mariana. | Karl Jacobs x oc one shots

my pretty boy

   I jump over a pile of old clothes and sit on his chair. Blue and green lights beam through the LEDs covered across the corners of the walls. I cross my leg on the chair and lean on top of it with my other. The background music settles inside the bedroom. I grab his robust headset and cover my ears to enjoy the lofi background music.

   He's gone on a little break while the chat is flooding about how long he's taking in the bathroom. I take comfort in reading some of them and check whether or not he forgot to turn off his camera and muted the microphone.

   Someone's laughter distracts me from the messages and makes me glance at the lit up profile picture on Discord. Sapnap. Or as Karl told me, Nick. I almost burst out laughing when I hear someone's kettle laughter in unison with another guy, but manage to keep myself quiet.

   "Here you go," he says and gives me a beige oversized woolen sweater and my favorite tea. I unintentionally look at the dark bags under his eyes. He had been streaming ever since he came back from the mall.

   He gives me a quick but soft kiss on the cheek and lifts me off of his wheelchair. "Got to get back to work." He removes the headset I had put on moments earlier and plops down on the chair.

   I shuffle towards my side of the bed and put the tea down on the bedside table. "I'm back guys!" His enthusiasm made its way through the room, giving me hot cheeks. I love it when he is happy.

   I accidentally burn my tongue while the hot tea forces itself down my throat. I hiss and stir the tea whilst also blowing on it. I always make the same mistake and forget that he never pours in cold water I normally pour in because of my impatience. I look at his bedside table to see if he left a water bottle, and to my luck, he has an unopened one waiting to be taken by me. I crawl over his bed and grab it, and pour some of it in the cup. I finally enjoy drinking my tea like a child enjoys their candy.

   He looks away from his bright screen and smiles when he realizes what I'm doing. "Did you burn your tongue?" He leans over and whispers. I nod. My hands make their way through the cozy sleeves and help my head make its way through the bigger hole in the sweater. "I'm ending the stream in a minute," he whispers and un-mutes himself once again.

   I rub my cold feet together from under the warm sheets and watch him do his outro. He turns all of his equipment off and collapses on top of the bed. "Why are you still awake?" He plays with a strand of my –as he calls it- dark chocolate hair.

   "Cramps," I muffle in a sleeve.

   "Do you want me to get you some comfort snacks?" I shake my head and gently grab him by his arm after I realized he was ready to leave the room again. He calms down and leans against my shoulder. I grab his hand and look at his bare nails. "Can I do your nails," I ask. "Sure," he says. I jump up and hop around in his room. The rasp in his worn out laugh almost lifts me from the ground, but weirdly enough, my feet haven't left the ground, yet.

   While I look around for nail polish I hear him opening the third can of Monster Energy tonight. I worry tonight is going to be another sleepless night for him, but the thought disappears when I find my makeup bag. I internally squeal as I imagine him with eyeliner, so I throw the bag on the bed. "What are you up to," he asks as he playfully throws a pillow at me. I throw it back to him and grab the nail polish. "Nothing," I tease him.

   I sit across him with my bare legs crossed and put his hand on my knee. I start painting his thumb a bright red color. "Sit still," I say focused while he tries to find a comfortable position to sit in and ends up with his legs around me and his back against the headboard of the bed. I move his hand up to his knee and continue painting the other nails. He hums to the music he had left on after he ended his stream and stares at me painting his nails. It's quiet besides the music and his low humming, but that is how we spend most of our nights together. Just taking each other in without having to say anything because our eyes say enough already.

   "Close your eyes," I say as I open my makeup bag. I look through it and try to find my eyeliner through the mess. "Did you miss your girl's night or something," he asks but closes his eyes. I like how he questions me but still does what I want him to. I finally find my black eyeliner and stretch his eyelid a bit to make it easier for me to draw a line on him. "Is this going to hurt like that eyeball grabber thingy you have," his voice wavered. "You mean eyelash curler?" I smile and cup his face with my tiny hands. "No, it won't hurt. It might feel a little ticklish though."

   He squints his eyes as soon as I touch him with the eyeliner. "Karl!" I say loudly and quickly wipe away the wet black blotch of ink on his eyelid. "I'm sorry, I'm not used to someone poking at my eyes!" he practically whines. I give him a kiss on his forehead while his eyes are still closed and quickly draw a line across his eyelid. I draw another one on the other side when he's used to it. "Now, open your eyes," I say.

   "How do I look," he asks while his eyes are watering. "You look pretty," I say, but my voice is a lot higher. Almost as if I'm talking to a three-year-old. "I do," he questions and grabs a mirror out of my bag. "Be careful. It's still wet," I say, but it's too late. "Oh, you smudged it." He laughs. "No, I made it prettier."

   "My pretty boy," I jokingly say even though it's true. I look him into his big grey eyes and caught his eyes dilate. Some people find grey eyes boring and rather want blue, or green eyes, but I prefer his. It almost looks like a seventeenth century artist painted a picture and decided his eyes deserved to be put to light.

   I like art. No, I love it. Whenever I paint, I tend on using the primary colors the most because of the life in its color. When I paint with blue, it reminds me of swimming in the sea with Karl and his family. When I use yellow, I remember all the times I've eaten fries with my friends, or sunbathing with my mother. And red, I use the most. Most people see red as anger, or as a bad sign, but I see it as fresh air, love, or strawberries, my favorite fruit. That's why I chose to paint his nails red.

   My most favorite person deserves to wear my most favorite color.

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Word count: 1249