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kitthepurplepotato · 10 months

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Chapter 7 - The Truth About Pro Hero Deku.

Summary: Deku introduces his girlfriend to his family. Y/N teases Inko and All Might about their “relationship”. Izuku.exe has stopped working after Inko’s answer. Also, Izuku tells Y/N his biggest secret.

Warnings: Swear words

First Chapter Master List

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“Izuku, you need to come home more often!” Inko gives up on hiding and joins the group hug. You can’t miss All Might’s fond smile as one of Inko’s arms snake around him while she pats Izuku’s back with the other.

Izuku might not have his blood father in his life but Izuku clearly grew up in the most loving family anyway. Izuku talked a lot about his past in the interviews; about their financial struggles, his mom’s torturous work routine, about how they googled “how to shave” together on YouTube to learn how to do that stuff because neither of them had anyone in their lives who was nice enough to show Izuku how to shave without cutting himself. They lived a lonely life until Izuku joined UA; it was only him and his mother until All Might took Izuku under his wing. Everything had changed after Izuku made his first proper friends; the house got more lively when his mates came around and Inko smiled more as well, finally able to concentrate on work without feeling like he’s neglecting the only important person in her life for some spare money.

“I genuinely couldn’t. Ask Sweet Pea, if you don’t believe me!” Izuku retorts, his eyes teary from happiness as he looks back at you.

“The boy speaks the truth, madam.” You bow in front of Inko with a cheeky smile on your face.

“Talking about the truth…” Izuku walks to your side, clearly anxious. Oh god, this is it… “I would like you two to meet… the woman I’ll marry one day. Treat her well.”

You choke on your saliva just as Izuku puts his arms around your middle to pull you closer.

Marriage?! Already?! Not like you would mind to change your name to Midoriya… oh my god, Y/N Midoriya, shut the front door, that sounds gorgeous. Then after marriage, you could have a kid, a little baby with green curls and pretty freckles and your eye color… or would it be your hair and his eye color? Nah, you want the green curls to be passed on for sure. And the freckles. Oh my god, those freckles.

“Stop fangirling.” Izuku murmurs into your ear with a shit eating grin on his face; his voice is low and extremely enticing, too quiet for the others to hear but loud enough for you to get goosebumps on your arms.

“Does that mean…” Inko looks five seconds away from crying, probably less, so All Might puts his arms around the woman’s shoulders.

“I think you are meeting your future Daughter-in-law, Midoriya-san.” He murmurs happily, clearly not surprised by the revelation. You have a feeling these two talked about you quite a lot already.

“This is the best present you could have given to your mother, thank you.”

Inko cries like a baby for at least an hour before she finally calms down and goes into the kitchen to prepare some food for lunch. Toshinori-San asks her if she needs any help but he gets shushed right away.

“Enjoy yourself, Yagi. You haven’t seen the boy for ages.”

Clearly, “Yagi” isn’t used to hearing his own first name from the woman’s mouth yet; his whole face reddens as he nods shyly, rendered speechless for the next few seconds.

“Uhm, I don’t mean to be the person who asks this as I’m not technically the part of the family yet, but… you and Inko, hmm?”

Izuku almost chokes on his water while Toshinori looks really close to throwing up by the way he pales completely after you finish your sentence.

“I… I think you miss… understand the situation. We share a house, just like you two… wait, that’s a really bad example, isn’t it? Oh my, I’m making this worse.”

“Sweet Pea, you can’t seriously think All Might and mom…”

“All Might and mom what?” Inko comes out from the kitchen, scaring the living shit out of Toshinori. You swear you can see his soul leaving his body for half a second.

“I was just wondering if you and Toshinori-san are… well… in the same situation as Izuku and I? Sorry if I’m being too straightforward, but…”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Sweet Pea!” Inko waves you off with a light blush on her face. If you see disappointment on All Might’s face you don’t comment on it. “My house was finally full of laughter and happiness when he moved in, I’m more than happy to have him here as a good friend. Honestly, you are so silly. This is Yagi, the hero of the century, the man who saved millions, why would he even look at a silly old, boring lady like me?”

You can barely keep your smile hidden. Yup. This story sounds really similar.

“What are you talking about, Midoriya-san? It’s the other way around! You are the kindest, the purest, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on! You are way too good to be stuck with a silly old man who’s barely standing on his legs after being beaten to pulp way too many times!”

Suddenly, you could cut the tension in the air with a knife if you would carry one with you like Jirou does. The two stare at each other, only just realizing they were both thinking the same thing all this time. You are a little bit jealous for them for being forced to face their own feelings this way; you definitely helped them to get their shit together before they ended up being weird about it like you two did for several weeks. Or, you just ruined the fun. Oh, well.

“I think I’m going to show Y/N my room.” Izuku mutters with a pale face. Obliviousness clearly runs in the family.

~•🥦•~

“Do you want to talk about this or…” You mutter under your nose, your eyes not leaving the confused greenhead.

“Give me 5 to 7 days to get over the fact that my mother has a crush on my favorite hero, All Might, and her feelings are reciprocated and I’ve been watching them for almost ten years and I never realized it.” He mutters back, his speech followed by a big sigh. You can’t help but laugh at Izuku’s dumbstruck face. He’s absolutely adorable.

“I mean, you didn’t even realize your own feelings towards me, at least if I can trust Katsuki’s words and I’m quite sure he ain’t a liar, so…” You giggle to yourself as you snake your arms around the man’s middle with a flirty look on your face.

“Wow, so you talk shit about me with Katsuki while I’m risking my life to save the city?” Izuku moves closer, his body flush against yours as he slowly steps forward to push you towards the bed. Jesus Christ, you’ll never get used to the way he towers over you. The chill that goes down your spine makes you feel dizzy.

“Well, he gets lonely when his husband is on a mission.” You retort with a cheeky smirk. Izuku rolls his eyes fondly while he leaves tiny kisses on your cheek.

“Stop shipping my friends and my family, you weirdo.” He mutters into your neck, his breath hot on the sensitive skin.

“Look into my eyes and tell me those two have never kissed.” You take Izuku’s cheeks in your hands and pull him up to force him to look at you.

“They did. I saw it.” The shit-eating grin on Izuku’s face is downright terrifying. “It was on one of Denki’s house parties. It all started with Eijirou asking Katsuki if he thinks it’s possible to spar with their tongues. They did not remember a single thing the next day and we all decided to not tell them about it for their own modesty. What happens at Denki’s party, stays at Denki’s party. That’s the D-rule.”

Your face resembles a fish trying breathe on the surface. You can’t do anything but gawk at the hero in front of you.

“You saw them french-kissing and you still deny their attraction to each other?” You don’t need to say “I think you are an absolute idiot”, Izuku gets the message.

“Trust me, there was nothing sexy about that tongue fight. I actually couldn’t even think about kissing for years after that. It ruined me.” Izuku sighs dramatically as he turns you around and jumps on his bed with a loud thud.

“Now, can you please have your full attention on me and look around in my room? It might not be the original one but there are a lot of memories here. Mom brought over everything, my notes, my old clothes from the UA days… come on, get wild.” Izuku giggles and to be honest, you would rather concentrate on the sprawled out hottie on the bed instead of your surroundings right now, but you decide to obey anyway.

This room of Izuku’s is more plain than his bedroom now; instead of the cool adjacent wall there are only old posters littering the walls, no personal photos or anything visible on the shelves, just a few low-quality All Might figurines left on the old, wooden desk. There are a few boxes half open in the corner of the room; most of them are notes and memories Izuku wasn’t fond enough to display; his yearbook from middle school for instance is also thrown into the pile, the hard covered book’s front ruined by massive red letters written with a sharpie.

“I hoped you’ll find that last.” Izuku mumbles, his eyes melancholic as he stares at the book. “I wanted you to enjoy being here before I… before I show you that.”

Your blood freezes in your body. Somehow, the mood went from “I want to make out with you in my old bed” to “I will show you something terrible and you’ll probably cry” and you have no idea what to think about this sudden change.

“Why… who…” you mutter while you stare at the book, still too far enough to actually read what the words are.

“Do you remember how My Hero Academia has started?” Izuku asks. He pats his thigh 2 times, asking you to sit down and you do; Izuku’s arms come to the front right away, hugging you from behind, giving you a warm cuddle to soothe your troubled soul.

“With you almost failing getting into UA because you couldn’t use your quirk properly.” You answer right away, like a good fan.

“Yeah. That’s right.” He mutters, giving you a peck on your cheek for your success. “I knew how much you like that manga and everything in it is true but there are some parts Horikoshi had to change up or completely skip because I asked him to. I hated to do this to the fans but… I had to keep our secret safe.”

“You and who’s?” You move around to look at your boyfriend with questioning eyes. Izuku leans over to take the yearbook out of the box and hides it behind him for now.

“What’s the name of my quirk, Sweet Pea?” Izuku asks as he leaves tiny kisses on your neck. You are too anxious to actually enjoy them but they definitely take the edge off at least.

“One for all. After your favorite hero, All Might.”

“Yes. And that’s a lie.”

Your world crumbles. Whatever Izuku is about to say must be something extremely important and probably quite dangerous for you to know but right now, you are just grateful for being included in the small group of people who know Izuku’s apparent secret.

“What…?”

“I haven’t met All Might at UA. I met him way before that. We knew each other quite well by the time I got in. My quirk, All for one wasn’t named after All Might’s. It is… All Might’s.”

Suddenly, Izuku takes the book out from behind his back. There are a lot of rude things written on the covers with that red sharpie, but there is one that comes back over and over again…

The word “quirkless.”

“Izu, what… what do you mean? It doesn’t make any sense…” you mutter to yourself, frustrated tears falling to your cheeks. You want to understand, you want to be able to comprehend his heavy confession, but the original story was etched into your mind so much that hearing all of this is like hearing someone denying the history of heroes completely and asking you to believe they are right and the history books are wrong - to be fair, there is a high possibility that history books are indeed made up. It’s not like anyone was there from the current population to see the whole thing with their own eyes. Izuku is a part of this specific part of the history though, the main character of the decade, so you have no reason to not believe the green head but it’s still… it just doesn’t sound right. Izuku was born to be a hero yet he was born without the most crucial part of being one, but somehow he managed to snatch the number one hero’s quirk when quirks are not supposed to be transmittable?

“You are right, quirks are not usually transmittable but this one is.” Of course you muttered half of that out loud. “There are several other quirks I managed to unlock during my journey which makes the quirk look completely different from All Might’s but I ensure you, they are one and the same. I can’t tell you more than that as this story isn’t just mine, but what I can tell you is that there is a reason no one knows about the fact that my power can be given to basically anyone and I don’t think I need to tell you why is that.” Izuku sighs while he lets you free from his hug in case you need some more space. “I just wanted you to know… The truth… About me. Because I love you and you deserve to know. I was just like you. I know how painful it is to grow up without a quirk. I understand you so much more than you think, Sweet Pea and I’ll forever love you for being the way you are, if you let me.” Izuku’s first teardrops trail down his cheeks, a fond smile decorating his face. You genuinely can’t make a single word right now; there is so much you want to say; you want to tell him how proud you are of him for putting up with all of that without being able to tell a single soul about it, you want to tell him he has no reason to look so frightened because you can’t possibly be mad at him for this, you want to tell him it doesn’t matter if his quirk is “borrowed” because it’s not the quirk that makes you a hero but your will to die for the weak; but your mind it too frazzled to say all of that…

“Even if you’d be quirkless and weak, I would still love you, Izuku. There is no universe where I’m not by your side. I love you to the moon and back and your confession only made me love you more…” You mutter into his neck. “Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for going through all that pain for us, common folk. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you, Izu.” You mutter into the crook of his neck, making his skin wet with your tears. As a fan, you are certainly shook by all the lies around your favorite pro hero but as a human being who’s been living with Izuku for the past few months you can’t say you are surprised by this revelation; he’s always been way too humble for his own good, he barely showed off his quirk to anyone except you, it always felt like he doesn’t really know what to do with the whole fame that came with him being a hero and now it makes so much sense. It’s not right, but it makes sense.

“Can we… uhm… use the hot tub when get home? I want to be close to you. As close as I can get. That’s my wish for today.” Izuku says with teary eyes, his arms tight around your waist. A tiny blush appears on your face as you mutter back, your face still hidden in his neck.

“I would really love that, Izu.”

You know you probably said this at least thousand times already, but having Izuku as your boyfriend was the best decision of your life.

…next chapter!

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Potato ramble:

- Okay, here’s my opinion about how much is out for the public canonically about Izuku (s6 spoilers): While Izuku told his classmates about the fact that he got his power from All Might, the public only knows that for some reason the boy was the the one Shigaraki wanted. At one point in the future I’m quite sure there will be gossips about him but I literally don’t think anyone would ever think about Deku being quirkless. People know their quirk has the same name but its just a name and everyone knows what a big fan Izuku is so everyone just thinks he’s being a fanboy.

- Also, I love how Izuku goes from “I’ll tell you my biggest secret and we will all cry about it” to “can we have a cheeky hot tub date now?” In five seconds. Bro just want to chill 😂

- Don’t tell anyone but Izuku’s dream is to be able to give his power to his quirkless, future kid if they want it. He would never force them to take it though, he’s not an asshole.

- My Hero Academia is different in this AU; for instance, the first book is literally just about Izuku struggling to get into UA, the second about him struggling to keep up then about Izuku unlocking his powers and the backstory villains (except Dabi, his story isn’t in the books at all out of respect to the Todoroki family but there are hints to it.)

- Before you ask: yes, some of the “messages” on the front are from Katsuki indeed. Hell, he probably came up with the whole “idea”. He wanted to swap books with Izuku after they reconciled but Izuku wanted to keep it to “never forget where he came from.”

- So I will try to be on time with the next chapter but I got sick (again) so please be patient with me!

- The next chapter will probably be an NSFW one, not because of the s mut (I don’t really want that chapter to be the s mut chapter, I have different plans, but these fuckers have their mind of their own sometimes 😂), but it will involve nakedness and quite a lot of touching so… yeah. Sorry if you need to skip most of the next chapter 😭😭😭😭

- If you are waiting for the next Shenanigans chapter, I’m also done with that but it’s a double chapter, half SFW and half NSFW and it’s 5K+, that’s why is so delayed 😂

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya x y/n #midoriya izuku x you #midoriya x reader #pro hero deku x reader #Deku x reader

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foressfaction · 10 months

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Basic family head canons for Toby

Warning for abuse mentions and death.

Let's start with the basics. Toby is a deranged boy with lots of mental health issues, ranging from Tourette's Syndrome to simple psychosis. This causes lots of tragic incidents to occur throughout his life.

In the earlier years of his life, it was pretty good. He acquired a stuffed cow and named it 'Mr Cowbells' why? Because he was literally 7.

His family was good to him throughout those years but as he started getting older they started to lack financial support and began to grow poor.

They moved from a decent house to a smaller, older one just to keep themselves safe and well fed. Though as Years went on the family's relationships declined at the speed of light.

Members of the family went by the names of.

Connie Rogers- Mother

Jacob Rogers- Father

Lyra Rogers- Sister

Tobias Rogers- Brother

Connie is more of a passive aggressive type of person. She would let people walk all over her but when it came to certain people, she would be in authority, being the bigger person. She didn't like crowds or was much of a social butterfly.

She stayed at home 24/7 and did house work, being a stay at home mom.

Both of her kids were at grade school while she made sure the house was clean and dinner was made when her husband came home. She was 36 and had fair but more pale side colored skin. Her hair was cut short into a bob and was colored dark brown, almost looking black. Same goes for her eyes.

She constantly had bags under her eyes and blemishes like moles and freckles covered her face.

Lyra Was the daughter. She was more of the 'goofy' type. Always planning things to keep herself and her brother entertained. Growing up poor meant a rather boring childhood so she made sure to make the best of it for herself and her little brother. She had pale skin but kept it healthy by trying to go outside more but it never worked. Her hair was almost always put up (being braids, pony tails, buns,) and was a light blonde. Her eyes were a dark chocolate brown like her mother's. She was currently 21 when the accident occurred. Leaving her brother alone.

Jacob Was the father. He spent most of his time at work trying to provide for the family until money became a problem. He started drinking and gambling for money, becoming more aggressive by day.

Eventually the family feared him, and he became physically ab*sive to the three.

It was mostly Toby who he treated like garbage. The kids would usually always stick up for their mom though, the main one being Toby.

The man was 40 at the time, going months without shaving and barely put any effort into his hygiene. This got him fired a year later, him now diving deeper into the addictions to rid him of his struggles but only add into the ab*se the rest of the family was enduring.

He had hazel eyes and shared the same hair color as his daughter, a light blondish color. It was more buzzed up along the sides and longer and spiky at the top.(who told him that was a good haircut.)

However, the son, Toby, was an oddball, obviously. Being sadly cursed with multiple disorders that limited him from doing lots of things.

One of those things being public school.

Bullying was a huge issue and he could almost never escape it, even when home.

They took him out of the school system when he was just 15 and started 'homeschooling' him.

When i say 'homeschooling' i mean very poorly teaching him from a book, and it would mainly be Lyra doing it. (who was also still in public school,) so she wasn't home most of the time.

The brunette's mental state started declining fast. With hallucinations and the constant physical and mental ab*se, his mind wasn't going in good places.

With much stress came with many de-stressors. He started to brutally chew on his hands and tongue, whatever he could.

He chewed the absolute hell out of jacket/hoodie strings to the point where they were shredded or straight up being digested.

His mom caught onto these problems and started taking the strings from his jackets and bandaging his hands tight.

They'd grow raw and itchy under the bandages. He was leaving horrible scars on them and would not let his nails grow past the point where the white part of the nail actually shows.

His sister was really the only one there for him. His mom was too but she had housework or was asleep, too exhausted from cleaning or fighting with her husband.

He always didn't want to bother her either so he always went to the blonde girl if he ever needed any help or just plain company.

They had a fantastic relationship, and were as close as any sibling would be.

When she was getting older she was beginning to drive. Therefore taking him places like the mall, to fast food places. She'd steal their dad's money when he passed out and would blow it on very useless things like.

A 20lb bag of jellybeans. Yes, jellybeans.

They were total crackheads together but of course this wasn't the case all of the time.

With Toby suffering from bad tics and schizophrenia he had to take medication for it, and would usually refuse because he thought it made it worse..

So Lyra was more like an older sibling and a mom. He started eating less and vomiting the older he got. The hallucinations got horrible.

He'd see weird shit like giant bugs on the walls, sharks, other fish in the air or bathtub/sink when he does the dishes, he'd hear things like giggling, screaming, whispers, ect.

Only when he hit age 17 was when he started hearing actual sentences in his mind that sounded like his own voice just more demented.

A creature started appearing in his dreams, waking him up, giving him bad insomnia.

The ab*se didn't stop either.

He grew more aggressive, growing up in the same type of household, raises you to be the same type of person.

He started to fight his dad a lot, usually not ending well.

Either he'd get glass thrown at him, or he'd get beaten up/kicked out in front of the family.

He'd spend nights sleeping in the car with his sister because of how loud the yelling got.

Eventually something horrible had to happen right. So remember that creature he saw in his dreams? He started seeing it in real life too, standing in the street, at his window, in his hallway/room.

Even standing behind him in mirrors. It started to drive him insane.

He was taken to therapy multiple times but nothing ever stopped it. He started to feel like everyone was out to get him.

He started doing what he loved less, going out with his sister, well that was the only thing he liked doing

He never went outside, making Toby grow paler and more unhealthy. He was extremely underweight and malnourished that it started to stunt his growth. Well it had been a problem anyways.

It was obvious that if he still went to school he'd be picked on badly for it all.

Not like he already was in the first place.

His mom grew distant and of course, the 'man of the house' grew to despise his own children, completely neglecting them.

Now it was just him and Lyra.

Toby had ended up running away one night after a bad fight with his father. It had been weeks since his family heard from or saw him. Lyra knew she had to take this situation into her own hands as her mother was too distraught to even try. She eventually found him and began to drive him back home after a swift argument that lasted about half the car ride before something uncanny and paranormal began to occur.

Lyra was driving and Toby was in the passenger seat.

The traffic was heavy and sensory overload is a thing. The car was speeding and the cars were honking.

Everything started to feel less real, and then and there, that creature appeared, tall and thin, right in the middle of the highway. Of course he was the only one to see it.

He freaked out in his seat, also freaking Lyra out, causing her to steer sharply and ended up flipping the car.

This killed her instantly

Though he was still conscious, barely hanging onto it that is.

He escaped with a torn up arm and a broken rib or two. Though he survived.

He did catch a glimpse of the mangled face of his sister the second before he passed out.

The image haunted him for months on end, and now the only person he really had was gone.

Starting to spiral out of control completely. He'd chew on anything, start growling at people, showing signs of obvious grief and agony.

Those months in solitude was nothing but utter torture to him.

It was all thanks to that thing, that stupid creature. He referred to it as the 'slim man'

It was tall, had no face, it seemed to be wearing a suit but it would also morph itself so every time it would be different.

It drove him to insanity.

Homicidal thoughts were no stranger to his mind either. He'd constantly think about harming himself or others, but one person always came first to mind when he did think these things.

His own father of course.

The man was completely gone, an alcoholic, an ab*ser.

He was far too clever to know this man wasn't showing him tough love, but beating it out of him.

Being home alone with the man was all it took for him to finally snap.

The whispers and giggles would clog up his mind, making him black out mentally and falling into the control of his own anger.

He landed 39 stab wounds right into the man's chest, leaving a bloody mess everywhere in the living room of their house.

It was only then did his mom come home, hand full of groceries to realize the bloody mess of the blood of her husband and seeing that her son was the cause behind it, still sitting over the mutilated man with malicious intent in his eyes.

Though the scream she shredded pierced his ears like an air horn, he scurried to the door where he darted through the garage, grabbing a few things on his way, being two hatchets..

One was newer yet the other was rusted and the color was fading.

He had also grabbed the basic necessities to start a fire.

Gasoline and matches.

Though sure, lighting the entire neighborhood on fire was a way of escaping what he just did, but surely not the smartest.

He ended up trapping himself in this mess he caused. Soon there was nothing but flaring flames around him. He knew then and there he was going to die.

Right when he blacked out, wanting to accept his fate, to finally get a break from the pathetic life. A pool of static engulfed him, and he woke up somewhere deep within the forest with absolutely no recollection of what happened or how he got there.

Everyone thinks he's dead.

#creepypasta #slenderverse #foressfaction #ticci toby #toby rogers #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby headcanons

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terresdebrume · 26 days

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Also re: picking donor traits, there is also the matter of plain old availability?

Like, donors don't necessarily give a lot or regularly, they might be limited in how many times they can donate or the laws in place might limit how many families can use the same donor. Add to that the financial concerns and again, the practical reality is that you kind of have to be materialistic about these things

Similarly: one comment was shocked that the YouTuber used imported sperm (they didn't) but imported sperm covers a lot of different things!

I am currently on Cambodia. IUI process, if it happens, will most likely happen here. All local donors are khmer, aka not my race, and I don't particularly intend to raise a child here forever bc I don't want to live here forever

Which is the most unethical, imported sperm from a potential Westerner or sperm from a local donor that means my kid will be a mixed Asian kid in Europe for most of their life* ? And since my mom's family is mixed via my great grandfather, am I only allowed mixed donors? Mixed and poc donors are notoriously underrepresented in sperm banks at least in France (and idek if there would be a way to legally get sperm from there) so am I, a largely white/white looking person only allowed to pick a white donor?**

And let's say I do find a mixed donor to match my family, my family tree goes up to my great grandfather, who had a slave name, and then I guess maybe one or two generations up? So how do we deal with the question of the ancestors' culture? I guess I could go for Belgian bc of my father's side but that's also from my great grandparents and not something that's been preserved

Am I allowed to 'just' give my kid French and Guadeloupe culture or... Like, how far back do you go? I feel like a lot of the conversation in those YouTube comments assumes it's going to be everyone united in a long unbroken line and then donor conceived baby will be the only one left out, but for many people it's more complicated than that anyway, and while OBVIOUSLY this is just a very small part of the debate in a VERY specific corner of the internet, it's still a very frustrating read tbh x)

* To clarify: I would be fine with a Khmer donor and a mixed child! They would still be a lone mixed Asian kid in a majority white country which comes with attached difficulties

** Further consideration : if I'm supposed to pick someone who looks like me because I'm a single parent, 1. Exactly what level of scrutiny am I supposed to apply? Should I bring out a color palette to make sure I don't pick a donor who is too dark or too pale skinned? 2. Do the people who think like that know that a child can end up much darker or per skinned than one would expect ? (It's not common afaik but it has been known to happen) 3. What implication does that have for mixed couples who may or may not have access to the culture attached to their genetics? Or hell, adopted people who want children? Are we only allowed to ever reproduce with people who have common genetics to ours? 4. If your answer to that last question is yes, do you know who you sound like?

#Matt has a life #Shit from home #sperm donor discussion

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glassandmetalwings · 1 year

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Hey! It’s me again, encouraging you to back another Kickstarter that I meant to tell you about weeks ago!

Some of you may remember me talking about a kitsune plush campaign back in...October or so? Well that was successful, and now the artist has a part 2!

Before I make this a long post, I’m going to post the l ink to the KS and just encourage reblogging if you even like what you see (I’m not forcing you to, of course-I’d just like to see it spread around). I’m a big fan of the artist and a huge fan of kitsune, so...yeah.

To the Kickstarter

Let’s look at the designs!

(Under cut for length, but I encourage looking!)

[image ID: a photograph of Silva, The Leaf Kitsune. They’re a creamy yellow color with green accents on their paws, ears, face, and nine tails. They have a leaf mark on their forehead and hind leg. /End ID]

[image ID: a photograph of Ellios, The Blue Spirit Kitsune. They’re a light blue color with white accents on their paws, ears, face, and nine tails. They have a diamond-like mark on their forehead and a flame mark on their hind leg. /End ID]

[image ID: a photograph of Serenity, The Kitsune of Light. They’re white with golden yellow accents on their paws, ears, face, and nine tails. They have a halo-like on their forehead and a spiral mark on their hind leg. They also have pale blue wings with golden yellow embroidery. /End ID]

[image ID: a photograph of Baal, The Kitsune of Darkness. They’re black with red accents on their paws, ears, face, and nine tails. The inside of their ears and the embroidered lines of their eyes are orange. They have a flame-like mark on their forehead and a moon and star mark on their hind leg. /End ID]

[image ID: a photograph of Cyrus, The Sun Kitsune. They’re a bright orange color with yellow accents on their paws, ears, face, and nine tails. They have a series of circular marks on their forehead and a sun mark on their hind leg. /End ID]

[image ID: a photograph of Radio, The Uranium Kitsune. They’re a bright green color with yellow accents on their paws, ears, face, and nine tails. They have an atom symbol on their forehead and and nuclear symbol on their hind leg. /End ID]

I’m particularly a fan of Ellios, Serenity, and Baal (I unfortunately can’t get all of them this time for financial reasons, and in fact have only order 2 of those 3). There are, as before, also keychains and enamel pins available of each kitsune. There are also 3 stretch goal friends:

[image ID: an illustration of Flora, The Flower Kitsune. They’re a soft pink color with rose accents on their paws and ears, and blue, orange, purple, rose, and green tips on their nine tails. They have a tulip-like flower mark on their forehead and a three-flower mark on their hind leg. /End ID]

[image ID: a illustration of Hina, The Sunflower Kitsune. They’re a deep brown, nearly black color with golden yellow accents on their paws, ears, face, and nine tails. They have ray-like marks on their forehead and a sunflower mark on their hind leg. /End ID]

[image ID: a illustration of Nova, The Star Kitsune. They’re a soft yellow color with pale blue accents on their paws, ears, face, and nine tails. They have star marks on their forehead and a falling star mark on their hind leg. /End ID]

I would personally really, really love to see Flora unlocked, because she looks perfect to have in an art space (and my art space is an unfinished basement with concrete walls and poor lighting so I could really use the pop of color okay).

It’s working a little different this time, with all six main designs unlocked at 12k, but instead of pledging for a number of plush, you pledge for a specific plush (say, Radio) and then select any others you want as add-ons (so you might select the Serenity plush add-on, Silva pin, ect.).

At the time of posting (6/18), there’s 7 days left, and the artist is less than 2k away from her goal. I can vouch that I love the original batch (and if you didn’t get any of the original batch, you can select them as add-ons too), and am excited to see this new set.

#wings does things #kitsune kickstarter #are those IDs good?#maybe I'll work on IDing more after this

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a-basket-of-muses · 1 year

Text

Muses

OCs

Carell

Name: Carell

Age: Mid twenties

Race: Half-demon

Sexuality: Homosexual

Description: Honey blonde hair that lights to a light golden in the summer and darkens to near brown in the winter.

Height: 5’9” or 175.26 cm

Forms: Human (illusion), Base: mostly human looking but with the traditional fox ears/tail/claws, Fox: Large ears with gold eyes, a marble colored coat in a mix of white, gray, silver but all four paws and legs are pitch black

Personality: Untrusting and rude at first meeting. He’ll generally be short or sarcastic with people he doesn’t know well. If you get to know him, he’ll still be sarcastic but he’ll be more willing to talk and show emotion.

TW: ABUSE

Backstory: Carell doesn’t remember much. Just that he was in the care of his father who abused and raped him as a child until he was somewhere in his teens. Then he was sold to the slave trade where he spent his young adult life in the possession of different masters. He escaped his last master by killing him and now makes a living anyways he can.

Occupation: Because of his past he’s usually a prostitute. However, he will sometimes be in construction or will even design jewelry.

Likes: Dancing, singing, music, fighting. He loves to move and use his body and can use it well. So he will sometimes combine music and dancing. Music is also his passion. He doesn’t just listen and enjoy music he FEELS it.

Dislikes: Being dirty, being in a dirty place, or someone trying to control him. He’s fiercely independent

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. Largely because Carell’s past is the same in just about every verse. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Brandon

Name: Brandon Avalon

Age: Mid Twenties

Race: Human

Sexuality: Pan or Demi?

Height: 5’11” or 180.34 cm

Description: Brown hair, cut short so it stays out of his eyes, which are also brown

Forms: Human

Personality: Kind and selfless. He's the kind of guy that will go out if his way to smile and talk to someone if it looks like they're having a bad day regardless of what's going on with him.

TW: ABUSE/SUICIDE

Backstory: His mother died giving birth to him, so he never met her. He had an older brother that he looked up to and practically worshiped. His father's second wife would abuse his older brother until his brother eventually committed suicide, leaving a note that explained everything. She went to jail and his father divorced her. So for a while it was just him and his father. He didn't get another stepmother until he was 17, but he loved her and she loved him. However, tragedy struck again when his father and stepmother were hit by a drunk driver and killed. Leaving Brandon completely on his own. To add insult to injury his family was never very financially stable, so his parents' untimely deaths saddled him with a lot of debt.

Occupation: He works as a barista in the morning, a short order chef in the afternoons/evenings and at night he'll work as a bartender.

Dislikes: Drunks and assholes. Anyone that will take advantage of someone else for their own gain.

Likes: Cooking is his love, dreams of one day running his own kitchen.

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Byron

Name: Byron Setter

Age: Early Thirties

Race: Human/Werewolf

Sexuality: Pan

Height: 6’3” or 190.5 cm

Description: Dark brown hair, with a matching beard that is kept well maintained and appropriately trimmed. Blue eyes colored more like a winter sky. So they're quite pale.

Forms: Human, Wolf: Mostly reddish brown with yellow eyes. Has a stripe(blaze) of white running between his eyes down to his nose.

Personality: He's a goofy/funny kind of guy. He'd prefer it if everyone around him was smiling and laughing.

Backstory: Of all my muses he had the most normal upbringing. He lived comfortably in middle-class as a child and has a good relationship with his parents and much older sister. His parents are now retired and are living in Paris. Though his parents are quite "old-fashioned" and tried to push gender norms on their kids it didn't always work. His sister would often teach Byron how to cook and would even paint his nails. He did go to college and now has a teaching degree.

Occupation: As stated in his backstory Byron has a degree in teaching. He specifically teaches English/Literature, usually in high school, but will teach younger kids. He won't teach higher than high school because that would require him to go back to school for a higher degree and he feels like he doesn't have the time.

Dislikes: Abusive, neglectful parents. Anyone that tries to question his teaching methods or shows that they themselves are uneducated.

Likes: Teaching his kids, dogs, reading. He'll even do knitting or cross-stitch if he has time.

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Aiden

Name: Aiden

Age: 150 years, or there about?

Race: Dragon

Sexuality: Hetero-flexable

Height: 5’10” or 177.8 cm

Description: Very average looking. Brown hair/eyes. Nothing particularly remarkable about him. He uses this to hide in plain sight

Forms: Human, Dragon: As large as a small house (yes he’s on the smaller side) with violet scales and orange eyes, both colors holding a burnt hue. Similar to a sunrise/set

Personality: Easy-going sort of guy. He doesn’t usually let things bother him. Though he does get a bit jumpy wherever someone talks about dragons still existing.

Backstory: He was born in a clutch of seven. He and his siblings often ran around and played in the fields and valleys. Aiden took to the sky first, having an affinity for air. When it was nearly time for him to be recognized as an adult his homeland was attacked. Dragon hide and fangs are valuable after all. Aiden took off, fleeing like several others. The rest were killed and the fields they cultivated and played in were burned with a cursed fire. Ensuring nothing else would grow there ever again.

Occupation: Aiden works as a street vendor. He uses his own shed scales to make necklaces, bracelets, charms or will just sell the scales as they are.

Dislikes:

Likes:

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Hotaru

Name: Hotaru

Age: Somewhere between 200 and 300 looks like she's in her twenties.

Race: Demon (Half cat, half fox)

Sexuality: Demi

Height: 5’2” or 157.48 cm

Description: Bloor red hair that drags the ground and spring green eyes

Forms: Human (real), Base: Rounded cat ears and a fluffy fox tail, claws, Fox: Traditional red fox with brown lowlights and eyes, Cat: Pure black with yellow eyes and a long slender tail.

Personality: Very polite to anything and anyone. She tends to speak very formally, especially to people she doesn't know well. But be warned, she's no pushover. She has a spine of titanium and isn't afraid to cut you down if you cross her.

Backstory: Hotaru was born to a cat mother and a fox father, who had their own farm. Both of her parents had the ability to manipulate plants. So growing vegetables was a good way for them to earn a living. Her siblings all got powers similar that would help them in a profession or in combat (as most demons prefer to fight) Water, plants, poison. Hotaru herself gained the ability to heal with her hands. An ability that is rare for any demon, but is almost unheard of for cats and foxes, both races being more combat focused. To celebrate they decided to go to a festival at a nearby town. But the town was attacked by a fire welding demon that burned everything down. She was the only survivor. Now on her own she wondered, wondering how she would survive, only to later be kidnapped and trained to be an assassin. After nearly a century there she used her skills to escape. She was able to establish herself in a human settlement as a healer, earning money from donations. Now in modern times she is quite wealthy and has gone to school several times for medicine, though she doesn't outright practice. Instead she runs her own combination of apothecary, flower shop, and aromatherapy center.

Occupation: Business owner, aromatherapist.

Dislikes: Fire. She's been terrified of fire ever since her family was killed.

Likes: She loves flowers and being able to help people.

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Constance

Name: Constance

Age: Early Twenties

Race: Mermaid

Sexuality: Straight

Height 5’6” or 167.64 cm

Description: Black hair to about mid-back and green eyes

Forms: Human, Mer: Upperbody looks mostly human. Eyes are a solid color, she has a second row of razor sharp teeth and her tail begins mid abdomen, covered in dark purple and blue scales with bright pink scales scattered throughout.

Personality: Generally naive and shy but gets confident and determined when she’s out on the field.

Backstory: She was found as a baby trapped in some fishing nets. The man that owned the net took her home to his wife and after being dry for an hour her tail split and became legs. She was never hurt by her parents, but was kept under strict conditions. In order to keep her from ever going into the water again she was told that she's allergic to water, so she can only ever have a sponge bath and that the scales that form on her legs when she cleans up are hives.

Dislikes:

Likes: Running is her favorite activity. So much so that she's on the track and field team. As long as she doesn't fall behind on her grades.

Occupation: College student. General studies because even though her parents want her to be a doctor, she doesn't know what she wants to do.

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Jason

JASON IS NOT FULLY MADE!! INTERACTING IS HOW HE GETS FLESHED OUT!

Name: Jason

Age: 3-400?

Race: Phoenix

Sexuality: ???

Height: 6'3 or 182.88 cm

Description: Black hair cut short and neat, pale skin and bright blue eyes.

Forms: Human, Avian: primary wings are the same shade of blue as his eyes in human form with highlights of pale blue and lowlights of black. His eyes also turn black.

Personality: Stoic and reserved. Doesn't always show emotion and if he does it's only with those he's very close with.

Backstory: He's a soldier, something of a spy or infiltrator so he's very good at following orders without question, even if he disagrees with those orders. He's burned and been reborn six times, mostly from life threatening injuries he got on the job, but at least twice was because he simply got too old.

Dislikes:

Likes:

Occupation:

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Canon

Please note that my canon muses will not be 100% I will play them as on point as I can, but I will also play crack with them!

D. Gray-Man:

Kanda

Name: Yuu Kanda

Age: 9 (Chronologically), 19 (Physically), Probably around 30-40 (Actuality)

Race: Artificial Human

Sexuality:

Height: 5'11" or 152.4 cm

Description: Long black hair, with hints of blue in certain light that he prefers to keep tied up in a ponytail with two medium length locks that hang down on either side on his face and dark blue eyes.

Forms: Human

Personality: Cold and quick to anger, but he's not heartless. He maybe blunt but he's there for his friends.

"You're a strong woman."

Backstory: Kanda was originally an Exorcist that was killed along with his lady love (Probably somewhere in his late teens/early twenties). He was forcibly reborn by the Church to see if an accommodator that was killed could still use Innocence because they needed soldiers (Hence his young chronological age). After being reborn he meets and become friends with a boy named "Alma" who is his love reborn (they were both exorcists). Alma saw their real bodies and went crazy and Kanda regained SOME of his memories. And because I don't want to type it all out (seriously go read the books) Kanda kills Alma and works as an exorcist for several years, searching for his love. Eventually figures out that Alma WAS his love after meeting again (and fighting to the death) and he and Alma "die" together. Except regret keeps Kanda from resting peacefully so he returns to the Order.

Dislikes: Crowds, blue skys, naïve people, and CROWs (Order special forces)

Likes: Gardening, training, soba, meditaion, and camping

Occupation: Exorcist

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

(holy crap that was a lot. I'm just adding names for the others for now. They're canon so google them if you have to)

Tyki Mikk

Bookman Jr. "Lavi"

Ouran

Hikaru Hitachiin

Kyoya Ootori

#ooc #Muses #All the ones I have for now #They're not all done #But that's all I want to do right now

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farfromstrange · 2 years

Text

Foreigner's God | m.m

Matt Murdock x avenger!OFC

Chapter thirty-two: Chasing Cars

Previous part XXXI ° series masterlist ° main masterlist

Summary: As Eliza holds on for dear life, she starts to remember more about her past. Not sure if she’s going to make it, she can only succumb to the many flashbacks that are the only thing keeping her mind alive.

Warnings: ANGST, PTSD, flashbacks, dark memories, Hydra, religious imagery, child abuse, general abuse, hints at sexual assault, death, mentions of sterilization

a/n: It’s okay, you can ask for financial compensation. I deserve it. (Happy Christmas Day and to those who are celebrating today, have fun unpacking your gifts!! enjoy time with your loved ones, cherish every minute of it. I love you all so much!) Also, please listen to the Fleurie remix of Chasing Cars. Did I steal this idea from Grey’s Anatomy? Yes. But I only let the song and the episode inspire me. I suggest listening to it. It’ll make this so much more heartbreaking. But I suppose there is a silver lining? I don’t know, you have to read to find out.

She awoke to the sound of nothing. The ground underneath her back was hard, rock-solid, freezing down to her bones. Smoke floated around sterile floor tiles, shrill neon lighting flickering on the ceiling above.

Eliza shielded her eyes with the palm of her hand. The surroundings weren’t as clear to her as the smoke around her. She wasn’t sure where she was or how she ended up there.

The shot, it hit her. She was shot. She was shot and she fell into Matt’s arms. She died. She was pretty sure she died.

Eliza hastily touched down her torso. No holes, no sticky blood leaking from her shirt. She was wearing a red dress – the suit had disappeared. Wide-eyed, wide awake she jumped to her feet. Apparently, there hadn’t been any time to wear shoes either. Some corpses are buried with shoes on if their family wishes so – does that mean you wear shoes in the afterlife too or is everyone barefoot where they end up? It wasn’t the most important question to ponder, but she was confused and scared and not at all prepared for what was about to come.

The thought of dying never scared her before, thinking of death as some sort of peace offering. Though the emptiness before her changed her mind just as fast. Death was cold and lonely. It wasn’t kind, it wasn’t peaceful. The silence was heavy. She felt buried underneath the weight of her sins, the world around her nothing but white light and smoke.

Time was a construct there. Either this was a really bad dream or she was in hell – convinced she’d died, Eliza didn’t consider any other option than the latter. Hell, Heaven, purgatory, the institutions blurred together. Red was the devil’s color – maybe the dress on her pale skin somehow hinted at where she was. She always suspected she’d eventually end up in hell. Though in her mind, there was fire instead of an endless, empty hallway.

Sterile tiles covered not only the ground but also the walls. Together with the shrill neon lighting, she concluded that she was in a hospital.

“Hello?” her voice echoed back at her. There were no doors, only never-ending tiles. “What the fuck?”

She began to scout the place, walking down the seemingly endless hallway. The doors wouldn’t open, they were screwed shut. Was death really this empty? She half expected to find the Devil himself at the end of the hall, waiting to see her off into an endless loop of torture of her own making. She deserved it. Heaven certainly wouldn’t look like this, people call it paradise for a reason. This wasn’t paradise, this was an abandoned hospital (possibly even a mental hospital) with doors that didn’t work.

Frustrated, she punched the door.

Eliza remembered standing against Viktor. She remembered choosing not to kill him, instead leaving him to rot in jail. She remembered the haze she was in when she killed her fellow mutant soldier, the feeling of his blood on her hands. They were clean now, not an injury in sight, though she could still feel his fading heartbeat under her fingers, and the guilt hit her with full force.

She broke her own rules. She killed someone and she didn’t even flinch, she didn’t panic, she just did it and then moved on. She turned into the thing Viktor wanted her to become. He must have planned this, must have planned for that song to trigger her already fragile state of mind. He did this, he turned her into a monster, but he was right – the decision was all hers. Everyone around her got hurt. She was cursed the day she was born.

“Told you it was a bad idea.”

She looked up to find her own face staring back at her. Relief washed over her. At least something familiar in the emptiness.

“Am I dead?” Eliza asked.

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “Not yet, at least. But you are dying.”

“I remember being shot. Ivan, he… God, I didn’t see him coming. I was foolish enough to leave him behind.”

“He wanted revenge. He got what he wanted. But that doesn’t really matter now ‘cause he’s dead.”

“What?” She frowned.

“Natasha killed him while you were so busy dying in your lover’s arms.”

Matt. “Oh, no,” Eliza dropped her head in her hands. “That poor- what did I do?”

Her double shrugged, arms dangling in the air. “I told you,” she stated as a matter of fact. “I warned you, you didn’t listen.”

“I know it’s my fault. No need to rub salt into the wound.” She looked around again. “Where are we, anyway? If I’m not dead yet. Is this like the waiting room to the afterlife or something?”

She scoffed, turning into a chuckle. “There is no such thing,” she said.

“Then what is this place?”

“I don’t know. I’m not in control of your mind.”

“No, I’ve almost died many times before, and never, not once, have I seen anything beyond the darkness.”

“Perhaps you’re worse off now.”

“You’re not very helpful.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know! I don’t even know why you’re here. If you’re not going to help,” she huffed, “Why don’t you just go?”

“No can do,” she said. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Because I’m you, and I have been chosen to help you through this.”

“Through what?”

“You didn’t think this was just an empty hospital, did you?”

“Oh, so you do know something.”

“I know that you’re dying, and that’s what I’m trying to prevent. I warned you, you didn’t listen, but you don’t deserve to suffer for doing what you thought was right.”

Eliza threw her head back and groaned. “What do you know?” she barked.

“I‘ve been living in your head since you were born, you just always pushed me away because you were scared of what you might find if you looked further,” she explained. “And you know, since I grew up with you and I’m not a real person, I know exactly what you went through. I saw it. I remember.” The double stepped forward. “Don’t you want to remember too?”

Her breath stuttered, fists clenching at her sides. She wanted to remember. She wanted to see what was behind those doors, but what if she wouldn’t like what was behind them? What if she saw things she couldn’t remember for good reasons? She suddenly wasn’t so sure if she even wanted to know more about the person she used to be.

“You’re dying,” she told her again. “Is this really how you want to go out?”

She scoffed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The double offered her hand. Her eyes softened. “Come with me.”

Hesitantly, she took the offer.

“Where are we going?” Eliza asked.

She led her down the hallway, in the direction she came from. In the spot where she woke up, they halted. She let go of her hand, pointing toward the silver door to her right.

“Open it,” she said.

“What?”

“Just trust me. Open the door.”

Her hand lingered on the handle. What if it wouldn’t open? None of them seemed to work before she ran into the voice in her head. Her pulse raced, a sign that she somehow still must have been alive. She could have sworn her heart stopped on the way to the hospital – was she even at the hospital? Were they operating? Did she get a blood transfusion? The fact that she was still alive surprised her. She had lost a dangerous amount of blood already, surgery would only kill her.

She chose to trust her better judgment. There was still hope, or else she would have gone straight to hell. So she pushed the handle down, closing her eyes as the door opened.

Eliza opened her eyes to an unknown scenery. The inside of a hospital room, a man holding a baby, his wife surrounded by doctors, and she was flatlining.

The baby cried violently, the continuous beeping of the heart monitor tuning out everything else, hurting her little newborn ears.

She recognized the woman on the table. Blood pooled out of her nose. Her skin was pale and cold, and her body was lifeless. She reached out to touch her face, and somehow it worked. She stroked the woman’s cheek.

“Mom?” At the broken sound of her voice, she winced. “God, I’m so sorry.”

Her father only handed the baby off as he fell to the floor. He couldn’t look at his daughter, not like this. The doctors weren’t sure what to do, so the nurse took the baby away, and another leaned down to the crying man. She offered him a sedative, but he declined. He wouldn’t let go of his wife’s hand, even long after the blue sheet covered her body and her face disappeared. He sat there for so long, his legs turned numb. Not once did he leave to see his daughter.

Eliza supposed she deserved this. He saw his wife inside his daughter. The thing that killed her. The thing that should have died. She wanted to comfort him, but she wasn’t sure how.

“I don’t want to see this,” she whispered.

“You already did,” her double said.

Time passed by her. Another door appeared behind them. She took her hand, allowing her to guide her through it.

Life moved in picture frames, two pictures by the second, month after month of screaming and tears. A funeral, no one there but the man and the baby. There was no family, no one.

He came home with the baby in the car seat to an empty house. The same house she had been in only hours ago. It looked all the same, though, without Guinevere, the house seemed like an empty hole threatening to swallow them. She didn’t understand what happened then, but her father did. She was just a baby and he tried to accept that, but she could see in his eyes how hard he struggled to accept what happened, to accept her. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault she looked like her mother, that she became the constant reminder of what happened before and then after she was born. He only had to look at her and see the dead eyes of his wife disappear behind a blue sheet before the doctors rolled her out of the operating room.

Behind the next door lay a graveyard. “We were scared for no reason,” her father spoke to the gravestone. Russian, as far as Eliza could tell. “Our little girl is fine. She’s as healthy as a baby could be,” he said.

Although he was grieving, he took care of the baby as a father should. He fed her, changed her, and rocked her to sleep. Though sometimes he’d cry whilst holding her, and sometimes he couldn’t look at her at all, reminded of the life he’d lost and all the memories that came with it. She was too aware for a child her age.

Up until her first birthday, everything seemed normal. The man was broken over his wife’s death, but even he had managed to fall into a routine good enough for him and the baby. She grew steadily, though her mind progressed rather quickly. Seeing the memories before her eyes for the very first time, Eliza soon realized why – She hadn’t been able to remember for so long because she’d started to push the bad memories down from the day she was born.

Six months later on a sunny day, the garden of a beautiful suburban home. Eliza was one year old then. She sat on the grass, playing with the new toy her father got her for her birthday. A butterfly flew by her. She tried to catch it with her small hands, but it was faster. Suddenly curious about the creature, she got up and ran towards the fence connecting the house to the rather dark one on the other side.

“Don’t go in there,” Eliza breathed out. She stared at her double, then the baby in front of her. “Tell her not to go in there,” she said. “Do something!”

She placed her index finger on her lips – just watch. She couldn’t change the past. It was set in stone.

Her father told her never to go near the fence, and never to disturb the neighbors. He warned her about next door. Her father. There had been a time when she made it her mantra. She was merely twelve months old. She didn’t know any better.

So she climbed through the small opening in the fence, hunting after the butterfly with the beautiful red wings.

It landed on a flower on the ground, seemingly waiting for the girl to follow. She giggled. Butterflies are even more beautiful up close, she noted.

“Babochka.”

Butterfly was her first word. Ironic. Most children say the names of either one of their parents first. Eliza, however, said her first word in the presence of a butterfly, which she only knew how to name because the book her father read every night revolved around a lonely butterfly embarking on a journey to find the true meaning of life.

She only blinked once. The butterfly broke down before her very eyes. His wings spread out, red streaks on the dried grass. The flower he’d sat on crumbled next to it.

She was just a baby.

Eliza felt the grass underneath her feet when she ran up to the man looming above the child.

“Don’t touch her,” she threatened.

A wall seemed to separate her from the situation. She could feel everything, but she wasn’t truly there. It was a memory. Memories can’t be changed.

The man began to yell at her. Told her to leave, and called her all kinds of names. He was a heartless bastard.

Eliza didn’t expect her younger self to have been so calm. The truth was much darker than she imagined.

As he tried to pull her up, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Seconds later, her eyelids fluttered open to the color of burning red. The simplest touch to her shoulder sent electricity through him. His body shot back, hit by the sheer force of whatever left her body in bright rays.

“Alina!” her father called out. “Alina where the hell are you?!”

She had to watch in horror as the man jumped the fence only to come face to face with what his daughter had done. His neighbor lay unconscious in one corner of his garden, blood pooling from his nose, surrounded by rose bushes that scratched his skin.

Little Alina sat on the ground, unbothered, and stroked the broken butterfly’s wings. In her mind, he was still alive. Only his wings were weakened. It twitched between her gentle fingers.

“Oh my,” he breathed. “Alina, what have you done?”

He lied to her when he said he only started considering getting her help when he taught her how to ride a bike and she saved a butterfly’s life. She wasn’t sure if he lied because he chose to forget the memory from when she was a baby or to protect her. Either way, the sight before her shook her to the core.

“Babochka,” she said, clearer now.

The butterfly twitched again. His wings began to flutter. Once squished and on the brink of death, life seemed to come back to him.

Her father knelt next to her. “What did you do?” he whispered again, this time pointing at the butterfly.

“Babochka.”

“He’s alive.” His brows furrowed. “He was dead, now he’s alive. How- Alina…”

“Dada,” she showed it to him. “Babochka.”

“Come on.” He hoisted her up into his arms. “We need to go home.”

The butterfly spread its wings and began to fly. She happily laughed at the sky. “Babochka!”

This was the first time her powers showed. At the ripe age of twelve months. Eliza was bound to jump the train to disaster. From the day she was born, the ability to do the indescribable has been running through her blood, and that was far more terrifying than what Hydra made her out to be. She was a ticking time bomb, even back then, even without being experimented on.

She was a nightmare come true.

From the day in her neighbor’s basement, her powers only grew. Incidents like that happened more often, the intensity increasing and her control decreasing. Her father kept her hidden away in the house, but even there she started to create chaos. He could no longer contain the power his child carried. He could no longer protect people from his daughter. Every time someone touched her or enraged her in some way – every time she didn’t get her way or she found a reason to punish someone, she lashed out and her powers often lead to injury.

She had it coming; the second Hydra caught onto her powers, she was done for, but she had it coming.

What hurt the most though was the fact that her father was always one step ahead.

“I have found people that can help you,” he explained to the five-year-old as he walked them to the car. “We’re going on a little trip and we’re going to fix you, okay? It’s going to be okay, Alina.”

He sold her out. He brought her to the base in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the winter snow. He handed her over to Hydra. They only had to offer him a program that would keep her off his ass and he was willing to hand his little girl over just like that.

Alina screamed when they pulled her through the steel doors, away from the only man she ever trusted. She screamed for them to let her go, screamed for her dad to come to save her, to take her back home, but he only watched. Even as she exploded into red rays of energy and the people around her dropped like flies, he just watched. They injected her with something, right into her neck, and she couldn’t stop it. Whatever poison they gave her, it worked. Her father watched as they pulled her away, doors falling shut and his face disappearing into a black hole behind her very tired eyes.

When she woke up, her father was gone and life as she knew it ended in an instant.

They stamped the number 008 onto her wrist. The clothes they gave her were too big, a pair of shorts and a sweater, both gray as ash. The strange men pushed food through an opening in the closed door.

Every day around the same time, she supposed, someone in a white coat came in, changed the fluids attached to her veins, and then left again. After about eight of these encounters, she had lost all sense of time and space. There was no daylight, only the small space of a sterile white room, her leg tied to the bed, and drugs being pumped through her system.

With time, she became willing. With time, she grew. It must’ve been not long after her capture that they took her out of confinement, once she was calm and able, and carried her into another room. Weak in the knees, she fell.

“Hello, eight,” she lifted her tired head to face the man in a suit just a couple of inches before her. He smiled as he handed her a cup. “We haven’t met before. Here, sit.” He appointed her a chair right across from him.

She was terrified, so of course, she complied.

“You’re all malnourished. Haven’t they been feeding you?”

They had been, but she puked up everything they gave her. The fluids only helped partially and whatever else they were giving her drained even the last life from her.

“Your father was a bright man, you know,” the man said. “He knew he couldn’t handle your power, so he led you here, where we can help you discover your full potential. Now, I know you’re scared. It’s okay to be scared, for now. But you don’t have to be. I will take good care of you, my child. I am your father now.”

“Why?” Her voice broke when she asked.

“Because I know what you can do, and I will make sure you go way above that. You’ve got a gift, a great gift. You’re more powerful than you realize. That’s why you’re here. That’s why he brought you here because he knew this program is the only thing that will help you.”

“Help?”

“Yes, help. It’s time we free you from this hell you’re living in, don’t you think? Don’t you want to be in control?”

She nodded weakly. “Yes.”

“Then let me help you. Can you do that? Can you surrender yourself to me so I can help you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“Who are you?” she dared to ask.

He chuckled. “We are Hydra. Now me, that doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that we are Hydra and we are here to help you.”

She only hesitantly gave in. “Okay,” only because she believed him. “What now?”

“Now,” he got up. “We’re going to get you some new clothes and then you’re going to meet your new friends.”

“Friends. You help them?”

“Yes, we help them too. We’re trying to, At least. Of course, we can’t help everyone. You’re too young to understand, but let me tell you something: sacrifices are what make us human. They’re necessary. Sometimes you help someone and it doesn’t work. You’re going to get better, but not everyone’s going to turn out the same way. I need you to understand that, accept that.“

Young Eliza pointed down at her wrist. “Eight,” she read out loud. “The others are numbers too?”

He nodded slowly. “They’re just numbers,” he said. “You, on the other hand… you’re special. I know you’re special. I just need you to prove to me that I wasn’t wrong in choosing you.”

Eliza watched in horror as the words took effect on her.

“I won’t,” she’d always aimed to please.

“Good.” He finished stirring the tea he prepared for her. “You’ll start your lessons today. If you’re a good student, you will be rewarded. If you’re not, you will be punished. The rules will be explained to you further before you start training. I will be there, every step of the way.“

“What is training?”

“Training is essential to your development. There will be phases in which you’ll be… shaped. It's important for training to work so that you fit in. It’s nothing too bad, just private lessons. Your abilities will be tested with every new lesson. Once You’re through, you’re going to be more powerful than any of us and that’s a gift, but that gift has to be controlled. You’re destined for greater things and I will make sure you get to do what you were made for, what we are going to make of you. You’re my little demon, eight. My child. We will do this together, every step of the way.”

“I will be fine?” she asked.

“You will be just fine,” he said. “Are you ready?”

Eliza shook her head, face pale like a ghost. “Say no,” she begged. “Just say no. Run, fight. Don’t just sit there!”

But she’d been just a child then. She didn’t know any better. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to be wanted, to be seen as more than just dead weight, so she said, “Yes, I’m ready.” Even though she had no idea what she signed herself up for.

Judging by the chains on every part of her body, she knew even at five years old that she would never be able to go back. Weirdly, she was content with that. Her father gave up on her, so she gave up on herself. She gave up the fight.

And as Eliza watched herself give into weakness, she cried. She cried for the little girl, too broken and too scared to fight back. She cried at the thought of her father abandoning her, even after everything she watched them go through. She cried at the fact she’d been a menace that couldn’t have been controlled even if he’d tried. But most importantly, she cried because no one could’ve saved her – she simply had nobody that cared enough to get her out. She was all alone.

She pulled the door close, returning to the white hallway. She breathed heavily. Remembering hurt. She wasn’t sure how she could have ever wanted to do that.

“I can’t do this,” she said. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. Ah!”

Eliza slid down the wall, head between her knees. A sharp pain tore through her chest, squeezing her heart.

Her double stood in front of her, not impressed by her reaction.

“Right now you’re going into cardiac arrest,” she told her. “They revived you and now your heart has stopped again.”

She cried out when another wave of pain hit.

“They just defibrillated you.”

Breathing got harder.

“And again.”

“I can feel that,” Eliza bit back, “thank you!”

“Hey, I’m just stating the obvious. Death is inching closer and I need you to remember before that happens.”

“Why? What good is it gonna bring me if I’m dead?” She pressed a hand against her chest. “This isn’t going to miraculously save me. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We need to buy your body time,” she said. “The only way to do that is to keep your brain viable. If your brain dies, you’re dead. If your brain stays awake though, your body might recover. That’s why I’m here.”

She slumped against the wall. “I’m so tired. Can’t we just… stop?”

“I can’t let that happen.”

“Maybe I don’t want to live, have you thought about that?”

“I didn’t ask what you wanted. We’re doing this, whether you like it or not.” She extended her hand again.

The pain moved into the background. Eliza looked between her double and the several doors ahead of them. They had made quite the progress, but there still seemed to be no end to this torture. If keeping her brain alive meant remembering all the pain she went through, maybe she should just allow herself to pass away.

Though her double wasn’t willing to let that happen. She was far stronger than her, impossibly so. She didn’t stand a chance against herself. It was pathetic.

She took her hand, allowing her to pull her to her feet.

“You can do this,” she insisted. “You’ve been through so much, this won’t break you. If anything, it will only make you stronger.”

Eliza opened the next door. As much as the exhaustion was starting to run her thin and all she wanted was to give into the darkness, she refused to go down without a fight.

She was back in the confines of the White Room, though this time they took her to the conference room. Her younger self’s steps slowed down when she saw the stranger sitting at the table, his back turned to her.

Viktor opened his arms. “There she is!” he said, grinning at the sight of her. His hand found her shoulders, lingering just a little too long.

“Who’s this?” she questioned.

“Someone who’s going to help you with your new mission.”

She wasn’t sure how old she was. Twelve, maybe, and the strange man was significantly older than her. She eyed his stiff back. Most people turned at the mere thought of meeting her. This one didn’t even move a muscle. She was curious.

Viktor ran his thumb over her cheekbone. “I will give you two some time to get familiar,” he said. “We will talk specifics next.”

“Is he one of us?”

“Yes. He’s one of the best.”

She closed her eyes at his gentle touch.

“No one surpasses you, of course. You will always be Hydra’s number one, and you will always be my star.”

The girl nodded. Viktor bid his goodbyes, leaving them alone.

She approached the stranger only slowly. “Did they give you a number too?” she asked him.

Upon circling him, she noticed that his left arm was made out of silver metal. A red star had been painted over the artificial bicep. He was almost like her, not entirely human, possibly part machine. He might not have been a mutant, but he knew what it was like to be modified, to be changed.

His soul shone in conflicting colors. She felt pangs of sympathy for the emotional pain he was in. Beyond the mind control, a broken man was hiding in the shadows. Torn apart by war and lost friends.

She met his steel-blue eyes. He eyed her, she eyed him back. His lip twitched, though half covered by his long brown hair.

“You’re a child,” he stated.

Sitting down in front of him, she copied his stance as best as possible.

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know, how old are you?” she retorted.

She truly didn’t know. There wasn’t exactly the time to count birthdays, considering her life only worked in one direction and that was to succeed during missions and make Hydra look good. She was their only successful experiment, after all. A White Room experiment, to be more precise. Seeing the man before her though made her feel less alone, and weirdly enough, she admired him.

He chuckled. “They told me about you.”

“What did they say?”

“You’re a talker.”

“And you’re not.”

“Talking is overrated.”

He wasn’t allowed to, most of the time. Viktor had a different approach when it came to his subjects.

The girl leaned forward, elbows supported on her knees. “What do they call you?” she asked.

His eyes trailed over her face again. He hesitated. “They call me the Winter Soldier,” he answered. “Whatever that means.”

She hummed. “Heard about you.”

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t have a name. He likes to call me his little Red Demon though.” She was talking about Viktor. “But I’m also number eight.”

“Soldiers don’t need names. We were made to function. Names are for the weak. They only make for distractions.”

He sounded like a robot.

Eliza watched with sorrowful eyes. Unlike him, she remembered their first meeting. And she saw the effects of Hydra’s torture long after she left when they ran into each other at the SHIELD headquarters before it fell. He shot her. She remembered that. It had been one of those times she nearly died.

She followed her younger self around the conference table. He couldn’t see her, but she could see him.

“They treated you far worse than they did me,” she said.

“That’s because Viktor saw you as his pet,” her double said behind her. “He loved you in his own twisted way. He saw your potential. You were the only one who survived his torture, so you became special. Him…” she motioned to the man at the table, “He was just a convenient subject that fell into Hydra’s hands, someone associated with Captain America, and with his arm gone, they saw an opportunity. Your purposes inside Hydra were inherently different. You wrote history, he was just supposed to kill people. You were a secret, a myth, he was their best soldier. You can’t compare these two situations.”

Eliza knelt to touch his thigh. He jolted. “I’m so sorry, Bucky,” she whispered. “I should have gotten you out much sooner.”

Another door appeared behind her. The story ended there. She rose back to her feet.

“What’s behind the next one?” she dared to ask.

Her double sighed, “You know I can’t just tell you that. Defeats the whole purpose.”

“I want to know how much more pain I have to suffer.” She turned to look at her. “I remember everything up to this point,” she said. “I saw picture after picture flash by me. I heard voices I never heard before. I met versions of myself I never thought existed. What else can there be, what else can you show me? I need to know.”

“There’s only so much more,” she told her.

“How much more?”

This time, she pushed the handle down for her. The door swung open.

“Walk through and you’ll know.”

Eliza huffed. “You’re so useless.”

The light engulfed her. Her feet touched the cold brown of the parquet floor. She was blinded for a second, the spotlight falling right on her face.

She recognized the white curtains, and the oval windows with the metal frame, and when she turned she caught a glimpse of the barre in the corner. It stood right across from the gigantic mirror stretching along the entire wall.

Her old ballet teacher stood with her arms crossed behind her back, hiding out in the corner while Tschaikovsky’s The Nutcracker played over the speakers. The tune was the first thing she actively paid attention to. It started slow, then turned into a dramatic, building climax. The melody was enticing, especially to those with a trained ear for opera and/or ballet.

Eliza, however, associated nothing pure with this song. Her back straightened involuntarily. Discipline, that was what that song meant. Dancing under the strict eyes of her teacher, whose name she couldn’t remember, had been a memorable experience. It stuck with her subconsciously, as did the skill to master every ballet piece to perfection. Once learned, she would never forget it again, almost like riding a bike.

The Six-year-old danced right past her. She was terrible at remembering choreography during the first two sessions, which resulted in many slaps with her teacher’s cane, and sometimes even a stick taped to her back so she wouldn’t hunch or break position. She was the only one in the ballroom.

She graduated from six years old to ten, mastering every dance thrown her way perfectly. Ballet helps with coordination and builds muscle. It also increases cognitive function and focus and improves memory. All of those skills are often needed in combat.

Natasha often told her that they taught her how to dance ballet in the Red Room too. For one, the girls were supposed to keep the men entertained – it was the most female thing to do, and they had to fit the patriarchal picture. Though at the same time, the periodical dance lessons also helped improve their fighting and get them ahead in training.

Since Eliza was the only child to survive the White Room, she spent time alone with her teacher, getting her full attention and her full punishment whenever she did something wrong. She simply stopped making mistakes after the first two punishments, realizing that she had worse coming if she kept disappointing her. So she did her best to be on her best behavior, always. And Viktor enjoyed the little private shows he got. His judgment was the most important. She wanted to please him, to get his approval and his compliments. She danced for him, then she danced for Mueller until she danced for a whole crowd of men. She ignored what she saw happen, ignored the stares and the comments about how gracefully her body moved and how mature she looked for her age. Viktor told her if she did a good job, she would get rewarded. His rewards were what kept her going, what made all of this bearable in the first place.

Eliza turned her head away. She couldn’t stand the look in his eyes, the gentle touches on the girl’s cheek, her waist, and everywhere else where a person shouldn’t touch another without their consent. He told her how she could improve herself, someone who had never danced ballet before, helped her straighten her back and got her into a new position. She let it happen. After all, he once told her that she was his to command and that she was supposed to do everything for him because he was the only one who would ever care for her. He owned her. If she did what he did, he would reward her nicely. If she didn’t, he had to teach her a lesson or two. If she mouthed off or put her nose into matters that didn’t concern her, she was punished. His love was supposedly the only thing in her life that would persist; he was there when no one else was, he raised her and he made her believe that she was only worth something because of him. Without him, she was useless. She needed him like she needed air to survive. And you shouldn’t speak up to the people you owe your life to.

In hindsight, believing any of this had been foolish. But she was a scared little kid, she grew up under his control. He manipulated her from the day she got there, making her dependent on him. He took her under his wing, nurtured her, and turned her into the girl he wanted her to be. He turned her into the perfect soldier, his doll, a perfect object to show off. He could twist and turn her however he wanted and she followed his every move like a lost puppy. She didn’t know any better. She was all alone. She craved love, safety, and affection, and his twisted version seemed better than none, even if he used her as he saw fit, emotionally and physically, always.

Eliza gasped audibly when she watched the teenage girl trip during her rendition of Cinderella. Her teacher hit her already bruised back with her cane, yelling for her to get back up.

Soldiers don’t cry.

And she got back up and danced until her feet were the same color as her crimson dress. Once the teacher was gone, she broke down again, too weak to walk herself out of the room. She took off her pointy shoes and instantly met with the gruesome sight of her mangled feet. She had danced for too long and she paid the ultimate price.

Something told Eliza that the next memory was going to be much worse. She headed straight for the door, ready to run, ready to escape, but as she ripped it open, she only ended up in another strange hallway.

Her chest heaved. She watched in horror as the doctors of the White Room wheeled her body on a gurney toward the operating room. She was tied down with leather straps and dressed in a white gown. She didn’t struggle, too sedated to care.

“Graduation ceremony,” she muttered.

Her double was waiting at the door. “Perhaps you don’t need to see this…” she said.

“Don’t need to or don’t want to?” she asked.

“Both.”

The door to the operating room shut in her face. She could see the instruments through the glass in the door, the forceps, the speculum, the scalpel, and whatnot. They injected her with something, though she never fell unconscious.

Someone said, “Ready to proceed.”

She turned her head away. Her double was right, she didn’t want to see this. She didn’t need to in order to remember what happened. Her stomach twisted, and she felt the pull in her lower stomach, something that was no longer there. Phantom pains, almost.

Eliza stifled her sobs through her hand, heading back to the door.

“No distractions,” she remembered.

“I’m sorry,” her double was just as quiet, no longer the obnoxious know-it-all but rather mourning something she knew all too well.

They stepped back into the abandoned hospital. She was about to speak, but the excruciating pain returned tenfold, hitting her across the face, and her eyes rolled back into her head. She fell to the floor, clutching her chest, clutching her burning heart. The entry to her lungs was clogged. She couldn’t breathe. Her entire body felt as if it was about to drown any second.

That wasn’t a good sign.

The world around her started to darken, the darkness calling for her. It reached its claws out, long nails cutting through the air. The reaper stood there in his black robe, holding out his hand. Her hands were covered in blood again and she gasped.

Hell it is, then.

She knew she wouldn’t make it into heaven. The reaper seemed determined, she didn’t have much of a choice but to get up and walk toward him.

Sometimes hoping and trying aren’t enough to cheat death, especially not when it’s imminent. Eliza only delayed the inevitable, but she was done fighting.

“Nope,” she heard her double exclaim behind her.

With a slap, the darkness disappeared and she was tossed into another room. This time, the voice in the distance sounded too familiar to have been an old memory.

“Keep doing what you’re doing!” he bellowed.

“Sir, she’s been down for over thirty minutes,” a female voice said.

One single line, one single beep, ongoing. Hands squeezed her heart the way she felt it in her chest as she lay open on the operating table. Tubes stuck out of her arms. The epinephrine washed through her veins, attempting to reach her heart, but it somehow wasn’t enough to get the organ beating again. She looked like her mother then, blood coming out of her nose where the ventilator was attached to her airway. Only the blue sheet was missing.

“Even if we got her back,” she supposed it was the responsible surgeon who said, “The brain can only survive without oxygen for so long. She might already be brain dead.”

“I don’t care!” Nick Fury stood on the other side, basically yelling into the microphone connected to the speakers. “You’re going to do everything in your goddamn might to bring that girl back. You get her heart beating again. You save her. There are too many people depending on her survival, and I’d be damned if I let her die like that. So you try everything, and you don’t give up. You bring her back to me, you got that? That is one of us lying on that table, not just some random patient. She deserves the best of the best, and you’re not doing your best right now. Thirty minutes don’t mean shit, not with her.”

“Sir,” the woman urged again.

“No, you listen to me! Save Eliza Bennett’s life, whatever it takes,” he said. “That’s an order!”

Eliza poked her shoulder. It felt odd.

“Fight,” a voice in her head demanded.

She wasn’t strong enough to fight death any longer. The reaper had been right there, ready to take her to the afterlife. Anything was better than this continuous loop of torture.

She wasn’t brain dead yet though, she was still very much present, but the more her body weakened, the more she felt herself slipping away. She didn’t want to fight any longer, she was tired. She wanted to rest, she needed to. Just rest her eyes for a second, forget the rest of the world and simply breathe. Though she knew that as soon as she gave in, she would be dead and there would be no turning back. She hadn’t yet decided if that was something she wanted. She needed more time to figure it out, time she didn’t have.

Eliza had to make a decision, and it was truly one of the hardest she ever had to make.

Until she found herself in the waiting area and saw the scene she left behind.

Natasha sat down next to Matt on the uncomfortable plastic chair. He kept hitting his head against the wall. She took his bloodied hand, intertwining their fingers. Her eyes were red from all the crying, and no more tears were left to shed. Matt didn’t look much better.

His words crushed her. "...I don't want to lose her,” he whimpered, voice hoarse. “I thought I already lost her once, and it was..."

Natasha squeezed his hand. "I understand,” she said.

The hardest decision suddenly became a very easy one.

Eliza stormed back into the operating room and screamed into her own ear. “Get your stupid heart beating again, right now,” she said. “We’re pathetic and we don’t deserve the love they give us, so the least we can do is survive this shit show so they don’t have to deal with the grief of losing us on top of everything else too. Do you get that? Fucking fight!”

The doctor looked up at the sudden change in rhythm on the monitor. “V-fib,” she called out. “Charge to two hundred.”

They set the paddles straight to her heart.

“All clear!”

She felt the shock deep in her bones. Still staring at herself, she ground her teeth.

“Come on,” she said. “Don’t give up now.”

The dark smoke started to build behind her again, darkness calling for her. This time, she stared the reaper right into his empty, white eyes and denied him.

“Not now! I’m fucking busy.”

“Charge again,” said the doctor.

They shocked her again. Nothing changed.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Eliza hit the gurney. “Why won’t you wake up?”

Getting frustrated with herself was even more pathetic than talking to herself, but no one could see her anyway and perhaps her body would somehow listen to her before the reaper would take her brain too, and then there would be nothing left to save.

She couldn’t leave them like this. They didn’t deserve the burden of losing her.

The next shock burned through her heart muscles. Somehow though, it felt good this time, like she had just been punched awake by a cold bucket of water.

The doctor exhaled loudly. “We’ve got a rhythm!” she said, almost in disbelief about the situation herself. And Eliza couldn’t blame her. Watching the scene unfold made her believe she really wasn’t going to make it.

She closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she stood in front of what seemed to be the last viable door in the empty hallway.

Her double smirked back at her. “My plan worked,” she said.

“It almost didn’t,” Eliza retorted.

“Yeah, but it did. You’re welcome.”

“Why is there another one?” She motioned for the door.

“Well, your heart might be beating again, but you’re far from being out of the woods yet.”

“Oh, my…”

“They’re going to finish operating on you and then you have to find a way to wake up somehow or else all of this would have been for nothing.”

“If I don’t die first.”

“I have a feeling that you won’t.”

“So I just gotta remember until my mind is strong enough to wake up, or what?” she asked.

Her double shrugged. “What else do you want to do?” she said.

“I don’t know, go on vacation?”

She snorted. “Why don’t you go in and find out?”

Eliza rolled her eyes. As soon as she stepped through the doorway, all of the other doors disappeared. A soft breeze brushed through her hair. The sun kissed her skin to the sound of waves crashing into the shore. Seagulls squawked above her head. The smell of salt lingered in the air. She took a deep breath.

New York had always felt like home. The weather was milder than in Russia, but at least it snowed sometimes and it reminded her of a time before things went wrong. However, there was nothing she enjoyed more than the occasional visit to the beach. It was often unbearably hot, especially in the States she had been to, but the calming sounds made up for the heat, and the different scents always managed to scratch an itch in her brain. She felt completely at ease at the beach.

Her double initiated the stroll along the promenade. They walked in silence, feeling the sand between their toes and the oncoming sunburn that proved they were still alive.

Eliza sniffed the air again. She could get used to this, her little version of paradise. But this wasn’t hers. They didn’t step into a memory. She would orchestrate her afterlife much differently.

“You know,” the other version of her began to speak, “all of these years I wondered if you were ever going to find out. You’ve been at war with yourself and with me for most of your life, and it hurt me to watch you get hurt over and over again,” she said. “When you met Daredevil though, everything changed and for the first time, I had hope. I had hope for both of us, and I tried to guide you in the right direction. I admit, I used a little too much tough love at times, and I might have freaked you out a little, but in the end, I think things worked out fine. I mean, if we ignore the fact that you almost died and might still actually die…”

She snorted.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m you, and being you is a full-time job. But I realized, you don’t actually need my help or my guidance. You need a voice of reason, yes, but you can finally become your own now that you know who you are. I have realized,” she halted, “that you don’t need me anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Eliza asked.

“It means that my job here is finally done.”

“So you’re just going to leave?” She raised her eyebrows. “You never even explained to me who you truly are.”

“Because the truth is, I can’t. I can’t explain it to you. Do you know why? Because I don’t exactly have an identity. I’ve been in your head since you were born. I grew up with you. I am you, I’m your voice of reason, your moral compass, and for a while, during your time at Hydra, I was locked in a cage. You never paid attention to me, pushed me away because deep down, you were always a little scared of the truth, so when Hydra returned and you had the opportunity to rethink things…”

“I finally realized that you’ve been in my head all along,” she finished. Rolling her eyes, she added, “Of course. Everything leads back to my inability to deal with my own feelings.”

“No,” her double shook her head, “You’ve just been detached from your true nature for so long, you’ve built brick walls around you. What you’re going through now,” she told her, “is like learning to walk again, but don’t worry, it’s in your blood. You will get into it in no time.”

Eliza lowered her head, chuckling in the direction of the soft beige sand. “You’re quite nice when you’re not insulting me.”

“Aw, thanks.”

“I’m gonna miss your voice in my head, which sounds weird now that I’ve said it, but that doesn’t make it any less true,” she said. “You’ve given me so much guidance in the past few days, I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you’re no longer there.”

“Listen to your gut.”

“My gut is often wrong.”

“You will learn how to figure stuff out along the way. You always do.”

“See, you say that but I don’t really believe you.”

“That’s not something I can change,” she said with a shrug. “You just have to believe in yourself, I guess. That’s the only way you can learn how to trust yourself. And that will make things so much easier.”

Eliza stopped her when she tried to turn away. “What if I don’t make it?” she asked.

“You have to. There is a whole new life waiting for you out there, people who love you, people who are worried sick for you, and it’s not time for you to leave just yet. Me, on the other hand…” she stepped back, freeing herself from the hold she had on her.

She watched her walk away slowly. In the distance, a woman joined her. She took the young woman into her arms.

“Mom?” she wondered out loud.

The two turned to Eliza, the space between them making it harder to make out any specific details, but her gut told her that it was her.

“You know that this is torture, right?”

She grinned knowingly. “You’re going to be fine,” her double told her.

“What if I want to stay, huh?” Eliza challenged. She dared to walk toward them. “What if I don’t want to go back? What if…”

The woman was her mother. The closer she came, the clearer her face got. She looked older, with a few more wrinkles on her face, and her perfectly shiny hair started to gray, but it was undoubtedly her.

She laughed at the sight, her chest blooming with a mixture of sadness and relief. Tears sprung into her eyes.

“What if I want to go back to my mom?” she said.

Her double shrugged. “Look at this place! Is this really where you want to stay for the rest of your life?”

“Maybe, I don’t!”

Guinevere stepped forward. Her white blouse swayed in the wind, the sand catching onto the hem of her baggy jeans. They even had the same taste in clothing. It wasn’t fair. Eliza felt as if everything she had ever wanted was in front of her, yet too far out of reach. Going back into the real world didn’t seem as lucrative as it used to. She could be happy at the beach with her mother by her side, and nothing could hurt her anymore. She could close the last chapter of her book and dive into the epilogue.

Her mother shook her head, reading her mind solely from looking at her face. “Darling,” she spoke softly, “It’s not time yet.”

No matter how fast she ran, the distance didn’t shrink. She was still too far away.

The waves crashed into her ankles. Eliza stopped and sighed. Her attempts were of no use. She was never going to reach her. This wasn’t her paradise. Alina would be laid to rest here, not her. She was a new person, she wasn’t the little girl her father handed off to Hydra anymore, and neither was she Guinevere’s daughter. She gave birth to Alina, but she was long gone. Eliza took the new identity for a reason. She had never felt more detached from her past self than she did at that moment. Finding herself had never been about getting her old life back, it had been about getting closure, about understanding where she came from and who she was, and she knew now. She remembered.

The double wasn’t her, it was Alina, and she had survived only for so long because Eliza didn’t let the truth anywhere near her. Now her job was done and it was time to let her go. It was more of a metaphorical funeral than a real one because the voice in her head had only ever been real to her.

Eliza was whole again, not because she was someone else but because she learned to accept who she had become. She could finally start a new chapter of her life, if only she managed to survive. Alina would join her mother and when it was time, she would die and return to her old self and her mother and things would be just fine. She just had to keep her hope intact.

She wiped her tears with her sleeves. “I miss you,” she whimpered. “It’s not fair.”

“You’re right, it’s not fair,” her mother cooed. “And I so wish I could touch you right now to see the kind of remarkable woman you’ve become. But it’s far too soon for you to die. You’re too young, you have so much more left to do. As much as I’d love holding my daughter in my arms again,” she smiled, “It’d be selfish of me to take you away from the people who love you and are still alive.”

“Is this real, at least?”

“If you want it to be.”

“No, I need to know. Is this what I’m going to find once I’m dead? Is this what heaven looks like?”

The beach sounded like the perfect place to rest, her garden of Eden. But she would have also settled for a cabin in the woods or a snow castle. Either way, if she could be with her mother again, death seemed a little less damning.

Guinevere chuckled again. “Don’t you need to believe in God for heaven to become real?” she said.

Oh, they were so alike. The smart comebacks, the snark, everything reminded her of herself.

“I wish I could have gotten the chance to grow up with you,” Eliza said. She rubbed her eyes again, trying her hardest to stop the emotions from flowing out. “I always wondered what my mom was like, and I used to tell myself that you would’ve been awful if you’d survived, but I was so wrong… I just wish you would have had more time to be my mom.”

The woman was fighting back tears of her own. “There is not a second that goes by where I don’t wish the same thing,” she said. “That’s why I can’t let you stay. You deserve the time with your loved ones that I didn’t get.”

She had a point.

“How are you holding up, darling, otherwise?”

“I met a boy,” she sniffed. “You would have liked him.”

“Is he good to you?”

“The best.”

“Then I already really like him.”

“He’s probably the only reason I can’t stay here. God knows I want to, but you’re right, it’s not time yet,” Eliza said. She peeked over her shoulder to see the door once again wide open for her.

Guinevere followed her gaze knowingly. “You better use your second chance wisely,” she said. She meant to tease, but her words sounded more serious than jokingly.

“I’m so confused as to what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Wake up.”

“How do I do that?”

“There’s a door, find a way out.”

Hand in hand with her double, Guinevere stepped into the light.

Eliza stared off into the vastness of the ocean. Waking up sounded so easy, but she wasn’t even sure how she got there in the first place, so getting out sounded like a bit of a struggle.

She chose to revel in the feel of the salty ocean breeze on her skin a little longer, allow the sun to brown her skin, and breathe in the fresh air. She listened to the waves strum their native tune against the dunes. The beach, if void of any humans, is a beautiful and serene place to be.

Instead of darkness, light haunted her this time. But not the kind of light that had swallowed her double, it was a different kind of light. This light forced her to close her eyes as it became blinding. She finally began to return to her body.

Opening her eyes was more exhausting than closing them. She had to fight her way out of nothing into the world. Eventually, she could feel her limbs again, and with her limbs came the awareness of the heavy weight on her chest, the drumming of her heart, and the air in her lungs that came just a little harder than before, but the nasal cannulas supplied her with just enough oxygen to make the rise and fall of her lungs worthwhile.

Her entire body was sore. She was still too dizzy to realize the full extent of her injuries. The weight on her chest didn’t seem to be part of it though. Someone was holding her hands, hair tickling the bare skin around her collarbones. She could smell the traces of blood and sweat close to her face.

Her mouth opened, the air dry. She licked over the cracked skin of her lips. How long had she been out? She was parched.

Her eyes fluttered open. Thankfully, the light in the room had been simmered down to a soft yellow, and the monitor next to her head wasn’t beeping, only showing the zig-zag lines indicating her heart rate. The ceiling blurred at first, so she blinked again. Even her eyelids seemed to weigh tons.

Eliza breathed in. The action made enough noise to cause the weight on her chest to shift, then shoot you completely.

She thought about what she was going to say, even made a plan for how to say it once she woke up. In the end, her mind completely blacked out and all that came out of her mouth was,

“Ugh, I need coffee.”

Because of course, coffee should be anybody’s number one priority after almost dying.

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charlotteperaltaalcott · 1 month

Text

charlatans -- 0 - prologue

-- crossposted on ao3 under tearjerker -- summary: --

AU -- jake has an actual sister --

"Charlotte Peralta-Alcott, pretty, clever, and moderately financially okay--she lives in a city, with an unsettling home-life history and incredibly happy disposition, seemed to unite *some* of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly thirty-two years in the world with very...little...to distress or vex her."

Set around the beginning of Season 1, Jake reunites with his full-blooded, (weird adjective!) biological younger sister after about 15 years of separation when she leaves London and decides to look for a job in New York. Shockingly, Jake hasn't disclosed that he has a sister to the precinct. Which is odd, considering he has no qualms complaining about his dad frequently.

-- notes: --

hi squad,

this is my first b99 work so tell me if there are any inaccuracies!

(btw technical non-inaccuracy: gina is not included in the prologue because charlotte did technically know her, but they had too much of an age gap for them to be close friends enough for charlotte to divulge the events referenced in the prologue.)

have fun reading as much as i did writing bc i just think jake deserves a witty, lawfully good relative who shaped him into the childishly mature man he is. and also wanted to diss roger more than the show does bc he SUCKS.

----- 0 -- prologue

The world swarms around me as I tumble, pretty comically, down the side of a flat, emerald-green hill. I’m 16, almost 17, poorly playing girls’ football, in preparatory school. I’m also in England. These are all rudimentary, digestible facts that don’t seem weird for my age and geography.

Then, the world gets a little more familiar. Six months ago, I was in America, in New York, eating pretty good pizza, going to high school, and having a stable shelter for a bit—six years, to be exact. No, no. I lived in more than just a ‘shelter’; I lived at home, my home.

I continue to roll down the endless saturated, green cliff; it seems pretty endless. It’s spring. My birthday is soon. It doesn’t feel like it should be. The rest of the girls are 17. Maybe I should blame my poor sportsmanship on our age difference. I don’t want them to know about my birthday being soon though because it feels weirdly sacred, like Christmas being dedicated to spending time with family. At Christmas, most of the other girls left to go home for the break. I stayed at school with some girl named Cathy, who’s a self-proclaimed orphan with a rich, alcoholic uncle and blabbers about him all the time. Luckily, I got one crackly landline call from my family to escape from her.

I finally stop plummeting, landing in a rather supportive flowering shrub. I roll out of the bush, some brambles tangling in my hair—thankfully it’s pulled up, and I snake my way towards a creek. It’s quite beautiful out. It’s March 31st, which, according to the prep-school girls, should be a drizzly, frigid day. It’s around 12 degrees Celsius out. I sit with my legs pulled against my chest, so I can pull my school sweater over my bare knees, on some relatively smooth, mossy rocks near the creek’s shore. I see my reflection, set against the whites and light greens of the early blossoming trees in the distance, in the babbling, green-hued water. I’m still pale from the winter. I have box-dyed black hair, in the color ‘Midnight’, which is fading patchily; I did it in the airport bathroom in London in September when I was first sent to board. My dad left me at the airport alone, so the parentless paradise of England seemed like a pretty good place to express myself. I have hazel, green eyes that seem to match the color of the creek’s water.

I feel a tingle of nostalgia as I look up from the water. The surrounding shore is gravelly like Upstate. The trees are old and tall like Upstate.

I never was this sheltered, really. I am a pretty happy person, sunny even. Maybe I just feel scorned because of my parents.

I miss New York. I dip the tip of my right Oxford in the creek. The water is freezing still. At least the climate in New York is similar to England’s.

I suddenly grow more conscious of my surroundings; my eyes dart around at the nearly barren scenery before growing misty with remembrance. —— Suddenly, in my mind, it’s August. Jake stops our dad’s musty, antiquated cobalt-blue car in the middle of New York State. We both get out and sprint into a meadow, a little off the highway, that looks out to a mountain range. Jake yells something enthusiastically that cheers me up, but I can’t hear it now, it’s all garbled like I’m underwater. I’m really nervous still, but I start laughing.

We sit down in a patchy clearing in the meadow; the grass is just beginning to die. It’s a beautiful rust color in the evening sunlight. We talk and laugh some more. I pull a few blue and white wildflowers from the field, and I braid them gingerly together in my lap. He watches me and tries to do the same thing, but his fingers are larger and less gentle so they snap a few of the stems. We laugh. He asks me something, related to what I told him in the car. I can vaguely piece together one of my replies, speaking in a pretty cheerful, sincere tone,

“Oh, and I would have bouquets with ivy and Queen Anne’s Lace and peonies. And you would walk me down the aisle.”

He laughs at my inflection, but then he considers what I said. The conversation seems less foggy as it goes on. “Wouldn’t Dad walk you down the aisle?”

I suddenly turn serious, a grim look on my face, but I don’t know why. My hair’s still honey-blonde, and it matches the golden August sky, and it whips in my face slightly while I speak.

“Dad only cares about you, Jake. He was married to your Mom, not mine.”

He seems hurt by this, his brown eyes, the same color as the old, tall trees, widen slightly and he tries to respond. I continue despite this, my eyes feeling heavy from the unbearable truth. And tears. More from tears than the truth.

“I found something in the mail yesterday. Dad’s sending me to boarding school. In England. When you leave for the academy.” I enunciate bitterly, looking down at my lap at my loosely connected flower crown.

Jake starts crying. I don’t know what to do. My hands raise involuntarily to try and comfort him, and then he hugs me tightly. I start crying, tears drip down my cheeks as the wind continues to batter them. I hug him back. I squeeze him like I won’t see him ever again. Like he’s being drafted and it’s 1970. I grip the flower crown painfully hard in my hands, my arms wound around his back.

——

I feel the same wind beat against my face as I hug my knees closer to my chest. I’m still in the forest downhill to the school. I feel a little lightheaded. Suddenly, I recall what I said to Dad when he left me at the airport.

—— “You don’t care about us! Jake left for the police academy, so now you can remove us both from your insanely busy, tedious life by sending me away for school as well! How is that something that a selfless, caring parent would do?”

Dad defended himself loudly, but I couldn’t hear. The blood rushed in my ears too fast for me to hear what he said.

“Fine! You know what? I’m going to become a cop, just like Jake. And you’re going to have to deal with both of us abandoning your great expectations for our lives.”

He yelled something strong back, invective. “At least Jake will never be a—”

I didn’t allow him to finish his sentence before I slapped him. Because I knew that the next word—the way his lips curled around his front teeth as if he had savored waiting to say it—would be despicable.

——

I feel lightheaded as I recall this. I think I have a mild concussion. I flop over uselessly against the rocks, my vision dimming from the cool mist-colored skies to the warm black of subconsciousness. I dream of not being in England. I dream of home. I dream of being something more than a preparatory student in England. An American one. I dream of meeting with Jake again. I miss my brother. I hope the world will bring me back to him.

The sun pricks bright green dots in the darkness of my closed eyelids. Someone lifts me. They smell like cheap musk and sandalwood cologne and mop water. A dog sniffs at me. Oh, it’s the janitor. He had a dog? I think Jake would laugh if he saw me now. Or he would say, “Where did you go wrong?” And I would say, “I didn’t?” Or I would say, “When I slapped Dad and dyed my hair black and said I was going to become a detective and decided to label myself a ‘scorned daughter’ just like Cathy did. Nothing Cathy does is mature. I should've known.”

The janitor accidentally, feebly slipped into a puddle while carrying me. I’m muddy and my navy sweater is partially soaked and will probably smell like mildew even after the nurse sets it out to dry. His stubble grates the side of my face as he lifts me again; it feels like a handful of needles scraping against my cheek. Jake would probably laugh if he saw me. Now. Not probably, but 100% for sure. -----

#brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #original character #jake peralta #rosa diaz #amy santiago #gina linetti #terry jeffords #captain raymond holt #charles boyle #charlotte peralta-alcott #au -- jake has an actual sister!#their dad still sucks #i'll add more tags later TRUST!

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shangchiswife · 3 years

Text

peter parker- a night under the stars

summary: after a long day y/n has a night of relaxation with peter

warnings: none

word count: 1047

Being an Avenger was tough for you as a young teenager. Every single day there was something and you had a jam-packed schedule full of training, missions, and going to school. You barely had time for yourself.

When you were thirteen the Avengers had discovered that you had telekinesis and told you that you would be worthy to their team.

Initially, you had declined but Tony Stark promised that he would help your family which was struggling financially. You agreed reluctantly.

Now, you were a strong Avenger and you had grown into a powerful person.

You had just gotten back from a mission and you were dripping with sweat as you entered the Avengers compound. It was late at night.

The common room was empty and the lights were dimmed low.

You walked into the hallway and saw that the lights in everyone's rooms were off.

With a large sigh you walked over to your own room.

Suddenly someone tapped your shoulder and you sprung upward and kicked backward making whoever tapped you fall and groan loudly.

You turned and saw Peter Parker groaning on the floor while clutching his stomach.

"Peter oh my god!" you gasped as you put your hands over your mouth.

"Hi Y/N," the poor boy gave you a weak smile.

"Here," you offered your hand and helped Peter up.

You had the biggest crush on Peter and everyone in the compound knew about it. He was just so sweet and it was so adorable. Natasha would try so hard to set you both up together.

"You kick really hard. Good survival skills I guess," Peter rubbed his stomach gently.

"I'm sorry Peter but why did you scare me? And why are you even up?" you pondered as you cocked your head to the side.

"I knew you were coming back late so I didn't want you to be alone," Peter scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

You could have sworn that you saw a tint of pink graze his pale cheeks.

Your heart warmed at this.

"That's really nice of you, Pete," you smiled.

"Yeah well...uh I also wanted to ask something," he looked up at you. His chocolate brown eyes were soft.

You waved your hand forward urging him to continue.

"Can you come with me to the roof with me? I have a little surprise," Peter questioned as a small smile appeared on his face.

"Really? Okay," you looked excited as you and Peter ran up the stairs that led up to the roof and opened the door.

You gasped.

There were two dark green-colored lawn chairs and a small circular table full of snacks.

"Wow, Peter this is amazing!" you squealed as you plopped down on one of the lawn chairs and started lying down.

Peter chuckled and then lied down on the other lawn chair.

You both looked up at the black night sky which was sprinkled with specks of bright white stars.

"I forgot how beautiful the sky was. I'm always so busy with either saving the world or doing homework I forgot it existed," you mumbled.

"It's so crazy how bright the stars are, they're so pretty," the brown-haired boy agreed as he marveled at the stars.

You sighed blissfully as you rested your eyes for a moment drinking in the scene.

What you didn't notice was Peter staring at your blissful form with admiration.

"I come up here from time to time to just think and eat ice cream," Peter said.

"It's such a peaceful spot I'm surprised no one claimed it to be honest. Now speaking of ice cream did you bring any?" you asked hopefully.

"I in fact did why don't you take a good look at the snack table," Peter beamed as he gestured over to the snack table which had a large container that was labeled vanilla ice cream.

You immediately got up and put scoops of the vanilla ice cream into a bowl.

"Hey, there's little left save some for me!" Peter complained.

"No," you stuck your tongue out at him as you scooped one more scoop of ice cream into your bowl and then you sat back down on the lawn chair.

Peter put some of his ice cream in his bowl while you stole glances at him.

His hair was floppy and was slightly wet like he had a shower before you arrived at the Tower.

You let out a short laugh as Peter returned to his seat and started spooning the ice cream into his mouth.

"What?" he asked with his mouth full as he sat back down on the lawn chair.

"Nothing you just look cute," you blurted out which made you slap your hand on your mouth out of embarrassment.

"Really?" Peter let out a grin while his face turned red.

"Yeah," you stared at him.

Suddenly the ice cream was forgotten and your face and Peter's face were close together.

"You're making it really hard for me to not kiss you," Peter muttered as his gaze drifted from your eyes to your lips.

"Then do it," you spoke confidently as Peter's eyes widened but complied as he cupped your face and leaned in a kissed you.

The two of you broke the kiss when you heard cheering from behind you.

The whole Avengers team was clapping and cheering.

Both of your faces burned a bright pink color.

"This is so embarrassing," you whispered to Peter who nodded.

"Go Y/N," Natasha whistled. A large smile was printed on her face showcasing her pearly whites.

"I see you took my advice, Parker, good choice," Tony clapped and then whistled.

"Can you guys just leave!" you yelled as you started shoving them down the stairs that led to the roof.

You saw Thor fall down the stairs.

"Ow!" he howled in pain.

"Oh well that's what you get for spying," you shrugged your shoulders.

"It was a team effort," you saw Thor rub his arm gently before disappearing.

"Have fun you two," Natasha winked, at that moment you wanted to push her down a building.

"But not too much fun," Sam Wilson smirked which made the rest of the Avengers laugh.

The laughter disappeared and you and Peter were left alone again.

"So," you walked up to Peter.

"Where were we?"

#avengers x reader #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #tom holland x reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #marvel x reader #peter parker x oc #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker preference

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heyitsbugette · 2 years

Text

Demon Spawn System - I.

< chapter >

Damian Wayne was sitting on his respective workplace. A comfortable and padded white chair, surrounded by a navy blue background void around him, whose only company was the celestial lights of information traveling in space and time and the kwami in front of him helping him get in touch with the job. Félix for his part did not stay with him to discuss the case in more detail, but since if his deduction did not fail at all, the englishman was pretty uncomfortable.

Suspiciously uncomfortable for someone who at first glance seemed as cold, stoic and professional as himself.

There must have been some connection between Graham de Vanily and this universe to even go to the trouble of recruiting him when having so many other agents at his disposal.

He knew said boy was calculative, and avoided innecesary risks, meaning other agents failed before. However, he continued to lack information to reach conclusions. That was a task for another time, as he was in no hurry to confront his superior.

"So now that I signed the contract I can use the resources of the organization and investigate as I please, right?" He questioned his kwami as soon as his hands touched the holographic screen to repair the profile of Adrien Agreste, and that of the heroine Ladybug, his study subjects.

"Well, not quite… You're still new here, and you can't have all the tools since you're at the bottom of the hierarchy. You have to choose your options carefully, as they will cost you points in the future."

"I thought my goal was to increase my points…" He didn't hesitate to make his discontent visible before the calm creature, who only looked back at him with the third eye located on his forehead.

"Indeed. Since you're a rookie at the moment, you can only get the beginner's tool kit, which is given free to all agents. But if you want to take an advantage, it will cost you a certain amount of the points you accumulate. Fortunately if If you are successful in your mission, the purchased bonuses will double your score if you know how to use them in your favor, something like an investment. But you must know how to choose the appropriate bonus in order to double. Also, you can do side missions."

Investing was not a strange concept for him, nor an unknown scenario for Damian, being the biological son of a billionaire known among the most successful spheres of Gotham's elite. While he wasn't actively in the business like Tim was, he did have his own financial freedoms to spare for him to rely on his expertise.

After that, Damian's fingers dragged towards the only one of the bright red electronic folders, one with Adrien Agreste's crime history against his universe, only to be surprised to see that the vast majority of the text was encoded in a strange pattern of symbols that flickered from time to time until it became a blur. Without giving time to better analyze the writing in an attempt to decode.

"How do you expect me to fix this mess if Agreste's folder is defective?! Graham even bothered to write me a report to find out why this pathetic pretty boy is so important?!"

"It's not defective, host. The information will simply unlock as you observe your subject longer. Once you discover his secrets, you can act against Adrien."

"Is this guy really a threat? He looks so harmless and unintelligent that at first glance I wouldn't think much of him."

With a disgusted expression on his face he saw how the boy's profile picture showed him with a wide smile and sparkling greenish eyes, cheeks faintly colored by a blush, and a pale gold-toned skin tone that looked slightly more tanned than the pale face of his boss Félix, making both blondes look radically different. While one was somber and formal, the other gave the appearance of being chatty and gregarious, not forgetting that Adrien was a couple of years younger. Just by judging from his profile info, both Adrien and Damian were the same age.

But something wasn't right. The blonde presented himself so artificially perfect that falsehood alarms gone crazy inside him.

"To be frank, Félix seems more suspicious to me. And it bothers me how his facade breaks every time I ask any question about the case… What kind of connection is there between Adrien and Ladybug? If my mission is to protect her, what does this boy have to do with it?"

"We'll know that when we investigate."

"He can't fool me, I know he is hiding something from me, and it's bothering me."

"We'll understand his motives once we solve this case, Damian. But are you ready to go now? Remember that we can't get out of this universe until we win or lose the mission."

Null after his final warning, got serious while with one of his paws drew a strange symbol in the air, from which a bright portal opened a entrance so full of light. That's where the dark-haired young man was supposed to enter, who, not even hesitating, bravely headed towards his unknown direction, opting to take a low profile to test the ground. He wasn't in a hurry anyway.

"As if I have a choice. Let's do it, Null."

#miraculous prompts #ml salt #adrien salt #marinette deserves better #marinette is done #damian sugar #daminette #damian x felix #platonic felinette #miraculous salt #miraculous salt fanfic #maribat fluff #maribat #adrien agreste gets consequences #felix graham de vanily #lila salt

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alluringjae · 3 years

Text

au cours de l’été - jjh

⤑ translation: over the summer

⤑ summary: this is a story of an exhausted painter who needed a breather from the hectic city life. so aside from moving to the countryside, the needed air in your lungs also came in the form of a person. this summer meant for pure relaxation, perhaps your heart may dive into him too.

⤑ pairing: jaehyun x female reader

⤑ word count: 15.2k (so much for saying that i’ll be writing shorter stories)

⤑ genre: fluff, romance, smut | author!jaehyun, painter!reader, strangers to lovers!au, 50s-60s!au, summer love in france!au

⤑ warnings: me inserting some french phrases because I want to practice (feel free to correct me if I made mistakes, i’ll appreciate them), fictional interpretations of real-life people, explicit language, jaehyun being such a romantic pls im in tears, mentions and scenes of burnout (the worst)

⤑ author’s note: this was an idea that just came to me after pinterest kept recommending me poetic beauty/try again jaehyun, so here we are! i intended to write less than 5k words but sometimes plans don’t go as planned once you really invest in the story yet i’m really happy how this turned out!

the romantic exhilaration in my bones are off the charts because this is jaehyun we’re talking about lol enjoy!

⤑ masterlist

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism, or hellos!

3 juin 1957

The city life overstimulated your entire system, losing your brainpower and inspiration. Another exhibition that’ll feature your works with other influential painters was happening at the end of the year, and you had nothing prepared so far. You’ve crashed to the deep end of creative fatigue.

So you needed to get away again; somewhere quieter and surrounded by nature.

That’s why you ended up in the countryside down south, somewhere within Provence. It’s purely just for the summer, but extensions were okay as long you get back at least a month before the show. Filing that leave of absence at the studio you worked at was worth it.

You rented an apartment overlooking the marketplace, where the heart of the village was. After arranging things from your boxes and luggage the entire day, you found out that you lacked in the food department.

So the succeeding day, the entire morning was spent on grocery shopping downstairs then stocking them inside your refrigerator, freezer, and pantry. Right after changing out of your pajamas into a flowy floral dress and sandals, you decided to bike to the bakery that locals suggested. A must-go place for newcomers, they all raved.

“Café des Étoiles Perdues.” (Café of Lost Stars.)

The clear chimes of the bell resounded through the small, cottage-like lobby as you entered inside. An old woman, whom you assumed was the owner, welcomed you openly.

“Oh la la, vous êtes belle! Vous vous appelez (Y/N), la nouvelle venue, n'est-ce pas?” (Oh la la, you’re beautiful. Your name is (Y/N), the newcomer, right?)

She complimented, making you shyly mutter your answer. Wiping off the flour from her apron, she introduced herself kindly.

“Je m’appelle Camille. Mes spécialités sont les macarons pisctaches et des croissants avec des amandes. Autre chose que tu aimes?” (I’m Camille. My specialties are the pistachio macarons and croissants with almonds. Is there anything else you like?)

“J'aime tout ce que vous suggères, Madame.” (I’d like anything that you suggest, Madame.)

A younger man, who went by Jaemin, was a part-timer barista who asked for your coffee order. As he directed you to the best seat of the café, which was outside overlooking the garden of blooming sunflowers, you pulled out your sketch pad so you could capture this dreamy view. It was nothing like you’ve ever seen in your life.

You’ve decided on a theme already for your exhibit thanks to your conversations with locals yesterday, which was related to freedom. After being chained to cities for so-called better living and financial standards, it’s actually how your inspiration to create squeezed the life out of you like a lemon. Although it was fun at first to see those tourist spots, it eventually got tiring.

Another matchstick to graze intensity through your bones was what you prayed for.

While you’re engaged in a rough sketch of the scenery, the dandy presence of a young man entered the café with his books. White shirt, red trousers with a matching beret, he sported freckles on his pale face. Despite visiting his favorite café numerously, Camille was overjoyed to see him and his serene smiles.

“Jaehyun! What brings you here?”

“Bonjour, Madame! I’m starving for your croissants because I ran out back home.”

“Not to worry! I’ll pack up some so you’re on your way.” She lightened him up like one of her kids, taking one of the bigger paper bags.

“No rush though, Madame. I’ll be reading and working here for a bit here.” Jaehyun affirmed, bringing it out his wallet and called out for Jaemin.

“Un café crème, s’il vous plait.” (One cup of cappuccino, please.)

Jaehyun’s usual chair was by the large window, overseeing the wide garden planted by the citizens of the village way before he was born. It was places like this he missed after moving to the city for his education and work’s sake.

That’s the thing when you’re coming from a rich family; you don’t have much of say with what your parents order you to do. However, his recent request to stay in his childhood home (or mansion) again was fulfilled because he couldn’t search for what he needed in the cities anymore.

Jaehyun was a sucker for romance; an old romantic others would say. A lot of women mistook his kindness as flirting on many occasions, but ironically he just wasn’t looking for anyone yet.

Starting as a novelist in the said genre based on real-life stories of people he met in Paris, Barcelona, London, and more, his stories were popular hits especially to young adults who aspire to find love one day.

However, traveling to the known places no longer felt fun as he got older. The stories he gathered were very similar, just in different languages. It took an enthusiastic dinner with his family, specifically his only older sister Krystal retelling fond stories from their younger years to get the idea of moving back for a bit. So consumed with the city life, he wanted to see things from another perspective.

What was the difference between a love story formed in the countryside than in the city?

It’s been a month since he arrived, but he didn’t hurry himself to do his research. He’s been reading books in his family library, revisiting monumental places, exploring around the village, and reconnecting with old friends as if he never left.

Readjusting to his former life would make writing easier when he’s motivated enough to do it again. Besides, his books were profiting well enough to his taste; good enough for the next 10 years according to his personal accountant, Kim Jungwoo.

Jaehyun resumed reading this book his mother recommended him before he left. Entitled “Réessaye”, which was about a young man who reunites with his childhood sweetheart after his arranged marriage failed. After what she put her through, he’s hesitant whether to try again or let her go.

Jaehyun enjoyed reading books with realistic outlooks on love because he found them more meaningful, enlightening how exactly it makes you feel and do. Even if he enjoyed reading sappy, fairytale-like stories from time to time, he always returned to the real ones as they only displayed the truth.

That love isn’t always rainbows and sunshine, but something that can also break you especially if you go after the wrong person. This kind of mindset was how he toiled on his stories, which gained him a status outside of his unavoidable labels such as “the only striking son of the Jeong family” or “Valentine Boy”.

He diligently browsed through the climax, where the main male character confessed all his constrained emotions to his sweetheart. But it was until Jaemin pressed the bag of croissants in front of his face after placing down his childhood friend’s drink to disturb his peace.

“Reading again?” He taunted, snatching his book away and throwing the bag on Jaehyun’s lap. “When are you writing that book already? Everyone is practically dying for you to release something new again!”

Jaehyun flatly shook his head, drinking his coffee quietly. It’s not the first time anyone asked (or pressured) him about his next release, and it’s the last thing he wanted to think about. “Not in the mood right now, Jaemin. Now off to work before Madame Camille scolds you again.”

“You’re just stalling because you have nothing to write, don’t you?” Jaemin cunningly expressed, raising a brow. He’s known to catch onto the people’s bs easily; the last person you’d want to say your secrets too and Jaehyun realized too late. Though lucky for him, Jaemin shut the topic down right away so he wouldn’t pop a vein.

“Sais-tu de la nouvelle venue dans le village, d'ailleurs?” (Do you know about the newcomer in the village, by the way?)

“Une nouvelle venue?” (A newcomer?)

Being stuck at his mansion recently, news about village affairs were now late to him. Jaemin’s finger discreetly pointed outside the window, pertaining to a young woman sat outside painting her view in front of her.

That would be you, shading all the flowers in bright colors.

Seeing a new face amazed Jaehyun, especially when she was almost someone right out of a book. In a neat bun with white daisies printed in her dress, she crossed her legs whilst continuing her movements. She bit her lower lip, frustrated over an accidental smudge she made and trying to fix it by blending it with another color. When she accomplished it, she swapped brushes. A thinner one, to outline the shapes of the flower. Her lips curved to a smile after finishing another one perfectly with the rest.

“Jaehyun?”

Jaemin snapped his fingers to his distracted friend, zoning out the window. Still something he hasn’t stop doing, he pondered. With a final snap, Jaehyun broke away from falling hard from his abstract. Jaemin calculated the problem so quickly, analyzing his friend breezily like his medical school requirements.

“Elle est splendide, n'est-ce pas?” (She’s gorgeous, right?)

“Elle ressemble à une personne décente.” (She looks like a decent person.)

Jaehyun pushed it aside, flipping back to the page where he stopped reading. Before Jaemin responded, the door chimed open again to alarm him that a new customer came in. He excused himself to his friend, warning him that this wasn’t the last time he’ll talk about the newcomer too.

Jaehyun nodded along, not taking his friend’s cheeky words so seriously. However, the final result you attempted to create tickled his curiosity, so he slyly peeked from his book to the window.

You’ve freed your hair down, victorious to have started your collection this early in your break. A fantastic start, you let the paint dry first and munch on the croissant that served as your reward. However, you ‘re quick to notice a manly figure glancing through the window. From the side, his brown eyes appeared lively even if his entire face was hidden by the book.

Réessaye by Mark Lee; he must be a romantic. Every person in your studio read it, excluding yourself. Painfully beautiful, they’d summarize it.

Daring to meet more people, you locked eye contact with him. He didn’t expect it, almost flipping from his chair. Bashfully, you waved him a hello to somewhat break the ice. However, it broke his composure, and suddenly, he scurried off with his things from the café.

Now, you got quite worried. You checked your tiny mirror if he saw anything unpleasant with you, but you’d say you look relatively fine. Oh, maybe you could redeem yourself the next time you saw him. After bidding goodbye to Camille and Jaemin, the latter chased after you when you prepared yourself on your bike.

“By any chance, did you say hi to a guy with brown eyes and a red beret?”

“Well, more like I waved at him, then he zoomed out. Did I do something wrong?” You questioned with concern, putting your hands on the handles.

“That’s my friend, who’s quite reserved with strangers. I’m sorry on his behalf.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” You brushed it off politely. “See you again soon, Jaemin!”

Peddling away, letting the cool breeze fan you, your mind reverted its thoughts to that strange man. Maybe you’ll give it some time; you had a lot of it.

“Shucks, he was pretty cute.”

12 juin 1957

The world must really be on your side with these good decisions because you crossed paths with the strange man again in the café a week later. But instead of running away, he asked nicely if he could sit across your free chair in front of your table outside. It was a Saturday, and the place was packed.

“Joignez-moi, s’il vous plait.” (Join me, please.)

You insisted, giving yourself time to subtly observe his physique a lot more. Freckles dotted under his eyes like a constellation, bushy eyebrows, pink cheeks to match his pale complexion, and wearing a fuzzy knit sweater that meshed well with his green beret. He had some sort of necklace too; there was a heart pendant.

“Vous êtes une artiste.” (You’re an artist.) The small wooden palette of paint beside your small sketch pad was exposed, finding it as a great icebreaker.

“Une peintre, spécifiquement. Franchement, les visuels ici sont trés captivants qu'à Paris.” (A painter, to be specific. Frankly, the visuals here are more captivating than in Paris.)

“Je suis d’accord,” (I agree,) Jaehyun leaned against his chair, taking a better look at you with the remaining light from the descending sun.

“Oh, vous êtes comme moi. J’habite à Paris aussi.” (Oh, you’re like me. I live in Paris too.)

“Bon, je suis née à Londres. Puis, j’ai déménagé où je voulais en Europe depuis j'avais 18 ans. Mais oui, j’habite définitivement à Paris maintenant.” (Well, I was born in London then moved wherever I wanted in Europe for inspiration since I was 18. But yes, I live permanently in Paris now.)

You clarified, beginning to enjoy his comforting company. Initiating conversations with people you’re not acquainted with wasn’t in your range of skills, though he didn’t have an intimidating vibe. He looked too youthful to act like that.

“Je m’appelle (Y/N), d'ailleurs.” (I’m (Y/N), by the way.) You stuck out your hand as a sign of respect, which he enthusiastically obliged.

“Salut, (Y/N). Je m’appelle Jaehyun.” [Hi, (Y/N). I’m Jaehyun.]

He kissed it in a gentleman fashion, applying the manners he’s been taught since he was a child. Should you have been flustered, but no. It’s been a long time since anyone greeted you like that, specifically back home.

Throughout your talk, you learned more about who he was, his job, and what his life in the countryside is like. He was an author of romance novels, yet you’ve never heard about him prior. Heavily prioritizing your work, you don’t keep up with the new releases or trends at all. Though after mentioning his last name, it piqued your interest.

“Jeong? As in the business, Jeong Tea Inc.?”

“Correct.”

His family was one of the most affluent families in Parisian society. Old money immigrants from South Korea, they brought their tea business to France and it boomed successfully. You’re quite sure you’ve seen his parents in past exhibits, but never did you approach them because you were a rookie then. But he reassured you that it was fine, and to just treat him like you’d treat your friends. Plus, it came to your knowledge that he was the same age as you too.

He opened up how this village was where he lived his childhood, so he asked his parents if he could hand over their mansion for a while for rest. It then shocked both of you at how identical your reasons were for staying in the countryside.

“I’m burnt out from the city, so I’m trying to regain my spirit here hopefully. Besides, I needed a change of scenery after living there for 3 years. My longest stay yet outside of London!”

“I need new ideas for my books. The cities don’t charm me anymore, so I returned here for peace and quiet. Maybe let these ideas come to me rather than me going after them.”

From a bigger lens, people would conclude your interaction as a sight of two artists who passionately talk about their art. But to you, you’d interpret it as two relaxed, young adults in their twenties who simply wanted to run away from the pressures of their art and enjoy the summer as every young adult should.

Not cooped up in the studio or office, but innocently waltzing around with your youth while it’s still there.

début de juillet 1957

“Dépêche-toi, (Y/N)!” [Hurry up, (Y/N)!]

Jaehyun yelled at your open balcony from downstairs, parking his mini car beside your bike. He planned on taking you somewhere a little farther this time; to absolutely feel like one of the locals.

The countryside urged you to wear more dresses and flat shoes, so you took out a turquoise dress with a white scarf to wrap on top of your head. Like your relaxed fit, your mindset too was calm. Upon meeting him, he wore his round spectacles with a red knit sweater over a white turtleneck long-sleeved top. His fingers were adorned with silver rings, then around his neck was a thin black ribbon. He curled some of his hair again, a style you really liked of his.

You can’t lie, but this man could pull any trend or style and still look extra pretty.

Out of all the locals you’ve befriended in your stay, Jaehyun was always your companion. He took you to varying places that those locals don’t visit nor tourists acknowledge in their reviews for the past few weeks. For someone who hasn’t been in the village for a long time, his memory didn’t disappoint. His childhood was only filled with cheerful moments.

Today, he was taking you to a peaceful district of shops in the farther part of the village. It’s where he’d buy sweets, journals, and accessories with his mother, Krystal, and one of his housemaids every other weekend.

All the stores there were currently bombarded with blooming flowers along their alley, bringing more enticement to those who were roaming around. There was so much life here; the head waiter of one restaurant smiling at every passing customer, one florist handing a free flower to anyone who asks, and a young lady showcasing her jewelry collection to a bunch of women who looked like tourists.

“Cette librairie vendent des livres enveloppés dans du papier. Ma mère m'a offerte l'un d'eux pour mon anniversaire tous les ans comme une surprise.” (This bookstore sells books wrapped in paper. My mother gifted me one of them on my birthday every year as a surprise.)

He trained his attention at a rustic shop with open wooden windows giving a glimpse of their shelves.

“Avez-vous fini les lisant?” (Have you finished reading them?)

“Du début à la fin.” (From cover to cover.)

He took you to this rooftop restaurant overlooking the entire plaza. Since he didn’t arrange a reservation yet didn’t get rejected, he must know the owner. Especially how a lot of the staff gave casual hellos and high fives.

Speaking of the owner, he walked out of his kitchen to introduce himself to you. He went by the name Moon Taeil, another one of Jaehyun’s childhood friends whom he used to play at his house whenever his parents came along.

Gobbling up in the appetizing food Taeil prepared beforehand, Jaehyun brought up your painting exhibition again. He loved hearing artists talk about their works, wanting to know more about their driven mindset and what their imagination is like. After all, it does vary for everyone.

“So far,” You poked your fork through the chicken, taking a bite of it. “I’ve produced 3 paintings. The garden of flowers outside Café des Étoiles Perdues, the kids playing hopscotch in the alley, and the peach tree outside your house.”

“Woah, you’re on a roll.” Jaehyun clapped across you, pouring you another glass of water. He recalled the nights you ranted not having any clue what to do for the exhibit. Then after taking you to more places, he’s rewarded to see you be creatively active again. “How many artworks do you left to make?”

“Around 3-4 left. I have ideas already, but I’m still brainstorming.” You internally rejoiced, loving how much progress you’ve made. “How about you, Jaehyun? How’s your progress?”

Unlike you, Jaehyun still felt stuck. Although he did find couples around the village, none of them intrigued him as much as his past stories. But he won’t give up easily; that’s not in his work ethic.

“Still searching, but I’ll get there.”

Recently, you got ahold of some of Jaehyun’s books from him personally since they weren’t sold in the village. You wanted to understand how he became so well known outside the labels people put him under. Reading his first novel entitled “Des Papillons” (Butterflies), it was about a couple separated during World War II without contact or knowledge about their well-being. Yet whenever they saw butterflies on the day they parted, they took it as a sign that the other was alive wherever they were.

You’re always hanging on the cliff when the scenes revert back and forth to the main male lead getting stuck in intense war scenarios, rooting for him to get out alive each time. In the end, it took 7 years before they were reunited and wed.

Jaehyun had a wonderful way with his words and descriptions, managing to enwrap you in as if you’re also a character in the book. Like how you rooted for that male lead, you’re rooting for him to find his spark again.

Following this uplifting conversation, Jaehyun finally took to your greatly anticipated spot. It was the main viewpoint of Gordes, one of the most beautiful hilltop villages in the country. The sunset was about to hit, and the lights from the city across you slowly turned on like a bunch of dominos.

As you marveled at its aesthetics, Jaehyun leaned against the hood of his car. He sensed how in awe you were, more than you ever were in the city he assumed. So used to the city that being surrounded with nature became foreign to you.

He took out his polaroid camera from his trunk and captured a photo of you from behind. The shutter sounds were obvious, turning your back at the commotion. Jaehyun fanned the freshly printed photo to dry, giving a mischievous smile.

“What can I say? While you’re fawning over the view, mine was more enamoring.”

Although Jaehyun felt overwhelmed the first time he locked eyes with you, he can’t resist the power of his developing feelings for you. The more time he took you around, the more his heart found different details about you to admire. After listening to all those love stories in the past, the people he spoke to shared how there will be some distinct moment where your heart decides who they’re longing for.

That exact view of you by the cliff, he already knew.

He’s infatuated by you.

“Tu es très ringard, Jaehyun.” (You’re so cheesy, Jaehyun.) You scoffed sassily, with a hand on your waist.

“Un gentleman ne ment jamais, (Y/N). Allez, il fait nuit maintenant.” [A gentleman never lies, (Y/N). Come on, it’s night already.]

He cleverly responded, grabbing his car keys from his pocket. The trip back to the village was energizing, putting down the roof of his car to relish the chill breeze of the night weather. You even raised your arms in the air, losing your scarf even from the speed Jaehyun went at!

The two of you belted along to the songs on the radio when the fields were the only ones surrounding you, no neighbors to shout at your rambunctiousness.

The late-night hours drew by so quickly almost like dinner with more of Jaehyun’s friends didn’t happen. Arriving at the front doors of your apartment complex, Jaehyun raced over to your side to open your door. Always maintained proper observation of manners, you appreciated that side of him. Rarely anyone in Paris that you’ve encountered treated you that way because you were a foreigner.

“Bonsoir, (Y/N).” [Goodnight, (Y/N).]

“Bonsoir, Jaehyun. Quand est-ce que je te revois?” (Goodnight, Jaehyun. When can I see you again?)

“Demain et après-demain. Appelle-moi quand tu es libre.” (Tomorrow, and the day after that. Just give me a call when you’re free.)

With a short wave, you entered your building and marched up to the stairs. A good day only meant being tired to the core, ready to crash and fall in your soft bed. Opening your wide windows to let more of the cool breeze in, your eyes easily caught Jaehyun’s classy car still there. As for the owner, he didn’t move an inch from his leaning position.

“Rentre à la maison, Jaehyun! C’est tard!” (Go home, Jaehyun! It’s late!) You shrieked, peeking side to side to make sure none of the neighbors scold you.

Jaehyun laughed wholeheartedly, not budging at all. “La nuit ne fait que commencer, ma chérie.” (The night has just begun, my darling.)

“Comment tu m'as appelé?” (What did you call me?)

Either your ears were fooling you or he addressed you by a divine pet name. The gasp you swallowed, as your entire body tingled with exhilaration. Your mind would simply disregard it like his former teasing words, but your heart begged to differ.

Rather than responding with words, Jaehyun’s voice serenaded you with a wondrous song, C’est Si Bon by Eartha Kitt, that played on the radio earlier. Out of the blue, a random guitar accompaniment followed his baritone vocals.

“En voyant notre mine ravie,”

Against the railing of your wired balcony, your body shifted forward to watch him better.

“Les passants dans la rue, nous envient,”

Your hand perched on your cheek, admiring his talent.

“C'est si bon de guetter dans ses yeux,”

It was like a lullaby, and here you were drowning in its peacefulness. Sensing the passion he gives off in his singing, your heart couldn’t refrain the strings inside from being swayed and tugged.

This was your moment of realization: that you too were smitten.

“Un espoir merveilleux, qui donne le frisson…”

À la mi-juillet de 1957

“Hello, nature!” You greeted brightly as your legs raced the huge garden in his manor. It was the first time he invited you over, too lazy to go out of the city. His social battery needed a recharge for the weekend, so a picnic within his home would do the trick. Additionally, it was an excuse to bring you over after the numerous times you’ve begged him to.

Jaehyun merely shook his head, enjoying the rush of childlike fun in your veins while you squealed and grazed your hands through the flowers.

He carried a wooden basket full of treats his family maids cooked, taking his time to venture through the rows of flowers. They were growing healthily and phenomenally these days, sometimes riding his bike to personally water them since he became busy with writing again. Lately, he found inspiration again, and so he wrote day and night to set them free.

“Voila!” You yanked out a sunflower, sniffing it a little. “Come on, Jaehyun! Pick up a few for our lunch!”

He followed your order, picking out some he found ideal. But just for fun, he put down the basket and carried you from behind out of the blue. You tried kicking him away, but his muscular arms can’t compete with your soft ones.

“What are you doing?”

“You said to pick up a flower, so I did. The prettiest of them all.”

His flirtatious words were never serious, yet you took it as a compliment. That’s how high your confidence is. Only we define our own worth, not others. The two of you chatted more about your lives until the first rain of the season poured down, chilling down from the raging heat. None of you had an umbrella; the weather was too unpredictable.

Deciding to just run for it, he gave you the wooden basket to protect yourself whilst he used the blanket you’ve sat on. Running with laughter to return to his mansion in the muddy dirt, the cool drops shivered your figure yet felt fantastic.

If you were in the city, you’d panic because it’d mess your appearance and your boss would be infuriated by your unprofessionalism. But in the countryside, it didn’t matter at all. The condition of the rain wasn’t budging to improve, getting stronger by the minute. His entire house even lost power, his housemaids having to bring candles to his bedroom and your assigned one once night dawned.

It was hopeless to return home for you, plus it’s dangerous to drive in in the dark, narrow streets too. Jaehyun handed you some of his fresh clothes so you’d be free from flinching from cold dress sticking to your body.

“Get dressed and some sleep, (Y/N).”

Nodding, you excused yourself to find the bathroom. You’d assume it’d be easy, but this was your first time in his house; a mansion even. Doors from left to right, long corridors that seemed never-ending, no maids were within the vicinity whom you can ask for guidance.

Resorting to return to Jaehyun’s chamber for help, you were taken aback by what your eyes laid on. In front of his full mirror, he discarded his now-dried shirt. Even with the dim lighting, you could make out that he was fit by the transparent view of his abdomen. Peeping like this was wrong, yet you couldn’t turn away just yet. The heat in your cheeks was inevitable, finding composure in such an unholy sight.

Though a gear in you suddenly twisted; a gear that straightened your nerves. You’re taking a bold move on the chessboard of your feelings. Wholly opening his bedroom door again, you leisurely sauntered inside without warning.

“Oh, (Y/N)! Ne peux pas trouver la salle de bain?” (Oh, (Y/N)! Can’t find the bathroom?)

Unbothered as he stood shirtless, you on the other hand silently dropped his clothes on the floor. Holding intense eye contact, your fingers graciously unzipped the side of your dress. Inch by inch, the tension built up like the strong tiny flames lit on the candles around you two. Joining the pile of clothes, all that remained were your white lace undergarments. Unplanned for the get-go, it’s the ideal set for your earlier outfit at the picnic.

“Je me suis perdue, mais je pense avoir trouvé quelque chose de mieux.” (I got lost, but I think I found something better.)

Your fingers grazed your arm up to your collarbones, faking your naivety. From your lust-filled stare, the glint in Jaehyun’s eyes darkened. He gulped at the revealing sight of you, brushing his hair back to restrain himself.

None of you could utter a single word, only the vivacious rain being the only sounds ringing around you. Thus, you allowed your actions to pursue precisely what you desired to do.

Taking baby steps towards him to test the waters, he met you right in the center and closed the leftover space. His hands cradled your face, whilst yours clung to his chest. His lips tasted like red wine, watching him pour in a glass for himself earlier. He did offer, yet you declined.

Your tongue darted his lower lip, gaining access after. Sensing the edge of his bed, you plopped yourself down the cushion. His knee urged your legs to widen, letting his body slide in. From your face, his fingers lowered to the back of your bra, snapping the clasps open.

“It takes skill to accomplish that in one try, Jaehyun.”

“I lived in Paris too, ma chérie. You out of all people would understand and have the experience.”

His palms massaged your freed breasts, throwing your head back even more to his pillows as his lips ravaged down from your stomach until the fabric of your not-so pure panties.

“Call me that again, please.”

“Ma chérie, seras-tu mienne?” (My darling, will you be mine?) He kissed and licked the tiny ribbon in front repeatedly, where your now-swollen clit laid. It electrified your bones, pulling on to his ruffled hair.

“Tu peux m'avoir.” (You can have me.)

Sex in the form of one-night stands were all you’ve invested; upcoming artists like you weren’t capable to maintain long-term relationships. Les plans à trois even if you’re extra freaky or drunk from the afterparties of your events. All that these occurrences had in common were not seeing those men ever again after sneaking out of their apartments in the morning.

This time, it’s different.

When they said that doing the deed with someone you’re romantically entangled with was more special, they didn’t bluff. You could plan bits of your life, but it can sometimes change aspects of it when you least expect it. Sometimes for the best or the worst, but right now, it went beyond your expectations.

It’s rewarding that the man you’ve slowly fallen for within your stay returned your affections.

Around late 3 am that night, your brain jolted with artistic ideas that awoken your sonorous rest. There are no hopes of sleeping them off because they tend to bother you for hours until you do something about it. But you’re already so cozy having Jaehyun’s arms around you, skin to skin under the duvet. His lips daunted right above your forehead, recalling his endless kisses there that helped you fall asleep.

Well, these ideas don’t work themselves unless you do. Untangling him tactfully, you stepped out of the blanket and wore one of his long white shirts he gave you earlier before pulling out your sketchpad and palette of oil paints.

Luckily, there was still one available candle to use as the rest have melted indefinitely. You slid the matchstick again to the sand surface, boring a flame from the friction which you placed on top of the wick.

All your ideas that night leaned towards one thing, or person rather: Jaehyun.

You spent a few minutes retracing how he vividly looked at the picnic, leaning back from the chair of his work desk. His outfit of a turquoise turtleneck underneath a white button-top with trousers matching the said turtleneck looked good together, how his ears tingled red after you complimented his newfound inspiration for his book, and the prominent veins in his arms when he rolled his sleeves due to the heat.

The thin brush you held defined the shape of his face, then paying attention to the messy strands of his hair. Stroking in a circular way to outline his eyelids, a hoarse grunt disturbed the peaceful silence.

“Get back in bed, ma chérie.” His eyes drowsily opened, lying on his side. The moment he no longer felt your warmth, he worried something happened. Instead, you’re working late at night after quite a rough yet romantic night.

“Shush,” You shunned him down with your index finger. “Give me a few more minutes.”

“Perhaps, are you painting me?” He hunched from the covers. “Your eyes looking back and forth would never lie to me, would they?”

“Maybe…” You teased, batting your eyes at him without any risky intentions. Or not?

He deeply chuckled, sluggishly removing himself under the covers. In his pure nudity, he advanced himself towards you. You shrieked, covering yourself with your free hand.

“Jaehyun, stay back! I told you I’ll be there soon!”

Not listening, he carried your bridal style, making you drop your precious palette to the fur rug. Laying you carefully, he popped each button open. By the sight of his cock hardening again, you knew you were in for another round with him.

“Wet again, ma chérie? Oh, this will be fun.”

Fin de juillet 1957

So this kind of summer romance concept that everyone fantasized about… it became your present.

Together you’d stroll in the smaller streets and immerse yourselves in the unique culture of the village. Whenever anyone saw you together, holding hands, biking, or what-not, they’d praise in the name of love for bringing you both together. A romance like yours in the countryside was a lively sight.

Remember how extensions were a possibility if your search for inspiration wasn’t found? Well, it’s not a question that you’d make one, except inspiration found you instead. And he had one arm around you as he slow danced with you in the open grounds of the village, listening to the live band covering song classics.

In particular, Chet Baker. He was Jaehyun’s favorite artist at the moment.

There was an ongoing week-long festival dedicated to summer, giving more plants their bloom and spreading gratitude to the hardworking people. Especially the students, off on their break.

The faint radiance from the post lights as Jaehyun swayed you around, making you laugh as he tried to mumble the lyrics of the song. All those glasses of wine he tried earlier with you from the bartender offering it for free had its effects, and you weren’t off the hook from them either.

Blisters started to form from your ankles, adjusting to the new pair of heels Jaehyun gave (or insisted to buy) you a while ago after staring at them like lasers. You’ve always provided things for yourself that being spoiled by someone else felt weird to you.

“If there’s anything you want me to buy for you, just tell me.”

“How can I buy you if you’re already mine?”

His smooth talk often made you punch his shoulder, but it’s just a mechanism to hide the exhilaration.

Under each other’s spells in your dance, you laid your head on Jaehyun’s chest. Feeling the strong beat of his heart, you were reminded of how much life he’s filled with. And you became a part of it, in the same way he crossed yours.

Jaehyun’s lips sank to the top of your head, pecking it affectionately. The first-ever summer where he wasn’t stuck at his desk working or drinking his life away with his rich friends in their Parisian homes, it couldn’t get better than this.

“Oiii! Flirtez ailleurs!” (Oiii! Flirt somewhere else!) The distinct voice of Jaemin, handing out pastries to passersby, shouted at the both of you, making you flip your middle finger at him.

“Trouve une copine d’abord, d’accord?!” (Find a girlfriend first, alright?!) You shouted back jokingly, almost falling due to the ache of your feet. Your immodest behavior was censored by Jaehyun’s large palms, not wanting the kids around to see it. Whispering closely to your ear,

“Tu es ivre. Laisse-moi te ramener chez toi.” (You’re drunk. Let me take you home.)

You changed back into your sandals as Jaehyun led you through the different alleys. Your vision was too hazy to navigate, so he had one arm wrapped around your shoulders. The weather grew cold too, shivering your bones so he draped you in his blazer.

“Wait,” You stopped, making him do the same. But before he could ask for your reason, your hands yanked him by his suspenders and your legs walked backward to reach the brick wall. Standing in his 5’11 glory, you were overpowered.

Yet your lips captured his effortlessly, raising to your toes to press yourself closer to him. He moved fast, one arm hugging your waist while the other hoisted your leg up. Tangling around his waist, the urge to move your hips against his crotch couldn’t be contained any longer.

Everyone was probably still out at this time or sleeping. The sloppy sounds you’ve produced were beyond suitable for any audience. Not to mention, the nasty words Jaehyun’s pretty mouth spoke in your ears desired you to fall to your knees.

“Not afraid of getting caught, ma chérie? You want me to ruin you right here, right now?”

“God, Jaehyun,” Your hands tugged his belt forward, the friction it gave to your core twitched the naughty side out of you. “Do it, please.”

The idea of public sex thrilled your mind into overdrive, yet you’ve never done it. In Paris, a city where several people started to know your name, you didn’t need a scandal to be plastered in your resume yet.

Jaehyun himself included, and still opted not to give it to you.

“Another time, ma chérie. Your apartment, now.”

The moment you unlocked your apartment door, Jaehyun was far from gentle like in the mansion. Ripping you out of your frilly dress didn’t take long, so was unbuttoning his trousers down to the floor.

On your knees, his hand gave you a makeshift ponytail as your tongue flicked the slit of his cock. Then slowly taking him inch by inch on your mouth, you’d let out a loud pop when you needed to breathe. Your hands fondling his balls, he groaned from the edge of your bed and tightened his hold on you. Tears formulated in your eyes as you got to swallow him whole, uncontrollably bobbing your head.

He felt like putty when he released, your throat taking the salty base. You hastily unhooked your bra in front of him when suddenly, his hand flicked on the fabric of your panties, cueing you to stop your motion.

“Keep them on when you ride me.”

Straddling on his lap, his head laid against the headboard of his bed. His arms roaming around your back to stabilize you, your fingers pushed your panties to the side as you pushed yourself down his protected length. Your moans became shaky. Up and down, you bounced while bracing on his shoulders.

Against his ear, your moans were harmonious. His hips moved against your beat, hitting your g-spot like the sexual ace he is. His thumb rubbing your clit, you shuttered your eyes at the impending high approaching you like a bus.

“I’m close.” You choked out, the overstimulation overwhelming your nerves.

“Fuck, me too.” He grunted, slapping your butt that made you shriek.

Soon enough, everything hit you both all at once. The knot snapped, and so did your body falling on his chest after a single scream. Panting, Jaehyun pecked on your temple as his cock softened up. Once you returned to your senses, you lifted yourself from his length, laying bare beside him.

His eyes started to fall, but before they did, he muttered huskily. “Je t’aime, (Y/N).”

It was the first time he’s said those words in the way they meant, and he’s more than certain that it’s what he felt with you. Sure, it started as mutual infatuation, but now, it can’t leave. Not on his watch.

Love was a concept unfamiliar to you, but Jaehyun slowly taught you what it was and how it felt like. Books and films may give sneak peeks, but to personally give and receive it back was made possible by him.

From this moment on, you could conclude that yes, you reciprocated it.

“Je t’aime aussi, Jaehyun.”

16 octobre 1957

Autumn made its way to the countryside.

The leaves switched into red-brown shades, the weather in the south was warmer, and the wine harvest was highly anticipated. Jaehyun’s camera was a common item in your outings, taking as many photos as he could so the two of you had something to look back on.

Planned and candid, his range was wide. These were moments that proved that your youth was as happy as you wished it to be. You wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Painting in his mansion was a regular thing, having new canvases prepared at his patio. There were so many items that amused you there like you could base your entire collection on his home. It’s not like Jaehyun could argue; it meant more time with you whenever you came over.

“Jaehyun, if you smudge paint on me, so help me Go-” He refused to listen to your “threats”, smearing black paint on your cheek.

“You were saying?” He cockily pestered, showcasing his paint-filled fingers. You dipped one of your brushes into the new paint and chased after him without hesitation. The entire evening became a paint war, a laugh fit even after seeing your reflections in the mirror. But before you could clean yourself, Jaehyun’s camera was by your face and he pressed the button.

“Still breathtaking.”

But the middle of the season arrived, that’s where your planned extension you’ve reached its end. The exhibit was next month, getting calls from your boss regarding your return and the paintings you’ll present. You informed her that you already had them mailed to your studio way back, so there’s nothing much to worry about.

All your bags were packed in the private car Jaehyun rented. Here, you’re bidding your goodbyes to every friend you’ve made outside the doors of your apartment complex, saving your last words with Jaehyun.

The night before, he stayed over and helped you pack your last items in luggage bags. He even brought extra clothes for you so you wouldn’t work extra. You’ve talked it out the whole evening through what happens next to ease your worries. In your bed, he opened the wide windows and pulled you under the sheets.

“Write to me.”

“Call me when you’re free, or whenever you feel like it.”

Leaning against the railing of the stairs, watched the sorrow in your face over this parting. He sensed how bittersweet everything was, but he wouldn’t change anything about it. He’s positive that your story won’t end here, not right now.

Sauntering to him, you sighed whilst taking your bag he held the whole time from him. His touch was tighter as the two of you hugged tenderly, nuzzling his head on your shoulder. The scent of his citrus cologne that implanted in your brain felt comforting, despite the uncertainty of everything between you.

You hinted a minty taste from the menthol candies from his home as his lips brushed yours, colliding it timely. He waited when everyone left, relishing these last seconds.

Stepping inside the vehicle, you waved your summer love farewell one more time before the driver hit the pedal. Your eyes couldn’t stray away from looking back, the distance between him and your former apartment widening. Only when he was no longer in the frame, you shifted your focus back in front.

Your fingers fiddled with the charm bracelet he gifted you from the market. It was custom-made by a jeweler who was great friends with his mother in his younger years. There were two pendants chained on it: a paintbrush and the sun.

“A paintbrush to remind you of your passion, and the sun to remind you of the summer we first met.”

The man was like one of his romance books, in human form. He knew how to catch your breath effortlessly.

Your stay, for now, may have concluded, but there was always next summer. And the ones after that. The village felt like a second home, one you can’t neglect like the other places you’ve lived. Then having Jaehyun here, the more reasons to return.

Undoubtedly the best vacation you’ve ever been in your adult years, one that didn’t sacrifice for your art so you could compete with other artists. The weight on your chest poofed into thin air, and you felt ready for what the next steps as a painter were.

Appreciating the greenery you passed by, you peeked over the side mirror of the car only to find Jaehyun quickly biking in your direction.

Now, what was he up to?

You instantly requested the driver to slow down his pace, rolling down the window of the car. Not caring about the strong winds, “You fool, what are you doing?!”

Although he trusted your last words, he had the greed to see your face again. It would be a long time until he’ll see you in person again. So he pedaled as fast he could to still reach you. Oh, the things you do when you’re in love.

“Mon cœur bat la chamade pour toi, (Y/N)!” [My heart beats loudly for you, (Y/N)!]

You giggled at his silliness, throwing out flying kisses.

“Je reviendrai bientôt, Jaehyun!” (I’ll come back soon, Jaehyun!)

21 octobre 1957

Only your friends at the studio gave you a warm welcome back, receiving comments like “get back to work” from your first encounter with your boss. Popping a champagne glass open after work hours on the rooftop of your studio, they interrogated you with all the questions they could think of.

“So this village in Provence…. was it beautiful as the tourists said?” Ten, who moved from his home in Thailand to Paris at a young age, expressed his curiosity whilst leaning against the railing overlooking the Eiffel Tower.

“Beautiful is an understatement, Ten. I miss it dearly!” You heaved a sigh, twirling your glass.

“So this inspiration you were looking for…” Amélie, your dear friend since your university days, created some tension as she prolonged her last word. Playfulness twinkled in her eyes, crossing her legs. “Was a person involved by any chance?”

For a moment, your throat almost gagged on the sizzling alcohol going down.

“What do you mean?” You acted clueless, pouring your now empty glass with more booze. But the moment Ten gave you the troublesome look coordinating with Amélie, you already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. These two were such gossips in and out of the studio.

Ten took the seat across you on the table and leaked all his pent-up information.

“So you know Seo Youngho, the only son of the Seo family. Rich, socialite, a total hotshot… yeah, all that jazz.” He dived in, seeing you nod over knowing that man. Someone in the past you’ve slept with, but that’s another story. “Well, Amelie and I attended one of his parties at his large penthouse. He had his usual crowd there; Kim Doyoung, Lee Taeyong, Nakamoto Yuta, and Lee Minhyung. But fun fact: there’s another member in that friend group who doesn’t go to these kinds of events.”

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Amélie excitedly took off like the pipelette (chatterbox) she is. “Youngho, who was talking to us for a bit, asked where you’ve run off. Poor him, he must’ve missed you in his bed but anyway! We told him that you went down south somewhere in Provence for a break. Oddly enough, he mentioned how the mentioned member moved back there for the same reason.”

Ten and Amélie gave each other another frisky look, merely to piss you off. So predictable of them.

“Get to the point please!” You screeched.

“Jeong Jaehyun, ever heard of him?” Amélie imitated your tone of voice. “I mean, you should since you made a whole painting of him.”

“H-How,” Speechless, that’s what you were. Ten went on a fit of giggles, signaling the build-up of his intoxication.

“Youngho visited the studio to find a specific painting for his home, and we helped him in choosing. Then when your deliveries of paintings arrived that day and were unwrapped, the look on his face when he saw Jaehyun’s painting was priceless. Things started to add up, especially when he told us that he called up Jaehyun prior, he said that Jaehyun was seeing a girl during his stay there.”

“A young, burnt-out painter from Paris, to be specific.”

They’ve put you on the edge of the cliff, and it was too close to call it a coincidence. Of all things to be revealed, this had to be the first.

“Well, I was waiting for another time to tell you guys about him though.”

Their gasps of joy could give you guys a noise complaint by the neighbors, telling all about your escapades of him and you. During it, the more you missed seeing him daily either on his bike or his car. It was stuck in your routine, but now it’s reverted to your old one.

Could the next summer come any faster?

14 février 1958

Perhaps your newest collection at the Louvre was your most successful one yet.

Entitled “Inspirez, Expirez” (Breathe In, Breathe Out), your sceneries during your stay in the village varied. An old couple slow dancing under the night sky, and the quiet district of shops Jaehyun took you, those were some of your last additions.

A multitude of positive reviews on the newspapers and art magazines came in, commending on taking on a fresher, brighter outlook for a change whilst finding your spark again. As fulfilling it was, what you longed the most was the one responsible for it.

Lately, it’s been tough to contact him. His maids always answered the calls, informing you that he was busy with work or family matters. It’s so rare for him to act like this. Whatever it was, it wasn’t grand or serious hopefully.

Back to your collection, tonight was the last night of it. Just in time for Valentine’s day, where numerous socialite lovers embarked on this event, but you’re more fixated that it was also Jaehyun’s birthday. A boy full of love born on the day dedicated for it, things made more sense. In case, you’ve sent your birthday wishes to him through letter and passing the message to one of his maids. Even on his special day, he hasn’t reached out to you.

But to momentarily forget about that, there was a closing ceremony held for this exhibit with the other artists involved, and it was your turn to give your final remarks. More esteemed socialites and journalists were present, which didn’t halt your nerves the slightest. You were a professional after all, holding pride in your craft as you stood in front of the microphone wearing your new favorite custom-made gown.

There are perks when you have close friends in the fashion industry, specifically Kim “Key” Kibum from the House of Key. After defending him from a disrespectful client when you were picking up a dress for your boss during your internship years, not only did you earn his respect, but an invite to his shows and first claiming of new items from his collections. Dining in expensive restaurants in the metro was a plus, catching up on your lives. Sometimes calling each other out for your sexcapades too.

Speaking of him, he was in the crowd that night, ordering every photographer to take photos of your gorgeous self in one of his dresses. Or in your opinion, bribing some by how he stuffed a few thick stacks of Euro bills down their pockets.

Only one of it ever made. A dark green satin v-neck off-the-shoulder gown, where diamonds adorned your neck and ears and white stilettos kept your perfect balance. Also courtesy of Key.

Because it’s the winter season, he gifted you a limited edition white fur coat every socialite tried getting their hands on. Your hair was styled in a bun, emphasizing your dark tinted lips from this new lipstick Amelie insisted you buy.

Most people would get the first impression that you were one of the socialites, a child from one of the affluent families even. But you were a lot more remarkable than that, having inborn talent in the arts that you specialized over your youth and rising to the top without any parental help.

“Thank you to everyone for their endless support towards the magnificent collections of each artist present. As for mine, I am grateful to rechannel my creative side by taking a break. Rather than romanticizing overworking our bones to the core, there’s nothing wrong with taking a step back from the pressure. Being alive is a blessing, realizing further how our youth won’t stay with us forever. Being away from the boisterous cities, I found relaxation in the countryside of Provence.”

Your lips quirked into a grin as every single memory during that time reeled in your head like a movie. “The beauty of Provence cannot be simply put in words. The muses I’ve encountered were more than lovely, especially the man behind the Poetic Rose. With that, I sincerely thank everyone from my bottom of my heart and I hope to continue to support me in the years to come.”

The applause roared once you stepped down the platform, shaking hands with every esteemed guest with more gratitude as they praised you. These days, socializing with them was a lot easier. You’ve even taken more initiative to greet people first before they do, conversing with them easily about anything.

Key definitely noticed that as you toured him around your section, holding his nth glass of wine for the night.

“You, Madame (Y/N), transformed into a social butterfly.” He nudged your shoulder, smirking once he got a better view of his favorite painting from you. “I guess that’s the thing when you’re in love.”

“I beg your pardon?”

With this free hand, he motioned it up and down at the painting in front of you. “The Poetic Rose is none other than the youngest son of the Jeong family, whom I’ve met through his older sister, Krystal.”

“Am I really the only one who doesn’t know him?!” You stressed, jokingly. Key was elated to capture you in his trap, the changes of your personality too evident in his eyes. Figuring it out that it was love took a while, but being acquainted with Krystal, she’s the one who told him that her younger brother was in love with a painter in Provence. Do the math.

“I’ve met him through his older sister, one of my highly favored clients. He’s not much of a socialite like her, so I don’t really blame you for that.”

Searching for a waiter to refill your wine glasses, a surprise emerged the both of you.

“Madame Krystal, you’re absolutely stunning.” Key complimented her, giving the engaged heiress of Jeong Tea Inc. kisses on the cheek as respect. Her recent engagement to Kim Donghyun, her childhood sweetheart and also the heir of Kim Couture, was the talk of the town.

They arrived at the event together, drawing the attention of everyone in the room earlier. Now, he was speaking to a few influential socialites he made a deal with this week about the art collections present.

“Key, you never fail to look fantastic,” She remarked positively, poking his necktie before placing her undivided attention on you. “So you must be (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You’re beyond bewildering in that gown.”

“Flattered to hear that, Madame Krystal. Such a pleasure to meet you.”

The three of you chatted as if you were the only people there. From art, passion, and love, pride filled in your chest when you toured your collection. It was like walking down memory lane for her, adding out how she used to climb the peach tree with her younger brother during their childhood. Once her eyes laid on Poetic Rose, she took her time admiring it.

“My younger brother grew up well. That’s all I could ever hope for as his only older sister.” She paused, noticing how silent you became when you stared at the painting along with her. She observed the passion lit in your eyes, yet there was longing behind it by the way your lips pouted briefly. “You must really love him, do you?”

“I do, truly. After meeting him, not only was I boosted with so much ideas, but my heart embraced him for what and who he is in this universe.” You professed confidently, earning an approving smile from Krystal.

“If that’s how you feel, why not tell him that yourself?”

Her fingers gestured you to turn around. Stood in a grey suit with his brown hair slicked back, it was like seeing a completely new person. A handsome one though. His fashion in the countryside heavily differed from his fashion in the cities. So sophisticated and refined, he looked like a prince straight out of a fairytale.

Your fairytale.

“Jaehyun.”

It’s like everything stopped once he sprinted towards you, pulling you off your feet for a snug hug. Your arms threw themselves on his neck by instinct, not wasting a single second in his grasp. Your nose inhaled the woody scent of his cologne, something more formal than his usual fruity scent.

The smell of aftershave in his jaw couldn’t go ignored either, assuming that he must have had plans to go out tonight. Nonetheless, you squealed as if you were back in Provence, giggling at his boldness. Once he put you down, neither of you could get your hands off each other.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you’d be in Paris!” Clutching your waist, you gazed at him with doe-like eyes, instilling confusion.

“J’ai voulu te surprendre, my chérie.” (I wanted to surprise you, my darling.)

He chuckled, pushing some straying strands of your hair behind your ear. His eyes evoked so much endearment towards this elegant look you prepared, making his heart race as if he were in the gardens of his manor again.

Hearing his petname for you again attacked your heart every time no matter how much time passed, he lifted your chin high. Jaehyun urged himself to kiss you senseless right there, leaning lower. And yes, you anticipated it by how your eyes instantly closed.

Only if it weren’t for Krystal to clear her throat, obviously ruining the mood. Flinching away from your sensual lover, you rubbed the nape of your neck. Towards an heiress like her, it must’ve been unprofessional.

“Couldn’t you at least wait until I left, younger brother?” Her fingers flicked Jaehyun’s forehead, a teasing trick they used to do as kids. Even if she was a lot shorter now, it didn’t mean the impact was weak. He cursed under his breath, covering his forehead.

Stifling your laughter was a failure, crinkling your eyes to unleash your emotions. So this is what their sibling dynamic was like?

“Now excuse me, older sister. You didn’t tell me you were visiting the exhibit after my birthday dinner with our parents?” He crossed his arms, exchanging a judgmental look. For his sake, he wanted to maintain his pride. “All you said after dinner was that you were going straight home with your fiancé after all the alcohol mother gave you because it made you lightheaded.”

“Well, you know Key and his persuasiveness. He insisted I attend this event last minute because all the collections were amazing.” She explained, shedding a subtle glance at you. “Plus, it’s an excuse to finally meet this lovely girl you raved so much through your letters.”

Jaehyun kept his family life private, so this piece of information was new to you. The unpredicted way the fluttering feeling drew in your stomach, all you could do was smile from the flattery.

“He spoke about me to you?”

“More than speak, my dear. He practically professed his love for you, asking me advice on how to court a girl, make them smile, etcetera. You’re the first girl he’s been this affectionate with, and I completely understand now.” She patted your shoulder, hopeful. She had such a strong older sister vibe, reminding you of your older siblings back home. “You’re a clever, talented woman. I look forward to seeing you more often.”

As you nodded in approval, she turned towards her brother with her recurring teasing look. “Yah, Jaehyun. You better take care of her. If she ever sheds a tear because of you, I’m hunting you down in the gardens.”

“Harsh of you, Krystal.” He planted his hand on his chest, feigning pain. “But no worries. Having you and mother around me kept me well-mannered towards women growing up.”

Playfulness aside, Krystal felt honored towards her younger brother. Men these days maintained their sexist beliefs and rudeness, especially those who doubted her high position in the family business once her father stepped down. Nowadays, it’s men like Jaehyun who could really challenge the patriarchy and make women pursue a lot more than being limited as a housewife.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now please excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

Krystal waltzed her way out without tripping from her slight intoxication, which Jaehyun worried about earlier. But anyway, that left him alone with you. Filled with so many questions, you didn’t know where to start.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Paris? Why didn’t you acknowledge my birthday wishes to you? Why aren’t you answering my calls and letters?” You blurted without wasting a breath, weren’t trying to come off as needy, but it became peculiar when he was contacting you like usual.

You pushed off thinking of the worst scenarios, not wanting it to ruin your drive and your emotions either. Yet you trusted Jaehyun enough to know he wasn’t the type of person either.

“Okay slow down, ma chérie.” His hands maneuvered for you to stop for a bit. “Ask me one by one and I’ll give you a solid answer for each while we roam around.”

He arrived in Paris last week, which was initially for work. Then his birthday clashing was a coincidence. It would be too lonely to go home and celebrate his special day alone, so he extended. But again, it’s his work that caused his abrupt contact.

When you were too busy delving into the success of recovering your inspiration, he also found his spur to write again too. Day and night, his mind kept him tedious with an endless trail of thoughts and words. Overall, he finalized it then brought the end product to the same publishing house where his books in the past went through.

In fact, he decided to publish them specifically today on his birthday. The only day in his itinerary he planned, where after publishing, he’d hang out with his friends, have dinner with his family then run off to reunite with you.

“I didn’t intend to make you feel like a second choice, so please forgive me for that, ma chérie.”

“All is forgiven, Jaehyun.” You held both his hands, kissing them tenderly out of habit. “I’m overjoyed that you rekindled your creative side again.”

You were so understanding and empathetic, and Jaehyun aimed to act that way too. He learned so much from you as his friend before being his lover. Quickly enough, you’re both back to his portrait in the center. Like a critic, he narrowed his eyes and scrunched his nose. Tapping his chin with his finger,

“This man in Poetic Rose, he’s quite dashing.” He commented with conceit, walking closer to it to view it better. “His freckles are on point, his dimples and dazzling eyes too. Why exactly is he described as a Poetic Rose?”

“Well sir,” You stood beside him, imitating his actions. “This man here always spoke so eloquently, like he had a very poetic approach on life. He reminded me also of a rose by his rosy tinted cheeks and his beauty. He was alluring inside and out.”

“Is he your favorite muse?”

“I never quoted him as a muse because he’s more than that. Muses can be replaced once they no longer serve purpose towards the artist. Though with him, he’s the never-ending flame that I want to keep for the rest of time."

You held on to his hand, interlocking your fingers with his. The apparent reddening of his ears proved that he was flustered, yet you spoke no lies.

“Joyeux anniversaire, ma flamme.” (Happy birthday, my flame.)

“Merci beaucoup, ma chérie.” (Thank you, my darling.)

Something about his new release piqued your attention so you brought it up again.

“So tell me about your new book.”

“Let me show you instead.” Inside the blazer, there was an inner pocket that sealed a small hardbound book. Taking it out, he handed it over to you. “This is your copy.”

The cover of the book had an illustration of two young adults running down the fields under the bright sun, with the title written in cursive and placed in the center.

“L’Été de 1957.” (The Summer of 1957.)

Like a child who received a new gift in the mail, you flipped the book open. Seeing the table of contents and credits to other important people involved in the process, there was a detailed dedication right before the starting chapter. It’s an unexpected page, noticing that he never put anything like this in his last works.

“Pour ma chérie, qui a peint les couleurs manquantes de ma vie.” (For my darling, who painted the missing colors of my life.)

Although Jaehyun planned to write about the couples he met in the countryside, he chose to change his perspective. Instead, he based this new book on your summer romance, installing more original characters who made your romance blossom more.

“I was once so engaged in listening to people’s love stories, hung up on what they felt.” He expounded, pacing around the floor whilst you skimmed through the pages. There were black and white photos from your adventures too to wrap the reader further in the story.

“While I was struggling to find the next story, I realized late that my story with you was a perfect choice. When I fell in love with you, it’s like I didn’t have to fret anymore about anything. Everything slowly yet surely aligned into place for me. Like how we found inspiration in each other.”

A poetic speaker meant having a poetic, wise mind. You kept an open mind whenever Jaehyun shared his thoughts on life with you, an intimate time that didn’t require using your bodies. Whether you were stargazing or drinking wine by his patio, his soulful personality never changed.

“So I recapped every single memory we had and compiled them,” He resumed, taking a closer step towards yours. His warm hands grasped your waist again, catching a glimpse of your astonished face. Mostly, towards your lips that he missed feeling against his.

“This book expressed my own take on love this time, the one I want to grow in.”

You’d care less if you dropped the book and your coat right there, your major desire to kiss him again was driving your senses to the edge of a cliff. Nothing could’ve braced yourself the second you fervently collided your lips with his. It didn’t feel like you were in this exhibit, but somewhere back in his mansion engulfed in each other’s presence.

Your legs almost melted by your daring move, if it weren’t for Jaehyun’s arm moving upwards to your back to stabilize you more. Your body tingled with goosebumps due to his relaxing fingers all over your body. His tongue caved in your lips, and you couldn’t ban its access.

Such an explicit sight, it felt forbidden as you were inches away from the public crowd. Yet it was the least of your worries if they made a big fuss over it. Jaehyun was here again with you, and that was more valuable to you. He savored every trace of your touches, taking his delicate time with you. No past birthday could defeat this, especially when it’s the first one to celebrate with you. The first of many.

As much you wanted to keep this up for hours, your lungs started feeling constricted of air so your lips timidly let go. Though your hands couldn’t, your overwhelmed eyes couldn’t shift away from the heart-stopping view of your lover. Wherein even after such a fearless session, his eyes fused with love and need with his plumper lips.

“Everything about Provence, especially you, that’s the life I want.” You confessed this concealed secret that’s revolved your head for a while now. Yet its certainty was true.

“Are you sure, ma chérie? What about work?” As an artist, he believed you should stay where everything is accessible. Yet as his woman, he wanted you to follow your heart. Jaehyun didn’t want you to choose or struggle.

“I’ve grown out from the idea that the city life was the only life meant of an artist like me.” You replied, confident enough to discuss it after deep thought. “Cities like Paris hold exciting, vigorous flames that will have you clinging on to them. But then, they’ll eventually die the longer you stay. You get burned in the process too. However, I stand by what I said earlier. I found an endless flame when I met and began loving you, Jaehyun. It doesn’t sting at all; it illuminates strongly every living day.”

Urging him to lower his stance with your fingers, you stated one last phrase. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

“If that’s the case,” Jaehyun acknowledged, sticking his arm out for you. “Let’s get out of here.”

Astounded expressions crowded the socialites in the event as they watched the both of you exit together. If the news of Krystal and Donghyun weren’t crazy enough, some journalists figured the mysterious man behind The Poetic Rose and spread it like wildfire.

How was the youngest son of the Jeong family turned renowned romance novel author connected to the impressive, up-and-coming painter from London?

What really went down in Provence?

“How can you miss out on the signs? Did you not see them share a kiss earlier?” Key protested to those who weren’t approving whatever relationship you guys had. He loved his tea but hated those who simply were money hungry. Wanting a chance to be a part of the rich family, only to fish them out of their riches sooner or later.

Meanwhile, the winter season didn’t stop any of you from roaming the streets of Paris. Moments like these were a preview of the future you’ve envisioned with Jaehyun. Youthful, free, and fiery, a love between two artists created more magic not just in their crafts but to those around them.

Promenading a street overlooking the Seine River, Jaehyun took out a smaller instant camera from his pocket and took a candid shot of you. Stunned, you slapped his chest with your bag.

“Hey! Just how many more things are hidden in your blazer?”

“Just my wallet and a few condoms. Why’d you ask?” He raised a suggestive brow, feigning good intentions.

You hummed, faking your deep thought mindset. “At this rate, I don’t think we’ll make it back to my apartment alive.”

Jaehyun tugged you by your coat, his lips hovering your ear to whisper. “If we call a cab right now, I can finger you in the backseat.”

You chuckled at his vulgar idea, but it seemed ideal. You loved the thrill of getting caught or having someone overhearing you two, just like him. Besides, his fingers don’t match up to yours when you touch yourself alone in your apartment. You bat your eyelashes, giving in.

“Deal.”

6 ans plus tard (1964)

Summer returned, the sun strongly smiling down to the plentiful flowers at your family garden. By the patio of your home, your canvas was already laid by the easel stand. Shades of yellow were applied first to symbolize the brightness of the day, following the outline of your desired scenery for this piece.

Dipping the brush in water to change colors, you took another glance at the breezy sky. Light blue with clouds resembling soft pillows, you inhaled gently as your brush faintly stroked the canvas again.

Your hair was tied in a bun, meaning that you’re in for a busy session. But a more soothing one as the jazz music flowed from the vinyl player inside. Stress was the last thing you needed right now.

“What’s madame artiste up to right now?” Your husband piped in from behind, placing down a tray of tea and crackers. With some top buttons of his white top left unattended, you glimpsed on his toned chest when he leaned down. But you mustn’t pry whilst working, even when temptation was calling your name repeatedly.

“The summer sunshine healed me of my discomfort, so I think it’s about time I painted again.” You chewed on the snack, looking back and forth to the view. As enchanting as all the flowers you and him planted over the years grew, you’re more amused by a little boy strolling around it with his magnifying glass and tiny wooden basket with his furry puppy by his side.

His tiny legs often troubled the two of you because he enjoyed spending time with nature. Only God knows what he found in the garden this time.

“Adrien est explorer encore. Devrais-je lui dire qu’il change de place, ma chérie?” (Adrien is exploring again. Should I tell him to change places, my darling?) Jaehyun cautiously asked, not wanting his 3 year old son to impair your perspective.

“Non,” (No,) You held on to his hand, kissing it sweetly. Although you peeved any unnecessary details found in your scenery in the past, Adrien was an exception. As his mother, it’s hard to say no to him unless necessary.

“Il est un garçon curieux, alors il devrait explorer et flâner où il veut.” (He’s a curious boy, so he should explore and wander wherever he wants.)

Life ever since you returned to the countryside shifted into something more precious than you imagined. From moving places constantly, you found a home to settle in for good. A home with overflowing love and inspiration. A home within Jeong Jaehyun.

Recently, you halted your work-related activities in Paris and came home because you were heavily homesick. It even affected your health as a whole. So you made adjustments with your schedules, postponing appearances to events to next year.

On the plus side, you could be more active as a mother to Adrien. It felt like you burdened Jaehyun to take care of Adrien most of the time because he mainly worked from home, wherein important people who wanted to meet him would have to fly out to the countryside.

Back and forth to Paris, your presence towards Adrien often lacked. Here came your biggest fear, which was Adrien forgetting you. But Jaehyun told you over and over again that it wasn’t the case. As he listened to every wrenching thought you had, but he’d combat it with heartfelt words of reassurance so you wouldn’t overanalyze things.

He vowed to love and take care of you when times get hard, and he will continue doing so.

Remember when you said how his mansion felt too big?

It no longer did after getting married.

It gave more room to grow and breathe more life into it. When Adrien was born, he was the prime reflection of your and Jaehyun’s love. He mirrored his father’s physical traits but with a daring personality like yours. A perfect mixture, the world worked amazingly to bring a boy like him into your life.

“Maman! Papa!” Adrien bolted to where you and Jaehyun stood. From the clothes he wore, it’s very much clear that his father was in charge of it whilst you slept in the entire morning. Suspenders, capri shorts, a white shirt, and a red beret, he deserved his title as Jaehyun’s mini-me.

Jaehyun swelled with pride and love for his only son, peeking over what he brought to show and tell you both. “Oh Adrien, what do you have for us today?”

In his basket, there were 3 sunflowers stuck out from the edge. It’s been a while since you’ve seen some in full bloom, lowering your stance to get a more vivid view. He took them out to hand them to you and your husband.

One flower for Jaehyun and two for you. You let out a gasp, scrunching your brows to the center. He always gave one of each item to you and Jaehyun, never more or less.

“Ooh, deux fleurs pour Maman. Pourquoi, Rien?” (Ooh, two flowers for Mama. Why, Rien?) Jaehyun let his nickname out for his lips while you grasped his small hand.

“Well, I heard from Olivier next door that on his birthday, he gave extra flowers to his mother so he could have another sibling. And it worked!” He spoke so innocently, yet it hitched a choke from Jaehyun’s chest. Your eyes widened from disbelief. The information he collected due to his curiosity, no boundaries truly.

“Le mois prochain, c’est mon anniversaire. Je me demandais si je peux avoir un frère ou sœur comme Olivier? Tu es toujours occupée, comme Papa. Je ne veux plus être seul, alors je veux une amie aussi.” (It’s my birthday next month, and I was wondering if I can have a sibling like Olivier? You are always busy, like Papa. I don’t want to be alone anymore, so I want a friend too.)

You exchanged looks with Jaehyun, not knowing how exactly to respond. Although you and Jaehyun did agree that you wanted more than one child when you were younger, neither of you brought it up again since your careers were always loaded with plans.

Adrien was a surprise child actually, conceived on the night where you and Jaehyun celebrated after L’Été de 1957 was announced to be the best-selling romance novel of the decade in the country.

In Paris at his family home, where his parents brought out all their prized liquor, the two of you drank the entire night away to the point Krystal and Donghyun had to push you away from each other from your public affections because their children were present.

But it didn’t stop you two once you reached his bedroom, far away from everything and everyone. And you’ll never change it.

“Oh, Rien,” You eased in, consoling him. “Je suis désolé. Mais c’est franchement une grande demande, n'est-ce pas?” (I am sorry. But that’s quite a big request, right?)

“Mom and I will think about it first, okay? Another kid is a big responsibility, and you’ll be their older brother. That’s another important job, can you do it well?”

“Yes, I can, Papa!” He beamed with glee, his covered head patted by his father after. As you placed the sunflowers beside your palette, Adrien then proceeded to ask you if he could paint with you like old times.

Never you refuse especially with his sparkling round eyes and chubby face that makes you want to squish every time.

As you lifted his light body to sit on your lap, you placed your brush between his stubby fingers and carefully aimed in whatever angle seemed fit so the painting process would run smoothly and perfectly. He let out sounds of amazement when the strokes get bigger, jumping slightly too because the picture became more vivid. You’d smile and coo at him, commending whenever he followed instructions well. As his mother, you only encouraged your child in whatever they want to excel in.

Adrien was the child of two artists, so it was only natural that he had an artistic side in his veins.

Too caught up in your fun, hearing the automatic shutter of the camera from your side was delayed. The source was none other than Jaehyun hiding behind his camera. Jaehyun’s heart soared at the heavenly view of the most important people in his life, wanting to treasure the moment as a lovely memory.

“Hey!” You shouted, placing down the messy brush by the palette. “Je suis très laid!” (I am very ugly!)

“Shh! Tu est rayonnant, ma chérie. Papa est juste, Rien?” (Shh! You are glowing, my darling. Papa is right, Rien?)

Jaehyun politely quizzed the peppy boy, nodding excitedly. His dimples deeply showed up, the main trait he claimed from his father.

“Oui, papa! Maman est toujours belle!” (Yes, papa! Mama is always beautiful!)

He exclaimed, pecking your cheek numerously. You squealed, attacking him with tickles and kisses back. His shouts of delight, then he was suddenly carried by your tall husband in the air like he was flying in the sky. Adrien enjoyed that motion highly, ending up on Jaehyun’s shoulders shortly after to play by the garden again.

“Go paint. I’ll take care of him now.” Jaehyun persuaded, roaming through the long rows of flowers in full bloom. Though seconds after adding some strokes to your piece, you let down your hair, put a hat and sandals on, and ran to the cute duo to join them.

And that’s how your family spent the entire afternoon. By the garden, running around and taking photos and short videos from Jaehyun’s camera. Freezing these valuable memories, this was truly the life you loved so much.

After your break, you could convince the company you worked at that you’d prefer fewer trips to Paris and stay in the countryside longer. How badly you’ve wanted to hold your exhibits here instead. Plus like Jaehyun, let influential people visit you. You’ve already made a big name for yourself now, so that should be valid enough.

Dinner time passed by quickly too, eventually putting Adrien to a smooth slumber as you massaged the roots of his soft hair while Jaehyun sang him a lullaby. This was your joint parenting technique with him since he was a newborn, and it worked quickly as lightning.

You redressed into your silk nightgown after bringing your canvas to the master bedroom, opening the balcony doors to invite the cool breeze in. You tweaked some bits of your painting, including a silhouette of your small family. Regarding where to place it, probably by the living room as it matched the theme.

“What a spectacular day, don’t you think, ma chérie?” Jaehyun conversed, admiring the calm movements of your brush. He noticed a quirky smile grace your lips.

“It’s been a long time since we had quality time like that with Rien. He’s a feisty ball of energy these days.” You replied with a nostalgic daze. “It’s so crazy how one day, he was still crawling to us. Now, he could outrun the both of us.”

“Comme le temps passe vite, hmm?” (How time flies fast, hmm?) Nodding, nothing braced for what your husband had in mind. You almost dropped your brush mid-way. Jaehyun’s lips impatiently devoured your neck, his huge hands fondling your breasts. Violently throwing your head back against his chest, a needy moan parted your lips.

“Jae-” His touches reaching south to where you desired him highly, dampening hastily as your legs naturally spread apart. Rushed exhales, “À quoi tu penses maintenant?” (What are you thinking about right now?)

“Rien se sent seul,” (Rien feels alone,) His hot breath whispered against your ear, his fingers dangerously trailing your thin panties up and down. With your hands tightly clutching on his bicep,

“Alors, donnons-lui une amie.” (We should give him a friend.)

Ever since Adrien mentioned such a daring topic, it hasn’t left Jaehyun’s mind the whole day. After seeing you in utter bliss with your son earlier, he found you so majestic and radiant. It’s a different kind of happiness, especially for parents.

Now you went on hiatus, he thought that it was the right time to have another. He enjoyed his younger years with Krystal, and he wanted Adrien to experience it too. 3 years was quite a wait, and it seemed ideal to try again.

From his nude chest, you flipped around to intensely clash his lips with yours. Draping your arms behind his neck, Jaehyun lifted your entire figure from the chair. His hands gripping on your butt, he delicately lowered you down your bed.

Drowning into his sensual kisses with his hands all over you, this could prolong for hours. Reddening love marks started to resurface whilst your fingers tugged on the drawstring of his pajama pants. Jaehyun’s fingers dove under the fabric of your panties, his index finger rubbing figure 8s the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You struggled to swallow your moans, not wanting Rien to hear it. You wouldn’t want to repeat history, covering it as Jaehyun massaging you after a hard day.

“I know you want one too, ma chérie.” His fingers began to drape down the straps of your gown, presenting your breasts in its full, perky view. But before his lips could suck on your erect nipples, you parted momentarily from him and got up on your feet. Pulling up your straps again, Jaehyun simply laid down but he wasn’t pleased from how you left him hanging.

“Où vas-tu, ma chérie?” (Where are you going, sweetheart?)

He was growing impatient. You were never to interrupt such a sexy atmosphere ever.

From one of your drawers in your vanity table, an important, half-opened envelope was hidden. You were supposed to give it tomorrow but now seemed like a perfect time. Reading it as soon one of the maids handed it to you gave you the jitters, but in a positive way. Sitting back down on the edge of your bed, you exhilaratingly passed it to your husband.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” (What is this?)

“Ouvre-le.” (Open it.)

Jaehyun slowly opened the edges and once he took out the contents. Reading it thoroughly, he couldn’t believe it as his jaw dropped, pacing from the letter and you back and forth.

“Vraiment, ma chérie?” (Really, my darling?)

It was from a doctor you visited in Paris a few days before you left, who confirmed just exactly what caused your health to go feeble suddenly. You already had one certain suspicion, which you addressed in your leave of absence letter. Amelié, who finally got the position as the head, couldn’t believe her ears and insisted you take all the time off you needed.

“On dirait que Adrien a reçu son cadeau d'anniversaire en avance.” (It looks like Adrien received his birthday gift early.)

Overall, it turned out the headaches and repeated vomiting you mistook as motion sickness from traveling was a surprise hello to your second child.

A girl specifically, thanks to the blood test she recommended.

“Je t’aime, (Y/N).”

“Montre moi combien tu m’aimes, Jaehyun.” (Show me how much you love me, Jaehyun.)

The whole night through, the two of you vigorously celebrated with the moonlight from the windows and a few scented candles set in the room. Wet kisses left on your collarbone, words of devotion exchanged, holding his hand as he groaned from heartily thrusting in you, the number of moans from your lips overlapped with the vinyl playing in the room. The intimacy between you two increased, almost as if you made love for the first time again all those years ago.

Excluding being drenched from the rain.

Once the two of you grew tired, Jaehyun lied down beside you. Wrapping one arm around, one hand trailed down your naked skin again. His wedding band flashed your eyes, reminding you of the commitment you promised each other. For better, and for worse.

Jaehyun promised to love you endlessly as a woman and his wife, and it didn’t cease when you became the mother of his children. He respected how strong you are, physically and mentally. He helped you in any way he could as you endured the struggling process.

At the end of the day, his family was his biggest priority. More than ever now, you needed him as you go through the pregnancy phases again. Specifically, his index finger lingered on your stomach. There was no bump or other signs of showing, except for that glow he complimented you earlier on.

“We met and fell in love over the summer, got married in summer, had Adrien mid-summer, and now found out about our daughter at the start of summer.” He smiled, blessed at all the good he’s received during this time.

“The summer gods must adore us.” Your vacant hand with your wedding band topped his. To love and to cherish. “Ils m'ont amené à toi.” (They brought me to you.)

His power on you was simply addicting, as if your early twenties revisited you. You straddled himself once again, your fingers caressing his face sweetly. When it reached his lips, he placed longing kisses there and pulled you closer again for another kiss on your lips. In between, you mumbled in a silvery tone,

“Then they led us to say I do. Pour toujours et à jamais.”

890 notes · View notes

theepisceswriter · 3 years

Text

AOT characters with a black S/O (Zeke, Jean, Connie, Eren, Reiner)

Synopsis: I think the title is pretty self explanatory 🙈

TW: none really besides mentions of food, African-American culture only for right now sorry my foreign babes 😕, not proofread

ZEKE

Someone throw this man a black girlfriend with a dark or regular academia aesthetic P L S because he would love you to the point where he’s obsessed and treat you so good.

Loves finding neutral shades of beige, white, or brown that compliment your skin color nicely while the two of you are out shopping. Will literally come running from across the other side of the store with a brown jacket in his hand like “Look babe, this would compliment the brown of your skin so nicely 🥺 we gotta get Instagram pictures of you in this.”

He also enjoys finding academia type hairstyles and trying to make them work with your natural hair or braids. At least once a week he sends you a hairstyle he found on Tumblr and helps you later that night to try and achieve a black version of it.

The two of you most definitely have viral pictures floating around on Twitter, Pinterest, and Instagram.

He’s so soft and patient when it comes yo your hair because he has a beard, so he knows what it feels like having to keep up with something that requires a lot of work. He’ll often come into the bathroom to do his beard and offer you an extra pair of hands when it’s your wash day. His favorite part is to help you twist your hair because he likes seeing the finished product when you take them out.

He also uses your hair conditioners and oils in his beard because they make him smell otherworldly and he likes smelling like you. And yes, he has requested for you to braid his beard once but never again because you both thought he looked too weird like that.

Grisha is the awkward white dad who tries too hard to accept you and says stuff like “Hey, like the new hairdo 😃👍🏾.” Whenever you come around. Bless his poor heart, at least he’s trying and you know he means well.

JEAN

Worships you and the ground you walk on like 24/7. He’s so in love with you and makes sure to let you know that on the daily multiple times. And he’s such an amazing lover and avoids doing cringey shit like calling you chocolate or Nubian queen goddess.

Hangs with your uncles and all the other black men in your family because he thinks he’s cool like that, but they don’t mind at all cause they love him.

His mom is the sweetest mother in law ever. She gets along so well with all the women in your family and they’re always swapping recipes with one another. One day time you and Jean pulled up for Christmas and she had a dish filled with collard greens on the table and they were good too.

He has two chains around his neck dedicated to you: one is your name and the other one is the date you two became official. You also wear his name around your neck and you have a ring with his initials on it.

Getting jewelry is something the two of you do together very often. Matter of fact, swap meets are his favorite place to go to in general and his mind was blown when you first took him to one.

Asks you to put his hair in French braids at least once a month because the process is so therapeutic for him. He loves laying his head on his lap and watching as you make his braids so neat and cute. But be careful though because he does like to “Can you braid my hair? 🥺” his way into some coochie.

Don’t brother teaching him how to braid because even if he does get the hang of it after a couple of sessions with you he’ll always request that you do his hair.

You two have random rap battles with each other alllll the time. It’s pretty split between who wins, but often you’ll call him out for trying to use lyrics from other artists.

CONNIE

Did y’all know me and Connie are blood cousins? Both his momma and daddy black and his full name on his birth certificate is Cornelius Demetrius Jones Springer, so take that as you will…

BUT REALLY, Connie fits right in with you and your culture that it’s nearly identical to dating someone the same race as you.

He has a fitted cap with your name sowed into it on the side with a cute heart right by it. It’s his go to hat and he points is out to everyone who doesn’t know about it.

Has most definitely dragged you along with him to go take one of those 2000’s-esque photoshoots with the airbrushed backgrounds. He even made the two of you dress alike and color coordinate because he’s extra like that and the photos are hanging all over your guy’s house. He carries around a mini version of his favorite picture in his wallet at all times.

You better not ever come around this man with messed up edges, visibly old braids, a too visible lace, etc because he will get on you bad and crack jokes about it the whole day because he’s a menace to society like that. No one besides him is allowed to do it though or he’ll get mad at them.

Do not ask this man to help you take down your braids unless you’re cutting them first because he will cut them crazy as hell and might even accidentally cut some of your real hair off too. He’s a master at dipping braids though, it’s something he takes pride in.

EREN

Literally a POWER COUPLE !

Eren will never have you out here looking wrong. The part on your lace is a little off? He’s telling your hairdresser to fix it! Thinks the hair you got looks too synthetic and shiny? He’s dropping big bucks to make sure you have some silky soft hair extensions.

Made you do him some baby hairs one day when he was wearing his signature ponytail as a joke, but now you’re obligated to slick up his edges for him at least once a week. He even has a silk scarf that he uses to tie them down with at night.

Is a master at finding filters on Instagram and Snapchat that don’t make your skin look Orange or pale so the two of you can have the cutest Instagram pictures together.

Walks around the house 24/7 singing 2000’s R&B songs at the top of his lungs because he’s a menace to society like that.

Supports all your financial needs when it comes to hair clothing or anything in general really. Need a new lace front? He’s wiring $700 to your account. Want a Teflar bag? He’s getting you one in every color. Some new shoes came out and you think they’re cute? He’s getting them for you !

REINER

Your aunties would L O V E a hardworking and burly man like Reiner.

He’s get so spoiled by them all the time whenever he comes around. Sometimes they pay attention to him more than they do you and best believe they slide him all the extra plates and desserts at barbecues. I just know he smacks down on a plate of soul food in like 5 minutes.

Speaking of soul food, you really lit up something in his Caucasian taste buds when you gave him a plate of soul food for the first time because now he’s OBSESSED. Every night he’s begging you to cook for him or asking you for the recipe so he can make it himself. His favorites are macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, and yams ☺️

Will bust a move on the dance floor if your family pressures him to get on it at events. He did a two-step with your aunt once at somebody’s wedding and nobody in your family has shut up about it since because they were surprised at how good he can dance. You were equally as surprised as them.

The best person to ask to help you with your hair because he’s so patient and will make sure that your parts are straight and perfect or use his hands to slick your ponytails up to the gods. He’ll do it exactly how you want it to look too and he makes sure it’s to your standard by checking in with you every now and then.

Encourages you to buy clips or little jewels whenever you take him to the beauty supply with you because he thinks you look so adorable when you wear them in your hair.

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pillage-and-lute · 4 years

Note

Prompt: fake realtionahip/marriage, whoever you like!

Ooohoho! This has been chilling as a draft for ages, now I have completed it. *mildly evil laughter*

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The funny thing about Geralt, Jaskier thought as he did up the buttons on his best doublet, was that he really didn’t lie. He said things that weren’t true, but they were usually things he believed, or thought he believed because he was tired or grumpy. Sometimes he told half truths. He didn’t lie though.

It wasn’t even as if he didn’t have a poker face, Geralt’s face was all poker face, he just hated lying. Normally it wasn’t an issue, but tonight, Jaskier reflected, it wouldn’t be ideal.

Jaskier had heard through some whispered words at a pub that a bunch of Nilfgaardian nobles were having a gala, and the temptation of finding out what political secrets they could was two strong for their odd little family. So Geralt and Jaskier were going undercover.

There had been quite a bit of debate about that. Jaskier was obviously going. He’d grown his hair longer and had a bit of scruff going, and to be frank, all a bard really needed to disguise themselves was a new name, people saw the clothing and heard the music, but rarely remembered the face. Yennefer would have been the ideal partner in crime except for a crucial thing.

When Yennefer had been changed by magic, her eyes had been left the same. Somehow, the transformation had solidified them, and no spell would change them. Her eyes were too distinctive, and so she would stay behind with Ciri. That left Geralt, and since the ball was only for the nobility, he would be the fiance of Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

Damn.

See, Geralt didn’t lie, and that was bad enough. Jaskier wouldn’t be able to rely on Yennefer’s in-depth knowledge of the nobility and that was worse. Worst of all though, was the fact that Jaskier would have to spend a night full of wine and dancing pretending to be in love with, and engaged to, Geralt. Who he loved.

And who had, not three months ago, blamed Jaskier for every bad thing in life.

Since then Geralt had caught up with him half-way down the mountain and there had been some grumbled words about how Jaskier ‘wasn’t actually, exactly, a total curse’. Not a glowing review, but then Cintra had fallen, and they had Cirilla and they’d found a wounded Yennefer and it had all gotten so very busy.

Jaskier cast a last look in the mirror as the door to his room creaked open. He turned, expecting Geralt, but it was Yennefer.

“I suppose,” she said, eyeing him. “That this is as good as you get.” It could have been said cruelly. A year ago it would have been. Now, though, the words were fond.

“I like the kohl, it goes well with the wrinkles at your eyes,” she winked. He smiled. There were no more wrinkles now than had been twenty years ago, and they both knew it.

“I wasn’t sure about the eyeliner,” Jaskier said, trying to sound haughty. “Overdramatic eye looks are your thing.”

Yennefer chuckled and sat on the end of the bed. “A tiny smudge of eyeliner is hardly overdramatic.” She studied him approvingly, then looked at him. Her expression was frighteningly soft.

“Have you told him that you love him?”

“Never,” Jaskier said, fiving his cravat in the mirror.

“Why ever not?”

“It would only be the mountain all over again,” Jaskier sighed. “I tried, you know. I spent years trying, and then on the mountain, I thought I was being clear...”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him to leave it all, just for a little while, with me. I thought we could go to the coast.”

“The coast,” Yennefer said from her spot on the bed. “As in Lettenhove? You wanted to show him where you grew up?”

“Partially. I could explain the immortality business easier if he met my sister, but mostly I just thought it would be peaceful.”

Yennefer snorted. “With Geralt? Peaceful? He’d spend the whole time fighting drowners and telling you not to write about mermaids because they’re vicious.”

Jaskier smiled wanly. “That’s pretty peaceful for him.”

“But he said no?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Jaskier said. “Then he, well, you know, he spent the night in your tent.”

“Ah,” Yennefer said. “For what it’s worth, I hate that it happened too.”

“He doesn’t though!” Jaskier cried, whirling around to face her. “He wants it to happen again! And you! You don’t want him but he wants you while I want him!” The frustration of the whole situation and nerves for what was to come were overwhelming. “And you’re here, trying to help me,” he said more quietly. “Why?”

“Because I like you,” Yennefer said, simply, standing from the bed. “And I like him. I also never, ever want to kiss him again. The djinn is sitting, somewhere in my chest, telling me I love him, but the feeling is...sick. It feels like love, as well as I can remember, but it’s poisoned and twisted and I want no part in it.”

Her purple eyes pinned Jaskier to the floor.

“And that poison pales in comparison to how much you love him. He deserves that.”

She swept out the door, tossing a “Sort it out,” over her shoulder.

Well.

The next knock at the door was Geralt, Ciri in tow. Jaskier hoped the witcher hadn’t heard any part of his and Yennefer’s conversation, but he suspected that no one overheard conversations that Yen didn’t want them too.

“Dandelion!” Ciri said, leaping at him and using the name she’d first met him under. “You look nice! Like a prince in one of your stories!”

Jaskier blushed and thanked her quietly as he scooped her up and tossed her, laughing, onto the bed.

He looked at Geralt for his opinion.

Oh he looked so good too. Yennefer had charmed him so that anyone else would see a different man in Geralt’s place, but to Jaskier he looked just the same. But he was wearing white.

A white chemise, the collar and cuffs with fine red embroidery, with a cream colored cape, half length so it fell just to Geralt’s hips. It was embroidered too, green and pink and so many other colors, despite being overall still mostly cream. The pants were the same creamy fabric with a stripe down each side. Dark boots and a wide, decorative, dark belt completed the look.

“Wow,” Jaskier said.

“Rivian traditional clothing,” Geralt muttered.

“I thought you’d hardly actually been to Rivia,” Jaskier said,.It was a better choice than the other thoughts in his head, which were half-formed screams about how absolutely skin tight those pants were.

“I haven’t been, but my...character is.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, dragging his eyes above Geralt’s shoulders. “My fiance, Ludomir of Rivia.”

Geralt said nothing.

Jaskier kicked himself for mentioning the fiance thing.

“We should go,” he said.

And they went.

The lord’s castle was small, as castles go, and the guards at the gate didn’t even bother to check their invitations. With all the other lords and ladies streaming past, no one would guess that the pair were out of place. Jaskier and Geralt enterred the ballroom and Jaskier felt his stomach drop straight through to his shoes.

The walls were positively lined with Nilfgaardian soldiers. Geralt’s shoulders stiffened too, but they steered themselves to a feast table as if nothing was wrong.

It took them almost a full circle of the tables to find the two little cards for ‘Viscount de Lettenhove’ and ‘Guest’. Getting onto the guest list had been laughably easy, and Jaskier just sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the stupid title was finally useful for something.

They sat in their places and guests populated the seats around them. There was a lady next to Jaskier who already smelled of the strongly alcoholic sherry that was being served. Her hair, probably a wig towered, and was strung all over with so many pearls and little tiny golden ornaments that when she stepped outside she must surely be attacked by magpies.

“My lady,” Jaskier said, as chivalrous as he could around a mouthful of her rose perfume. “I’m afraid we haven’t had a chance to be introduced.”

“Oooh,” she giggled, “You’re sweet, I’m Dame Au’Vigne, and I can see by your card that you are the Viscount de Lettenhove, I knew your father.”

Yes, Jaskier thought. I remember, he turned down your proposal. Jaskier had been a lad then, barely eight years old, but he remembered through a child’s eyes a mountain of lace and perfume who had offered to marry his father while actually at his mother’s funeral.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. Heinous bitch, he thought. He remembered rumors too, which are always a bard’s stock and trade, that Dame Au’Vigne’s husbands were always wealthy, usually handsome, and all of them had shockingly short lifespans.

Rumor also had it that she was backing Nilfgaard financially and had been playing the shipping stock with insider knowledge of their movements. A very good person to be seated next to tonight.

“May I introduce my fiance, Ludomir of Rivia,” Jaskier said, gesturing to Geralt. Geralt nodded and hummed, somewhat politely.

“How handsome,” Dame Au’Vigne stage whispered. “Where ever did you find him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jaskier said.

The lord of the castle stood up and gave a droning speech. It was full of euphemisms about ‘upholding standards’ and ‘fostering strong relations’ that boiled down to ‘I’m an untrustworthy bastard who believes that allowing the deaths of my people en masse is fine so long as I make money.’ It was depressing, too, as Jaskier looked around the ballroom to see so many people nodding in agreement.

Traitors and bastards, the lot of them.

Geralt’s face hadn’t changed even an inch.

“So,” Dame Au’Vigne said as the appetizer course was served. “You two aren’t exactly in a honeymoon phase, are you?”

And she was right, for a couple, newly engaged, Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t acted the part yet at all.

“I’m afraid,” Jaskier said, inventing wildly. “That we’re both just a touch nervous, the engagement is so new, you see, and this is our first event,” he took Geralt’s hand, above the table, so Dame Au’Vigne could see. “As a couple.”

“Oh how sweet,” she said airily. “You know, they’ll have dancing between the courses, it’ll be a great way for you to wet your social feet. Sir Erdin and the lady in the lavender dress,” she pointed across the ballroom. “They’re newly engaged as well.” She lowered her voice.

“Sir Erdin is very supportive of the cause, word has it he’s in with the very inner circle,” Dame Au’Vigne giggled, as if being in the inner circle of a murderous group of intruders was as delightful as a recent engagement.

“How interesting!” Jaskier said, affecting a jealous and impressed tone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geralt’s eyebrow twitch, the way it did when he was listening hard.

“Oh yes,” Dame Au’Vigne said. “And Lord Snapcase, in the corner, he...” and she went on, was the marvelous thing, she couldn’t seem to help herself but gossip about everyone. And she had all these details about how they were helping ‘the cause’. Destiny must have finally decided to throw Jaskier and Geralt a bone.

Then the appetizer course was finished and Jaskier felt much less lucky. Dame Au’Vigne was ushering him and Geralt out of their seats to dance. It wasn’t one of the quick, hopping around, switching partners dances either. No, the band seemed insistent on only slow, romantic music.

Awkwardly, Geralt slid one large hand around Jaskier’s waist and they turned in slow circles on the dance floor. The witcher’s face looked like a thunderclap.

“Try and look like you’re having fun, darling,” Jaskier said. Please don’t look at me as though holding me is torture, his inner self begged.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Jaskier leaned in.

“Really dear heart,” he leaned in even closer, lips almost touching Geralt’s ear. “People are going to suspect something,” he said in the barest of whispers.

“Let them,” Geralt hissed back in the same fashion. “We’ve got the information, we can leave.”

Jaskier, keeping up appearances, tossed his head back and let out a delighted shriek of laughter, as if Geralt had just told him a joke or, perhaps, made a wonderfully indecent proposal.

“Later, perhaps,” he said, stage-whispering for the sake of those around them. Leaning in again he whispered for real, “We can’t leave until the party’s over, no one else will, they’d send some of those soldiers after us for sure.”

The music changed, and Geralt and Jaskier’s slow circles changed speed with it.

Geralt hissed in his ear again, “I don’t see why I had to be your,” this close Jaskier could see Geralt’s jaw working with distaste. “Lover.”

“Fiance,” Jaskier said, trying not to let his heart sink. It couldn’t possibly go any lower. “There’s a difference.”

They said no more to each other, and after the second dance, declined the third to sit back at their seats and await the arrival of the soup course.

The man sat beside Geralt was some old military man, mostly mustache and the rest of him was a rather musty and very old fashioned uniform. It had gold braid and a colonel’s insignia. The hat that sat next to his chair had a plume.

He leaned over to Geralt and said, rather loudly, in a voice that implied tone deafness, to both volume and social situations, “Just marrying him for the money, eh?”

People to both sides of Jaskier and Geralt looked around. Dame Au’Vigne looked at them askance.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. It was a negative answer to the colonel’s question, but the man didn’t take it as such.

“Often is the way,” the man nearly bellowed. “My missus hated me right up to the day she died.”

Jaskier curled in on himself. The role of Viscount wasn’t a big one, mostly administrative and, these days, completed by his sister Rowena, who was better at sitting behind a desk. Still, argued a battered part of his long ago but still proper upbringing. The name of Pankratz was being dragged through the mud. Lots of these people would know the name too, these sour, vindictive, unpleasant, murderous people. And they’d know the gossip, would have taken part in the gossip about ‘Young Julian running off to be a bard,’ (this generally said with the same tone as is usually leant to slave trader) and how ‘he’ll never find a good marriage now,’ how he was ‘a disgrace to the name.’

And here was their long awaited confirmation. Jaskier-Julian, couldn’t find a good marriage, was being wed only for his money. Of course, more than half the pairings here were only in it for the money, but to have it said, so loudly too, and before the wedding had even happened, it was social condemnation.

Jaskier looked down at the table cloth, his face hot. He’d faced social condemnation before, of course, he’d survive. What hurt was that Geralt wasn’t really protesting, Geralt couldn’t even pretend to like Jaskier, not for a single evening. Twenty years he’d done a good enough job of acting to convince even Jaskier, mostly, apart from the punches and the insults and...maybe Jaskier had been a little blind to the truth but still.

It was ruining their cover though, so he protested quietly. “Not just for the money,” he said, patting Geralt’s hand where one fist wrapped around his goblet. “My fiance is just shy, that’s all.”

The damage was already done, but the old colonel hiccupped. “Well lad,” he said, giving Geralt a slap on the back. “This ale’s pretty good so drink up. Got me through three years of happy marriage, strong ale did.” The man took a slug of his own drink. “And fourty seven more unhappy years.” He guffawed hugely and unpleasantly, little drops of ale flinging from his mustache.

Wherever the soul of the unpleasant man’s dead wife was, Jaskier felt sure she was happy to be away from this miserable old drunk.

Geralt, however, was looking at Jaskier. Their eyes met. Jaskier knew he probably looked as hunted as he felt, and his cheeks were probably still burning from the embarassment. Still, it seemed as though Geralt was about to say something. His golden eyes were full of emotion, but Jaskier couldn’t parse out what kind.

Whatever kind it was, it caused Geralt to take the colonel’s advice and drink like there was no tomorrow.

Great. Jaskier had driven his companion to drinking.

He felt a little like doing so himself.

The soup course was good, hot and savory, but underspiced. Geralt slurped it up gratefully. Jaskier knew that rich food was usually too much for his senses if it was spiced to Jaskier’s taste.

More dancing. Jaskier didn’t stand, at first, assuming that Geralt would rather sit and drink more. There were some snickers as people judged him. Geralt stood though, and he offered a hand and led Jaskier to the dance floor.

“You need to act drunk,” Jaskier whispered in his ear. “If you were a normal man you would be.”

“I am acting,” Geralt rumbled.

“You’re very steady for a drunk,” Jaskier sniffed.

“You said I was shy, now I’m less shy,” Geralt whispered. “And I’ve been drinking. So...drunk.” It was torture, being held like this, having that voice in Jaskier’s ear. That hand, so warm cupping his own. He wanted to cry.

A couple whirled past them. It was the Dame Au’Vigne, gossiping to some new dance partner. A snippet of her words caught them.

“-de Lettenhove. Entirely loveless of course. Unlovable, his father said once, of course as a bard-” then the tide of conversation and other dancers stole the rest of the words.

Jaskier sagged. His father hadn’t been a nice man, and unlovable wasn’t the worst of what he’d been called in his life, but now, with Geralt so close and so disgusted by the prospect...well, it hit a little close to home.

“Laugh,” Geralt whispered in his ear.

“What?” Jaskier hissed.

“Like before, laugh like before, but...more so. Pretend I said a dirty joke.”

Jaskier did, heads turned as he pretended to laugh, half scandalized and half delighted at something Geralt said.

Geralt even chuckled along with him. Then his hand crept down Jaskier’s back to his hip. It wasn’t dirty. It was just so,so spine tinglingly close to dirty.

It was almost worse. If Geralt had gripped his ass that would have been bad, but this, Jaskier was left to speculate. He had a very active imagination. The couples next to them were giggling and tittering, scandalized, but not too much, at the pair.

They danced all three dances. During the second dance Geralt spun Jaskier out and then back in flashily, dipping him over one arm like a dainty maiden. Jaskier, who was no dainty maiden, knew the strength that elaborate dip must have taken and his head spun. The third dance was slow, and once again they simply held one another and turned in slow circles. Except Geralt pressed their cheeks together in a way that was so intimate that Jaskier finally gave in. Just tonight he had Geralt, all of him, his attention, his warmth.

There was only so much a bard could take, and Jaskier gave in to the fantasy.

“I wonder how Yennefer is,” Geralt whispered. “And Ciri.”

It was like having cold water poured all over him. Jaskier’s fantasy shattered as soon as it had formed. Of course Geralt wasn’t enjoying this, of course his mind was elsewhere. He had a beautiful sorceress to think of, even if they weren’t sleeping together. Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri made the perfect, happy family. Where did Jaskier fit in to that?

He pulled back a little, already missing the warmth of Geralt’s cheek against his own. They finished the dance stiffly.

Back at the table, squished between Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, the main course was awful. Jaskier couldn’t judge it on the food, which he barely tasted. Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, however, had apparently come to the conclusion that Geralt or, Ludomir, rather, was marrying Jaskier for the money and the sex. They tittered, loudly and drunkely, to those around, and Geralt leaned in.

“Surely we can leave after this course,” he whispered.

Desperate to be rid of the charade, Jaskier thought. To not have to be engaged to me. “Can’t,” he whispered. “Have to stay for dessert and more dancing, else it looks suspect.”

“Hmmm.” It was a displeased hum.

“And, there will be small talk, with dessert. You need to say something, people will think you’re mute.”

“You two twitter into one another’s ears all the time,” Dame Au’Vigne said loudly. She was fully drunk off the sherry and very loud. “But not one kiss,” she lowered her voice, as if trying to be discreet. It didn’t work. “Is it truly as loveless as they say? I know you aren’t waiting until marriage.”

As who say? Jaskier thought. The only person quite that invested seems to be you.

“Not loveless,” Jaskier said. It seemed weak even to his ears.

“Surely you’ll join the dancing again, then,” Dame Au’Vigne said.

“No,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his napkin. “I’m feeling quite too full to dance, ate too fast, I’m afraid.” He hoped she was too drunk to notice he’d picked at his plate. It seemed she was.

“Lovely little veranda, get some air there,” said a man who, according to Dame Au’Vigne, was shipping weapons to Nilfgaard behind the backs of multiple heads of state.

Jaskier nodded,stood, bowed, and made his escape. He sighed, but wasn’t surprised to find that Geralt had followed along behind. Of course he wanted to escape the party too, but Jaskier wanted to escape...him.

To his shame and surprise, he found tears in his eyes. The pressure of sitting in a room chock full of people who wanted to kill him, combined with the fact that every last one of them reminded him of being bullied in school, and add to that that he was supposed to be fake engaged to Geralt...it was too much. Fake engaged and even in their fake engagement Geralt didn’t like Jaskier.

Jaskier’s rational brain knew that Geralt did like him, mostly. He just didn’t love him.

Jaskier leaned his elbows on the railing, overlooking some moonlit gardens, and felt the tears roll down his face.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said quietly.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. He knew Geralt could smell the salt of his tears or whatever, but still turned his face away so the witcher couldn’t see.

“I danced with you though.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “Nobles dance with people they hate all the time.”

Geralt was quiet for a minute then, very gently, he took one of Jaskier’s hands. “I don’t hate you.”

It was too much, Jaskier started crying in earnest, sobbing.

“C’mon, Jaskier, I like you. A lot.” Geralt was, for him, panicking clearly. Jaskier almost smiled. He was so bad at dealing with other people’s emotion. And his own.

“You’re my friend,” Geralt said, a little stuntedly. “You know I’m not a good liar.”

Too much. Twenty-two years and he finally said the word ‘friends’ and Jaskier wanted more. He whipped around to face Geralt.

“Tell me the truth, then, Geralt. Tell me you love me, it doesn’t have to be the truth for forever, but can you love me just for a night? Can you make it the truth for tonight?” Jaskier’s tears were ugly and blobby and drying up fast but he continued.

“Because I’ve loved you so long I don’t know any other truth,” He leaned forward and planted his forhead on Geralt’s collarbone and sniffled through the last of his tears, curling one, shaking fist into Geralt’s lovely pale cape as he cried. “Just this one night, Geralt, love me back.”

He hadn’t meant to say any of it, was half expecting Geralt to toss him off the low balcony into the bushes below.

Instead Jaskier was lifted by two strong arms and sat down on the railing. Warm, delightful lips pressed against his and suddenly he was being kissed within an inch of his life.

“The truth, you want,” Geralt said, pulling back and panting. “Is the only one I can give. I can’t pretend to love you.” Here Geralt looked into Jaskier’s eyes, like being struck by lightning. “I only love you, no pretending, I swear it.”

“But-” Jaskier was cut off.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said, furiously. “I think you think I don’t like you, Jaskier I like you, I love you so much I don’t know what to do and I’m...I’m not good with words. Or emotions.” Geralt’s shoulders dropped a little. “I just am, and the way I am is... The way I am is better with you.”

Geralt’s face screwed up with anguish. “And I’m the reason you think I don’t like you, it’s my fault and that feels so...so bad. Yennefer’s been working with me on the feelings thing and always says ‘bad isn’t a feeling’ but I can’t tell you what all the feeling is.”

Jaskier was staring, mouth open, as frustrated, stilted, fumbling words left Geralt’s mouth. They sounded angry, but only at himself. Geralt was looking up at him as if seeking benediction.

“Tell me you love me again,” Jaskier said.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Jaskier giggled as Geralt lifted him and spun him around before tucking him in close and kissing his forehead.

“I,” he said.

A kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “Love.”

A deep, breathtaking kiss to his lips. “You.”

There was nothing left for Jaskier to say except, “wow.”

Geralt smiled, that lovely warm little smile he saved for special times and offered his arm to Jaskier. “Shall we?”

They paraded back into the ballroom and danced the final dance of the set. Geralt whispered a suggestion of what he’d really like for dessert and this time Jaskier didn’t have to fake the scandalized giggle. “Back home, perhaps,” he said.

Dessert meant more conversation with Dame Au’Vigne, which was of course unbearable. There was plenty of Champagne though, which was pretty good, and the bubbles seemed to fill Jaskier all the way up. He took pleasure in picturing the downfall of all these horrible people when Nilfgaard was finally defeated for good.

He especially enjoyed sticking it to her gossip when he fed Geralt a strawberry with cream from his fingertips and recieved a kiss in thanks. Geralt was clearly enjoying himself too. He had a sweet tooth, and that certainly helped, but his hand that never left Jaskier’s under the table was a much better clue.

They walked back to the inn, flushed and warm in the cool night air, bidding farewell to the other drunken lords and ladies all filtering to finer inns or grand coaches.

Then they were alone on their path back, Geralt’s witcher senses confirming their isolation. Then, Geralt, who never told lies, whispered sweet nothings into Jaskier’s ear the entire way home. Jaskier believed every single one.

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It’s done, this one’s quite long and I loved writing it. Geralt is useless at playing pretend, but very good at loving Jaskier in his own way. I imagine his emotion lessons with Yennefer must have been rather intense.

#the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fake dating #getting together #fluff #fluff and angst #tiny amount of horniness #read with caution

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