AU where you get paint on yourself where your soulmate does, and person A paints like a child.
Except, they don't particularly like each other because person A got paint on themselves while person B was in an important meeting, so when person B gets home they paint 'stop that' on their arm, and they get in a fight so next time person B has an important meeting, person A paints a dick on their face.
For Miranda and Lianne :)
Feyre smiled at her work as she finished it, with her hands covered in paint she swept away a few wayward strands of hair from her face.
"You look like a child, go wash that paint off your face," Nesta said, but made no further comment to what was her best work so far.
A starry night sky. No idea why she'd chosen that exactly, but the result was pleasing, even with the few–and low quality–colours available to her.
As evening fell, the paint long removed from her face and hands, and she got ready for bed, she noticed the words stop that painted on her left arm, previously hidden by her sleeve.
Feyre's heart started beating in her chest, so loud she feared Nesta might hear it and ridicule her for it. So it was true then? Soulmates did exist. She knew of the legend–all the paint you got on your body, your soulmate did too–a precious gift not many got to experience.
But she had it. And he'd written to her.
After she hastily finished getting ready for bed, Feyre made her way to the drawer where she kept her paint, and painted stop what? on her arm in response, her handwriting looking like chicken scratches compared to the words he'd written. She watched the paint disappear from her arm, wiped away–except she wasn't the one to remove it, and it was a fascinating sight.
Getting paint all over yourself.
Feyre stared at the reply. Painted with a paintbrush to allow for smaller letters, and still it looked pretty.
She took a wet cloth and rubbed the paint off. Sorry?
As her sisters entered their little bedroom, Feyre quickly covered up her arm with her sleeve.
"Painting again?" Elain asked.
"Let me see your hands before you get the sheets dirty," said Nesta.
It wasn't until the morning she saw the words the people I'm with don't appreciate that kind of thing on her arm, a little smudged, like he'd slept on it to make sure she saw it.
A poor night's sleep, that's what she'd blame it on. But she found herself slightly annoyed with the words 'that kind of thing'. A soulmate was supposed to understand you, your passions. She liked painting, and her soulmate was the equivalent of her oldest sister? Great. Just great.
Whatever she painted back before breakfast. And after breakfast she found the words thank you for your consideration on her arm. It took her a while to decipher the fancy word he'd used, and once she did, she all but rolled her eyes.
He felt the paint appear on his arm as he sat on his chair, the vultures of his Night Court that watched his every move keeping an eye on him but he refused to break this character he performed for them, to look at his arm and possibly get distracted.
He'd known for a while now that he had a soulmate, and apparently she loved painting, because more often than not he found paint on his hands–and sometimes face. He wasn't really one for painting–he appreciated the art of it, of course. But he even had to go out of his way to buy the paint and paintbrushes so he could write to his soulmate.
He'd never written–or painted, as it were–to his soulmate before, so it was nerve wracking staring at the painted words on his arm for so long, not knowing if she'd seen them or not. He'd painted them with a nervous smile on face, so little space to convey the thoughts he really wanted to convey. Stop that, but please paint to your heart's content whenever I am not meeting with important people, you're adorable, and I'm pretty sure I already love you.
It didn't really fit on his arm.
By the time evening had fallen, he had suddenly found the words stop what? on his arm where his words had been.
He'd chuckled a little, shaking his head as he painted his words. And so a small conversation had started, the first time he'd actually spoken to her. He didn't know why it took him so long, perhaps he was nervous she didn't want anything to do with him. Or perhaps he simply enjoyed getting her paint on his hands, knowing that she was doing something she loved when it happened. Perhaps—
His train of thought stopped as he heard a fit of giggles, followed by more laughter, then some distant giggles.
He arched an eyebrow as he looked across the room, finding all eyes on him now, accompanied by laughter or giggles.
Morrigan stepped up to his throne as he beckoned her, and leant closer. "Why are they laughing?" He whispered.
"You have... genitals painted on your face," She replied quietly, but even she had trouble hiding her amusement.
Quietly he excused himself to the bathroom, looking in the mirror to find that, indeed, a penis was painted on his cheek.
Lifting his sleeve, he found the words are you busy now?
And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could hear her laughter as he scrubbed the paint away. And he smiled at his reflection. She was adorable. And he loved her for it.