What is that? (a tattooed reader)
Summary: You tied your hair in a high ponytail that morning, and it was enough for the tip of your tattoo to be visible. You've had it for so long that you're used to it, and sometimes you forget it's there — plus, you forgot that they've never seen it before.
Words: 1716
Tags: reader have tattoos; platonic relationships; more like friendships; no pronouns for reader, but you wear a dress and have sort of long hair.
Can you tell I have favorites? Only Isaac, Mozart, Jean, Arhur, Vincent, Theo, Napoleon and Sebastian show up. Le Comte is vaguely mentioned.
If you're curious to see the tattoos, I linked their images in their respective descriptions throughout the fanfic.
“What is that, mademoiselle?”
You're helping Sebastian with breakfast, moving around the dining room, but you’ve been feeling a strong stare for a while. You're already accustomed to everyone, so you don't mind. You knew that if it was Isaac trying to muster the courage to ask you something, he would eventually do it. But it’s Jean’s voice, and it catches your attention because he usually eats in silence; and he sounds unsure and curious.
You set Arthur’s coffee in front of him while you glance at the table and everything you and Sebastian made. Perhaps there's something he doesn't know, like when you baked him macarons, but today's menu is the same as usual.
“What is what?”
“That thing,” he points in your direction.
Isaac, Mozart, Vincent, and Theo are already having breakfast too, but they pause to glance at you, curious about what Jean is talking about. You feel a bit self-conscious and briefly inspect your clothes. Did you spill something? Fortunately, no.
“I don’t follow, Jean.”
“That thing you have here,” he points at his own back. “I’ve seen it since I sat here to eat, but I can’t understand.”
You raise an eyebrow at him and look over your shoulder, Arthur takes advantage that you’re still by his side to lean backwards on his chair and measure you up and down — and definitely stare at your ass.
“Stop it, perv,” you playfully spat the writer’s arm, earning a chuckle from him.
“Ah, I think Master Jean is talking about your tattoo,” Sebastian tries to help, pointing at his own nape.
Realization finally hits you. Since arriving at the mansion, you've been exclusively wearing long clothes that cover almost your entire body. However, summer started a few weeks ago, and you've been feeling the full force of the heat. It's scorching every day, and at times, you wake up covered in sweat. You've been yearning for an air conditioner or even just a simple fan. So you bought lighter clothes recently — aka Comte bought you a whole summer wardrobe as a gift. What you're wearing today is just an off-the-shoulder dress, so the front and back necklines are a bit lower than usual, but not by much. However, you tied your hair in a high ponytail that morning, and it was enough for the tip of your tattoo to be visible. You've had it for so long that you're used to it, and sometimes you forget it's there — plus, you forgot that they've never seen it before.
“What is that?” Jean is even more curious now, evident from the way he furrows his brow.
“It's a drawing on my body, made with a special kind of paint that never fades. It's a form of art.”
“Really?” You've piqued Theo's interest in art. “And what is it?”
“Music,” and now you’ve piqued Mozart’s interest in music. He doesn’t really show it, but you know him well enough to see when he’s curious. “Well, kinda. It goes a little down my spine, but it’s safe to show. Sebastian, can you help me, please?”
The butler nods and approaches you. You turn your back and move your ponytail to the side for a better view, while Sebastian lowers your neckline slightly so the others can satisfy their curiosity and see it.
It starts just at the end of your nape and goes 5 inches down. It’s an all-black DNA drawing with musical notes on the middle lines, a representation of a metronome pendulum on top, and a treble clef at the bottom. The middle actually has the same number of lines as a music sheet, and the notes can be read as the first five notes of your favorite song.
There’s only silence for a few moments, and as you turn around, you see that they're still staring at you. You think Theo hadn't even blinked until now because he suddenly blinks a lot, and his eyes meet yours.
“It’s pretty!” Vicent smiles like the angel he is. “Is it a real song?”
“It is,” Mozart hums the notes, his eyes conveying that he knows it’s your favorite song.
You've told him once, when you went to the music room to give him an afternoon snack. You were already friends (kind of), so when you saw he wasn't there at the moment, you knew he wouldn't mind if you sat down and softly played it; so you did. The next thing you knew, he was barging into the music room to scold whoever had the audacity to touch his piano, but he stopped when he saw you. He may have asked you to write down the notes so he could play it with you.
“Oh, yeah, you played it for us in the last banquet,” Isaac remembers.
“Does it hurt?” Jean asked, curious again.
“No, not anymore. It hurt when I was getting it done. Boy, that was one hell of a ride,” you laugh. “But it’s been years, so it’s all healed and okay now.”
“It suits you, hondje. Do you have more?”
“I do!” You beam at them, feeling all bubbly inside. It's lovely how they always show interest in anything about you and remember what you like. “It’s on my thigh.” You use the tip of your toes to put more leverage on your right leg, grabbing a fistful of the skirt of your dress. You lift it to show them your tattoo, but a hand stops you when it's reaching your knee.
“Nunuche, what the hell?”
Napoleon had just woken up and was joining you in the dining room. Did you say something about your thigh? He was still a little sleepy, so he thought he heard you wrong. But then you grabbed your dress… What the fuck do you think you’re doing? He was at your side in the blink of an eye, gripping your wrists tightly and looking at you with a panic expression. It’d certainly be red in a second, if the loud slap sound was any indication.
And that’s how you make vampires choke on their foods and drinks. You look at them, a confused expression on your face. Isaac spat his tea all over his plate and is now coughing to clear his throat. Jean dropped his fork, frozen in his chair. Mozart is blinking in a frenzy, his mug in such a tight grip on his hand that his knuckles are white. Vincent is blushing furiously, his mouth agape. Theo is actually amused, and you clearly heard Arthur complaining to Napoleon that it was just getting good.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, startled.
“MC, just remember we’re not in the 21st century,” Sebastian says, clearly holding a smirk.
You feel your entire face heat up. Oh my God! That was certainly an uncomfortable situation. But you were so used to them; they made you feel at home, so you didn’t really think about what you were doing.
“Oh, right, sorry,” You chuckle and blush under the intensity of their stares. “But it’s no big deal, really. Sebastian and le Comte have already seen it.”
“Say that again?” Theo asks as his gaze drifts to the butler, just like everyone else's.
“It’s nothing weird!” You can almost feel the emperor’s grip tightening. Sometimes he was so overprotective — they all were, and it was both endearing and funny. You huff. “We were talking about the 21st century, and I told Sebas that I have tattoos and showed him. Simple as that. Lots of people wear clothes that show a lot of skin in modern days. Do you think I would lift my dress to show the tattoo when I’m right next to Arthur if it wasn’t okay?” You deadpan Napoleon.
“Hey!” The writer complains, but everybody ignores him. You do have a point.
Napoleon frowns, but slowly releases you. You look at the others and just from a look they know you’ll be mad if they freak out again, so they try to act cool. Keyword: try. They’re staring so much you think they’ll open a hole in your thigh, but at least they’re quiet. You lift the dress just a little more and your tattoo is finally showing. It’s colorful and about the same size as the other. There’s white fine lines connecting dots, forming the Leo constellation, with a blue-purple watercolor background.
“Yes, luv! Now that’s a good breakfast,” Arthur smirks and places his elbow on the table to support his head as he looks at you. He’s so glad that Jean started this conversation while you were still beside him. Napoleon purses his lips and glares at the writer, but he knows better than to start a fight. His nunuche wouldn't let him live it down.
“What the fuck is that?” Theo raises an eyebrow. Don’t get him wrong, he likes the art, but he just doesn’t understand what it’s supposed to be.
“Theo, language,” Vincent scolds his brother. He doesn’t want you to think they don’t like it.
“Is it upside down?” Jean frowns and tilts his head, trying to get a different angle, but it doesn’t make a difference.
"It's the Leo constellation," you chuckle and glance at Isaac, knowing he would understand. He enjoyed stargazing and always invited you to join him, especially after discovering your shared interest — then he started rambling about physics and astronomy, and you were lost.
“Oh, the stars,” Vincent says.
"So," Theo begins, and you can tell from his amused tone that he's about to say something to make you blush, "you have one that resembles Mozart and another that resembles Isaac."
“No, no. It’d have to be an apple for Newt,” Arthur grins when the poor physicist blushes as red as… the mentioned fruit.
“You’re the worst,” Isaac mumbles under his breath.
You chuckle at their banter. “So that’s it,” you say, releasing your dress. “We have a lot of things to do. So finish your breakfasts quickly.” You clap your hands twice.
“Indeed,” Sebastian nods in agreement.
You have moments of silence after that and you go back to work, but you feel the stares the whole day. You know they still have so much to say and ask, but they stay quiet.
You have some “not-so-permanent tattoos” now — and they might have helped do some.
I don't have tattoos yet, but I really want it. I'd make the first one, but with colors.
Crossposted on AO3.
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