Listen: Grantaire as a makeup artist in the fashion industry.
All the creators WANT HIM because he’s so talented at what he does. He’s totally against that “hide people’s flaws behind makeup like a mask” bullshit. Grantaire sees beauty and magnifies it. Fashion designers call him the Michelangelo of make up and fight over who will manage to get him to work for them.
Grantaire has been working with Jehan lately, a new upcoming designer in the ashion industry, who impresses everybody with their bold choices, colour patterns and fabric associations. Everything Jehan was called weird for wearing before is now trendy and visionary. Plus, Jehan defies expectations by breaking gender barriers and working with models who don’t fit the runway’s standards.
So Grantaire goes to work one day, and there’s this new model who’s just started working with Jehan. Rumour has it he used to work with Dior and Yves Saint Laurent, but he ended his contract to work with Jehan, because their beliefs aligned perfectly. His name is Enjolras, and Grantaire is convinced he’s seen him on billboards before. But that was nothing compared to reality.
Grantaire has never seen someone that breath-takingly beautiful before. The new model’s divine, in an actually god-like way. Grantaire tries to keep it cool and shakes his hand, invites him to sit, the way things are usually done, but his throat has gone completely dry.
They’re here to determine which makeup style suits Enjolras best. It’s the standard procedure when a new model is hired. As ever, Grantaire tries to cover his nervousness but thinking out loud and talking, so the two of them end up having a conversation revolving mainly about makeup. Grantaire’s almost done when Enjolras asks him:
“So why did you choose to become makeup artist?”
“I guess when you’re fuck ugly you just want to compensate by making something beautiful.”
That kind of answer usually weird people out. But Enjolras simply looks at him, all gold and eyeliner, glitter shining on his lips:
“You have beautiful eyes.”
Grantaire’s heart skips a beat. He does not fall in love so much as he plunges head first into it
Summary:You’re head over heels for you’re best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.
Word count: 1805
Warnings:Cursing, low-self esteem, chubby!reader x bucky, idk….
A/N: I hope you like this chapter, for some reason I enjoy it a lot though it’s not much. I have a three day weekend coming up so hopefully I can continue working on my fics. Thanks for your patience and I LOVE the feedback :]
Romanov was many things: ace assassin, hotshot hacker, super spy. Pleasant in the morning? No.
Not one of her virtues. You might as well have poked a sleeping bear
with a pointy stick; their reactions were generally the same. Though the bear was more likely to let you
live, come to think of it. But desperate
times called for desperate measures.
head cradled her mug as she shuffled back towards the bed with eyes half
open. You took that as an invitation,
though it probably wouldn’t work on vampires, you’d have to remember that
should the time come. You kicked the
door shut and plopped onto the bed where a half-naked Clint was slowly entering
the world of consciousness. You signed
“good morning” to him once his confused expression grazed from Natasha and back
to you. He grinned puckishly before
speaking aloud, “Is it my birthday?”