the Darth Vader dog bed into the cart.
“I think he’d like it better there than the shop,” you agreed. “I’ll even come visit, if you want.”
“Oh, so you’ll visit Midnight but not me,” he pouted.
“Awe is my poor baby jealous?” you teased, pecking his cheek. “You’re going to have to share me now.”
“Only for Midnight.”
“Only with Midnight,” you smiled.
Black was the color of the dress you’d worn to your six month anniversary date. It was also the same dress that ended up in a tangled mess on Michael’s bedroom floor when you stumbled there later that night. Though, the intricate lace and silk pattern wasn’t a total waste, Midnight seemed to enjoy it making a bed out of it quickly. You would have scolded the cat but your mind was preoccupied, too distracted by Michael’s lips trailing over your rather bare body. His hands worked at the clasp of your bra while his lips continued their assault. Timid “I love you’s” and whimpers of ecstasy filled the small room until Michael collapsed next to you, the both of you panting, the world spinning around you. Michael had never felt this way about anyone before and he hoped, god he prayed that you were as crazy about him as he was about you.
Black was the color of the leather tattoo chair your nails were digging into. Somehow Michael had convinced you to let him mark up your body with ink more permanent than the purple love bites he was used to leaving behind. And for some reason you agreed. Maybe because you loved and trusted Michael with all your heart or maybe because when you were around him your head got fuzzy and you lost all of your impulse control. Regardless, you were laying on the chair, your shirt the only thing covering your exposed body from the other artists in the shop as Michael repeatedly etched words into your side. After what felt like hours of pain (Michael swore it was only 20 minutes) you finally got to see the finished product. The words “to the moon and back” jumping off your skin in a way that made you smile. Now, you’d always have a piece of Michael with you.
Black was the color of his charcoal stained hands. The sound of Michael’s pencil scratching the page in the sketch book was a gentle reminder of the boy you’d met not that long ago at the coffee shop. The sound used to be your lullaby, pulling you away from reality and into Michael’s world of visual art and passion. But now, it was a blatant reminder that you had to share Michael with the shop below his apartment. Sure, you were happy his talent was being recognized but you never thought his success would come at the cost of your relationship. “Can’t you stop working for a minute to come cuddle Midnight and me?” you had asked, the words sounding more hostile than you had intended. Instead of dropping everything to jump on you like he’d done so many times in the best, he simply grumbled about having an appointment in five minutes. And just like that Midnight and you were left alone in Michael’s apartment, the faint sound of Michael’s footsteps mixing with the whines from Midnight. “At least I have you Midnight,” you smiled, tapping his head.
Black was the color of the candle’s wick. It once held embers of orange, the flame sending the vanilla scent into the apartment, but after an hour of burning the scent was stale. The wick’s blacked color was a reminder that Michael had never shown up. He hadn’t come up to let you know he was running late on hid appointments nor had he sent a simple text message. Nothing. Instead, an hour and a five minutes after you were supposed to have dinner you marched down the stairs and into the empty tattoo shop. You didn’t find Michael working instead, you found him lounging on the leather couch in the waiting area, a random episode of Game of Thrones playing while the other artists and him chatted. All it took was one glance in your direction for Michael to realize he had fucked something up. He followed behind as you stalked up the stairs, nearly getting the door slammed in his face when he reached the top. And he tried to apologize, he really did, but there wasn’t an apology worthy enough of him missing dinner. “You favor them over me now,” you mumbled, before retreating into the bedroom with Midnight in tow. And just like that, the once ignited flames between the two of you was slowly simmering. The spark slowly staring to fade.
Black was the color of the mascara running down your cheeks. You couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t stand having to spend another night in the apartment alone, Michael too preoccupied with perfecting the morning client’s sketch. You didn’t want to listen to him complain about how much his back hurt from hunching over his human canvases all day. And you couldn’t stomach another once of his promises to tattoo your favorite flower on your neck when your neck continued to be bare after three months of asking. You couldn’t be with Michael no matter how much your heart wanted you to be, you couldn’t. This time it was your turn at half-hearted promises. Your turn to leave Michael wanting more. With one final glance, you turned your back to Michael (and Midnight), wiping your eyes free of tears before tracking down the steps and into the shop. You never looked back.
Black was the color of the asphalt scorching Michael’s feet as he chased after Midnight. It had been three weeks since you moved out and though you’d told Michael a hundred times to close the front door when he went down to throw out trash, he always forgot. Without you there to corral Midnight before he wandered too far, Midnight got out and before Michael knew it his timid cat was chasing a bird down the sidewalk. Michael chased after him, the heat under his feet a far cry from the pain he’s felt in his heart over the last few weeks. “Dammit Midnight!” Michael cursed, closing in on the cat. “I can’t lose you too!” Midnight stopped, turning to look at Michael whom had fallen to his knees in the middle of the sidewalk. Without any warning, Midnight jumped on Michael’s back purring loudly. It was as if he remembered when Michael had saved him and now it was Midnight’s turn to save him.
Black was the color of the small piano Michael had managed to shove into his tiny apartment. It wasn’t new, the keys were worn and the black varnish was chipping but that only made Michael love it more. It reminded him of himself, a little worn and rough around the edges but still good. Every night he’d come home from a long day of tattooing and find himself hunched over the ivory keys, his fingers dancing across the chords until his eyes were heavy and his stomach was growling. Lately, Michael had begun to keep a notebook near by, scrawling in lyrics and notes as he came up with them. The random lyrics and notes soon became a song. The sounds of chords mixing with the rasp in his voice became his escape. Every night Michael tried to get through the song without crying and every night Midnight ended up in a ball on his lap as his body heaved with every word sung. Tonight though was the worse he’s been in a while, the wedding invitation he had received in the mail torn in half at his feet as he began to play. “Every fire I’ve ignited faded to grey,” Michael sang before the sobs started, making it only through the first verse before he broke down.
Black was the color of the tux that clung to Michael’s body. The pants were too tight, the fabric stretching across his thighs in a way that made it hard for him to walk in. The jacket was no better, the sleeves barely reaching his forearms. And the shirt, well, the shirt exposed his soft stomach whenever he reached his hands above his head – which he did a lot. The outfit was a mess, but the boy inside was even messier.
“I can’t do this,” he mumbled, eyes brimming with tears as he look at his mother. “I can’t see Y/N marry someone that’s not me.”
“You have to,” she said, patting her son’s hand. “It didn’t work out between the two of you. You have to let Y/N be happy.”
Michael knew his mom was right, but it didn’t make his heart hurt any less. It didn’t stop his chest from heaving when you appeared at the staircase, the ivory lace clinging to your body in all the right places. The fabric sheer enough that he could see the saying he had tattooed on you all those years ago. Your father was next to you, ushering you down the staircase as the pianist played your favorite song. Michael was okay, until he caught a glimpse of your neck, a delicate lily drawn into your once unmarked skin. A piece of art that wasn’t his, a reminder of the promises he had broken.
That should be me Michael thought when you exchanged your vows, your voice just barely getting through the written words before you started to cry. Michael winced when the rings were exchanged, cursing himself for not offering you the ring that sat purposeless in a drawer at his desk back in the apartment. And when it came time for the kiss, he looked away not wanting to bare witness to the commitment you had just made to someone that wasn’t him.
Michael didn’t stand when you walked down the aisle as a married women; instead, he sat in the pews, eyes closed so tight everything went black.