#neutral reader

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Mark Grayson ,,

He always makes sure to brighten your day with a bouquet of flowers, from your favorites to the most beautiful ones that match your eyes. He was never known for bringing a single, solitary flower. No, that's not Mark. He'll always bring you a dozen, or at least three flowers.

Mark would stand out in the relationship for being a thoughtful young man, even though his bad schedule or a couple of missed dates while saving the world might work against him. Did you message him at the wrong time, in the middle of a fight? Mark already replied and attached a photo to the message. "Think I can beat him ? :P"

He would always see an opportunity to ask you out, insist that you lie down on his chest, and slowly fly around the sky with your head on his heart, listening to his heartbeat as you talk to him about your day.

In his first missions as Invincible, Mark would always appear at your window with his suit torn or some noticeable scratches. Why? So that you could treat his wounds or fix his suit. More than once it was a matter of doing both things. "I just wanted to see you."

Mark will have a habit of resting his head on your shoulder or lap, depending on how tired he is that day. He'll lean against you for a bit and let his considerable weight fall against your body, seeking your warmth and touch. Bonus points if you give him scalp massages.

He likes to read his favorite comic aloud to you, although he always ends up stumbling over his words because he notices how you stare at him, making him nervous and causing him to forget to move on to the next panel. "Don't laugh at me, I always read well. Your eyes make me nervous, that's all."

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Deborah Grayson ,,

Deborah knew she would take her time getting to know you, but she never imagined your company would be so pleasant and even comforting for her own heart. Without even realizing it, you helped her overcome her insecurities after all the trouble and sadness Nolan left behind. "I didn't think I could allow myself to open my heart to someone so quickly. Thank you."

When Deborah introduced you to Mark, her face lit up with relief at the positive reaction of her only and dearest son. She was so pleased that he accepted you so readily and love you the same way she loves you.

Weekends are the best part of the relationship with Deborah, where she strokes your hair and pulls you closer to the bed with both arms, rendering your attempts to get up useless, if they even exist. "Stay a little longer ... Today is my day off."

She heard you came home tired from work, complained about your boss and his demands about paperwork. What better time to open a bottle of wine, watch a movie, and order some takeout? Deborah had everything planned. You're the only one missing from the table.

"Just try it. It's delicious, I swear." Deborah really enjoys cooking with you, especially when it comes to cooking typical Korean food at home, she always makes sure you try typical food from her home country and ask your opinion about it. Her comfort food would be Kimchi Jjigae with a hint of smoky spice.

I am so convinced that Deborah would call you "dear" or "honey" with incredible frequency, so much so that there are times when you would forget your own name. And it's even better if she calls you affectionately while you two are asleep, because her sleepy voice would be the equivalent of touching heaven.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Eve Wilkins ,,

Her favorite activity to do with you is to climb onto the roof of a building or house, and observe the twinkling stars in silence, while naming the constellations and seeing who can find the most. It ends up being more romantic when Eve plays music from her phone.

Eve loves staying at your house to sleep over or just hang out there; she's always quite homey and helpful in your home. "Do you think your mother would like chocolate-filled brownies? I made a couple."

In her room, Eve owns a hardcover book, with a title made by hand with different magazines and letters: It's reads "a timeline with you." Where there are various printed photographs of the two of you together on your different dates and walks.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Rex Sloan ,,

Behind your back and eyes, Rex has started therapy and is actively improving himself so he won't be a bad partner for you — His worst fear is that he himself will ruin this opportunity to be with you, so he prefers to improve and be a decent lover worthy of your attention.

I'm absolutely certain that the moment you started dating Rex, he began posting about you on all his active social media accounts and showing you off to his entire social circle. "This is my partner. I definitely hit the jackpot."

He really enjoys listening to you talk, appreciates that you trust him so much, and is always actively seeking out those kinds of deep conversations with you — A couple of times, when you vent and feel distressed, Rex instinctively cries with you too, since he understands that kind of distress.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Katherine Cha ♡ Dupli-Kate ,,

A relationship with Katherine turns out to be slow and careful in its evolution, mostly due to her need to maintain an emotional distance from people, This will be more noticeable if you are human, or do not possess some kind of immortality / inability to die — So, more than once, both of you enjoy each other's silent company.

"We all love you." Whenever Katherine is on a mission, she always makes sure to spend time with you through a clone of herself. Her most consistent and affectionate clone with you is Kate number 8. "But, I love you more." The clone says affectionately.

More than once, Katherine uses her powers to create clones of herself and launch a massive kissing attack on you — No part of your face or body is safe from her lips and a quick smooch. Temple? Kissed. Eyebrows? Kissed. Edge of your chin? Kissed. The best experience is when lipstick is involved in her kissing attack.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Allen The Alien ,,

Every time Allen is outside Earth's orbit, he makes sure to bring you an intergalactic gift, from a small piece of the moon to an exotic flower from an unknown, unstudied planet. Oh ... The flower couldn't withstand the change in gravity.

He likes to talk about you with Nolan, always mentions that you are one of the brightest and most peaceful things that ever happened to him, mentioning that not even the stars compare to the beauty of your eyes and bright smile.

When you dared to kiss him for the first time, you could feel Allen's pointy ears begin to flutter gently and his hands carefully grip your hips. "It felt good. Do it again."

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Amber Bennett ,,

"Let's dance." The most frequent and comfortable homedate for both of you is to be at Amber's home and listen to music together; she always insists on dancing barefoot in the middle of her room. "Come on, silly, don't be shy." More than once, Amber places her arms around your neck and gently kisses your lips while dancing together.

Amber is the kind of partner who invites you to go for walks in spring or summer, visiting second-hand markets or craft fairs. What better romantic date than visiting the independent artists' fair and supporting local entrepreneurs? I can see that Amber always buys herself a beautifully hand-painted, handmade mug.

Normally, when both of you have a week of exams, or some pretty tough practical work for school, you two get together at home and stay overnight, having a little loving slumber party. "Shh!" You two probably stay up until the early hours, watching movies or laughing silently under the sheets, while exchanging occasional kisses. "Your mom will hate me if she hears us laughing at this hour."

I think it's possible that Amber will do some internship or free service at a home for cats and animals, occasionally sending you pictures of the kittens or pit bulls she takes care of — She's invited you to participate in the activity many times! In her room, there are photos of the two of you together, holding cats or dogs.

"I can't read your mind. If I could, I'd prefer you tell me to my face." Amber will always be the type of partner who prefers to talk things out if there's a problem in the relationship. Is something bothering you in the relationship, or do you just want to vent? Amber is there, listening attentively and helping.

Being of African descent, you see Amber taking care of and treating her hair; a smile adorns her lips as she notices you watching her carefully comb and wash her hair. You love watching her put on her bonnet! It looks divine on her — It's a coral sea green color. "Do you think my hair would look good with more volume and less definition?"

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ William Clockwell ,,

William is the type of partner who doesn't hesitate to introduce you to his circle of friends as soon as you two start dating; he doesn't hesitate and make you part of their plans — Does everyone want to go bowling, see a movie? William will take you with him, with a smile on his face and his arm tangled around yours.

"You know, I always thought you were cute." He always says things like that to you when you two are alone, always emphasizing how he fell in love with you and vice versa; that's the story you two tell each other most often, always the same detail, but with such immense love. "What did I do to make you like me, huh?"

I have a feeling that William and you probably do those typical TikTok or Instagram trends very often, dedicated to couples and showing their dynamics. What was the most recent trend you two did? Oh, this one! — And more. William probably shows you off on his social media.

사과 Additional characters ! ✶ k0meqp_

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Conquest ,,

Even though it's something new, perhaps even inferior from his perspective, Conquest can't help but notice how his heart beats with a different emotion every time he touches you; as if it were his nature, his touch becomes soft against your face, adoring the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers. "I do not understand how you're not afraid of what makes me be this way."

The way your hair frames your face is one of the purest and most beautiful sights he's seen in a long time, you find it endearing how Conquest observes you whenever he can — Many times he hasn't slept, so he can analyze in detail and commit to memory the symmetry of your lips and the endlessness of your eyelashes.

"Killing has always come easily to me. But now, I find myself drawn to see how I live for the first time, thanks to you." Ever since you convinced him on the first try to stay at your house, Conquest has been completely helpful and devoted to your existence, observing every detail and getting used to what it's like to do something he never did but desired so much.

He never had a favorite food, much less could he remember the last time he ate something someone else cooked. But now, surprisingly, every time you cook him something, that dish becomes his favorite. He always makes sure not to leave any residue; the plate looks clean every time Conquest finishes eating your food.

"I love that your skin is ignorant of violence." Conquest loves the size difference between you two. He's started to develop a habit of holding your hand and wrapping it completely around his own, caressing your skin so carefully that he doesn't break you just by touching you. "I couldn't bear the thought of seeing your hand calloused from all the destruction you'd caused ... But, it would be exciting too."

Chocolate? Flowers? Very insignificant for him — He doesn't understand the human need to give each other gifts on specific or special dates, but he tries. The gift that Conquest gave you to declare his dystopian love was the beating heart of an extinct alien race.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Thokk ♡ Battle Beast ,,

He would be fascinated by your belly, especially if you have a curvy or fat body build; unconsciously, Thokk would also find himself gently massaging your stomach or chest skin, pretending to be a domestic cat. You've heard him purr subtly more than once.

For a formidable, persevering, and bloodthirsty warrior, I see it as very possible that Thokk will exercise with you more than once, whether you are both training, him teaching you self-defense or you serve as extra weight in his push-ups. "Don't ever think I'll be easy with you just because you have my affection guaranteed."

Thokk would silently allow you to style his hair and braid it in different ways, using various methods and lengths. Sometimes he would undo them so you could continue stroking his unruly mane.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Cecil Stedman ,,

He met you at work and your relationship was completely professional and nothing more at the beginning, although it gradually evolved, Cecil found himself unconsciously prolonging physical contact with you as much as possible — There was always the gentle caress of his hand against your shoulder while you worked immersed in your desk.

Cecil had a habit of ordering a black, bitter coffee for himself, gradually asking his assistant to start remembering your preferred, personalized coffee request. "You work hard, you need to stay hydrated and focused properly."

Despite not admitting any romantic feelings towards you, Cecil began inviting you out more often or to have something to eat at his office — Whenever you two went out together, Cecil would offer you his arm to hold onto and walk comfortably.

In reality, you were not her biological child. She knew that very well, and moreover, she knew that Mr. J would never want a child with her. In fact, it had never been part of the plan. "Kids are a hassle" the Joker would say, with that shrill laugh that coursed through his body like an electric shock. And Harley, well, she didn't exactly want a baby either. Until she found you.

Harley found you among the rubble, covered in blood, although it wasn't yours (at least that's what she hoped). You couldn't have been more than five months old, and there was no trace of your mother. At that moment, her intentions weren't exactly maternal, but what could you expect from a criminal at 2 AM? However, something in your little eyes disarmed her. You were small, defenseless, and upon seeing you… well, she simply couldn't resist.

Thus began your life with Harley Quinn. It wasn't the most typical childhood, that's for sure. Mr. J saw it as just one of his whims, and as long as you didn't cry and stayed out of his business, you were welcome. According to him, it was easier to raise a little clown from childhood.

To begin with, your toys were not exactly "age-appropriate." Mr. J had a fixation with explosives, so more than once you found yourself playing with what you hoped was an innocent candy box, only for Harley to shout from across the room: "Honey, no! That's not a toy, it's dynamite! Give me that!"

Ah, motherhood. A tough job, yes, but also something Harley never thought would come to her in such an… unexpected way. In her former life, when she was still Dr. Quinzel, she envisioned a normal existence, perhaps with a good job that would provide stability. But well, one thing led to another, and there she was, raising a baby who wasn't biologically hers, but whom life —and Gotham— had placed in her arms. And although her life with the Joker was total chaos, she always made sure of one thing: that you were safe.

In her twisted way of seeing the world, Harley protected you even from him, from Mr. J himself. She knew how unpredictable the Joker could be, so she did everything possible to make sure you were never in the same room for too long. And even though it sometimes seemed like the Joker didn't even notice your existence, Harley made sure to keep that distance. "I want you to be different" she would tell you while fixing your hair with a smile, "I don't want you to end up fistfighting with Batman like mommy."

Harley loved playing with you, especially at being doctors. There was something almost nostalgic for her in that, as if every time she saw you healing your dolls, a small part of the old Dr. Quinzel awakened within her. She loved seeing you with your toy stethoscope, focused as if you were in the middle of a serious operation.

"Mom! Miss JeanieBeanie had a broken heart, and I healed her with words! Just like you told me." Harley smiled, that big, bright smile that only she could make, and although she always tried to maintain the toughness of her persona, she couldn't help but let a tear escape. "Ah, sweetie, you're a genius."

And then, of course, there was the topic of school. You couldn't attend school known as the Joker's kid, that was for sure. So with a little colorful dye, a lot of makeup in the morning, and some nice clothes, Harley would take you to school incognito, as if you were a completely normal child. At least, she tried to make you seem that way. The first days were a disaster, though.

It wasn't that Harley didn't trust the school's safety, but, of course, being the Joker's Queen left her paranoid. So there she was, lurking around the windows of your classes, hiding behind bushes, trying to ensure that no madman would come in with a Kalashnikov to disrupt your school life. Sure, she was kicked out most of the time, but she always returned. Harley always returned.

Sometimes, when she couldn't see you during recess, she'd send you hidden messages in your lunchbox, with little doodles and silly jokes that made you laugh out loud. She worried a lot about you not making friends. "Remember, sweetie, if any kid bothers you, just smile like me and show them who's boss. But don't hit them, okay? Save that for later."

When the Joker finally broke up with her, it was a disaster, like a train derailing in slow motion. But just like with everything else, Harley made sure that the blow didn't fall on you. She never let Mr. J's chaos reach you because you were her priority, her sweetie. So, holding her hand, you left with her without looking back, with her suitcase in one hand and a bat in the other.

Since then, life became a bit more complicated, but also freer. Harley and you had to make do by stealing to survive, moving from place to place until ending up in a small apartment in Gotham's Chinatown. It wasn't the best area, but hey, it had charm. There, the nights were long, the walls thin, and the sounds of street fights mixed with your laughter while you tried to do homework and Harley gave you "life advice" that included how to escape from the police in style.

"Do you know what's faster than a bullet?" she'd say while looking at your face painted in bright colors before running off with a stolen shopping cart. "You, with the right attitude!"

Harley let herself go with alcohol during some tough times, but she always kept you away from that dark side. Sure, she bought a hyena and named it Bruce, which was simply hilarious. Bruce, like that perfect man on the magazine covers that you both secretly adored. "Bruce, come here, let's go for a walk!" you'd hear her shout down the street, and the neighbors wouldn't even blink. It was Gotham, after all.

By then, you were almost done with school. Amid the chaos of your life, you made a friend... Damian something (Wayan or something like that, you were bad with names). He wasn't the friendliest person in the world; in fact, "brat" would be a kind description, but for some reason, he intrigued you. "Mom says that if a boy or girl seems cute to you, you should go for it!" you told him once, repeating Harley's wise advice. Of course, Damian just looked at you like you were the weirdest thing he'd ever seen (and mind you, he had seen weird things; he's 'friends' with the nerd Jon). And although he maintained his air of arrogance, you found him adorable in a way that even he didn't understand.

Some nights, Harley and you would just lie on the rooftop of some building, looking at the lights of Gotham. With bags of marshmallows stolen from a grocery store, you'd roast them with a lighter while she told you stories. But not normal stories, rather ones involving car chases and explosions. No princesses and castles, more like villains and spectacular escapes. Sometimes, Selina Kyle would join in. "It's easier than you think" she'd say, winking at you while showing you how to sneak into a museum without setting off the alarms. It was never a typical childhood, but it sure was entertaining.

When Harley joined (temporarily) the Birds of Prey, things started to improve a little. You had more people around you, like a dysfunctional family you didn't know you needed. The girls tried to be a good influence, although with Harley, that was always relative. But at least there were fewer explosions and more quiet nights; just that "quiet" in Harley's terms meant motorcycle races, sporadic thefts, and bar fights. Pure fun!

And occasionally, Ivy, her "friend," would come to visit them. You thought she was amazing, so elegant, so calm... You knew there was something more there. "Kiss already!" you shouted at them once, laughing, watching how Harley blushed slightly while Ivy rolled her eyes with a smile.

But despite everything, Harley never stopped being an incredible mom, in her own way. On the toughest nights, when you'd curl up in her lap after a long day, she'd stroke your hair and whisper, "You know, sweetie, I never thought I'd be a mom, but you're the best thing that ever happened to me." And although it wasn't a typical motherhood, there was something comforting in knowing that amidst all that chaos, you could always count on her.

So, amid thefts, stolen marshmallows, and moments filled with love, Harley gave you a childhood that wasn’t normal, but was filled with adventures, laughter, and unconditional love. And what more could you ask for when you have Harley Quinn as your mom?

A/N ─── My first request uwu~ I’m so excited! I really hope I did it well, and that you all like this little headcanon. I put all my love into it, so if you have more ideas or want to request something, don’t hesitate! I’m here for whatever you need.

– Some weeks earlier –

“Soleil!” You've been rushing through the streets of Paris for far too long now, always following the little fluffy white tail like Alice chasing the White Rabbit. If only you had paid more attention when you opened the door to your house. But oh, Soleil had darted right past you, always the freedom-loving spirit, and had forced you onto her heels, into a most unexpected and deeply unwelcome chase.

You weren’t used to running this much, you were long out of breath and no closer to catching your little friend. Worse still, you began to realize she was leading you straight into the city’s more upscale neighborhoods, right toward the Eiffel Tower and beyond – an area where, yes, some members of your faction lived, but far more of the others.

Your fears were confirmed when you spotted her, right in front of one of the grand mansions belonging to one of the most influential Painter families, as the little white blur slipped through a gap in the hedges toward one of the vast gardens.

“Merde,” you panted, unsure of what to do next. You paced in front of the manor, out of breath, wondering if maybe you should just knock after all, but if your parents ever found out, they’d never let you stay in the city residence alone again. They always warned you to stay away from Painter estates. Soleil didn’t know her way around this part of town, she had to be afraid and look for somewhere to hide.

Knocking was out of the question, who knew how these people would receive you, even if they didn't know or recognize you. So you hurried toward the right-hand side of the manor with small, careful steps, where hedges twice your height obscured the view into the gardens beyond, with only a gate farther down allowing access.

Hoping the Dessendres were either not home or at least somewhere deep inside the manor, you checked if the gate was unlocked. It swung open with ease, didn’t even creak. You took a deep breath before slipping through. It was just a matter of grabbing Soleil quickly and disappearing unseen.

Someone inside was playing the piano, and as much as you would’ve liked to stop and listen, you were too nervous and far too distracted. The exterior of the house had already been impressive, but nothing had prepared you for the beauty of these meticulously kept gardens. For a moment, you stood there, mouth slightly agape, examining the fountain on the huge lawn, a small pond beside it, and a charming bench set right in front. Further back, just before turning the corner, you spotted several garden beds. Apparently, the residents practiced more than just painting. And right in one of those beds, you saw your not-so-white-anymore cat, gleefully rolling in the dirt.

“Oh no…” you muttered, glancing up at the towering manor and its many windows. Please, please, they just shouldn't be home. “Soleil!” you hissed quietly, just loud enough for your cat to hear. Her ears perked up, she stopped rolling around and looked your way. She seemed to like it here, because she didn’t run, but meowed cheerfully, emerged from the garden bed, and strolled toward you with her tail raised high, a dirty, fluffy plume of pride.

You let out a sigh of relief. At least she wasn't running any further away. Carefully, you walked toward her, crouching and trying to coax her closer. She was almost within reach when what you had been afraid of happened: you were discovered. Not by a person. From around the corner came the sudden barking of two dogs, getting louder and closer by the second.

Your heart leapt anxiously. Before Soleil could bolt again, you dove forward and grabbed the little cat, who, eyes wide in panic, immediately tried to scramble out of your arms, claws digging into you in her attempt to climb over your shoulder. But you held her tightly, just as you saw the two barking dogs round the corner, running straight toward you.

“Putain! Soleil, you're going to get us both killed,” you gasped, turning on your heel and running toward the gate. It wasn’t far, you just had to slip through, and the dogs wouldn’t be able to reach you. The only issue? You had to outrun them, which wasn’t exactly easy with a flailing cat in your arms.

You were almost certain you wouldn’t make it when, to your horror, a human voice rang out: “Boys, down!”

The barking ceased instantly. The dogs were no longer chasing you. Instead, you exchanged one evil for another. You briefly considered just walking on without showing your face, but then he spoke to you: “Sorry they scared you. They’re harmless, really. They probably just wanted to play. Are you alright?”

Your heart was pounding into your throat, your breath still ragged. A Painter was speaking to you, not just any Painter, one of the Dessendres. A personal exchange like this had likely never happened before. At most, your kind only spoke to theirs during joint council meetings. And even then, you wouldn’t be there – of course not, you weren’t nearly influential or powerful enough to attend. Even Soleil had frozen in your arms, as if she knew she’d landed you in serious trouble.

Summoning your courage, you turned around. The two dogs sat in the grass, tails wagging, tongues lolling, looking surprisingly happy, at least from what you could tell, as they stared up at the house wall. You followed their gaze to spot a young man leaning out of a second-floor window. It was clear he hadn’t planned on going out, or being seen, today. He seemed drowsy. His hair was tousled, his expression a little tired, his beard in need of a trim. His wardrobe was rather casual: a simple white shirt, slightly too unbuttoned, fluttered in the breeze and clung softly to his frame. You blinked and fought the urge to stare at his neckline, managing to rein in your gaze just before it wandered over his collarbone.

You knew him. Or at least, you’d heard enough about him to recognize him. That was Verso Dessendre, the son of the house. It had to be him. The Dessendres only had one son, who had kept largely out of the public eye, much like the rest of the family, in fact. The only truly visible member was Aline Dessendre, head of the Painters’ council.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, casting another careful glance at the dogs. They continued to pant happily up at the wall toward their master. You looked back up at Verso, a little less anxious now. “My cat, Soleil here,” you held her up, “slipped out the door, right through my legs, and bolted. I had to chase her all the way across the city. She rolled around in your garden beds. I hope your crops weren’t damaged.” You gave him an apologetic look.

Verso furrowed his eyebrows and glanced toward the garden beds, as if assessing the damage. For a moment, you feared he’d be angry, but instead, he let out a soft laugh. “Maybe she just gave us a reason to actually go outside for once.”

Now it was your turn to furrow your brows. “With a garden this big, I figured you’d have a gardener.” Instant regret. Why were you making polite small talk with Verso Dessendre? You should apologize again and leave before he figured out, in true magical Painter fashion, that you were a Writer.

“Well, yes,” Verso replied, “but sometimes we tend to the beds ourselves. Kind of a hobby.” His eyes lingered on you, studying you in a way that should have unnerved you. The Dessendres weren’t exactly cast in the brightest light in your social circle, the Painter's powers described as something diabolical. But Verso didn't look like he had diabolical intentions. His dreamy eyes had a strange calming effect on you, and the gentle smile tugging at his lips nudged yours into mirroring it.

Soleil was growing restless in your arms. She squirmed, dug her claws into you for leverage, and smeared you with dirt in the process. You groaned and wrestled with the surprisingly strong little beast, determined not to let her go again.

“You wanna,” Verso’s voice reached your ears, smooth and mild, “maybe come inside? Freshen up? You, and your cat, I mean.”

“Oh!” You couldn’t help your reaction, it was immediate and a bit too forceful. “That’s really not necessary! Soleil… Soleil! Would you calm down?!” You groaned again. “I already intruded, I couldn’t possibly take advantage of your hospitality any further.”

A soft chuckle drifted down. “You wouldn’t. Just stay there. I’ll come down.”

You caught just one more glimpse of the now-empty window before the dogs resumed their excited barking, disappearing around the huge house. This was your chance to leave. With Soleil squirming in your arms, you had already turned toward the gate. With your hand already on the handle, you hesitated. You bit your lower lip, stared at your hand, and shifted your weight nervously. All it took was a little push and you would be gone. Why were you hesitating? Because it would be rude to decline a friendly invitation? From a Dessendre?

“Merde,” you cursed once again, more than you usually did in a week.

Your hand dropped from the handle, you turned again, shook off the discomfort, earning a meow from Soleil as you stepped deeper into the estate grounds.

You ran into Verso at the corner - in fact, you almost bumped into each other.

“Oh, sorry.” He flashed a friendly smile.

“Oh, no, no, I’m sorry for being such an inconvenience because of my wayward cat.” You couldn’t help but smile back. Now that he was standing in front of you, you realized he was taller than you. In addition to the loose white shirt, he wore black, comfortable-looking pants. His black hair looked a bit more tamed now. Maybe he had quickly smoothed it down on the way. For a moment, the thought charmed you, though you shook it off just as quickly.

Verso’s gaze shifted to Soleil. She had calmed down once more, her big blue eyes fixed on the man before her. He raised his hand, letting her sniff it briefly, she blinked, then pushed her little head into his palm. On top of that, she began to purr.

“Soleil,” you sighed. “Well, she seems to like you.” You kept to yourself the fact that Soleil had always been a little charmer and liked to shamelessly lose all inhibitions around men. You were still in enemy territory, after all.

“Let’s see how much she likes me once we get to the bathroom,” Verso joked and gestured for you to follow. “I brought Monoco and Noco into the kitchen so they won’t scare you anymore.”

“The two dogs?” you asked, although the answer was obvious, as you followed Verso along the house to a door, apparently a side entrance. Verso nodded.

What you saw of the manor as Verso led you through it was almost too impressive to put into words. And that coming from a Writer. The opulence of the interior was hardly to be topped: immaculate, high-end wallpaper on the walls, artistically crafted marble floors, incredibly high ceilings, everything screamed wealth. Many of the painters were well-off, but the Dessendres were in a completely different league. So influential, so wealthy, and then also so unimaginably powerful.

There was no way out of the situation anymore, so you showed as much polite curiosity as you could, all while a crushing discomfort settled in your stomach. What if the other family members saw you? You weren’t a known face in council circles, but what if they asked around, investigated, and found out you were here? And then what? Then they would hold your family accountable. What could they do with their powers? What had you gotten yourself into?

"Are you all right? Something bothering you?" Verso noticed the look of panic on your face. 

You did your best to relax your tense facial muscles, forced a practiced smile, and replied:

“Sure. It’s only... this house is enormous, I feel small just looking up at the ceiling.”

He made a sound of recognition. A surprisingly thoughtful expression flickered across his face. “I know what you mean,” he murmured. He blinked, his features softening. His foggy eyes rested on you. “I never asked for your name.”

Mon Dieu. Would he recognize your name? Should you use a fake one? You realized you were staring, he’d get suspicious, you had to say something. Impulsively, you told him your real name, only to regret it the moment it passed your lips. To your immense relief, he didn’t react with recognition, instead saying: “A beautiful name. I’m Verso.”

“I know,” you blurted out, and wondered if you had a death wish. Even Soleil looked at you, as far as you could interpret her expression, as if you’d gone insane. “I mean,” you quickly added before Verso could react, “I heard of your family.” That you could at least say with a straight face.

“Hard to miss word about the Dessendres, right?” asked Verso, and was that a note of sadness in his voice? “Here we are.”

He pushed open the door to a large, bright bathroom. The sun cast gentle rays through the expansive window façade, bathing the room in cozy warmth, and you immediately felt oddly calmer. The luxurious-looking bathtub in the center of the room, placed on a small platform, gave the space an almost throne-room-like charm, except, of course, you were here to bathe a cat.

Verso walked toward the tub. “Let’s get to work.” Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he revealed his forearms, the arms of an artist, not muscular but delicate. What made your skin tingle was the way he carried out the motion and the fine black hair he exposed in doing so. You swallowed hard. Damn you if the sight of Verso Dessendre could fluster you. With a single brushstroke, what could he do? Trap you in a canvas, if he wanted. Or say one word, and an assassin might lie in wait for your mother. No, this was not a man you should be casting glances at.

With iron will, determined to play this game, leave this house, and never return to its vicinity, you stepped up to the tub, into which Verso was letting some water flow. “Grab plenty of towels,” you instructed, before loosening your tight grip on Soleil.

Although Soleil had been bathed several times in her life, she did not appreciate the treatment in this unfamiliar bathtub at all. On first contact with the water, she had tried to climb up you again, and when Verso had grabbed her, she’d hissed. Verso had given her a surprised look but stayed calm. Soleil, very forgiving in the face of his handsome appearance, let out a tiny kitten-like meow and licked his knuckle.

“What a little charmer,” Verso had commented amusedly, earning a laugh from you. The crooked grin he threw you in return sparked something that made your breath hitch. You looked at each other for a second longer before Soleil’s indignant meow brought the attention back to her.

“Verso, what are you doing?” Startled, you turned to the door. There was someone else at home after all. Your worries quickly evaporated, however, when you saw a petite, red-haired girl, about teenage age, standing halfway in the doorway, her eyes shyly fixed on you.

“Alicia, great,” Verso addressed the newcomer. “This is my little sister Alicia. Come, help us get the great beast under control and, most of all, clean.”

“Beast?” Alicia asked. Her curiosity seemed piqued, and she stepped further into the room to get a look into the tub. “Oh, what a lovely little cat. Why is she so dirty?” She took another step closer.

You smiled apologetically. “She rolled around in your garden beds, I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” said Alicia. “Monoco and Noco dig around in there from time to time too, it’s no problem.” She now wore a gentle, charming smile of her own. “How can I help?” A trustworthy girl, to top it off. If the members of this family were so helpful and kind, why did you have to be so cautious around them? Or was it the parents? Either way, together you managed to clean both Soleil and yourself up, and then wrapped Soleil tightly in a towel so she could no longer resist the journey home.

Just before you finally, and thankfully without encountering any other family members, were about to leave, Alicia asked you: “You should come by sometime with Soleil,” and flashed that sweet smile at you again.

Verso was quick to nod, placing a hand on Alicia’s shoulder. “We would love to have you for dinner sometime.”

“I-I…” you stammered, searching for the right words, ones that should definitely be a polite decline. But Verso’s hopeful expression stopped you. “I’ll think about it,” you said instead, before finally making your long-overdue escape.

Unfortunately, that day had left a lasting impression on you. For days, you wrestled with yourself, brooding over your writing, unable to string together even a single poetic sentence, your mind entirely preoccupied with how very much you shouldn’t want to return to the Dessendre estate.

So despite your better judgment, you went back, though you didn’t knock. Instead, you paced in front of the huge manor, chewing on your thumbnail, still fighting against giving in to the pull of the double-doored front door.

Verso must have seen you from yet another window, because the manor doors swung open and you saw him coming out toward you. That day, he wore brown-grey-ish trousers, once again a white shirt, and over it, a vest as raven-black as his slightly curled hair. But what truly warmed you up was the sight of his gentle smile as he walked toward you, hands in his pockets.

"You came," he said, voice dark as a night’s sky. You only noticed how husky it was in that moment. That was when you felt the second spark. You were sure you looked like a startled deer.

"You wanna come in?" he asked, nodding toward the house.

"Uh," you replied. You hadn't thought that far ahead.

Noticing your hesitation, he offered an alternative: "Or maybe go on a walk?"

That suggestion appealed to you much more than the idea of meeting the entire Dessendre family over dinner.

An unexpected routine began to creep into your life. You extended your stay at the city residence, writing to your parents that you wanted to soak up a little more of the stimulating buzz to improve your craft. And in fact, you truly did. You did it more cheerfully than you had in a long time. In the mornings, you opened the windows to let in the fresh air, greeted a new day, fed Soleil, and then sat with a freshly brewed coffee on your balcony to jot down notes for your novella.

What you looked forward to regularly were the walks with Verso. Somehow it became a habit for you to wait some distance away from the manor for him. He would come outside, sometimes even with Monoco and Noco, and you would go for a walk, whereas you made it a point to steer him into directions where no one would know you. The Painters didn’t seem to know you, apparently, but the Writers definitely knew Verso. It would not end well for either of you if people saw you together. So you mostly walked through gardens on the outskirts of the city, played with the dogs, talked.

You told Verso you hailed from the countryside and visited the city – not a lie – and that you came from a family of farmers – a half-truth. Your family did belong to the Writer faction and made most of their money from the works they published, but then you also ran a small farm.

Verso, who couldn’t hide his family background as you could, also shared some things about his family: about his mother Aline Dessendre, his father Renoir, his older sister Clea, and a bit more about his younger sister Alicia. They all sounded like kind, open-minded people. Aline, the head of the Painters Council, while a very busy woman, was also open to other arts of the world, like music, which she had taught her children, and yes, even writing. Alicia seemed to love typing away on her typewriter, while the eldest sister Clea was quite adept at playing the harp. And then there was the father, Renoir, not too involved in his wife’s affairs, but certainly renowned. Verso spoke affectionately about his family, each member so different from the next, and yet they were a unit. They seemed to be really close.

After everything Verso had said, you couldn’t help but find yourself, just one week later, at the Dessendre dinner table, invited, no, practically forced, by Verso, who now knew you lived alone in the city. And yes, the Dessendres were just as delightful as Verso had described them. Alicia was happy to see you again. Clea seemed a bit stricter than her siblings but still gave you a smile and a few warm words. It didn’t surprise you, the oldest child always had it the hardest. Aline and Renoir Dessendre welcomed you warmly and invited you to the table, the two of them, from what you could see, completely devoted to each other, exchanging loving glances here and there, asking you interesting questions, but not too personal, and the story of how you ended up sitting here now became a source of amusement for everyone.

They saw you off with a small portion of the delicious dinner to take home. You thanked them profusely and just as firmly declined when they invited you again for the next day, although the family’s kindness touched you deeply. As you chatted with the Dessendres, you found yourself more and more wondering why your factions were enemies in the first place. They didn’t seem like dangerous, corrupt people at all, just completely… normal.

"We insist," Renoir interrupted your vehement opposition. "Verso told us you're visiting the city alone." He raised his hand commandingly to stifle any further objections, you'd already inhaled to speak. "We will accept no arguments. Your presence is most welcome." He smiled.

You exhaled and smiled back. "Alright then. Thank you. I promise, I won’t inconvenience you too long. My family probably already misses me."

"I mean, Verso would for sure not mind you inconveniencing us forever," Clea mumbled in amusement, but loud enough for everyone to hear. 

You looked at her with your stomach twisting in surprise, at the exact moment Verso shot her a withering glare, his parents a reprimanding one, and Alicia a curious one.

Luckily, your wit didn’t abandon you in that moment, so you chuckled and replied, "That’s nice. I’m thankful for your hospitality." You turned away to begin your walk home.

“Let me bring you outside,” Verso offered, but you stopped him advancing. 

"That’s not necessary. I know my way. Thank you, though. I will see you tomorrow." Quickly, you closed the door behind you, hoping the Dessendres hadn’t noticed your nervousness or your hammering heartbeat. For a moment, you stood in front of the door, trying to steady your breathing, and from inside, you heard Verso growl “Clea!” and a giggling Clea run off.

You had let things go too far. The Dessendres had invited you into their world, and you, an imposter, kept visiting. It wasn't long before you were there during the day too, not just for dinner. Verso offered you a long tour through the entire estate, and for the first time, you saw up close the paintings of real Painters. Verso explained in great detail the different brush techniques, the eras and their styles, all while your tongue burned with the urge to tell him the truth so that afterward you could explain everything about sentence structures, terms, points of view, and writing styles. Sooner or later you would have to tell him - or leave town and never return. 

You learned that on that first day you had entered the property, it had been Verso whom you had heard playing the piano through the wall. The instruments he had told you about stood in the grand dining hall.

"Can you play something?" you asked, pressing a key on the piano. It emitted a bright, fine tone.

"Wouldn’t wanna force it on you," Verso answered, but still sat down on the bench.

"I did ask," you replied and sat next to him. Your shoulders touched – you suppressed a shudder and quickly added, "In fact, I can play a little bit myself." You lifted your head proudly, followed by a grin.

He returned the gesture. "Really? Why haven’t you mentioned that before?"

"I never claimed I was any good." Behind your rudimentary musical ability was nothing more than a knack for reading sheet music, the rest came from your occupation as a Writer. You wrote the sheets, and the rest was your power. In the course of time you learned the odd key combination, but the difficult ballads, those you could only play once, came to you solely because your fingers absorbed the written notes. A pity that the sheets would always be blank afterward, as if the music had never existed.

"I bet you’re good," Verso encouraged you with a smile.

But you could never be as good as he was. He played a symphony so captivating, so utterly passionate, that shivers ran down your spine one after another. You stared at the piano keys over which Verso’s agile fingers flew, as if he had never done anything else in life, as if the art of music, not the art of the canvas, was his true calling. It was enthralling, not just the melody, but how he carried it. His body moved with the music, became one with it, completely absorbed in the sequence of sounds, with a look you could only describe as tenderly loving. When he stopped, you were speechless for a moment, even had to suppress the urge to applaud.

He looked at you, a soft smile on his lips, his eyes resting on you expectantly, waiting for your reaction. And with that shy, gentle gaze fixed on you, the third spark hit you.

It couldn’t go on without him knowing the truth. You kept on stalling your parents, weeks turned into a month smoothly and unnoticed. You were no longer working on your novella, and Soleil seemed to grow lonely. The little cat was the only reason you didn’t permanently invite yourself into the Dessendre manor, the thought becoming more and more appealing, subtly but insistently, by the day. And the more it occupied your mind, the more troubled you became.

So you did what no one would ever believe you, because you didn't even believe it yourself. You didn’t dare write a letter. In fact, you hadn’t even dared to pick up a pen in front of the Dessendres or to type a few letters on Alicia’s typewriter after she showed you one of her self-composed poems.

But you dared to write music. A ballad that would reveal the truth to a skilled musician like Verso. Music in which you hid your secrets. You wrote the notes with trembling fingers, excited, anxious, desperate. And all the while you kept asking yourself why you were doing this, why you felt so drawn to this family and their son. The answer was clear, but it couldn’t be true. On the contrary, after this evening, you suspected you’d leave the manor and never return. It hurt, but better now than later, when it might tear you apart.

That evening, when you stepped into the entrance hall of the manor, let in by Verso, you looked around. It was strangely quiet. Granted, it was always quiet at first; the house was far too big for just five people. But guests were usually greeted quickly.

“The others are out today,” Verso explained in response to your wandering gaze.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I come back another time?” you asked, even though you didn’t want to leave.

“Of course not,” Verso insisted immediately, closing the door behind you. “I stayed here to see you. You’re making such a mystery out of where in the city you live, so I couldn’t send a courier with a letter.”

“There was no need for you to miss a family night because of me,” you said, although deep down you were glad he had waited for you. “I would’ve gotten the memo if no one had opened the door.”

“I could never leave you standing in front of a locked door,” he replied with a gentle smile that almost brought tears to your eyes. Instead, you managed to return one. The momentary silence that followed hung between you like a heavy blanket. With all your might, you had to sweep it aside to bring the words over your lips that marked the beginning of the end: “I, uh, I have a present for you.”

There was a sparkle in his eyes. “A present, for me?” His hand found its way to the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. “That’s quite – I mean, that’s not necessary, really. Besides, I should really be the one to make you a present.”

You scoffed in amusement. “I think it’s perfectly fine for me to gift you something without expecting something in return. It’s really nothing special.” You raised the sheets in your hand to eye level. “I composed something. Would you play it for me?”

Verso took the sheets from your hand, examining them with that concentrated look he always wore when faced with musical notes. “This looks a little odd,” slipped from his lips, immediately regretting the words as he looked at you with an apologetic expression. 

“Yeah…” was all you managed to say. He followed you to the piano. Sitting side by side on the bench, just before he began to play, his fingers already poised on the keys, you were struck by a sudden impulse. “Wait.” Instinctively, you reached for his hand. The cold shiver ran down your spine like it had been poured over with ice-cold water, all the while your cheeks grew hot and your stomach performed a somersault. Avoiding eye contact, you stared at your joined hands. Verso’s thumb gently stroked across the back of your fingers.

He said your name, so you looked up. To compose yourself, you had to take a deeper breath. The affection in his eyes was clear as day when he asked: “Are you alright?”

You knew you needed to respond, to get a grip on yourself, but it was as if your throat had closed up, so lost were you in his eyes and the feeling of his hand in yours, his thumb continuing its steady path across your skin.

“I…I…” You cleared your throat, pulled your hand back, held it with the other. “I just wanted to say that I truly enjoy our time together, and that you play the piano for me. It’s magical hearing you play.” You had actually wanted to say that you had enjoyed the time, but you weren’t ready to really say it out loud.

A flicker of confusion crossed Verso’s face, quickly followed by a smile. “Me too. I mean,” he chuckled, “I enjoy our time together as well.” He turned to the piano. “Now, to your present.” His enthusiasm was palpable, and you were certain he could also feel your sadness.

Still, he began to play, without needing to remove the sheet music from the pages, entirely guided by his talent. In a way, it was comforting to know that a piece of your music, and on top of that, the truth about your life, would, for once, not vanish into nothing. As Verso played your little melody, you watched how his initial joy turned into confusion. He even paused a few times, uncertain whether to continue, but then he did, and his confusion became something darker: disquiet. Even though he already knew the truth, he played the piece through to the end. When the final note faded, the silence crashed down on you so suddenly that your vision finally blurred. Verso’s gaze drifted unbearably slowly from the keys to you, the gentle, shy, adorable expression on his face now gone.

“I’m so sorry.” Your lower lip trembled as you tried to steady your voice, the tears now running freely down your cheeks. “I should’ve told you so much earlier. I should’ve never even come back here. I made a mistake and then everything just… happened. A-And you,” that’s when your voice cracked, “you were so kind, all of you. I’m sorry for betraying your trust.” You inhaled shakily. “I truly, truly enjoyed this time. Nobody else ever has to know. Verso,” you said his name, “you are an inspirational artist and a beautiful soul. The type of soul one writes poems about. I will…” But you didn’t want to lose yourself in a flood of words, so you held them back, the pressure building so high that another wave of tears rose up.

Verso didn’t move a muscle during your outburst, not even his expression changed. He simply looked at you, his eyes roaming over yours, down to your trembling lips, and back again. You didn’t dare look away, but you noticed the way his hands slowly lifted. You let out a sob as he cradled your face. Gently, he wiped away the tears, and his expression melted from stoic to utter devotion.

“Please… Please don’t,” you whispered in despair. “I will be lost.”

His face leaned closer, and you knew, just as you’d always known, that you shouldn’t let this happen. Panic fluttered in your chest as you watched him move, everything unfolding in slow motion. And then suddenly, his lips were on yours. He broke through the last bit of resistance your mind had managed to hold onto, and ignited the fire. Everything about him was soft and warm and gentle, just as you’d imagined. The way he held your face, the way his lips brushed over yours, claimed them, only to pull back briefly and repeat the pattern.

And yet, just as he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you closer, and you leaned into him, pressing against him, your fingers gliding through his full, smooth head of hair, you discovered a trace of desperation in his touch. A feeling that wasn’t foreign to you. You felt it, too, this ache for him, and the knowledge that it could not be.

You both knew it. That’s why you delayed the inevitable moment when you’d have to pull away, drawing the now out as long as you could, your hands wandering across each other’s faces, necks, arms. You reveled in the feel of his gruff beard, grounded yourself on his strong shoulders, all the while he seemed to try to pull you even closer, his hand at the back of your neck, only to tease your skin with a featherlight, goosebump-inducing touch.

And when the time came, your faces still close, his heated forehead resting against yours, his breath mixing with your own heavy one, your tears had dried, but the despair was greater than ever. 

“I don’t care,” he whispered, “I don’t care what you are. I just care who you are.” He caressed over your head, playing with a strand of hair. 

For just a moment, you imagined, what if… what if everything wasn’t the way it was? Then you could give in to this, here and now, scandalously and in secret, and you and Verso would spend more time together, and someday he would, maybe in the park, maybe surrounded by your families, get down on one knee and…

You opened your eyes with an exhale. That would never happen, and you both knew it. “We can’t,” you said with all the conviction you could summon. “It’s forbidden, it would never work out, they would never let us.”

“Then we will convince them,” Verso replied immediately, “my family already loves you, if my maman vouches for you, maybe we can…”

“Stop,” you interrupted him. What he was saying was ludicrous. “They will not make peace over some idiots like us. Tensions are already high, we’d have to be more than stupid to stir unrest.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like stupidly in love, you mean?”

Your heart skipped a beat as he said the words you would’ve never dared to say, and you withdrew. You stood up almost too quickly, Verso with you. It was time to go, before you got even more entangled with one another. You had told your truth, but you hadn’t expected him not to care.

“Au revoir.” You turned around, retreating, hearing his echoing footsteps following you toward the front door, but he didn’t try to stop you with words. As you opened the door, he stepped in your way, his arm a barrier between you and the cool evening air, pain and desperation in his eyes.

“Please, Verso,” you pleaded, “we should’ve never let it get this far. If you have the feelings for me that you claim to have, just let me go.”

That seemed to convince him, for he only hesitated another moment before stepping aside to let you pass. You walked away, slowly at first, then faster, fleeing into the city, not looking back for fear that you would run to him again.

You threw open the door to your room on the top floor of your city residence and immediately opened the window. It wasn’t a luxurious house, your family wasn’t rich per se, not like the Dessendres, but wealthy enough to call a nicely furnished house in the city their own. Your bag arced through the air and landed on your bed, startling Soleil, who jumped off. Just when you needed her. You paced back and forth, trying to calm your wrangled nerves, to let the thoughts of Verso Dessendre drift away, but the more you tried, the more firmly he rooted himself in your mind.

Your brain was in overload, painting every possible scenario of things you would never experience with Verso because you refused to fight, your fear of the consequences too great. Time and time again, your gaze drifted to your desk, and little by little, a new notion formed, just as crazy, just as taboo, but maybe a way out.

“Are you out of your mind?” you asked yourself, the idea so outrageous you wished you could shake yourself.

Among Writers, weaving others into a story was highly polarizing. The topic was often discussed in your council, but never resolved. One side claimed it was part of healthy literature to seek inspiration or even manifestation in the presence and essence of others. The other side, and your entire family belonged to that one, wholeheartedly, saw the danger in writing down stories in which real people appeared. Anecdotal evidence showed that those with a weak mind could lose themselves in the world they wrote, the story they wanted to live, shaping it as they pleased, down to the tiniest detail, and in doing so, robbing those they placed in it of all autonomy.

And that danger was what troubled you now. If you sat down at your desk and wrote what you wanted to experience with Verso, poured everything you could into a few hours to get just a glimpse of the life you imagined, you could live it, but at what cost? Then again, maybe it would help you – maybe you just needed that brief experience of a perfect moment with him to end the chapter, to pack your things in the morning and go back home.

Anyway, writings about the lives of others did exist. The difference was that such works were created under strict supervision and then locked for entry by a Writer, purely out of caution, until the subject could be laid to rest. You knew, just from the discourse alone, that there were people who wrote about others and then entered their own stories. What happened to them? Had they gone mad?

Carefully, you sat down at your desk, your gaze fixed on your neatly arranged folder and pen. Your grandmother would turn in her grave. She had been the first to tell you about the perils of obsession, how you would want to relive your perfect story over and over again until you could no longer experience real, human ones, because no story was ever as perfect as the ones you created yourself.

You picked up the pen, suddenly very calm, and opened your folder. It was the moment that usually brought you peace, the instant just before writing the first word on a blank, white sheet of paper, but now, it sent a cold shiver down your spine.

This was wrong. So wrong. It had been wrong from the very beginning. And now you sat here, at your desk in your bedroom in the city. Outside the open window, the star-strewn sky stretched out above the rooftops, a warm breeze brushing against your face and playing with your hair. It was a perfect night to write something. But not this. And all because of him.

Your hand trembled slightly as you pressed the tip of your pen to the paper and wrote the first sentence: “Verso Dessendre enters my bedroom in the city residence…”