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alluringjae · 4 years ago

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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.”

892 notes · View notes

bestiesenpai · 4 years ago

Text

firsts with Gojo Satoru

Every day I’m reminded that Gojo is 6.3ft and every day I remind myself that I could still slap the shit out of him and I wouldn’t even have to reach that high. That is what brings me inner peace.

First meeting

It’s not often that the Gojo Satoru is tasked with cleaning up curses of any grade less than level 1, but sometimes while he was casually out and about he would see a few and handle them with no issue

Like the cluster of fly heads going through the street, harassing people

It takes him no time at all to get to them, a few long strides and he’s there

With a swipe of his hand, the curses are expelled, gone from the world and no longer causing havoc

“What were those things?” A curious voice asks off to the side. Lowering his sunglasses, Satoru turns to the person looking at where the curses had just been.

“What things?” He feigns ignorance and it makes you snort.

“Those flying things you just got rid of. I was watching them for a while, they were pretty annoying.” While you’re talking, Satoru is sizing you up. He can sense just a tiny bit of cursed energy coming from you, not enough to be of any use except for the ability to see curses.

Worrying his lip, Satoru debated on how much he should tell you, if anything at all. He thought you were cute, so maybe he could tell you a little bit and then lead it into another conversation...maybe get your number.

“Are you okay?” Suddenly you’re closer to him than you were before. In all his going back and forth he’d failed to see you take a few steps closer and peer at him, that curious look back in your eyes. “Try not to think too hard, mister, I wouldn’t want your pretty face to get all wrinkled now.”

Satoru actually laughs at that, his chest nearly bumping into you with how close you two are now. He even bends a little at the waist, completely caught off guard by how you, a perfect stranger, have just spoken to him.

“Ya know, that’s not the usual response I get from people.” Fixing his glasses on his head, Satoru fixes you with a smirk he knows people swoon over. “And my name’s not ‘mister’. It’s Satoru, Gojo Satoru.”

“Okay.” His smirk wavers just slightly when he realizes you’re not exactly falling into his arms, just nodding and then you’re pointing to the sky where the fly heads had been. “So Gojo, what were those things?”

First hangout

Gojo does end up telling you the truth about the flyheads and you take it better than he was expecting

He was quick to get your first and last name, maybe you were from a family of sorcerers...but you weren’t. Just a normal person who saw him expel some curses

The conversation quickly ends after he’s done explaining it to you, much to his chagrin. He’d laid on the charm thick, hoping you’d ask for his number or for an opportunity for him to ask, but none came

When he was done telling you about the curses, you gave him a brief pat on the arm, thanked him and went about your day

There was a soft smile on your face as you walked away, and the feeling of your hand still lingered on his arm

Gojo wanted to see you again, but he knew he might never

“Oh, hello Gojo.” Your voice pops up again in an unexpected place, the candy section of a local convenience store near the train station he’d just exited.

“Huh?” He turns, surprised to see you and surprised that you addressed him so casually. It was indeed you, the person he’d seen before and wanted to get to know better.

“Hm, is it not you? I don’t know anyone else that tall with white hair.” Scratching your cheek, you give him a once over.

“It is me.” He’s quick to answer before you apologize and walk away.

“Ha, knew it.” A sly grin comes on your face and Satoru grins in return, his chest tightening a little bit. Rocking on your heels, you gesture to the candy in front of you. “What’s your poison?”

“Everything.” Snorting, Satoru looks at the candy briefly, eyes scanning on all the ones he’s tried.

“Ouch, sounds like a serious sweet tooth.” Chuckling to yourself, you reach out and grab a bag of sour gummies. “These are my favorite, have you tried them?” He has and he kind of hates them, but he picks up a bag anyway and pretends to read it over.

“No, I haven’t. They’re your favorite, you say?” You nod and he holds them more securely in his hand. “Alright, I’ll get them. And this.” Snatching up a chocolate bar he knows he actually likes, Satoru walks with you to the checker and puts his items on top of yours. “I’ll pay.”

You don’t fight him on paying, thanking him with a smile and another pat on his arm. As you walk out of the shop, Satoru nearly puts his arm around your shoulder. It feels like the two of you are on a casual snack run together before going somewhere to watch a movie or something. Even though you’re a stranger, Satoru feels like you already belong together.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again.” You say, snapping him out of his delusion. “What are your plans for the day?” It’s a wonderful day in a suburb of Tokyo, near the place you’d first met. The sun is beaming but not too hot, there’s fluffy white clouds scattered around the sky and a light breeze.

“Nothing, honestly.” Shrugging his shoulder, Satoru looks up and down the street. Honestly, he did have something to do, he was supposed to meet Ijichi for a little meeting with a few other people. But if he was being honest, he’d gladly be late or even skip it entirely if it meant talking to you more.

“Really? Well if you’re into them, there’s a really good cafe just around the corner. I think you’d like it.” Oh shit, were you asking to hang out with him? Or was this more of a date? Watching you take out your phone, Satoru is confused when you pull up a GPS. “If you want, I’ll send you the address.”

Wait...what? Looking at you with clear confusion on his face, Satoru points down the street.

“Let’s go there together, since we’re already here.” Your eyes widen a fraction of an inch, but Satoru can easily see the miniscule way your face changes. Putting your phone away, you take a step down the street.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Once at the cafe, Satoru feels in heaven. It’s a space made for intimate conversations with closed off booths lining the walls and the rich dark colors decorating the space. It feels almost like a lounge instead of a cafe, but when he sees the menu and there’s no alcohol, he’s reminded of what it is.

“I like to get an earl gray and some macarons.” You tell him as you stand by the counter, looking up at the menu.

“I’m going to get that super chocolate cake.”

“That’s so much chocolate!” Chuckling, you walk up to the waiting cashier, wallet already out. “Go ahead and order, Gojo, I’ll pay.”

You don’t end up paying, actually. Gojo quickly plucked your wallet from your hands and put his money down instead. It wasn’t that he was trying to impress you by paying for everything, but he kind of was. He wanted you to know he was dependable.

Sliding into a booth, he can feel your knees knocking together, legs sliding between one another as you get comfortable. With the light from the window illuminating you, Satoru wished he could take a picture of you.

“Let me know how you like it.” Taking a sip of your tea, you watch him expectantly. Not one to disappoint an audience, Satoru takes a bite of the cake and lets out a pleased hum.

“(Y/N), this is great.” He practically moans, eagerly taking another bite.

“Knew you would like it.” You’ve got a silly smile spreading your cheeks wide, and Satoru lifts his hand up, wanting to pinch your cheek.

“You’ve got good taste.” He says instead, putting his elbow on the table to cover up his attempt at trying to touch your face. “I really like it here.”

You’re a very big reason why he likes it there.

First date

Gojo makes sure to get your number after that, he refuses to miss an opportunity like that

He can’t risk the possibility of just ‘maybe’ running into you again, he needs to insert himself into your life more than just chance run-ins

Gojo is a great texter, you’ll learn that quickly. He messages you back promptly, having riveting conversations with each other and sometimes calling on the phone as well

Whenever his phone goes off and it’s not you he automatically deflates, and has on more than one occasion answered the phone and opened up the conversation with ‘you’re not (Y/N), but I guess I have time to talk’ with a big dramatic sigh after

He asks you out the second he has a free day, just begging and hoping you’re also available

And with his oh so good luck, you are!

“How’d I know you’d pick an arcade?” You chuckle as you approach his waiting figure outside the building. Satoru is dressed nicely, but not too much. A smart bomber jacket with a plain black shirt underneath and jeans, not overdressed but more put together than his everyday look. And of course, his signature glasses.

“I have to show you I’m the best at everything.” Opening the door for you, he’s eager to get started on playing some games. “(Y/N), wander around and see what you wanna do first, I’ll exchange some money.”

“Okay.” You’ve given up on trying to pay for things when Satoru is around, he will adamantly refuse. Wandering around the arcade floor between the different machines, your eyes settle on a claw machine, a cute Pikachu plush just sitting there waiting for you.

“Gojo.” You’re bouncing on your heels watching him exchange money, and as soon as he collects all the coins you grab him by the hand and bring him to the claw machine. A light pink tinge paints his cheeks and he doesn’t look away from your hands connected together until you let go and tap on the glass. “Look at this plush! It needs me.”

“Here, try for it.” Putting a generous amount of coins in the machine, Satoru stands next to you and watches as you try to pick it up with the claw several times but fail. The plush doesn’t move at all with any of your attempts, making a frustrated whine leave the back of your throat.

“Pikachu, I love you.” You say, dramatically putting a hand on your heart and looking at the plush.

“Let me try, I’ll get it.” Confidently stepping up to the controller, Satoru smirks and taps the glass. “I’ll get the little guy real easy.”

“Mhmm, whatever you say.” Rolling your eyes, you stand close to him, eyes watching keenly as the claw moves. Grabbing onto the plush, Satoru manages to move it a good few inches towards the opening. “Satoru!” You gasp, grabbing onto his arm as he moves the plush again and it nearly falls in. His cheeks tinge a little when you say his first name.

“Told you.” He could feel himself getting distracted with the way both of your hands are now clinging to his arm, practically hugging it to your body. It only takes two more tries before the plush falls into the opening and the machine lets out a victory noise.

“Awesome!” You’re so excited that you jump a little bit in joy and actually do hug his arm tightly before letting go. Putting the plush in your hands, Satoru watches as you cutely squish it with your hands and smile.

“What other plush do you want? I’ll win them all.”

He did indeed win all the plushies and toys you wanted. He always let you try first, wanting to see if you could do it on your own, but more often than not he proved the title ‘best at everything’ wasn’t just for show.

Moving on from the claw games, you played the other arcade games around. Mario kart, random rhythm games and even scary shooters, Satoru played them all with you. Sometimes he let you win, other times he completely destroyed you. And when something scared you, he was always there to put an arm around your shoulder and protect you.

First confession

You spend far too many hours in the arcade, playing game after game and accumulating an obscene amount of claw game prizes

Gojo doesn’t joke around damnit!

He also forces Ijichi to come and drive you home lol and he sits in the backseat with you, holding your hand and playing with your fingers while you make friendly conversation with Ijichi

Carrying the bag full of plushies to your door, Gojo sets them in the threshold of your apartment before looking back at you

The open door is like a void just begging for Satoru to step into. The soft overhead light you’d flicked on was enough to illuminate a little more of your apartment, and from what Satoru could see it was nicely decorated and smelled like flowers.

“I had a lot of fun tonight.” Biting your lip, you look at him for just a moment before looking away again, rocking back and forth on your feet bashfully.

“I did too.” Satoru means it, he’s already planning the next date in his head and the best way to shove his responsibilities onto others so his schedule opens up. Grabbing your hand, he laces your fingers together and holds it up to his chest. “I hope I can see you again soon. I really like you (Y/N).”

“I like you a lot too.” You’re too embarrassed to say anything more, continuing to bite your lip and letting Satoru squeeze your hand. Slowly, the two of you shuffle closer to each other, and Satoru brushes the tips of his fingers along your face, subtly tilting it up so he can kiss you.

Just as he gets close enough to feel your breath, a sharp baby's cry sounds from the apartment next to yours and it makes you jump. There’s shuffling inside and then the door is thrown open and a tired looking man in old sweats comes running out.

“Oh, hi (Y/N)!”

“Hi Mr. Yoo. What’re you doing out?” Turning to him, you try to play off the fact that you were just caught almost kissing in front of your door.

“I realized we’re all out of diapers! I have to go get some stat.” He barely pays Satoru any attention, quickly rushing off with a brief goodbye.

Now the moment had been ruined, you were too far now and you’d pulled your hands away when the door was opened. Stepping into your apartment, you give a lingering look at Satoru’s lips before meeting his eyes.

“Text me when you get home.” You say, and with a soft goodbye you close the door and Satoru leaves.

First kiss

Getting blue balled by a baby was definitely not in Gojos five year plan

He literally can’t wait until you see each other again, he’s obsessing about kissing you

Applies lip balm like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, the man would rather swallow a jean jacket than have you kiss dry lips

Any amount of time apart from you is painful and it’s only made worse when his schedule becomes full, too tightly packed to move anything around

He’s keeping up with you through text and calls but it’s not enough for him, and he lets you know almost every time you call that he wants to be with you, be able to physically touch you and see you

When there’s a little festival in Tokyo and Nobara and Itadori are begging to go, Gojo uses it as a chance to see you again

“Hi everyone!” You’re very excited to meet Satoru’s students. He hadn’t told you he was a teacher, all he said was he exorcised curses.

“Hi!” Itadori is excited to meet you, Nobara is excited to see who’s been taking up all of her teacher's time and Fushiguro is just there, curious about you but too aloof to ask any questions.

“So I take it Satoru teaches you guys how to get rid of those curses and stuff, huh?” Your question floored them, and even Fushiguro was looking at you with wide eyes.

“(Y/N) can see curses.” Satoru steps in, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, I guess I can see a little bit of cursed energy.” Nobara mutters. Truthfully, they were all too busy asking you questions and looking at how pretty you were to notice cursed energy.

“You guys are really brave! Some of those curses are really scary.” Shivering as you recall one you’d seen recently(and texted Satoru about), you point toward the festival stalls. “But you guys probably don’t wanna talk about work, huh? Let’s go get some food, I’ll pay.”

“Sorry (Y/N), we’re under strict orders not to accept your money.” Making an X with his arms, he and Nobara shook their heads.

“Satoru!” Slapping his chest playfully, you start to walk through the festival. “Let me pay for something, you’re gonna go broke at this rate!”

“Nope, not happening.” Keeping you close to him, Satoru makes sure you don’t pay for a single thing. He’d purposefully brought a lot of cash to this knowing that the kids would go absolutely crazy - and that he wanted to spoil you some more to make up for his absence.

As the night progresses, the students get more and more distant. Satoru had briefed them on the way that it was purely a date between you and him and that they were just tagging along and not to stick around for too long.

“This snow ice is so good!” At a more secluded spot at the festival, you and Satoru find a bench to sit at and enjoy the frozen treat he’d bought.

“Feed me.” Opening his mouth, Satoru sticks his tongue out obnoxiously while waiting for you.

“You’re gonna drool on yourself.” You laugh, quickly scooping some up and putting it in his mouth. Holding your hand, Satoru lets the ice fully dissolve before pulling the spoon out. He wants to make a teasing sexual comment, but a loud boom sounds in the sky before he can.

“Fireworks.” He whispers, looking up at the sky as it’s illuminated with bright flashes of light. You let out a noise in awe of the display, and Satoru is suddenly staring right at you. Looking at the way your eyes reflect the light, he can’t stop himself from leaning forward.

“Sa-” Turning your head at the same time he’s about to kiss your cheek, your lips connect. You gasp, and if Satoru hadn’t also been holding onto the snow ice it would have fallen from your hand.

He doesn’t miss an opportunity though, pressing firmly on your lips and tilting his head a little. Your eyes flutter closed, and you pull away for a brief moment to lick your lips before going back in. The sound of fireworks continue to boom above you, continuing to flash light across your closed eyes. It all adds to the experience of kissing Satoru.

“You taste so sweet.” He says when you pull away to breathe, keeping his face close enough that he can rub his nose against yours.

“Shut up.” Satoru can practically feel the heat radiating off your face and it makes him chuckle. Giving you another kiss, he pulls away when the fireworks stop going off. The smile you have on your face warms his heart, his cheeks a light red color to show for it.

“Looks like we’ll need more ice.” Holding up the melting treat, a little pout settles on your lips and Satoru audibly coos.

“I’ll be right back.” Shooting up from the bench, he nearly runs to the stall, already hurting from being apart and eager to get back to you.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios

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hetacon · 4 years ago

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Midnight Stellar in the Making

Word Count: 2,400

Pairing: Logicality

Warning: Food mention (Let me know if I missed anything!)

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Summary: Patton knew that his boyfriend had always liked to work at the coffee shop down the street from their dorm but with all day essays, Logan ended up having to leave, only to spend the rest of the night writing at their little desk in the corner of their room, Patton tucked into bed. He had to spend some time away from his papers to make himself coffee at around 4 in the morning and it was a pain. With this in mind, Patton had a thought. What if Logan could’ve had somewhere to spend all-nighters where he didn’t have to spend time making coffee?

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Note: This is my Sanders Sides exchange gift for @oh-theatre based off of the concept I made in “Peanut Butter Cookies and Meaningful Conversations!” (Which you can find here though it’s not essential for this one!) It was a lot of fun to make so I hope you enjoy it too!

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“What I will definitely not miss is making coffee for all-nighters.”

That one comment set off an entire chain reaction for Patton and Logan’s lives and it was honestly astonishing how Patton had managed to create a successful local business with his college boyfriend.

Logan had made that comment in regards to them graduating from college. Patton had managed to make his schedule work out just fine but Logan’s was a little heavier than he expected, thus the relief from not having to pull more all-nighters.

Patton knew that his boyfriend had always liked to work at the coffee shop down the street from their dorm but with all day essays, Logan ended up having to leave, only to spend the rest of the night writing at their little desk in the corner of their room, Patton tucked into bed. He had to spend some time away from his papers to make himself coffee at around 4 in the morning and it was a pain. With this in mind, Patton had a thought. What if Logan could’ve had somewhere to spend all-nighters where he didn’t have to spend time making coffee?

The plan for a late night café was a plan a couple years in the making. Logan had gone on to focus on an ordinary desk job that got the bills paid, Patton was doing botanical research, and their lives went on as normal. While Patton wouldn’t have been able to afford much more than an apartment on his own, Logan’s parents had given them enough money to buy a decent house and the two got married sometime within that span. Any time that Patton wasn’t working though, he was researching, drawing up plans, making mock menus, trying out new recipes for pastries he’d enjoyed as a kid, and any work in between before he even considered bringing it up to Logan.

He knew his husband wouldn’t judge the idea or laugh but he might be a bit skeptical and wave it off, calling it nothing more than an unstable or impossible passion project that Patton had gotten attached to.

“So what you are telling me is that you want to put time and money into a late night café based off of a comment I made two and a half years ago at our college graduation?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow at Patton.

“Yeah, I just... I don’t know, it got into my head and I just.. I couldn’t stop thinking about it!” Patton tried to explain, grinning nervously. “It’s stupid, I know, I just thought it could be worth a shot to bring it up...? Gosh, I don’t know, maybe this wasn’t worth it.”

“No no, hold on a minute.” Logan raised a hand, looking through the color code divided binder in front of him, reading through the laminated pages briefly. He took out a few sketches and designs Patton had spent an entire week making, running a finger over the lines slowly as his lips moved silently, mouthing words as he thought. “You’ve put a lot of effort into this, haven’t you love?” Logan finally asked, looking back up to Patton.

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that,” Patton laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“This is a wonderful idea. From what I’m briefly looking at, you’ve gotten a lot of major factors taken into account and they’ve been well-researched from what I’m gathering. Do you mind if I take a week or so to look over it and maybe work on some notes and thoughts about this?” Logan smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the slightest of ways that made Patton want to kiss the living daylights out of him.

“No, not at all, I don’t mind!!” Patton shouted, bouncing up and down with a broad grin overtaking his face. “You’re the best Logie, I couldn’t have picked a better husband!!” With that, Patton was tackling Logan to the couch, kissing him.

Logan spent a week reading through it as he had asked for and came back with some further research of his own, thankfully aided by his degree in business. It was therefore, an actual idea on the table rather than a starry-eyed vision in Patton’s head. They spent the next year looking further into it before Patton quit his job to devote himself to the café work full-time.

“I’m home,” Logan called from the front door as he took off his coat, taking a deep breath in.

“Hi sweetheart, how was work?” Patton asked as he came into Logan’s field of view, working on folding macaron batter, coconut if Logan remember correctly from their discussion last night.

“Fine, though it went slower than I wanted it to,” Logan sighed, rolling his head back to release the tension there. “Is there anything I can do to help you out right now?” He went over to where Patton was standing and kissed him gently, Patton happily returning the kiss.

“Yes actually! If you wouldn’t mind, could you make the filling I’m testing out for this batch? I have the rough instructions on the counter near the fridge,” Patton told him to which he nodded.

“Of course. How have the other recipes been going today?” Logan asked as he put on an apron, washing his hands before getting to work on gathering the ingredients his husband had listed on the post-it note.

“Well, the vanilla ones turned out well though a couple were a little messy looking. They taste good though! The mint chocolate ones tasted awful, I think I forgot to add something to the filling because I tasted pure Dutch cocoa powder. The worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. The others were decent but I made a few notes on fixing them so I want to try it out tomorrow. I’m just thankful I can make these in small batches, we’d be flooded in macarons otherwise!” Patton laughed as they worked.

“Are there any left that I can try?”

“Yeah, just be careful of the mint ones!”

They worked like that for a while, chatting as they went along with their day.

For Patton’s 25th birthday, Logan had gotten him an espresso machine to try out and while he had originally fretted over the price, Patton was soon working out new drinks that were ready for Logan to taste when he woke up in the morning for work. It was a little harder to gauge than pastries, since Logan was very grumpy and his comments weren’t exactly put together well due to it being his first coffee fix, but later in the day, Logan was able to give him more thorough notes on how his productivity was affected by it compared to his average cup of coffee. Patton of course made it a point to perfect his hot chocolate recipes as well.

Trying all sorts of recipes had been fun and with a box of handwritten recipes (mainly for the aesthetic) done and tucked away into one of the kitchen cabinets, design and theme planning came next. Logan had dabbled in a bit of graphic design while he was getting his degree so he was put up to that task when he had time after work. Patton had more of an eye for colors than he did though (which made sense considering his blue-yellow color blindness) so with a bit of input from Patton, they had a working idea of how they wanted to have everything looking.

A lot of the budgeting and finance aspects were taken care of throughout the whole process and after a year and a half, with a solid plan in place for nearly every aspect, they were finally ready for a really big step that would make this official. Location scouting and a name for the café were the only things left. They’d been having trouble with the name but figured that they’d come up with something when the time was right. In the meantime though, location scouting occupied their time.

Many of the buildings were gorgeous, Patton could picture each making a beautiful site for a café. He was a bit hesitant about prices, as he had always been prone to as a broke college student, but Logan assured him that they had enough money to work with. All they had to do was find the one they liked.

“We have one more place in mind in the morning, right Logie?” Patton asked with a yawn, pulling the blankets closer in his half-awake state.

“Mhm, none of them quite feel like the one,” Logan said softly, taking off his and Patton’s glasses and placing them on the nightstand before pulling Patton close.

“I’m sure we’ll make whichever one we choose absolutely perfect, just like we always do,” Patton mumbled out before he’d fallen asleep.

Patton saw Logan’s jaw drop as soon as they stepped inside, his eyes fixed on the rainbow of colors being scattered across the room from the huge glass dome directly over their heads, giving a perfect view of the sky above them.

This was the one, Patton knew this was the one as soon as Logan muttered out “We’ll see the stars.”

“Well what an absolutely stellar idea!” Patton joked with a light laugh to his voice.

Logan turned to him, snapping his fingers. “Midnight Stellar.”

“What?”

“The Midnight Stellar Café,” Logan explained, his pupils blown out wider than Patton had ever seen them, pure and unadulterated joy overtaking Logan’s irises as he grabbed Patton’s hands, pulling him in for a passionate kiss before twirling him around.

“Oh goodness!” Patton giggled, letting Logan lead them in an imaginary dance. He had never seen this before, Logan hadn’t ever looked so excited except for when Patton had proposed to him. He looked just as in love with the place as the subtle glint Patton saw in his eyes every day. It took his breath away. This was happening. He may have started this project out of his own wants but with the way Logan was looking and feeling right now, Patton could tell that Logan wanted it even more. Patton couldn’t possibly deny the man twirling him around in silly little circles, the rainbows of the glass ceiling catching in Logan’s hair and making him look luminous.

Logan was right about the stars, there was a perfect view, a wonderful stretch of the Milky Way striking right through the center of the skylight. It became their constant companion as they worked on getting everything ready. Lots of construction took place before they had sold their apartment and moved into an upstairs portion of the building. Luckily this building had a place for them to live in, a staircase connected to the back of the future café leading up to their new home. After the move and Logan quitting his job now, they devoted themselves full time to setting up everything. Painting, furniture, and the kitchen setup took a couple weeks but eventually it was all done and with Patton picking out some plants to add as well as various other decorations, it was ready. This was a reality.

Patton looked over the café from the front door, smiling to himself. A cluster of large black tables took up the middle of the room with various smaller ones lining the floor-to-ceiling windows. The walls were painted cobalt blue blending into indigo towards the ceiling, hand-painted constellation patterns covering the walls. Each table had a couple outlets imbedded into the sides of them, soft white lighting illuminated the café. The counter looked pristine and the pastry case would soon be showcasing months of recipe experimentation in the works. Of course, a glance up gave Patton another look at the now familiar Milky Way over their heads. By far though, Patton’s favorite part was the secluded little corner with beanbag chairs, a couple bookshelves full of some classic books he and Logan had enjoyed reading throughout their lives, and fairylights and plants lining the walls of the corner. As he finished his look over the café, Logan wrapped his arm around Patton’s shoulder and pulled him in close, kissing his temple.

The café opening honestly wasn’t too promising. No one showed up that first night. Patton watched the door insistently for hours. Logan at some point had to remind Patton that they were working on strange hours, since most people aren’t up and outside as late as 3 in the morning. The first 8 hours, from 10 PM to 6 AM, were the most boring and agonizing Patton had ever spent. Luckily though, business picked up. Within a few weeks, they had a few regulars, people who would pop in every few days or so. Some people would get something to eat before their graveyard shifts, some weren’t able to sleep because of insomnia, and some people just liked the night better. Patton enjoyed getting to talk with anyone that was willing to have a conversation with him while Logan managed the counter more often than not.

Getting off of their previous sleep schedules had been strange and working in the early hours of the morning had its drawbacks but overall, this was definitely not going to be something Patton would come to regret. Waking up in the afternoon with his husband, running errands while stores were still open, baking in the late evening after dinner, and watching as the stars started to peek out at them as they got the café ready for the night became such a simple joy for Patton. Watching Logan’s satisfaction every time he interacted with the customers or the two figured out a new recipe or when he helped someone with calculus homework while Patton took over the counter proved that this was the right fit.

Sure, it was unconventional. It might not have been anywhere near where either of them thought their lives would take them in their mid to late twenties. And maybe it had just started from a simple offhand comment by an entirely too tired college student.

For Patton, everything figured itself out just how it ought to be, and he was content.

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Taglist: @artissijules, @its-the-cat-queen, @myyoutubecorner, @virgils-paranoia, @anotheregofanficblog, @marshmallow-the-panda, @oh-theatre, @sanderssidesgiftxchange

#sanders sides #logicality #patton sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides secret santa 2020 #midnight stellar au #stan writing

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1093

survey by pinkchocolate

Hi there! This list is based on some things I've done recently. Let's say, within the last few days. Have you done any of these things in the last few days?

Worn make-up? I never wear makeup. I’ve never felt the need to.

Worn perfume? Sure. I went out last Sunday to bring Cooper to the vet and to take myself out to a coffee shop for a few hours, so I wanted to make sure I smelled decent.

Taken selfies? I think I may have, but I’m sure I deleted them almost immediately.

Shared some photos on social media? Yes, I posted a couple photos of Cooper because he was being super smiley the other day. I also shared a photo of my laptop, which was playing Friends, beside my Friends mug the other night.

Woken up to the sound of your phone vibrating? Technically. But this usually happens when I’m trying to fall asleep in the evening, i.e. someone sending a late-night message, and not in the morning.

Heard the rain outside your window? Yes. It’s literally happening right now haha it just started raining.

Added sugar to a mug of tea/coffee? No. I use 3-in-1 coffee packets, which are already pre-mixed and all I have to do is add hot water. I’m terrible with measurements and starting from scratch and I doubt I’ll ever get the hang of manually combining coffee + sugar + milk + creamer + whatever else goes into coffee haha.

Refilled your drinks bottle? I don’t use a tumbler. I’m at home nearly every day of the week so I always have access to our glasses.

Felt emotionally involved while reading a book? This has happened before for sure, but not in the last few days.

Chuckled/laughed while reading a book? Uhhh I guess. My employer recently lent me this book on PR that they thought would help me gain a richer appreciation of the industry and I guess I did lightly chuckle at a few humorous anecdotes in it.

Spilled a drink? I don’t think so.

Eaten something that was sprinkled with sugar? Nope. I’ve eaten sweets here and there but nothing sprinkled with sugar.

Googled the definition of a word? At least a few times a day.

Read a Wikipedia article? Yes, I love Wikipedia. The last entry I read was a list on notable last words.

Laughed at a video you watched online? So many times. The main reason I watch videos is to be entertained and to laugh, to be honest; so it’s nice that a lot of creators make great, funny content.

Craved a savoury snack of some description? I’ve been craving gourmet donuts for weeks now. Nothing sweet; I’m looking for those with creative, out-of-the-box flavors.

Cursed after dropping an item on the floor? Probably.

Been amused by your pet's behaviour? I am always amused at their behavior. Kimi’s approaching 13 years but he still makes me laugh every single day.

Recognized an actor in a TV show, from another show you'd seen? I’ve only been watching Friends, soooo nothing to compare it to.

Seen an actor on TV that you thought attractive? Courteney Cox, always.

Typed something in a word processor? I had to look this up lol, but I guess I have if Google Docs counts as one? I use it a lot for work.

Been asked a question that you found awkward or difficult to answer? Sure. My grandma called up when I was stuck in a particularly tough period of my shift and she was asking how it’s been. I didn’t want to worry her or overshare, so I paused for a bit and just said “it’s going great!”

Smelled a pleasant food aroma? Yeah, my dad cooks up some great stuff al the time.

Dipped your food in ketchup, mayonnaise or another sauce? Tartar sauce.

Forgotten a hot beverage, then found it had gone cold? I don’t make hot beverages, so.

survey by kellyburnsred

What music video do you wish you were in? I don’t watch music videos a lot, mostly because they’re usually not at all related to the song it corresponds to and I never saw the point. Buttt idk, the one I had some of the most fun watching was One Direction’s Best Song Ever because it was hilarious. It’d be cool to fuck around with the characters there.

Who makes you laugh the most? I’d say it’s either Andi or Hans. JM and Kate are good runners-up.

You only can eat three things the rest of your life, what do choose? That would make me sick of those foods so fast...but if it were a legit life-and-death situation, I would go with surf and turf (so that I at least have a bit of variety), rice (because I can’t live without rice), and macarons (for something sweet).

What's one thing you wish you had in your life right now? Macarons. I recently liked a slew of local macaron shops on Facebook and even though I know it’s my fault, I hateeee that my feed is filled with macarons now haha.

If you had to give up your style, what other style would you choose? I’m not really sure. I can think of more styles I’m not willing to adopt, than those that can be my back-up.

What's your favorite ice cream topping? Hot fudge.

What is the bare minimum of sleep you could function on? I guess 3 or 4, but that’s the barest of the bare minimum. I would still be cranky if I was only able to sleep for that few hours.

When you drive, do you generally speed? Yeah, if I can. You’re always stuck in traffic in Manila so if you have the chance to press harder on the gas, you typically wouldn’t want to miss out on it.

Are you an animal lover? Yes, except for pests and insects I don’t like, like cockroaches.

What's the dumbest thing you've done because someone dared you? I once ate a piece of siomai that already fell to the ground; when I ate it I felt a lot of tiny pebbles and other debris so I promptly spat it out in a nearby bin.

What is the most disgusting trait that you have? Idk...typical disgusting habits make me wince myself. The worst thing I can think of is that I tend to keep my nails super long just out of neglect; and I usually only clip them once dirt starts getting trapped under the nails, or once it starts to become hard to type.

What was the last thing you talked to your friends about? Angela had made this really cute, DIY foldable collage for Hans for his birthday yesterday and I just checked in on her earlier to ask if he loved it.

What part of your day do you look forward to the most? The moment my shift ends.

What are your favorite song lyrics? This week, it’s probably “It isn’t the same, but it is enough.” It’s oddly calming no matter how sad the actual context is.

Who are your closest friends? Angela and Andi.

What profession do you admire the most? All are worthy of admiration. I don’t really have a ~favorite~

Do you believe in karma? Not strictly in the spiritual sense; but it can be comforting to think that the people who have hurt me will have their ass handed back to them someday.

What do you think is the funniest show on TV? Ooh, I don’t watch a lot of TV anymore...I have a sitcom in mind but it ended 17 years ago and it’s still pretty polarizing to this day, lol.

Are you an organ donor? No.

Did you have imaginary friends when you were younger? Just one, but I didn’t get the point of it and I got bored very quickly.

Have you ever smoked weed? No but a friend knows a supplier should I ever want to start getting into it.

Who do you look up to for your style? Idk, whatever girls my age are wearing these days.

What's the most expensive thing you've ever bought? With my own money, probably the hotel accommodation I purchased for my dad’s birthday this weekend. I’m super stingy with my money and I can’t imagine spending 4 or 5 figures on something just for myself.

What's your favorite amusement park ride? Not too big on rides.

Who was the craziest teacher you've ever had? Ironically, it was my Christianity/religion teacher from 5th grade. We bumped into each other a few weeks after I graduated high school and his first remark towards me was about my breasts. He did a lot of stupid shit too when I was in 5th grade but I don’t feel like getting into them because he was just one big headache of a man.

Where would you like to travel that you have not been? Thailand, if within Asia; Spain if outside.

If you could be any musician for a day, who would you be and why? No thanks.

Do you have any tattoos? No.

What are your favorite scary movies? Some favorites are Carrie, The Shining, and Scream.

#survey #surveys

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softsan · 5 years ago

Text

NCT MAFIA AU (Johnny) [M]

🖇Heavy hearts wasted on worthless words (pt.2)

MASTERLIST

PARTS: | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

MAFIA PROFILES | Y/N’S NAMES

GENRE: Mafia AU, College AU, Smut,

QUOTE: “You swallowed the ache his words inflicted. You hadn’t meant anything by what you had just asked. It was more so to thank him for helping you. Why did it still hurt you so badly?”

WARNINGS: Graphic scenes of violence, Sexual themes, Oral Sex (giving),

You took a sip of your cappuccino, frowning. What am I going to do now? You groaned, slumping back into your seat.

You were sitting outside at a local campus café. The unit’s grading outline, laying in front of you.

“How in the world am I going to get a new model.” You sulked aloud.

A few students who passed by ogled in your direction. They were taken back by your white dress shirt, covered with splatters of different colored paint and a black tie, secured like a headband around your forehead.

You paid no attention to their looks, you were far too occupied by an enormous sense of doom that tore at your insides. This was to be one of your final projects for your realism painting class. And the model you had been working with over the semester had just bailed out, leaving you with a half-finished project and no explanation why.

“Why didn’t I just paint a lake or something.” You hit your head, against the table. “Why did I have to paint a stupid person.”

The worst thing was, it was too late to change your idea as you had already handed in your project proposal last week.

“Stupid, stupid model!”

“Are you alright miss?” A voice interrupted your mini-meltdown.

You glanced up at the waitress holding your cheese and toast sandwich. She gave you an odd look as she placed down your food.

“Enjoy.” She said, quickly running back inside.

You sighed, looking sadly at your sandwich. Not even food could cheer you up right now.

Johnny sat at a table by himself, he took small bites from his plate whilst keeping a sneaky eye on his new target.

He wore sunglasses to mask his wondering eyes and his trusty baseball cap.

There was his target across the street at a macaron’s shop. He was purchasing a box of twelve pastel-colored macarons for somebody special. Johnny’s target appeared to be fairly normal in every aspect but Jungwoo was insisted that Johnny remain watchful.

He heard the chair across from him screech against the concrete. Johnny turned, ready to stare down whoever it was.

It’s you.

“Johnny?” You said in disbelief, your eyes twinkling.

Johnny’s chest tightened. It had been 6 months since his last few encounters with you. Despite his promises at the hospital to never meet you again. He had since seen you a total of three times.

The first was at one of Taeyong’s bars called ‘Highway to Heaven’. You were with a friend, knocking back some drinks. It was then when Johnny overheard that you had been hired at a carnival for the summer. The second time was when you were drawing cute cartoon portraits for kids. The third encounter was when a speeding car rammed you over at a pedestrian crossing. Johnny who was pursuing the speeding vehicle at the time abandoned his mission and brought you to the local hospital to be examined.

His eyes glanced to your right arm, it appeared to have healed nicely.

You grinned at your unimaginable luck. “It’s really you?” You didn’t ask him why he left you at the hospital without a word. You were afraid, he would magically disappear before your eyes for the third time.

“Y/N” He bowed his head respectfully. “Actually, I was just leaving.” Johnny pushed back his chair.

You immediately caught his arm. “Johnny, wait!”

He hesitated, enamored by your warm touch against his cold skin.

“I need you to be my model.”

Johnny blinked, surprised. He certainly hadn’t expected you to say that.

“Excuse me?”

“Pretty please,” You plead. “My project requires a handsome man, what other choice do I have?”

Handsome?

“No thanks.”

You clung onto his arm, pouting. “Pleasseeeeee” You battered your eyelashes.

He tried to shake you off, but you hung on like your life depended on it.

───

“Off with your the shirt” You ordered

Johnny grimaced, slipping it off his shoulders.

You had followed him three blocks and into the building of Wayv corporations before being dragged out by security. The next day you found him at another café, while he was busy observing his target.

After shamelessly offering to get on your knees and beg him to be your model in front of the other customers. Johnny reluctantly accepted to be your model for the next few weeks. His only demand was that after these few weeks went by, you were never to see him again.

You agreed.

So here he was, half-naked posing for you. Your intense gaze roamed over every part of him. It made him shiver. He couldn’t explain what drew you to him, why he felt nervous and buoyant in your company.

Your joyfulness, cooled whilst you concentrated on your work.

He stood there for hours, studying only you. How you stroked your brush against the canvas, how you clenched your jaw when you were annoyed and how you bit your bottom lip when you liked something.

You placed down your brush, “You must be stiff from staying so still.”

You walked towards the raised platform Johnny was standing on and raised a hand to help him down.

He ignored your offer, jumping off himself. “I’m fine.” He muttered.

He reached for his shirt, placing it back on.

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” You asked.

I’ve been ordered to shoot a house party full of people.

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nothing, really.” He lied.

“Let’s grab something to eat then.” You beamed.

“Y/N,” He said sternly. “This-” He pointed between you and him. “This is never going to happen.”

You swallowed the ache his words inflicted. You hadn’t meant anything by what you had just asked. It was more so to thank him for helping you... Why did it still hurt so badly?

He left without another word.

───

“You like him a lot, don’t you?” Pip waved her hand in front of your line of vision.

Of course, you did.

You elbowed her playfully, without answering.

You and Pip had been fast friends. She was a little reserved and shy but was slowly coming out of her shell. Your beloved roommate Dae had introduced the two of you, and now the three of you had become inseparable.

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“Boys suck.” Dae childishly huffed. “Screw him.”

“Not exactly the advice I was looking for.” You laughed awkwardly, “What about you Pip.”

“Hm?” She looked at you with her large doe-like eyes.

“Do you and Jungwoo. You know?” You tilted your head, raising your eyebrows suggestively.

Pip’s face reddened, “No!” She replied shaking her head in the wrong direction. “We’re just friends.”

You smirked, “For a friend, he’s doing an awfully good job at pretending to be your boyfriend.”

“Screw them all!” Dae announced. “All they do is fake their deaths and break your heart.”

You and Pip exchanged looks.

“It’s okay.” You pattered Dae’s back. “There’s someone cute in our renaissance history class. I can organize a date.”

Dae stabbed her fork in her mash potato, it splattered off her plate and onto the cafeteria table. “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t give Ten my number at the carnival.” She directed her fork at you.

You shrugged, “He’s cute, you’re cute. Didn’t seem like a bad thing at the time.”

Dae inched closer with her fork. Pip watched on in alarm.

“Okay! Okay!” You placed your hands up in defeat. “No more setting you up with people.”

“Promise?”

“No, not at all.”

Dae jabbed the fork at you, you slid off your seat avoiding her. Dae chased you around the table trying to land a poke. Pip flailed her arms begging for Dae to forgive you.

You pulled Pip up from her seat and used her as a shield. Dae continued to threaten you with her fork, narrowly missing Pip. You burst into laughter, covering your laughs in the crook of Pip’s back.

───

You never got tired of seeing Johnny shirtless. The curvature of his chest and biceps.

I’m so weak. You scolded yourself.

“That’s it for today.” You told him.

“Really?” He failed at hiding the disappointment in his voice. His sessions with you usually went on for hours.

“I was only able to book this room for an hour today.”

“Oh, I understand.”

You stood up to collect your paintbrushes. You were imagining things. Johnny doesn’t sound disheartened, it’s just because you like him. You told yourself.

You began to shove your tools in your kit.

“Do you need someone help?”

You huffed, looking up from your kit.“Don’t try to be nice,”

He furrowed his brows.

“Nice?”

“Nevermind.” You brushed him off.

He sighed. He couldn’t help it.

You dropped your kit in your bag. You pointed back and forth between you and Johnny. “This is never going to happen?” You repeated aloud. “Did I do something? Or do you just not like me. I was just suggested we grab something to eat. If you don’t like me that's cool.”

Johnny’s face betrayed him.

“It’s not that I don’t like you, I just can’t be in a relationship.”

With the life he led, he would only bring you danger and misery. To want you as he did, was selfish.

“We don’t need to be in a relationship.” You murmured, leaving your bag alone to unhook your canvas from the easel. “We could have just had some fun.”

His inner beast clawed against its a cage. He clenched his fist. He couldn’t let your suggestion sway him.

You cursed, struggling with the dried paint that had stuck your canvas down. Johnny moved closer to help.

After some tugs, you managed to get it free.

“Have you got it?”

Startled by how close he was standing behind you. Your canvas slipped from your fingers.

Both of you went diving to catch your artwork. The two of you landed together in a tangled heap on the floor.

You rested on top of Johnny. Your canvas facedown, the wet paint smeared across the floor.

“I’m doomed.” You whined, turning back to Johnny who was usually still.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, I guess we’ll just have to start over again.”

“I’m really sorry,” He exhaled, again. “I didn’t mean it too. I-”

The friction your thighs curled around his hips.

You were going to ask what he was talking about... You stopped.

Johnny’s eyes weren’t the only thing at enlarged, his face blushed under the heat of your gaze. As he struggled to find his words.

You felt his hardness poke from underneath you.

Not a bad sign.

“It’s okay,” You raked your fingers down his bare chest.“May I?”

Johnny opened and closed his mouth, slowly nodding. You give him a quick peck on the lips before your hand lowered. You used more pressure the lower you went, so he could feel you through his jeans. His member was throbbing, greedy for your touch.

“Y/N” His voice thick. “If you do that...”

“What will happen?” You gently teased. You began to palm him and used your other hand to unbuckle his belt.

He heard the tremendous sound of his zipper, your hands leaving him cold as you yanked his jeans down his thighs.

You sat there staring at him, his underwear pitched like a tent.

His chest was racing. You promised not to see her again. His inner demons wrestled.

His mind blanked as you leaned in to place a soft kiss on his underwear. He could feel the heat of your wet lips through its thin material.

You smiled, placing another kiss on the skin above his underwear. Your delicate fingers slowly, removing it. He bounced free, brushing against your nose.

Johnny’s breath hitched as you sweetly nudged him with your nose, before placing a kiss at his base. With your devilish tongue, you licked up torturously slow, flickering your tongue at his tip.

“Y/N” He breathed.

You pulled back your tongue, hovering above him. “Do you want me to continue?” Your eyes glittered with anticipation. “Johnny,” You whimpered, “Can I make you feel good?”

He nodded.

He gasped as you took his entire length in your mouth. “Fuck, yes.”

His cock rumbling against the back of your throat. You lifted your eyes, your gaze unwavering from his.

You hummed, enjoying his taste. You bobbed your head and up and down. With which each groan and curse he made you quickened your pace. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, your beautiful face, you flushed cheeks, the glorious moans you made as you satisfied him. The heat inside him brewed. He was ready to...

You slowed down. The little pop sound echoed as you released him. The warmth around his length disappearing.

“Y/N?”

You nearly giggled at the confused sound of his voice.

You rubbed him down with your hands. You caught his moan of relief with your open mouth. He could taste him on your lips. Shit.

His tongue matched your intensity. He was hungry, for your touch, your taste, for all of you.

You ended the kiss with a slight nibble on his lip before returning to his awaiting length. Peppering few soft kisses, you then swirled your tongue around him before taking him whole again.

“You feel so good.”

His hands reached to stroke your hair. Your mouth felt like heaven itself.

Your pace picked up again, he laid back unable to handle you. Any second now.

“Please Y/N, don’t stop.” He begged.

You smirked triumphantly around his cock.

��Y/N”- “Y/N”- “Y/N!”

The last time he said your name, he exploded in your mouth. Utter bliss showered over him. His eyes glazing over.

Your mouth full, you crawled over him until your face was right above his. You swallowed. A trickle of his cum, rolling down your chin.

Johnny growled. He reached for your face, roughly pulling you closer.

The things I’m going to do to you. His sinfully promised.

His large hand went down to your shorts where you eagerly awaited. Just as he was about to ravish you to ends of the earth.

The classroom door burst open. You jumped up immediately, wiping your chin clean. Johnny had never wanted to kill someone so terribly. He sat up, covering his member in his hands.

A student who you’d never seen before walked in, her eyes landing on the both of you.

“Oh my god.” She covered her face. “Sorry, I booked the room. Sorry, I thought you had already left.”

“Could you give us a second?” You asked embarrassed.

The lady quickly slammed the door behind her.

“We should go.” You rubbed the back of your head.

“Yeah, we should.” Johnny agreed.

“Thanks for helping today.”

“Thank you for...” Johnny’s voice trailed off.

“You’re welcome,” You laughed tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You drove him absolutely insane.

How was he suppose to stay away from you now?

MONI’S NOTE: Mafia Johnny’s second installment. I hope you all enjoy it. If you do, please consider reading the other member's parts. They are all a part of the same universe, and you may even notice some cross-over between them.

TAGLIST: If you’d like to be tagged in this fic please send me a message.

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soranihimawari · 4 years ago

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No Risk, No Reward

taglist: @kaidasen

Side notes: part 4 is here! woot woot! bokuto and muda are my quaratine moods, lol. i’m almost done completing the story and don’t worry about akaashi. he’ll be back before you know it!

next >>

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ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟜

Bokuto stuck his tongue out like an impatient child, yet he did answer the question correctly in a matter of fact tone. When I told him he mixed up the graphs on his latest quiz, his hair flopped downward just like it did when we saw him lose his first volleyball game in junior high.

Finally, after explaining and drawing a few examples of each equation, I felt the fatigue from today’s events catch up to my body.

“Alright, let’s head back to my apartment so I can finish going over some sample graph equations for parabolas and hyperboles, yeah?” I placed my bag on my shoulder signaling him to do the same.

Bokuto nodded when he let go of my hand to stifle a yawn; he took my thermos for me when I stood up and began to walk outside the cafe. He followed my lead in exiting the cafe. Once we were a few steps away from the mini-cafe, the soft glow of the city lamps outside the neighborhood created a silhouette outlining the chairs on the outdoor partition (patio deck).

“Hey, hey hey,” Bokuto said in his raucous tone. “Don’t think you’re gonna walk way ahead of me so I don’t get to hold your hand, Muda-chan!”

I shushed him by turning around and placing a closed fist against his chest. It landed with a soft thud and swish against his club jacket. He raised up both of his arms like the actors do in police dramas.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I can’t focus when you’re being both fiercely adorable and incredibly gorgeous right now.”

I dropped my arm and placed it on my side before Bokuto’s blush tinted his ears. Date someone who makes you feel like you’re missing all the arrows in a round of Dance Dance Revolution (home edition), was something I heard Bokuto say to Akaashi in our first year at Fukurodani. I chose to forgive his comments because he was trying to make up for the fact that he didn’t know my ranking was just as high in the local prefectural archery tournaments as his is in our city for volleyball.

Currently, Bokuto placed both hands in his track suit pockets and we headed toward my apartment building. As fate would have it, we arrived back at a decent hour. My mom was still awake organizing the mail and making a short grocery list to take with her to work.

“You’re home early. It’s nearly nine o’clock in the evening. Thank you for walking with her Bo-kun. If you want to stay over tonight, you can like you normally do when you get lost jogging around this part of the city. You’re both free from club practice since it’s the weekend.”

“Mom, please,” I groaned. I rolled my eyes while Bokuto was ushered into the kitchen to taste test a few macarons from our neighbor across the hall. When she excused herself for the night, she was more teasing in saying “studying first means you flirt later,” glances at Bokuto who seemed to have gained a rapport with her. He sat down at the kitchen counter while I told him to wait a moment while I rummaged around the bedding closet to procure a blanket and pillow set.

“Here,” I said, handing him the pillow. He hung on to it the same way I would a teddy bear, but he put it on the edge of the couch in the living room. The entertainment center was on my mother’s extra chores list after helping in baking tomorrow’s dessert for the week. I placed the blanket on the couch behind us. I noticed he was standing up with a small smile. It was one of his fans’ favorites.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. My mom knew it was going to be too late for you to go home anyways, so she made some space for you.”

Now it was my turn to yawn first. I was so exhausted from dealing with the workload of my classes, plus with the student council’s news, I was just over school as a whole tonight. The next thing I knew, I had begun leaning too far forward and Bokuto caught me in a loose embrace in time to change his center of gravity in case we would fall in the living room. I liked the way he repositioned himself and pressed me into his chest. My arms were squished to my sides and I had to wiggle myself out of my friend’s embrace. I saw him purse his lips together like a child when he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You don’t like being hugged by me?” he whined. I held my hand up for him when I took a step back toward my kitchen table where I took out my notebook and calculus textbook.

“I’m not used to you being this affectionate around me,” my tone in my voice became light with laugher bubbling up in my throat.

“Usually Akaashi or Kaori-san are the ones who cheer me up since you’re always either asleep or playing video games Kotaro, that’s all.”

“Ah, OK. I thought you didn’t like my hugs. Yours usually cheer me up when I mess up at practice!” he replied. He let out a sigh of relief shortly thereafter and joined me in placing his trigonometry textbook and notebook on the table. At the very least, I was relieved we were free from both of our club activities and classes tomorrow; he and I both became hyper aware of our closeness for the first time. I didn’t always hang out with Bokuto alone since Akaashi and other members of the team would include me in shopping trips after away matches. There was a whole bookshelf in my room dedicated to little knick knacks the managers bought me or cool birds of prey stationary scattered about my manga collection.

“I’m gonna go to bed. We’ve both had a long day, so don’t stay up too late either,” my tone was assertive, yet I knew he would still wake up around six in the morning to go for a run around the neighborhood.

“By the way,” I said when I was in the hallway leading to my room to the left of the kitchen. I flicked the lightswitch to turn on the light. “If you happen to go for a run tomorrow morning and get lost, call me and I’ll meet you at the cafe from earlier.”

“I won’t get lost! I might get distracted by the sweets,” Bokuto explained. His voice naturally cracked when he whined the more he annoyed he became. Of course there were times in our first year when Akaashi was asked to find him because Bokuto took a wrong turn on more than one occasion.

“You would wind up at the ice cream shop near my dad’s place,” I reminded him. Although I live with my mother, my parents were separated for months at a time since my father was a city architect for our prefecture. Typically on the nights before the away games Bokoto and Akaashi would play, my dad would come pick me up in the company car and we’d make a whole father-daughter weekend out of it. My mom and I spoke to him often, but to be fair, my text conversations with my dad were sometimes the funniest things. He’d send me memes about his job one of his coworkers shared, the really funny ones I shared with Akaashi since I think Bokuto wouldn’t get the joke (it happened more than twice, so I just keep those memories with me).

“It was raining so hard, I couldn’t see!”

“I had to come find you because Akaashi was worried you’d miss your last train home. I think it was the second time you stayed over because the storm got worse. My mom had to baby you because you were so embarrassed. Good night Ko.”

#no risk no reward #haikyu!! fiction #fukurodani vbc and archery club #oc & ot3s #a gal & 2 best buds #let's write a short story because i'm a hoot

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queertazsecretsanta · 6 years ago

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Bird Feed

A gift for @call-me-page, created by @aphaceland!

Happy Candlenights!

Title: Bird Feed

“Lup, that better not be the fresh bread you’re feeding them.”

“They deserve the best, Taako.”

Ever since the two of them opened up the Bready or Not Bakery, people had been flocking to the twins to get their fill of the kickass pastries they made. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones flocking. At first it was a group of pigeons that swarmed a warm bun that someone dropped on the sidewalk outside. Then word traveled to the sparrows and seagulls after some poor soul dropped their cupcake frosting-side down, sending sprinkles scattering across the curb. The most recent freeloaders had been a bunch or ravens or crows or whatever cawing up a storm right in front of the shop. At this point Taako had had enough and Lup wasn’t helping at all.

“That’s probably not even good for them.” Taako said, crossing his arms and leaning on the door frame.

“As long as it’s not all they’re eating it’s fine. Just a little snacky snack for some good birdy boys,” she said in a sing-song voice. Great, his sister was baby talking to a bunch of dirty street birds.

“Alright, suit yourself. Just know that ya boy, that’s me, hi, is gonna take your tips if you don’t get your butt inside and help me make the rest of the muffins before the store opens.”

At that, Lup gets up, dusts herself off, and runs back inside, glancing back only once to see the gathering of various birds enjoying the crumbs she left behind. Only after the birds finished their small snack did a raven, much larger than the other ones present, land right in the middle of the frenzy. The other birds flew off, leaving the raven looking for what was left. The large raven flew over to the side of the shop, right beside the display case that Taako was setting up for the day. The raven perched itself on the windowsill and pecked at the glass.

Taako only spared a single cursory glance the raven’s way before he went back to setting up. It was enough that he had to get out of bed early to make the pastries, but he had to arrange the display just right so that it was all appealing as fuck. The taste was already amazing, natch, but you need to make sure the people actually bothered to buy it first. He was positioning a cheesecake slice so that strawberry was just perfect under the lighting when the raven pecked at the glass again.

“What?” he asked, nearly dropping the cake in the process.

The raven pointed its beak insistently at the display. Taako couldn’t tell what exactly it was pointing at, but that hardly mattered anyway.

“Sorry, my man. You missed the feeding frenzy like a minute ago,” he shrugged, not sorry in the slightest. The raven only shook its head and ruffled its feathers, pointing again at the counter. Taako looked over at where the beak was pointing and saw the bowl of elderflower macarons.

“Nope. This is a Taako o-ri-gi-nal. Paying customers only.”

He was talking to a bird. A smart bird, but a bird nonetheless. He made a shooing motion with his hand and it seemed to have finally gotten the message. It flew off to leave Taako in relative peace before the morning rush started.

The raven, however, was not deterred. He waited patiently, with puffed up feathers, outside of the door, not quite feeling the cold breeze of the brisk autumn day. He had closed his eyes and nearly drifted off when he heard the telltale ‘ding!’ of the bell over the door being rung. Someone was going inside. Seizing the opportunity, the raven hopped up and walked in before the door slammed shut. Too short to be within line of sight, he walked over to the back room, making sure his talons didn’t clack too loudly against the tile.

Inside, he saw the elf from before. He looked engrossed in his baking. He was kneading dough for some confection when a kitchen timer went off. The raven clambered underneath a table and tried to hide in the shadows. Taako didn’t seem to notice him, though, and went over to the oven to pull out a tray of cinnamon rolls. The smell of fresh cinnamon wafted through the room, spurring the raven into action.

The raven flew out from under the table directly at Taako. He flared out his wings and yelled, mimicking the elf’s voice. “TAAKO O-RI-GI-NAL!”

Taako jumped with a yelp and fumbled the tray. A few cinnamon rolls fell before he could right it, though the screaming fucking bird in his kitchen was currently taking priority. The raven swooped down and grabbed a roll before it hit the ground and attempted to fly away. However, this gave Taako an opportunity to attack. He put the tray down and grabbed the bird’s leg. It flapped uselessly in his hand, clutching its stolen prize for dear life.

“What the fuck!” he yelled.

A few seconds later, Lup burst in with her wand at the ready. The confused and somewhat frightened expressions of the customers were visible for the few seconds the door was open. Lup looked around the room, seemingly searching for another person. Her worried expression turned deadpan when she saw her brother holding a bird that was awkwardly trying to free its leg.

“Goddamn it Taako, it sounded like you were being murdered in here.”

“Worse!” He pointed the raven at her. “This is what happens when you feed the birds, Lup.”

The raven had certainly found itself in a sticky situation. He could already feel the effects of the polymorph spell wearing off. He threw his head back, trying to eat the cinnamon roll before he turned back. Unfortunately he couldn’t even have that. Taako grabbed the part of the roll that was still hanging out of his beak and threw it out.

“Just toss it out the back door. And wash your hands, you don’t know where it’s been.” Lup said.

“Oh yeah, says the one who was feeding them the good bread in the first place. What happened to your good birdy boys, huh?” he teased, but walked to the backdoor anyway.

At that point, the raven was relieved. He may not have gotten the whole thing, but just tasting it would suffice. More importantly, he needed to get somewhere private or else the spell would end right in the middle of-

It sucked that it was an instantaneous transformation. Suddenly, instead of Taako holding a mischievous raven with half a cinnamon roll in his mouth, he was holding a grown man with half a cinnamon roll in his mouth. By the leg. The sudden shift in weight caused them both to fall over.

Taako was taken entirely by surprise. And, nope! He did not like that shit one bit. He pushed the man roughly off of him. “What the fuck is your- oh shit you’re actually kinda hot.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you hurt? I didn’t- I didn’t think it was going to go like that,” the man said.

“What did you expect to happen?” Lup said, now thoroughly confused.

Taako took the time to study the man as he and Lup argued. Well, it was more Lup arguing and him apologizing. He had shoulder-length dreads and a tastefully short beard. He was fully gothed out, with a black suit, skull patterned tie, and raven skull earrings. Taako also noticed the barest hint of fangs as he spoke. Fuckin’ nice.

“So, what’s your story? Any reason you, uh, busted into my shop, bird boy?” Taako said, almost certainly interrupting his and Lup’s conversation.

The man regarded Taako for a moment and Taako hoped he was checking him out. He fixed his tousled hair and rolled over onto his side so he could have a good look. Lup rolled her eyes.

“Um, my name is Kravitz and I’m not usually a bird. It’s just… the food here is so good and I don’t have any money-”

“You don’t have any money?” the twins asked in disbelief, gesturing at his immaculate suit.

“What, your sugar daddy’s holding out on you?” Taako asked with a giggle in his voice.

Kravitz frowned. “I don’t- I’m not- I don’t have one of those, so no. My job doesn’t really have a salary?”

Mild disbelief turned into full-fledged suspicion. What the hell was this guy talking about? “What do you even work as?” Lup asked.

Kravitz took note of the fact that she still hadn’t lowered her wand, so he had to choose his words carefully. He couldn’t exactly tell these people he was a reaper for the Raven Queen. If word got out that the literal Grim Reaper uses the powers that his Queen gifted him to get food from a local bakery, his reputation would take a massive hit. Especially since he technically doesn’t need to eat in the first place. Gods, he wanted this moment to be over.

“I work… as a… mortician.” Kravitz cringed at his own answer.

Taako rested his chin in his hand and cocked his head to the side. “Pretty sure they get paid.”

“They get paid more than us, I know that much.”

Kravitz stood. “Look, I’m sorry for the trouble and the mess. I really don’t have any money. I can find something to give you, though.”

He reached into his pockets and felt the jingling of trinkets he had collected on the job, as well as the occasional reward from the Raven Queen. He would hate to give those up, so he only pulled out a pair of earrings and a necklace he found on a previous job. They weren’t his style anyway. The earrings were both gold with sparkling rubies dangling from a chain. The necklace was probably part of that set. It was also gold, but it had several chains of dazzling rubies adorning the front. He preferred to wear cool colors, and this looks good enough to cover the losses.

“Um, is this good?”

Both twins practically ran into him to get a good look. Lup snatched up the earrings while Taako inspected the necklace. Their eyes widened as they appraised the jewelry and gave each other a look. Strings of anxiety knotted up in Kravitz’ chest. He hoped it was enough. He clutched the silver pocket watch his Queen gave him after his last job. There’s no way he’d give this one up.

“Yeah, that just about covers it, my man.” Taako said, putting the necklace on. It didn’t fit with the whole ‘flour-covered apron’ look he had going on, but Taako made it work. Taako always made it work.

Kravitz sighed in relief. “Well, if that’s it, I should probably get going.”

“Hold on a second, there’s still an issue we gotta deal with. Lup, could you uh, check out the customers out front, see how they’re doing?”

Lup looked at him, then Kravitz, then back at him. She sighed and put her wand back in her pocket. “Only because you helped me with Barry.”

Kravitz felt even more nervous with only one twin in the room. Taako eyed him up and down and Kravitz felt the need to stand up straighter under his scrutiny.

“So I take it you’re gonna be back tomorrow, yeah? You thinkin’ of going as a bird again or what?”

Kravitz cleared his throat. “No. I’d like to avoid… all of this from happening again. Thanks for taking my offer, and sorry again for… everything.”

Well damn. This guy was way too sweet. Taako was beginning to feel bad for taking advantage of the guy. What he gave them was way more than enough to cover the three cinnamon rolls he dropped. Lup would probably feed them to the birds anyway. Taako sighed dramatically, prompting Kravitz to cock his head to one side as if he’s trying to figure out if he said something wrong. Damn, he was cute. Taako strode over to the tray of cinnamon rolls and tossed Kravitz one.

“Here, since you like those so much. Look, I’ll be real with you. Since you have like no understanding of money whatsoever, I’ll be nice and let you know that this,” he gestures to the necklace, “is way more expensive than a few cinnamon rolls. Now, I’m deffo keeping it, but I figured since you’re such a hungee boy I’d make you something even better.”

Kravitz’ eyes widened and a barely subdued smile crept onto his face. “Like a chocolate cake?”

At that, Taako sported his own lopsided grin. “Yeah, fuck it. I was gonna go for dinner, too. Make a night of it y’know.”

“Taako, I-” he paused to consider his next words. “Thank you. You really don’t have to do this you know.”

“I know, there is no end to my generosity, is there?” Taako turned and searched the top shelf, pulling out a pen and clicking it a few times before walking over to Kravitz. “You got a phone, homie?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before he started scrawling his number on Kravitz’ palm. “No, but I’ll send a raven.”

Taako paused in his writing and looked up to give him another look of utter confusion and disbelief. He was met with a shit-eating grin. Taako rolled his eyes and continued writing. “You ass.”

Kravitz laughed at his own joke like a dork, and also maybe a little bit at how the pen tickled his hand. “I’ll be sure to bring you something pretty.”

Taako definitely wasn’t opposed to that. His wardrobe needed some upgrades, but he was literally doing this because Kravitz got him something too pretty. Well, that and because he’s hot.

“Just bring your cute face and you’re all set, then. Anyway, text me later, I’ll give you the details, cool?”

“Yeah,” Kravitz said, looking at the number written messily on his hand. “Cool.”

“Alright, it’s a date. Now get out of my kitchen.” Taako said, pushing him out the back door.

Even as he was being shoved out, Kravitz felt a smile, wide and genuine, on his face. That went better than he could’ve ever expected. The back alley he found himself in was a perfectly private place to portal himself back into the Astral Plane. He went to his quarters before his Queen could tease him about the dopey smile that had no plan on leaving his face any time soon. He sat at his desk and added Taako’s contact to his phone. He held the phone to his chest as he swiveled from side to side in his office chair. Then he stopped and slammed his hands on the desk.

“Wait, did he say date?”

#call-me-page #aphaceland #queercandlenights #taz #the adventure zone #taakitz #fic #submission

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wonderfreakingwoman · 6 years ago

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So this is my @wondertrevnet secret Santa gift for @let-zygons-be-bygones. I hope you had an amazing Christmas/holiday, and wishing you a very happy and healthy 2019!

18:03. The last work email has been sent and the holidays can officially begin.

She packs away her laptop, puts her coat on, and turns the lights off in her office for the last time this year. The keys rattle against each other as she locks up, and the undisturbed sound of her heels hitting the marble floor as she makes her way through the tall hallway is an indication that she is one of the last to leave the museum.

The warm glow from the Louvre welcomes her as she steps out into the cold Parisian air. Traffic is normal for the city, but it’s quiet out. The courtyard is without crowds of tourists, with the exception of the occasional passer-by, and it’s not until she rounds the corner onto a main street that she begins to pass the last-minute shoppers and those heading home for the night.

Before she joins the rush-hour crowd, she makes her way to one of her favourite patisseries. Each couple she spots makes her walk that little bit faster, reminding her of what waits for her at home.

She picks up a box of macarons and a raspberry tartelette from the owner’s daughter who always makes sure to leave one aside for her every Friday. She asks how the girl’s mother and sister are doing, and how her course is going, quickly learning about a class Christmas party that’s happening in one of the local bars tonight to celebrate the end of her exams.

“And is the Paul I hear so much about going to be there?”

“Incroyable,” she hears the girl swear under her breath as a small blush covers her cheeks, “my mother and her loose lips.” They both laugh.

“She means well.”

“I know. She keeps asking me when she’ll get to meet him, as if we’re together or something,” she tells her as she rings her up on the till. “Although, he’s not the only man she keeps asking about.”

“Oh?”

“She’s starting to miss that charming Captain of yours. Told me to stop selling you his favourite dessert so that he’d have to come in himself to get it.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.” She can’t help but laugh at the idea.

They say goodnight and it’s not long before she’s stepping into the elevator to the apartment with the bag of delicious pastries in hand.

As she clears the entrance to her- their- apartment, she has to remind herself, her eyes find him in the kitchen, his back to her as he wipes his fingers on the towel hanging over his shoulder. He mustn’t have heard her come in over the music playing through the speakers, and it makes her smile at the image of him humming along as he prepared dinner for them, taking a sip of red while he worked.

“Smells delicious in here.” She says as she walks to the open kitchen, setting the desserts from the bakery on the counter and greets him with a kiss.

“Let’s hope it tastes just as good.”

Ever since their trip to Italy towards the end of summer he’s been trying to recreate their favourite meals, and by the looks of it it’s one of his tonight, the fettuccine al pomodoro. The only reason she knows that’s it is because he near damn fell in love with it when they did a cooking class in Bologna and ordered it two nights in a row afterwards.

He grabs her a wine glass from the cabinet and pours her one to join him, handing it to her.

“Thank you.” She lifts the glass to her lips and takes a sip.

“May I?” she asks, grabbing a hold of the spoon with her free hand to taste the tomato sauce simmering in the pot. She must admit that she took quite the liking to pasta herself after travelling the country, and at this stage he’s done an impressive job at making the recipes from scratch.

She turns around to ask him if any of the league members had gotten back to him about getting together over the holidays when she finds him holding the tart and a bite taken out of it.

“Mmmm,” he moans around a mouthful of raspberry and filling.

“How you can eat that before dinner, I’ll never understand.”

“There’s fruit on it. Think of it as an appetiser.” He takes another giant bite, practically devouring the tart.

She sets her wine glass down on the kitchen counter next to her, smiling at the small mess left on his face and steps closer to him. “That’s not how it works.”

He wraps an arm around her waist as she does, “People have fruit salads sometimes before dinner. Who’s to say these things aren’t just a fancier, more delicious version of that.” He says as she gently wipes away the bit of powdered sugar on his nose and cheek with her thumb.

“Nice try.” She kisses the corner of his mouth, getting a taste of the sweet cream filling and a hint of raspberry. He wasn’t wrong about it tasting delicious.

He quickly chases her lips before she pulls away, kissing her twice before he straightens, a small smile on his face as his eyes meet hers. “I don’t think I’d forgive myself if I ate two desserts after dinner, so by spreading it out it doesn’t feel so bad.”

“Bold of you to assume I was going to share.”

“I’m sure I could convince you somehow.” He wiggles his hips against hers playfully when he sees her begin to smile at him.

He was right in saying that she couldn’t say no to him. After dinner they moved over to the couch, setting their glasses on the small table in front of them and the box of macarons between them. They half-paid attention to whatever was on tv as they nibbled on the pastries, talking about making plans to return to the States to celebrate Arthur’s birthday at the end of January, and an upcoming fundraising ball for her work in Paris before that, to less extravagant things like what they were going to do tomorrow.

As they’re cleaning up their small mess, readying to call it a night, the empty macaron box reminds her to tell Steve what the baker’s daughter had said to her earlier on her way home.

“I found out I have some competition this evening.” She lifts her brow as her eyes light up with humour, the corners of her mouth beginning to turn up when she meets his gaze.

“Oh really? What for?”

“Mrs Barteau’s daughter, Pauline, told me she’s not allowed to sell me anymore tarts until they see you in the flesh. Seems her mother misses a certain charming American.” She tells him as she walks over to the bin, the sound of his laughter loud enough to be heard across the room.

“Maybe I need to start going someplace else,” her head tilts to the side, smiling at him as she turns back and leans against the edge of the counter to wait for him.

“Maybe.”

She watches his free hand scratch at the stubble along his jawline as he walks over, while the other holds the two empty glasses. She likes the scruff on him, missed it on him. It suits him well. He’s been talking about growing it out, so it’ll be interesting to see what that feels like when he’s-.

“Call me crazy but I don’t think Amandine’s sudden interest in art restoration is to impress me.”

He’s caught Pauline’s older sister throwing in an extra few macarons for Diana whenever they’ve stopped by the shop, or the quick up and down glances when she thinks no one’s watching. He’s pretty confident Diana knows this, but he can’t be sure since she doesn’t act any different towards her than that of her sister.

“I’ve no idea what you’re referring to.” She tries to act indifferent, but her eyes give her away. He doesn’t need to borrow the lasso of Hestia to know she’s lying. She knows exactly what he means, and that makes him smile even more.

Neither say anything more about the matter, but left feeling awake from the light-heartedness of their conversation. She watches him quickly rinse the glasses in the sink across from her, how the muscles in his back move through the thin shirt material as he works.

It amazes her how often her mind wanders to him. She thinks about him when she’s at work, particularly when those meetings go on far longer than they should. She thinks about him at night when she can’t get to sleep, when the bed feels too big because he’s had to go away for work and the smell of him surrounds her when she wears one of his shirts. But it’s not just when they’re separated. He could be doing the most mundane thing in the world and she’d find herself thinking about all the different ways she loves this man.

Two days ago, they were brushing their teeth, his hair was wild from sleep, making him look almost boyish in his navy blue plaid pyjama pants and white t-shirt. It wasn’t hard to imagine what Steve was like a child once upon a time.

Before that she found him asleep on the couch with a book in his lap, his head resting on the top of the couch cushion. He had tried waiting up for her that night when the world called for Wonder Woman’s help, and when she returned she found the tv on one of the news stations, muted.

“Let’s go to bed, Love.” She whispered as she leaned over him from behind the couch, pushing his hair back from his face as he woke.

Before she could straighten, he pulled her down to him so he could press his lips against hers quickly, “Glad you’re home.”

“Me too.”

She pushes herself away from the kitchen counter, suddenly wanting to be close to him.

“Thank you for dinner, by the way. You’re too good to me.”

When he turns, she raises her hand to his cheek, the facial hair tickling her skin as she follows the strong line of his jaw with her fingers, just as he had moments ago. She feels his hand on her waist, his thumb playing with the bit of exposed skin on the same side her arm lifted.

“It’s my pleasure.” He says as he tucks a strand of hair that had escaped her loose bun behind her ear.

“Tomorrow, I want to cook for you. I’m also thinking we sleep-in in the morning.” It’s been a while since they’ve spent the day in bed, and she knows it’s one of his favourite things to do. He tries his best to convince her to stay a little longer every morning before work, but she rarely gives in, and because she wakes so early it doesn’t take much negotiating before he’s hugging her pillow to his chest and falling back asleep.

“I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

“I don’t doubt you will.”

A moment passes, and he glances at her lips. Before she knows what’s happening she can feel his hands slide down behind her legs through her leather pants and is she’s being lifted.

“Come on, let’s get to bed.” He tells her as he heads in the direction of their bedroom, and she can feel his breath on her neck from the sudden closeness. His stubble tickles her skin when he places a trail of kisses along the side of her neck, and it instantly reminds her of the other night.

He trailed his mouth down her chest, kissing every inch of skin as his hands roamed her body. He soon continued the same attention along her navel, over her hip, until his mouth is closing around her, working her up slowly and deliberately until she’s clutching the sheets and her body is arching off the mattress. The insides of her thighs were left feeling slightly sensitive the following morning but it was so damn worth it.

Desire licks her blood, warmth instantly spreading throughout her body at the memory. She trails a hand up through the ends of his hair at the base of his neck, unable to resist touching him more, and shifts against him to hug his waist with her legs for better leverage.

“Steve,” she says, her voice sounding low and breathless when his teeth graze over her pulse point and sucks on her skin.

She turns her face in search of his mouth and he kisses her. Her lips part against his and Steve wastes no time in deepening the kiss.

He pushes her back against the wall in the hallway that leads to their room, pausing momentarily to adjust his grip as he sets her down near the edge of the wooden table, and she can’t help but gasp against his mouth. She feels his hips push into her, and she digs her fingers into his shoulders.

The table could work, but maybe for another time, she thinks. Right now she wants to feel every inch of him against her.

“Bed,” she breathes against his mouth, and he immediately bends slightly to slide his hands back down her thighs and picks her up, wrapping her long legs around his waist once again.

Once they’re in their room, he lays her gently on the mattress and continues to kiss her. His hands slide underneath her jumper, caressing the soft skin until he makes his way around her sides, and up her back where he unclasps her bra. While he does that, she begins to work on his belt’s buckle and pulls it from around his waist where it eventually ends up on the floor.

He wants to take his time with her, to love her. For the next two weeks they will not be disturbed, they have no real obligations for the next few days, and the thought of having her all to himself reminds him to slow down.

Their kisses become less hungry and more tender, their touches turn softer and slower. Time is on their side, and unlike the first night they shared in Veld, they have plenty of it.

For one night, they could only enjoy the snow and each other before the war reared its ugly head at them and destroyed everything in its path. Now, a century later, they have everything to look forward to and can hide from the world as they get lost in each other.

#wondertrevsecretsanta #wondertrev #fanfiction #wtss18

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thisisluxurytravel · 6 years ago

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Champagne Tasting: The 5 Best Destinations

Champagne is a region less than 2 hours from Paris which makes for fantastic week-ends. Champagne tasting totally fits my definition of luxury travel. The region is beautifull to wander around and most champagne house are open to the public and offer champagne tasting. Fun!

1. Epernay

Of course, Reims is the main city of the Champagne Area, but it is possible to discover the heart of this region. Epernay, with its splendid facades of villas that enclose some of the most famous brands.Under the city hundred kilometres of wineries (throughout the region there are 600 kilometres of tunnels that host the precious bottles) and in the nearby abbey of Hautviller, the Benedictine monk Dom Pierre Pérignon gave life to the adventure. At the end of the seventeenth century he started the cultivation of pinot noir, pinot meunier and chardonnay grapes and invented the technique of their balanced assembly.Choosing Epernay as a starting point for wine tasting is the best decision, because in its surroundings there are several routes that you can follow.

2. Reims

Reims, with its one hundred and twenty thousand inhabitants, is the most important city in the region. Here the names of the great maisons coexist. This the perfect place where to buy your bottles. I want to mention the two wine shops on the square of the Cathedral of Reims, one on the left corner, Le Parvis, and one on the right, Cave des Sacres. The first is very firm on the big fashion maisons, the second one has a nice selection of small producers. Interesting prices, but it depends on the champagne. Nevertheless, Reims is not just champagne. Check out the "biscuit de Reims" by Fossier (rue Jacques Maritain), then the very typical (they were created in 1691) Bisquit Roses, but also the famous Macarons, as well as Nonnettes, Pain d'Épices and other specialities.

3. Aÿ

Few kilometres from Epernay, it is possible to reach the village of Ay, where you can knock on the door of the Deutz house, founded here by Wiliam Deutz and Pierre Geldermann in 1838 and today among the maisons of excellence. To taste the wines and visit the maison, it is absolutely worth to start with an excellent taste.

There are also many cooperative in the Champagne area and the most ancient is localized in Ay: the Collet-Cogevi to which hundreds of farmers give their grapes for the production of a dozen labels. The visit is interesting because this reality shows the many variations that the Champagne can have.

4. Baslieux-sous-Châtillon

To discover the land of pinot meunier, you should go to Baslieux-sous-Châtillon into the Marne Valley.

Eric Taillet, in the cellar that bears his name, can tell you all about this vine that, in few, vinify in purity.

Very traditional agriculture without any mechanical work and 35 thousand bottles produced: since the end of the 90s has reached great splendour and its wines are worth the stop in a less touristy and wilder area of the Champagne.

5. Champagne SELOSSE at les Avises

When we talk about champagne, we cannot miss the champagne SELOSSE, probably one of the best and most exclusive champagne in the world.The champagne sélosse is not mass manufactured but it is raised and produced in the same way as the Bourgogne gets its great wines.

With 7.5 hectares of vines, Jacques Sélosse produces less than 60 000 bottles a year. Which when we compare it to the amount of champagne produced each year is a drop of water. This makes this champagne almost impossible to find.There is however a possibility to try this champagne and we are sharing it with you here:

Jacques Sélosse and his wife are also hoteliers .... Their hotel, called the Avises is a really charming hotel in the middle of the vineyards A gourmet restaurant is attached to the hotel for hotel guests and the wine accompanying the meal is of course champagne ... which could prove your only chance to taste this exclusive champagne.

TIPS

Great maisons such as Moët & Chandon, Veuve Clicquot, Pommery, Mumm, Piper-Heidsieck, but also Mercier (champagne reserved for the French market), Taittinger and Perrier-Jouët and others can be visited without an appointment. The organise the visits well, with lots of language guides and, depending on the formula chosen, also a tasting at the end. Dom Pérignon and other mythical names like Louis Roederer, Krug, Bollingernot provide visits. By the way, remember that in France after 17:00 no one gives you any more attention.

Completely different speech for the little ones. These producers also live on tourism, so they are almost always open and ready to receive you, in many cases even on Saturdays, since in most cases they live adjacent to the winery. Of course, I recommend contacting them in advance - now they all have the website.

#champagne #adventures #champagne tasting

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lumiereswig · 7 years ago

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Forgotten

What if the Enchantress came one day late? What if the staff weren’t nearby when the curse was cast? What if Adam found himself alone when turned into a Beast? “The prince [was] forgotten by the world, for the enchantress had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved….” Inspired by this savagely sad post of @batbobsession‘s. (Repost, and slightly rewritten from last time.)

Part I: Not A Care in the World

The ball was flawless. In the garden, the roses continued to reach to the sky, and the storm brushed away; the lights shut off in the palace, one by one, and the music faded to silence. The prince went to bed with one or two or three pretty women he wouldn’t care for by the next day. Up in his room, Lumiere popped open a bottle of champagne.

Plumette, lighting the candles by the bed, grinned at him over the flames. He laughed and raised his glass.

“Another sublime night, ça va, mon amour?” The door creaks and in come Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, Chapeau, the visiting musicians. The word has quickly spread that Lumiere and Plumette are serving leftover croquembouche in their room; the staff find places to sit, glasses to drink from, hands to join and caress. Mrs. Potts, in a rocking chair, smiles and holds a sleeping Chip.

“How many parties has it been now?”

Cogsworth is counting on his fingers. “Thirty years’ worth at least…..no, forty. Lord, I can’t keep track of the time.”

“He’s turning just like his father—the prince’s father was like this, too,” Mrs. Potts explains to the musicians, who know nothing about the palace or its politics. They nod and move closer to each other on the bed. “We don’t know what he’d do without us. He’ll be fine, though; we try not to intervene. D’you only have wine up here, Lumiere? I could use a cup of tea.”

“If you cannot take a little sparkling wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” laughs Lumiere, and she swipes at his arms and makes him laugh. He eases into a seat between Cogsworth and Plumette and throws his arms around them.

“Think how long it has been!” he says. “Forty years for you, Cogsworth, but most of my life for mine. Why, I came here as a teenager—imagine me, only a little older than Chip! Fresh out of Paris and still reeking of the apothecary shop.” He grimaces, thinking of his father’s dusty store in a side-street of the city. He had fled, then, looking for the glamor his missed; in his room in Paris he had practiced dance steps, reveled in fashion, adopted the graceful movements of the court as rebellion against the bourgeois facts of an ordinary existence. He had come to this palace, and he had lit into life; dancing and feasting and glowing like gold made Lumiere’s heart sing.

“We met in this palace, do you remember, mon trésor?” Plumette is close in his arms; her scent—fresh and light, like candy and macarons—right beside him. “I was only fourteen, and I loved you right away.”

“I loved you before I met you,” murmurs Lumiere. “I could never forget.”

“Well, that’s quite enough of that,” says Cogsworth, perhaps a bit too loudly. The two lovers had forgotten how close he was to their embrace. “To bed, to bed! Tomorrow we have another morning—and so many mornings after that, to care for the prince and these grounds. We can save affection for another day.”

Lumiere sighs loudly, but the staff agree to part for the night. They hug and kiss and wave goodnight—Cogsworth studiously looking the other way as Plumette makes no indication of moving back to her own room—and the lights go out. The humans of the castle sleep.

Part II: Selfish and Unkind

The next day is their day off. It is their one day off in the year. Adam would frequently wish to deny them of it; it is too much for him to imagine coping alone for one day, though he never puts it in such vulnerable terms. Instead, he just has a foul temper about it.

“And you’ll be back tonight, seven sharp.”

“Oui, maître.”

“And the kitchens have been stocked? Or have you forgotten that, too, in your delight to run away?”

“Non, maître.”

“You know, this is an incredible liberty. Most princes wouldn’t let their staff go prancing off to—I don’t know, what do you do in the village, drink beer and talk about swine? Pfft. I would just stay, if I were you.”

“….non, maître.”

“Fine. Get out.”

They are gone all too quickly. Adam stands in the lonely, empty halls. If he stands in the tower, he can see them weaving their way through the forest and down to the village, to spend their day in the company of each other, in Lumiere and Plumette’s case, or with loved ones, in the case of Mrs. Potts. No matter what, all the servants have each other. And Adam has nobody.

He adjusts his wig, tosses a curl. He doesn’t care. They’re all uncaring fools. He debates his options for the day: spending it in the library sounds the best, but he could also search around the palace, try to find some mistake in its keeping to yell at them about when they got back….after all, at least when he yelled they looked at him.

Searching for the mistake it was, then. Adam trotted off, his heels slick against the polished floors, the sun shining bright.

Part III: All Those Precious Days

In the village, Lumiere kisses Plumette, his lips as warm on hers as the sun is right behind their heads. She is feather-light beside him; watching her dance to a tune of her own making, Lumiere is hot with twenty years of memories. Remember her smile when he set the table for the first time, and made the knives and forks flip like acrobats? Remember when he helped her with her hair, after it rained, and she was his best friend and so fair beside him, while he untied the knots and tried to coax out a curl? His life is beautiful with Plumette—and Plumette, smiling back at him, is more beautiful than his life.

Chip runs ahead of Mrs. Potts, calling for his papa. Jean Potts, emerging from his home, waves joyously at the staff now flooding the village. Really, Villeneuve is not big enough to support so huge a gathering—but it is only one day, after all, as the staff step out of the palace and spend a day in the sun. They stretch their limbs and visit the shops, and sit on the stoops and talk. Lumiere is dazzling in his yellow palace coat against the dingy brown of the steps. Plumette is the loveliest girl in the village. Cogsworth checks the clocktower’s time against his own. And at 6:45, by his watch, they prepare to go back to the palace.

In Adam’s tower, he hears the knock. Angry at having been left alone—angry at being abandoned—angry at everything, Adam slams open the door and sees an old crone.

6:55. Lumiere is running late, as usual. He was regaling Tom and Dick with a lavish description of the ball he is planning. Cogsworth groans at the delay.

The crone offers a rose. Payment for a night’s rest; there is an oncoming storm. Rain coming in.

“Fireworks! And flowers on every table! And dancers from Vienna—the glories of a courtly life, gentlemen, you must come join us—”

“Lumiere! The night grows old.”

The crone grows young.

6:59. “We were meant to be there minutes ago! The Prince is all alone in the palace, now, and it’s our fault. We must get back, or there will be hell to pay—”

The Enchantress sets her curse. The piper must be paid. There must be punishment—

7:00. The curse strikes; a fleeting darkness on the village, a lasting one on the palace. The palace, the palace…the palace…..

………..the palace?

What palace? The villagers do not remember. And the staff, caught among them, do not either. There is silence, and darkness, and sleep.

Part IV: Little Town

Belle wakes up to a jolt in the road, and the rough wool blanket on her face, and the smell of cheese and paint and horse and wind clinging to her skin. She rubs her eyes and tries to wipe away the sleep. They’re in the wagon, again, and Maurice is hunched up in the bench, encouraging Philippe to trot faster. The contents of Belle’s entire life are jammed in around her, a moving nest of drawings and gear-boxes and packets of cabbage-seed.

“That town didn’t work out, either?”

“Plague,” says Maurice, and his eyes shadow, and he watches the road more closely. Of course. How many times has Belle woken up this way, the town she thought they’d live in forever far behind, her father just in front, the wagon rattling beneath her as Maurice fled the city sickness from one town to another. Lilles, Reims, Amiens: each one tainted by plague, each one not safe enough for Maurice and his daughter. No home lasted long enough.

“And where does this road go?” Belle’s eyes adjust to the dawn—they are passing a forest, and coming through a field, now, and fields lead to country villages, and villages mean homes, at least for a while. Perhaps this one would be small enough and safe enough to hide them for a while.

“Villeneuve,” says Maurice. “I chose it by chance. I hope they have room for an inventor.”

“Two inventors,” says Belle, and Maurice smiles.

“Yes, two, always two.”

They get to the town just after market-time, and Maurice busies himself finding the local priest to inquire after empty houses. Belle, tucked in the wagon, looks out on a quiet village going through the endless routine of a Saturday market: the milliner batting a sheet out the window, the potter’s wife brushing off her stoop, the sound of an untuned violin drifting from the open tavern doors. People haggle and argue and, somewhere, something breaks.

And Belle’s eyes flicker through the crowd, a puzzle cutting across her heart.

“Why are there so many people?” Belle asks, when Maurice comes back with happy news of an empty house, recently abandoned, just at the edge of the village.

“Mm?”

“People. Why are there so many of them? I know it was just market-time, but there are enough people in these streets to account for a city—let alone this little town!”

“I expect the city is just off on winter holiday,” says Maurice, absent-mindedly, trying to work out the details of keys and locks. “So they’re all just living in this one for now. Come give me a hand with these boxes—thank you.”

Belle’s heart won’t stop wondering, even as she unpacks music-boxes and arranges her father’s paints by the window. She saw all the people in that market. And she sees them now—watching her and her father, peeking on the edges of the streets and peeping through windows. But no one comes to help. With the market done, the town is quiet, and a little gloomy in the afternoon light.

By mid day, Belle and her father are halfway done unpacking. Maurice sits on a box and wipes his forehead.

“Do you know what I forgot to pack?” he says. “Beef. And bread. And….well, anything edible, really. You wouldn’t have remembered, would you?”

“Papa, I was asleep. I couldn’t remember anything.”

“True, true.” Her father’s hands brush in front of his sad, blue eyes. “Might you go out and find some, Belle? There must be someone selling bread. And butter. And possibly jam?”

Belle is already at the door with her basket. “You rest your eyes, papa. I’ll be right back.”

Part V: Every Day Like the One Before

Now that she is out, Belle takes the chance to look around. She takes her time going through the streets. On her left, the clock tower chimes. On her right, houses line the streets like soldiers. A cluster of girls giggle across the market square. Somewhere, a tea kettle screams. Belle stops to form her opinion of her new hometown.

Villeneuve is ordinary, in the extreme. Dusty to a fault. Dull, and cross, and tired—and absolutely not the start of any great adventure, like she’s always wished for. Just an overcrowded little place stuck in some meadow-grass that everyone has forgotten about.

Nothing of note will ever happen in Villeneuve. As far as anyone can remember, nothing ever has.

And as she thinks that, a puff of smoke blows into her face and sends her thoughts flying.

“Pardon my intrusion, mademoiselle,” says a voice to her right. Belle looks, and sees nothing, and then looks down and sees a peasant sitting on the stoop of the potter’s house. He is smoking a pipe, and puffing the smoke, and his eyes are closed, and his limbs lie around him as if lifeless.

“You are Parisian,” she says. She caught it in his voice.

“Oui, mademoiselle,” he says. A tiny, delicate gesture from his long fingers; it is a surprisingly sophisticated movement for a man in a yellow peasant’s vest, with candle wax creased in the dirt between his fingernails. “Or at least, once I was. Now I live in Villeneuve.”

It is an oddly empty statement, thinks Belle, and his colorless tone doesn’t help. She can’t see his face, here in the shadows, and can’t tell quite if he’s joking.

“I was an apothecary’s son,” adds the man.

“And are you still an apothecary?”

“I am nothing now,” says the man, in a flash of vehemence so sharp it is like seeing a flame in the middle of the forest. He looks up to her—his face broad, and white; and it is an empty face, and beyond the fire in his words there is nothing there at all. It is as if someone washed out all his color, and left him only with his yellow vest.

“I am Lumiere,” he says, and sadness rests inside his eyes.

Part VI: Full of Little People

He welcomes her to the stoop with the flick of a wrist and a tiny nod with the pipe, though he doesn’t seem to really care if she stays or goes. He is still curling smoke, and for one quick moment Belle wonders if it might be foolish to share a stoop with the village’s homeless philosopher. And yet…there’s a kind of warmth, there, buried beneath the village dirt and the lifeless limbs.

She sits. He offers her the pipe. She refuses. He smokes in silence.

They are silent for a long, long time.

“So what brings you to Villeneuve?” the man asks, at last, as he refills his pipe.

“My father,” she says. “We were fleeing plague. And I need to buy some bread, and maybe a little venison—we only had time to pack our books, so we don’t have anything to eat, yet.”

Beside her, Lumiere laughs. It sounds as if he hasn’t laughed for quite some time.

“I knew someone once who treasured books that way as well,” he says, and a smile drifts across his face, homeless. Something in him is sparking up at the story: dim, and faint, but laughing. “He once made me read the whole Odyssey—”

“You’ve read the Odyssey?!” Belle has never gotten the chance. It hasn’t been translated out of the Greek.

“Non, non, mademoiselle, it was read to me. Sorceresses turning people to pigs, and the lily-eaters forgetting their homes, and Penelope undoing the days until her husband returns—such nonsense.” The spark goes out abruptly, and he returns to his smoke and shadow. “I do not remember the rest of the story.”

How on earth did he get someone to read him the Odyssey, translating it fresh out of the Greek as he goes? In no apothecary’s street has Belle ever seen a sight such as that. The book is too rare to have come to Villeneuve. And yet….

“How did you come to Villeneuve?” she asks.

“I suppose I thought I’d find employment,” he says, and suddenly Belle is frightened.

Deeply, deeply frightened. Not of the man on the stoop—she has never seen anyone more harmless, to be quite honest; he is such an empty man, with such silent, lifeless limbs—but of the thing inside his eyes when he speaks of his past. It is Other—a thing not rooted in a Parisian background, or the empty face, or the subdued soul. It is a large streak of gray inside the man’s blue eyes, a gray empty and unnatural and as hollow as cold ice. Staring at his eyes, Belle finds herself clutching her arms with fear.

“Ah! Mon ami!” yells Lumiere, waving into the village, and the feeling passes. Yet his eyes remain so empty, even as he smiles at the man in the brown coat who just came out of the clock tower.

“Shh, shh, she doesn’t know I’m out,” says the man, and he reaches into his coat and pulls out a bottle of dandelion wine, already uncorked. He passes it to Lumiere in a swift gesture. It is obvious to Belle that this is a practiced ritual, the sharing of the secret wine. She makes room for the clocktower-keeper, and he sits on her other side.

“Mademoiselle, my venerable friend, Monsieur Cogsworth. You will find him delightful company, as well as an excellent source for half-bad wine.”

“Better than a source of all-bad whining, like some of us,” grumps the man. His nose is red, and his coat is plain and unadorned besides his golden pocketwatch. “You must pardon Lumiere, Miss—”

“Belle! I am Belle. You are English?”

“Mm, yes—suppose you still hear it—never gotten the grasp of the damned accent.”

“Oh là là, he acts as if the French accent is difficult,” says Lumiere, puffing smoke, and Belle laughs between the two of them. She is happy that at least there are two friendly souls in this village—grumpy ones, yes, ones with little to recommend them; a drunkard and a smoker, crouched on a village stoop—but friendly ones, at least, with something kind between them.

“And you keep the clocktower?”

“Tic toc,” says Cogsworth. He drinks the wine a bit too fast. “Used to have a career as a diplomat, don’t you know—but I suppose that...that I wanted to settle down, or some such thing.” He looks at Belle, vaguely, and a chill snakes down her spine. His eyes are gray-streaked too.

“Cogsworth,” screams someone, across the square, and he is up and moving faster than Belle would have believed. He mutters one word—“Clothilde,” as if that is explanation enough—and disappears back to his clocks.

Lumiere holds the wine bottle he left behind, weighing it carelessly with one hand, his movements listless. He has not taken one more sip before the shutters over the stoop bang open.

“Lumiere! What are you doing there?” calls a woman from the window. Beside Belle, Lumiere rolls his eyes and looks, shamefaced, up to the sound.

“Get off my stoop!” yells the woman. “D’you have wine down there, Lumiere?“

“If you cannot take a little cheap wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” calls Lumiere.

“Off with you, now—not on my stoop—begging your pardon, miss—town drunkards, the both of them. Welcome to Villeneueve,” and the woman slams the window.

“Who was that?” The woman’s face was sharp as a shard.

“Mrs. Potts, the crockery-man’s wife,” says Lumiere, and takes a large gulp of the wine. “I barely know her. Thank God.”

Part VII: In The Midst of All This Sorrow

While Lumiere drinks and smokes, Belle watches him and watches this village. There is something very strange, here—gaps in memory, gaps in the storyteller’s story. Lumiere spoke brilliantly, eloquently, about a Greek translation he could not remember—and yet his own life is unknown, an impossible one of an apothecary’s son, with no knowledge of the apothecary himself, coming to a distant village and then doing nothing for twenty years. And Cogsworth, too, a diplomat—

“Surely you do something here?” It’s rude, but she can’t help it.

“What could I do, mademoiselle? I have no skills for Villeneuve. I cannot herd sheep. I cannot shoot cows. I am useless.” His beautiful hands gesture again, pointlessly, to the swine and chickens and village dust surrounding them.

“You must have something that Villeneuve needs. Why, my father is an artist! And an inventor! If this village can have that, it can have…whatever you do.”

“I do nothing, mademoiselle,” he says, again, and his foot traces a dance step against the dirt, and then is quiet again. “Nothing on nothing, everyday, mademoiselle. Forevermore.”

“Then why do you stay here?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are following nothing across the square.

“Why do you stay, Lumiere?”

His hand on her arm is sudden and swift and shocks her. If she thought she saw a flicker before, it is nothing to the blaze that has shot up in his eyes now—almost dimming the gray, almost catching it out in a sudden sparkle.

“She is why, mademoiselle.”

He was not looking at nothing before. Turning, Belle sees what he was following: the entrance of a flock of ladies into the square, a giggling squadron of petticoats and primped hair. Three of the girls are dressed almost identically in pink, and they are pretty enough—but the fourth one, dressed all in white, covered in stray feathers from the gaggle of geese she tends, is beautiful. Even plucking feathers from her hair, and leaning against her goose-girl’s staff, she is the most beautiful woman Belle has ever seen.

“I have never dared to speak to her,” whispers Lumiere, and she is drawn back to his face. It was so empty, before, but now it is flickering fast—with hope, and love, and despair. “She would never love a hopeless idiot. But Plumette makes me so weak, I could never be strong….”

“You’ve never spoken?”

“Non! How could I dare? She is flawless.”

“Twenty years you’ve lived here, and you’ve never even spoken?!”

“C’est la vie,” says Lumiere, and the light goes out as he stares hopelessly after her. “She would never look at me. She probably loves the same one as the rest of them…”

There is a sound of hoof-beats approaching the square. “What one as the rest of them?”

Lumiere cannot sink into the steps any further. “If you want venison, mademoiselle, that is who to get it from.”

It feels like an explosion into the square. The minute the man in red rides in, there is a crow of praise from every window— “he returns!” “Ey, ey! Gaston! Bonjour!”—a sweep of giggling from the girls across the square. The iron-shod hooves slam against the cobblestones, and the quiet of Villeneuve falls apart. The conquering hero comes.

“Make a lane! Make a lane!” Somebody rides beside Gaston. There is no need to make a lane—there is nobody in the square—yet the fanfare goes on. The man in red throws a fresh-dead deer onto the cobblestones; the town applauds.

“He’s just a man. I don’t see what they’re on about,” says Belle.

Lumiere puffs his pipe. “Don’t tell the other girls you said that,” he says. “As a matter of fact, don’t tell me either. I don’t need his attention today—”

“Ah, the village idiot!” Gaston is already on them. His lackey is right behind him. “Drunk, again, old friend?”

“You are not my friend,” says Lumiere, but low. His eyes don’t meet Gaston’s. He has drawn further into the shadow.

“Oh, I am not your ‘mohnaaahmii’?” Gaston is mocking Lumiere’s Parisian accent; the whole square laughs beside him.

“It’s two words, not one,” Lumiere says, lower still. “If you cannot charm with rapier wit, do not hit me with your dull bullets.”

The blow is swift and immediate, and Belle draws back as Lumiere’s jaw hits against the wall. His hand is slow in reaching up to the wound. Even in pain, his eyes don’t quite focus. Like the wine, it is evident this is a practiced ritual.

“He was right about ‘mon ami,’” says the lackey, faintly. “We’ll work on the grammar.”

“Who needs it?! It certainly hasn’t gotten this prancing fool anywhere,” says Gaston. “Dancing and manners! In Villeneuve! Coward. Storyteller. Lily liver.”

“Leave him alone,” says Belle. Storyteller. Lily liver. Like the lily-eaters in the Odyssey. Lumiere knows the Odyssey, Lumiere welcomed her to the stoop; Lumiere is the village idiot, and an empty soul, and a useless one, and still: “Even if he is nothing—and he isn’t—he’s my friend. Leave him alone. Whoever you are, he’s better than you!”

The square is instantly silent. Beside her, Lumiere murmurs “foolish, foolish” into his hands.

“You’re…new,” says Gaston.

“Leave him alone.” Belle is fearless.

“Of course, mademoiselle,” and Gaston is so instantly full of smiles it is like a coin flipped. “I look forward to seeing more of you.”

Belle just looks at him. He is the first man in Villeneuve without a streak of gray inside his eyes.

“Mark my words, though—this man has no one in this town.” Lumiere, dark in the shadows, cringes beside her as Gaston speaks. “Only a lonely dreamer. Nothing more than a village punching-bag, is he, LeFou? He only lives to serve!” He is mocking the accent again.

“He doesn’t serve you,” says Belle. “And he’s not alone.”

No one in the village backs her up. Across the square, the girls in pink frown. The one in white has let her eyes drop: in shyness, or shame, or second-hand embarrassment, Belle can’t tell.

Gaston rides off, the village cheering. (though a little less proudly than before.) Lumiere’s jaw is fine—a black bruise against the cleft chin, one of many she did not see before—and he waves her away.

“Please tell me he does not do that every day,” she says.

“I don’t remember,” says Lumiere, “but if he did it every day, I think I might be dead. It has only been a decade or two, eh? Go home, mademoiselle. Don’t come back for dreamers.”

The Other thing inside his eyes has deepened. There is almost no blue at all. The apothecary’s son, with nothing in his days besides shame and smoke, leans back up on his stoop. A cold wind blows through the square, black and blue, and Belle’s hands clench from the cold.

There is something wrong in Villeneuve. And how she longs to find it out.

Part VIII: Not Whole Without A Soul

It’s a week later, and Belle is off to see Lumiere again. He does, in fact, live somewhere besides other people’s stoops—a rundown shed, apparently, tucked behind the meadow, though she’s not gotten to visit it. He says, with a small, quiet joke, that it’s not fit for company until he can hang a chandelier.

She’s almost reached his usual stoop when the rain hits. She puts her apron over her head, but it’s no good; there are sheets of tattered rain across the village, and her hair is soaked in moments.

“Come in, girl, come in! Out of the cold, and the wet—oh, aren’t you a vision—of damp—”

Outlined by the light of an open door, she sees the potter’s wife. Mrs. Potts’ rough hands take Belle and pull her into the kitchen before she can think.

“Th-thank you. That was kind of you.” She is dripping all over the floor. Mrs. Potts sees her and slides a tea-tray beneath her feet, to catch the wet.

“Come on, dear, let’s sit you by the fire—we’ll get you a cup of tea—there, dear. By the chair.”

Belle curls gratefully onto the bench by the fire, and Mrs. Potts turns to her table to prepare the drinks. And something moves in the soot of the dark fire place, almost like it’s alive—

“Sorry! I shouldn’t have moved…I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“There, now, Chip, move on,” says Mrs. Potts, and the soot-covered thing turns into a little boy, cheeky and smiling. He waves at Belle before running away. His clothes smell of tea: chamomile, lavender, earl gray.

“My boy,” the woman explains, and hands Belle a cup. “His father’s out, now, but he’ll be back soon. We’ve lived here together in this house for twenty years.” She laughs at some joke that isn’t there. “He made these cups, and he sells the porcelain—you’ve seen him in the market?”

Belle nods. She likes Jean Potts well enough. He does not belittle the village’s drunks and nobodies, though he does seem frightened of them. He has never mocked her for visiting Lumiere and Cogsworth on their stoop in the sun.

“I don’t know why you choose to speak with those tramps,” says Mrs. Potts, as if she reads her thoughts as easy as tea-leaves. “You seem a nice enough young lady to be with the other girls, not with those two…..though Mr. Cogsworth is fine, in his way—but I’d stay away from that one, young lady.”

“Why?” Belle watches her as she prepares the tea. Mrs. Potts keeps bumping into the table; for all her twenty years inside this kitchen, she has to think twice before she moves. Her hands flick between jars of raisins and flour, and she sidesteps around nothing. It as if she expects a different kitchen, thinks Belle, a kitchen quite different from this small country stove—but twenty years sit there, solid as truth, on the table that has never moved.

“What’s he been telling you out there?” Crunch: Mrs. Potts reached for almonds, not sugar. She puts the tin back hurriedly, cringing, and grabs for the other jar. Her eyes watch her hands, as if checking her own habit.s

“That he came to Villeneuve many years ago, and hasn’t worked much since,” says Belle. “Small jobs, the occasional village fete—but he doesn’t know how to do anything too useful to the village. So he sits in the sun.” She doesn’t mention the beautiful goose-girl he waits for. She doesn’t mention that she can’t find out what he waits for, nor Cogsworth either, in this lonely village beside the empty woods.

Mrs. Potts nods, judgement for Lumiere clear on her face. Belle finds the blood rushing to her face.

“But he’s so much more than just—just a stoop-dweller! He comes from Paris. He tells stories! He is warm,” says Belle, and she stares defiantly into Mrs. Potts’ eyes.

Gasps, and draws back. Mrs. Potts’ eyes are two different shades of gray.

Mrs. Potts blinks, and the gray ripples, and the older woman sighs and smooths Belle’s hands.

“I know, dear. I am sure he might be. I’ve never spoken to him much, myself. But you have to understand—he doesn’t belong in this village. He doesn’t belong.”

She moves around to sit by Belle, but she runs into the table first.

“There are stories about him—stories he doesn’t like to tell. Oh, I know, I seem like an outsider here too, with my English accent and—” She laughs and waves hands around her frazzled hair, and loses the path of the sentence. “But young one, you’ve got to look out—we don’t know who his father is, we don’t know—”

“How long have you lived here?” Belle tries not to phrase it as a challenge. Mrs. Potts means well—she lets soaked artists’ daughters out of the rain, after all—but the sharp shards in her voice have no place with her soft hands, and her boy, and the tea now boiling over on a stove she’s forgotten the place of.

“Twenty years, dear, just here in this house.” Mrs. Potts sits back and smiles at her. “Do you know, I used to look kindly on those Parisian types myself, before I came to Villeneuve; I’d never met one, but I thought I might work for—there, now, you don’t care about that. I’m not a working woman, ear. I’m all cooped up,” and she laughs, again, in a faded voice, like there’s a joke she’s just forgotten.

The swirl of gray steeps in the woman’s eyes.

Part IX: Here’s a Thought, Perhaps

“I don’t understand.” Belle slams her books down on the kitchen table. Maurice looks up from a new trinket—a music box molded off the design of a ballroom; it sounds charming, though he hasn’t put in any dancers yet—and catches how tan she’s gotten from sitting on sunny stoops. They’ve lived here in Villeneuve for several weeks, now; he’s happy she’s settling in.

“More books from Pere Robert, I see,” he says mildly. Belle fidgets with Sleeping Beauty like its pages are a problem to be solved, opening and closing the story of the sleeping palace that stood for a hundred years.

“Yes, they’re lovely, but....Papa, this town makes no sense.”

“Very few things do.” He smiles and puts aside his music box. “What’s enchanting you now, my darling?”

“Papa, this is a little village, isn’t it?”

“That’s why I chose it. Does that trouble you, my dear?”

“No. I like the people, I’m making friends with some of them, I never thought I would....” She trails off. Most people in most towns think she’s odd; that’s why she turned to books, because they had people in them that didn’t laugh at her—well, that and the books had worlds she was longing to explore, far out of the realm of her little towns and cities and gossiping market squares. But here in Villeneuve, in this town just like any other, she’d somehow managed to find a few souls who didn’t mind her oddness—who loved her for it, in fact; who seemed to find in her something they found familiar, something that reminded them of someone they had all loved once. Why, just today, Cogsworth had been talking of this young man he knew, whose golden hair always got loose from his ribbon and fell all over his shoulder, just like hers did....but then he’d forgotten about it, and when she asked him about where she could find him in the village, he’d blinked and asked her if she meant Gaston.

Of course she didn’t mean Gaston. She meant Cogsworth’s young man with the golden hair, and Lumiere’s old friend who quoted Shakespeare in the bath, and the boy Mrs. Potts had watched before she had Chip, the boy who had wanted to wear blue every day for a year. Everyone had a story that came and went and that they never told again: even the silent milliner’s son, playing his violin in the tavern for a few coins, would play a tune about someone no one could name. But Belle could never find all these missing people, no matter where she looked.

“For a little village, there are spots missing,” she says. “And I’ve been talking to people left and right, and there are some things that just seem so odd. Did you know that Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza came here, a few years ago? World-famous musicians! What were they doing here? They said they got lost on the way to Edinburgh, but they were coming from London. How could they get so lost?”

“That is strange.”

“They played a concert for the villagers, apparently, but no one really remembers it, or they won’t talk about it. It’s as if they’re all hiding something, or realy afraid of something.”

“They might be afraid of that big red galoot, whatever his name is,” suggests Maurice. “You know the one, stepped on our cabbages the other day.”

“Ugh.” Belle hisses out a breath. “He treats them so badly—though they treat each other badly, too. Mrs. Potts doesn’t trust Lumiere, but will never tell me why. They could be friends, if they tried to know each other.”

“You think so well of the world,” says Maurice, softening as he looks at his daughter. “You would believe a rose could lose its thorns if you tried hard enough.”

“It’s not that I believe in change. I believe in...in whatever this is.” Belle throws her hands in the air. “Helping people, fixing what’s broken. There’s something broken here, papa.”

“Mm.” Maurice looks back to his trinket—its melody tinkering out, slow and charming, across his wooden desk. “Do you know, dear, I find the gears of this little castle don’t work right when you have them all apart.”

Belle raises an eyebrow. “Papa?”

“This bit here, it will just sit useless unless I fasten it to another—and I need wire, here, and you know how I’m always losing my screws. Now, if I just rest all the pieces here on the table, like so many soundless, useless objects, we’d never hear that music-box chime, would we?”

“Is this...is this a lesson?” A smile cracks over Belle’s face, slow and steady. “You haven’t instructed me on making music boxes in years, papa.”

“Well, no, not since you got the hang of it...but it still makes me happy to see those gears turn in your head, my girl.”

She’s out the door before he’s finished speaking, eyes alight with a new idea, and she lets it slam behind her, a cold wind blowing through the house as she goes. Maurice’s sketches and drawings and parts tumble over the tabletop, and he turns back to his music-box, paintbrush in hand, ready to work.

Now, if he can just think what sorts of people belong in a ballroom.

Part X: And Almost Kind

“Lumiere! Lumiere.” Belle scatters to a stop, her hair already all undone from its braid. Her friend is leaning up against the clocktower, half in its shadow, his brown and yellow peasants’ garb too big for his lanky frame. He barely looks up to see her; his eyes are caught in the white feathers drifting across the square, and the girl trying to pull them from her curly hair.

“Lumiere, please focus. Look, I have an idea.”

“Mm?” One hand is trailing out a dance melody across the clocktower’s stone. Only the sound of the hunting horn—far away, now, but promising a violent return in short order from the local hero—rallies him out of his trance. “Mademoiselle. You were saying?”

“Can I come visit your shed?”

“Pardonez-moi?” Alarm knocks out the last vestiges of dreaming in his blue eyes. The grey streaks pulse to a rhythm of their own, frightened and jumpy in contrast to the waltz his fingers still trace. “Mademoiselle! You—you cannot, it is no home for....”

“I’ll bring food. And we’ll sing, all right? We’ll have a party. A dinner party!”

“A...dinner party?” He’s still hesitant, but Belle catches that spark of excitement before he can snuff it out.

“What is dinner without a little music?” She grins at him. “Come on, Lumiere, you must have thrown a party at least once in your life.”

“I.........” He’s somehow gone even whiter from the premise.

“And I know just who to invite. Hop along, tout-de-suite—” she slaughters the accent, but it gets him smiling, a little, under those sad blue eyes. “We’re going to be needing extra chairs.”

He bows to her, his yellow vest flapping around him, and just for a second Belle imagines that auburn hair and those elegant white hands somewhere far, far away from Villeneuve. And then he’s up, and off, and before he trips over a sheep he looks almost debonair.

“Right.” Belle straightens her apron, touches the copy of The Knights of The Round Table she’s slipped into her pocket for luck. She has quite a few people to talk to before sundown, and she wants to be brave.

Part XI: Prepare and Serve With Flair

“Is this it?” The shed in front of them is tiny, and mouldering, and right on the edge of the meadow. The only signs it’s lived in are the cracks of candelight seeping out the boarded-up windows and the rusty door.

“It’s shabby enough.” Cogsworth hoists the picnic basket higher. “I still say this is a bad idea.”

“Twenty years you’ve lived here, and you’ve never had dinner with your best friend?”

“And rightly, too,” says Mrs. Potts. “Belle, if I stay here an hour we’ll all be shocked. I don’t like the man, I’ve told you so.”

“Just try it, please? I spent all day cooking this. Or trying to, anyway,” Belle adds, staring down at the burnt contents of her basket with a grimace. Before the others can say anything else, she runs up to the door and knocks.

It falls over, rust winning over old metal.

“Mr. Chapeau, come along, this is dreadful,” says Mrs. Potts, nearly turning back to the village.

“No, no, wait! Lumiere? Lumiere, we’re here.” Belle steps through. Cautiously, the others follow.

Every surface of the tiny shed glows with candelight. In his eagerness to pull off an effect, Lumiere has decked every corner with wax and wicks and glowing golden light; candles drip down chair backs, off iron sconces, across the bare wood of the little table he’s laid. It’s ghastly, but warm, and Belle notices that every table setting—chipped and mismatched though the cups and plates are—is laid out exactly as a courtly table, multiple forks and all.

“We’ve brought food! If it’s edible, which is as yet in doubt. And you know Cogsworth, of course, and Mrs. Potts.”

“Welcome,” says Lumiere flatly. Mrs. Potts rolls her eyes and conspicuously wipes the spots off the silverware with her skirt.

“And this is Chapeau.” Belle shows in the silent violin player. “He’s friends with Pere Robert. Oh, and—”

Lumiere almost drops the wine Cogsworth brought. He’s staring just past Belle, where the dark, starry sky outlines the girl still standing in his doorway.

Lumiere chokes out a string of wordless syllables. His hands don’t quite know what to do. Plumette, for her part, looks like shyness brought to life. She tries a clumsy curtsy and nearly falls; Lumiere catches her, just in time, and they stare for far too long at their own hands on each other’s shoulders.

Belle pretends not to notice them as she lays out all she’s brought: a simple barley soup, a badly sunken cheese souffle, a cream tart that now just looks like gray stuff. Chapeau helps her serve, holding the plates like he’s done this a thousand times before—though he assures her he hasn’t; that his whole life is Villeneuve and his mother’s loud and lonely hatshop.

Slowly, everyone sips their drinks (poor Lumiere—he’d set out two glasses for each place, as if they had white wine as well as red—poor village idiot, out of place as ever); slowly, they start to talk, breaking bread and sharing plates of butter. Their host is useless for most of the meal, staring blankly at Plumette as she stares back at him; they sit uncomfortably close, for strangers, and Belle sees how jumpy all the hands and feet at this table are: all longing to get out, to twitch away from this strange warmth and company. Lumiere’s hands are shaking near Plumete’s.

But food and wine and after-hours chatting has its charms, and slowly people unfurl like flowers after winter: Mrs. Potts going rosy-cheeked as she tells of Chip’s latest antics, Chapeau miming the schoolmaster’s upturned snout for a delighted Cogsworth, Belle sharing her latest book and finding people somehow interested. Conversation flows out, golden in the waning night, and midnight passes with no notice.

“What of you, Plumette? Where do you come from?” Belle leans over Cogsworth, and tries to act as though she doesn’t see Lumiere’s hands shaking as he timidly puts a roll on the goosegirl’s plate.

“Paris,” says Plumette, and Lumiere’s hands waver like a flame in a storm, “I traveled here, mademoiselle, when I was very young—years and years ago. And I stayed here, oh, I can’t imagine why....”

There’s a stroke of gray in the big brown eyes. Belle tries to hide her fear.

“And this is all I’m good at,” and Plumette sighs, and brushes another feather from her hair. “I once dreamed of great romance, of fairytales—but how could it be otherwise? I am a goosegirl in a village. No great love will ever come to me.” And she stares bitterly downward, not seeing the place setting arranged with so much love.

But then Cogsworth drops his watch in the wine, and Mrs. Potts is laughing so hard she almost cries, and Chapeau fiddles and Lumiere and Plumette clap along (although they refuse to dance).

They part cheerfully, just as the first rays of the sun start stepping gently over the valley. Lumiere, white as a sheet, plucks up his guttering courage and kisses Plumette’s hand; she blushes as vivid as a robin’s chest, and runs so fast back to her cottage she practically flies. (Lumiere, blushing too, nearly sets himself on fire as he reels into his bed.) Cogsworth stretches and yawns, remarking on the time; Mrs. Potts helps to pack the baskets, and follows Belle out the door.

“You see?” says Belle, leading the way back to the sleeping village. “That wasn’t so bad, Mrs. Potts.”

“No, well....” Her face, so softened and happy just a moment ago, seizes up into harsh lines as if she’s been caught doing wrong. “And I wouldn’t turn down the sight of doing it again, and perhaps bringing Chip along too. You have a good heart, poppet.”

“But...?” They still stand in darkness, here where their paths part. Belle holds her basket close, her books still resting on top.

“We’ve been set in our ways for twenty years, luv. It would take a miracle, or twenty years back that we will never have, to make us into what you dream of. I’ll try for your sake, dear, really I will, but I would never hold that lot of them dear to my heart.”

She trudges back to the village, and Belle watches her go. She hugs her books and basket to her chest, planning and puzzling away at the village with no hope.

“Keep putting the pieces together,” she whispers to herself. “Keep putting the pieces together.”

#CAN I GET ANY MORE ON THE FUCKING NOSE WITH THESE METAPHORS #also to be continued [[obviously]]#batb fanfic #hey we got some plumiere action in this one!! fuckin FINALLY #lumiere #plumette #mrs. potts #cogsworth #batb #beauty and the beast #batb 2017 #beauty and the beast 2017 #belle #maurice

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