#which is just a tote bag that i don’t need in my sea of tote bags lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

violettelueur · 4 years ago

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— RYOMEN SUKUNA || LET ME MARK YOU THEN

↳ featuring : ryomen sukuna from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of sex, mention of hickeys and grammar issues

↳ form : imagine

↳ published : 22 january

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 3.7k

↳ synopsis : (modern!AU) after your lectures, you decided to pay your tattoo artist boyfriend a little visit only to then be persuaded to let him draw a tattoo design on you even though you never actually wanted a real one to be marked with.

↳ barista’s notes : just a little gift to you all before today’s episode and the reset the ‘coffees in progress’ list (wip) when i get enough sleep and after my disgusting online classes, i hope you enjoy the free cup of coffee everyone ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ - also i feel like this is the longest imagine i have ever posted ʕ ㅇ ᴥ ㅇʔ

Having a morning full of tedious lectures was not someone’s ideal day and it was definitely not yours. Although, there was nothing you could do but pursue them through with as much enthusiasm and determination that you could possibly muster while being impatient about the hands on the clock taking forever to move a single inch.

However, at this moment in time, you were able to escape the suffocating lecture hall after many hours for today and was now walking down the busy streets of Tokyo with a white plastic takeaway bag in one hand while the other was occupied with your tote bag that was resting on your shoulder, which surprisingly kept hold of some of your textbooks as well as your laptop giving you some reassurance that the bag that your boyfriend gave you was going to last for quite some time.

Looking around the busy quarter of the capital, you began to notice a few high school students roaming about here and there with some hanging out with their friends - mostly likely going to a cafe or to the nearest karaoke lounge that they could find - while other were either rushing home as they entered the station or to their part-time jobs that they had managed to obtain for a few extra bucks to save up for their next step in life. Noticeably, there were also a few adults out and about with some working as street-food vendors selling delicious treats that you would be craving if you weren’t so full while others were dressed extremely professional with their laptops out on their cafe/restaurant table to what seemed like they were on their lunch break.

‘He should be on his lunch break right now, but if not, I’ll just put his food in the shop’s fridge’

Continue walking to your destination, you finally reached to a quieter area with the city leading you to then stand in front of a glass order with a ‘closed’ sign in front along with another extremely noticeable sign proudly stating ‘Malevolent Shine’ to which if you had said that to any tattoo fanatic within Japan, they would instantly know what you were talking about.

Opening the door, there was a sudden noise of a ring being heard leading you to immediately look up to see the silver bell that you told him to arrange since he always got annoyed about the number of potential clients popping up without his acknowledgement only to tell him that they didn’t book an appointment at all causing him to become more irritated - and as a matter of fact, you couldn’t blame him at all.

Looking around the tattoo shop that you had entered, there wasn’t a single person in sight leading you to come to the conclusion that you were right about his lunch break since his assistant would be at the front desk if they weren’t. Although there was no one to greet you, the dark atmosphere did. It gave an odd sense of comfort with its hints of red that could calm a customer down if they were worried about the tattoo they were committing to having on their body or if it was their first - especially when it came to him.

“Oya~ ain’t you a sexy customer? But I’m afraid we’re closed, but I don’t mind giving you a private session if you want, kitten” someone smoothly stated, leading your eyes to slowly shift to the person who was leaning against the desk with a confident smirk on his face. There he was, the mastermind behind the whole shop itself.

“Well, I’m not coming in for a tattoo but I am here to give a little gift, Sukuna,” you mischievously stated, as you lifted the white bag with the takeaway you had ordered for the man himself, leading him to look at you in surprised before tilting his head indicating you to come to the back with him.

Following his lead, you placed the bag on his table once you reached the backroom before placing your tote on the floor beside the table’s leg so it didn’t fall, letting any of your precious studious contents to be lost as well as avoiding any damage to your laptop.

“I’m surprised you’re using the bag, kitten,” Sukuna suddenly commented, as he sat on his chair while pulling out the white styrofoam box of Thai food that he always ordered along with a bento box that was wrapped in a black cloth.

“Well, how could I not? You did buy it for me,” you quietly mentioned as you took off your black longline coat before placing it behind your chair since there was nowhere else to put it.

“Did you make this?” Sukuna quickly questioned as he lifted the bento box causing you to nod at his question once you saw what he meant leading you to state, “I didn’t know if you were going to stay back tonight, so I prepared some food for you in case,” causing Sukuna to smirk since you were right about your assumption and it did catch him by surprise since he didn’t mention it to you today when he left your shared apartment.

“Thanks,” he quietly muttered before pulling his chair closer towards you so he could place a lingering kiss on your cheek to show his appreciation towards you. “How was class?” he then asked, as he began to unwrap the cloth of the box to your surprise since you bought his favourite item from the Thai restaurant but made no mention of it.

“Annoying, it was suffocating in there but the lecture was interesting so that’s a plus,” you answered, as you began to scan his messy desk that displayed the many drawings that he was working on. Some of the designs that Sukuna was drawing were almost complete, while others were in the same situation but for some odd reason, it was crossed out as if he was unsatisfied with the outcome that it was going to have which lead you to be perplexed since some of the drawings were incredibly detailed and beautiful. However, you didn’t have the eyes of an artist like your boyfriend did, instead, you had the eyes of someone that was able to analyse things exceedingly well hence why you decided to pursue a career as a criminal lawyer.

“How has the shop been while I was away?” you asked, as you carefully picked up one of the designs that the tattoo artist seemed to have scraped leading him to answer with an annoyed huff. “A pain, there’s been so many dumbass people coming in thinking they could just walk in and get a tattoo done immediately without even booking a meeting,” Sukuna answered before taking a bite of the soy-glazed fried chicken you made as he then continued with, “it was a good idea to get the bell since I could see if it was a customer I knew or not,”.

Looking at your boyfriend, you couldn’t help but smile at the man as he continuously munched the context in the box as if he hadn’t eaten in the past week when in reality he had been raiding the fridge back home only just this morning. Slowly, you turn your head back to the paper that you were holding as you continued to admire the work of art right in front of you.

To be honest, it was quite simple compared to all the other ones that were lying about on his work desk but that didn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful. The light sketch depicted a short section of a branch or stem decorated with different types of beautiful flowers and next to it was the same design with the only difference of it being coloured lightly in case the client wanted to have options.

“What happened here?” you asked before tilting the paper to the side, letting Sukuna have a glance at the design he decided to discard.

“Oh, the client cancelled since I wouldn’t have sex with her,” Sukuna casually stated leading you to nod before taking another look at the design with a small smile on your face. Sadly, it was such a waste since the design was beautiful and it was disappointing to not see Sukuna put this beautiful art into life.

Some people might wonder why you were so calm about the statement he had just given you, heck even his younger twin brother Itadori Yuji thought it was weird that it didn’t bother you as much as other girls would have been. The reason was that you were so used to him having female attention as well as male attention and it wasn’t a surprise when people would book an appointment with him just for a fling or hoping for something more than just that - and even though you were calm, there was also a hint of jealousy and fear within your heart that you couldn’t help.

It was like the first time you saw him in your second year of high school.

ꕥ

Stretching your arms, you had finally finished the last sheet of the budgets for the school clubs leading you to carefully clip the pile of sheets into the folder as you then stood up from your desk before quickly heading out of your homeroom, so you could give the documents to the student council president, who was a third-year within your school.

However, as you were walking past a few classrooms with some people greeting you with a smile, you came to a sudden halt when you saw a whole crowd of female and males students in front of you leading to a blockage of the halls and a blockage of the classroom you need to go through to hand the documents to your senior.

“Did you hear, I heard he was back?!”

“I can’t believe he’s back, I missed him so much!”

“I like Yuji’s kind and goofy personality, but how could you not love a bad boy like him?”

‘Bad boy?’

Carefully, you managed to find a gap between the sea of students and forcibly made yourself fit within the gap before badly struggling to make it through the arc of the classroom door leading you to nearly trip the second you got the chance to push through the gap to ender the class. Quickly looking around, you found your senior sitting next to someone who looked like your friend and basketball club member Itadori Yuji - well more like a mature replicant of the boy you were used to. However, unbothered by the sudden appearance of the new third-year, you speedily made your way to the council president and handed him the booklet that he needed today leading you to receive his gratitude.

Yet, before you could even take a single step away from your senior, you unexpectedly felt someone grab your wrist causing you to quickly turn around to find Itadori’s replica behind you leading to a few gasps coming from the students from the outside as well as in the homeroom.

“Is there an issue?” you firmly asked, as you looked down at his hand that had a tight grip on your wrist causing you to have a small glance at the two black bands that were tattooed around his wrist - even though it was prohibited to have any in your school, you weren’t the type to scold someone for having them since you weren’t sure on how the teacher’s thought it affected someone’s education.

“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?” the salmon-haired third-year curiously asked, as he began to admire your wrist by gently turning it for your veins to come into view before beginning to trace your skin with the tip of his thumb causing a light shiver to go down your spine due to the ticklish feeling as well as his deep voice which was the complete opposite to what you thought it was going to be.

‘So this is the infamous Sukuna everyone was talking about’

“Not really,” you answered as you looked at him causing his eyes to look back at you before you continued with “I don’t think it would suit me at all,”.

“I disagree,” Sukuna counteracted, as he went back to admire the blank canvas of your wrist that he wanted to draw on so badly. No not draw. Mark. “I think you’ll suit something, maybe something on your neck or collarbone at best actually,” Sukuna mentioned leading you to give him a confused expression before he then proceeded with his speech by saying, “I’ll convince you one day and mark you brat”,

‘What...did….he….just….call….me..?’

“Ah...good luck with that idiot,” you stated in an annoyed tone leading to a few of the admiring student to gasp at your wording as well as sudden confident as they were scared on what was going to happen to you now since Sukuna wasn’t the type to tolerate insults in a nice way no matter what gender you were. However, exceeding the audience’s assumptions, Sukuna began to smirk excitedly at your attitude as he suddenly found you more interesting than any other girl he has met at the back of the school.

“Be prepared, little kitten”

ꕥ

‘That nickname….’

Back then Sukuna was known to be a playboy from what you could recall, every week there was news on the new girl he had managed to convince to meet at the back alley of the school while you were just being a model student with the dream of going to law school. However, during the middle of the school year, you began to realise that the common scandalous news that seemed to be popular enough for it to be on the front cover of the newspaper began to gradually fade as Sukuna slowly pushed himself into your life since you were close with his twin brother due to your friend being part of the basketball team as the assistant coach - she even mentioned that ever since Sukuna came into your life he had stopped his acts and change slightly because of you to which, of course, you denied at the time.

It was during the first term of your third-year that you agreed to give Sukuna a chance since he was constantly annoying you by popping up at the school gate after school to ‘walk you home’ ever since his graduation - when in reality it was to take you out somewhere - without fail even when you had to stay in a few hours. However, you had given him three conditions since you were still conscious of the consequences of dating someone with such a disgraceful built reputation - much to his dismay, he shockingly agreed.

If you are going to have a fling with someone behind my back, don’t think about seeing or talking to me again.

I know you are sexually active, but you have to wait until I’m ready.

Don’t tattoo me.

Let’s just say that Sukuna had managed to keep condition number one in check and you didn’t have to worry about it at all, while with condition number two he didn’t have to wait that long for you to give in to your desires which you could tell he certainly enjoyed when you finally gave him the ‘okay’.

Number three though...

“Do you want to try that design out?”

Breaking from your daze, you quickly turned your head to find your boyfriend staring at you - with the bento box practically empty at this point - while tilting his head to the paper that was still within your grasp.

“I think you giving me hickeys are enough in my opinion, babe” you jokingly mentioned leading to both you and Sukuna laughing at each other slightly.

“I mean, do you want me to draw it on you to see how it looks?” he then asked, causing you to look at the floral design one last time before giving him a hesitant nod.

‘Trying it out won’t hurt right?’

“I need a confident answer little kitten, where did that feisty attitude of yours back in high school go?” Sukuna teased, causing you to give him the side glance before giving him the verbal permission that he wanted, leading him to smirk at you since knew his mockery would get you to give him what he wanted since you were also the stubborn type - a side that he always loved to play with.

Grabbing his pen and a black pot full of his thin-tipped coloured skin markers, he wheels his chair even closer to your before pausing, leading you to look at him in confusion since you had already pulled your wrist in front of him, the same area he had grabbed back in high school.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothing today,” Sukuna muttered as he began to fiddle with the collar of your white silk dress shirt causing you to look at him with extreme confusion before mentioning, “well it is getting colder since the Autumn season is coming around,” leading him to hum in an understanding tone as he continued to play with the smooth fabric.

“I want to draw on your collarbone area, I don’t want to draw on the area where the client wanted it to be,” Sukuna stated as he lightly pushed away your wrist leading you to realise why he paused. “You can,” you quickly mentioned leading the tattoo artist to look at you to see if you were lying, only to see nothing but the light of the trust within your eyes.

Slowly, Sukuna began to reach over to the top button to then unhook it from its loop before continuously doing the same with the others until enough skin of your shoulders were exposed with the top half of your shirt resting on the side of your arms to which then he slowly moved away the right-hand side of your bra strap to fully expose the canvas that he wanted to mark so eagerly.

Admiring the skin that was in front of him, Sukuna began to trace the area with his thumb before leaning in to place a chaste kiss on the same side of your neck before cradling your face on the other side with his other hand - as if it was a way for him to say ‘thank you’ for letting him do this.

Regrettably pulling away, Sukuna quickly grabbed his black pen as he then leaned in towards your collarbone to start drawing the outline of his design on his now favourite canvas causing you to shiver somehow due to how ticklish and weird the sensation felt when the ballpoint pen continuously gently gilded upon your skin. However, what got you shaking the most was the constant feeling of your boyfriend’s breath being felt on your upper body now that your shirt was basically off - it wasn’t completely off to the same feeling when you were underneath him the first time you allowed him to make his claim on you.

“Baby, it feels ticklish,” you commented, the second you felt a different sensation upon your skin leading Sukuna to glance up to check if you were alright like you were an actual client before placing another kiss on your jawline in a way to comfort you since he had switched to his skin markers to colour in the design he had drawn on you.

“You’re being a good kitten though, you’re not moving a lot then I thought you would,” the tattoo artist whispered leading you to quiver as his deep voice was not helping so much with your beating heart - erratic to the point where you thought he could hear or even feel.

Due to Sukuna concentrating, you couldn’t help but keep silent to help him continue with his work causing you to glance around your room with your eyes before landing upon a wall where there was a multitude of messages written leading you to carefully scan the writings that were visibly presenting themselves.

As expected, there were messages of encouragement - not that the arrogant Sukuna needed it to be honest, but it was nice of the client to do so - and a few drawings from other tattoo artists that Sukuna had famously done. However, not to your surprise, there were a few numbers here and there causing you to sigh since you couldn’t help it - you couldn’t blame your boyfriend for being an extremely handsome man.

Unexpectedly, you felt another kiss being placed upon your cheek causing you to look towards your boyfriend with a smile on your face - it was as if he knew what you were looking at. “I’m finished by the way,” Sukuna announced, causing you to look at him with widened eyes since the drawing session was a little faster than you had anticipated.

Reaching over to a drawer in his desk, Sukuna suddenly pulled out a mirror before passing it to you, leading you to lift up the little instrument to see the result that was drawn on your skin.

“You changed the design,” you quietly stated, as you began to tenderly trace the design with your index finger as you began to admire the piece of art that was masterfully drawn on your collar bone. The tattoo beautifully depicted a single strand of a blooming lavender across your collarbone with each petal in different shades of purple while the buds that weren’t in bloom were in a slight pale pink shade making you smile more since Sukuna drew this straight from his head causing you to have a hint of proudness for him.

“I wasn’t going to give you that previous design, it doesn’t suit you one bit,” the salmon-haired artist mentioned as he continued with, “I’m not going to let that disgusting design touch your skin, especially since this is the first time you let me mark you somewhat,” as he then moved behind you before placing his chin on your shoulder to look at you through the mirror you were holding.

“I might let you mark me permanently then,” you suddenly announced causing your boyfriend to look at you with a surprised look on his face leading you to giggle at his reaction.

“Yeah, let’s break condition three then, you can mark me this one time,” you informed him as you turned to look at him, causing Sukuna to give you his classic smirk before possessively grabbing your chin leading him to lean closer to you.

“Let me mark you then”

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flusteredloser · 3 years ago

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sugar sweet

richie tozier x fem reader

category: fluff, fluff, literally just fluff

word count: 3,3k

content warnings: swearing, stealing, slight nsfw (sexual innuendos... bc it’s richie tozier), a driving scene written by a bitch who can't drive, overbearing fluff, sonia

a/n: hello here’s a lil soft fic i wrote in a hyper state today <3 i had ‘beverly’ by ben wallfisch from the it 2017 soundtrack stuck in my head while i wrote the ending so !! enjoy

🎡

"sweetheart, if you don't put your head back in, i'm afraid i'm gonna have to marie antoinette you."

you laughed dismissively at his empty threat, feeling a grin take over. you let the wind crash against your face and through your hair, the scent of sea salt softly filling your nose. if richie thought that you were going to give this feeling up, oh, was he wrong.

despite what he was saying, the sight of morning sunlight streaking through your flying hair and your torso poking out the passengers' window was one richie wished he could get used to. despite his nagging for the past half hour, ranting about the dangers of vehicular manslaughter and mishaps, he couldn't help but beam at your laughter.

he almost hit himself in the head for getting all worked up about safety like eddie always did, but it was something he found himself doing often with you. keeping you safe and sound was one of the few things that kept him from staying up all night. besides, you guys were going to see eddie and the rest of the losers in a bit anyways. the designated role of the pedantic worrier would soon be shrugged off richie's shoulders.

keeping one hand on the wheel, richie’s free hand never left the edge of your knee, not once in the hour-long drive. no matter how far you reached your body out his car's window, his fingers stayed glued around you. you never said anything about the gesture apart from placing your hand over his. being his was something you never got used to, but you were far from complaining.

"richierichierichie i think we're here!" you exclaim, ducking your head back inside the car.

"you sure, dummy? the massive ferris wheel and circus tent means we're close to the carnival?"

your hand leaves his to go shove his temple, "fuck off, rich."

"i know i know, you're really excited," he taps your knee, "so am i."

he pulls into the parking lot, expertly navigating his way through the crowded area before finding a space. an empty space which was coincidentally beside a sketchy beat-up minivan painted with "URIS," in fat letters.

richie laughs, "what are the fucking odds.”

his hand moves from the skin on your knee to the back of your seat, his body shifting to face the rear. you subtly eye your boyfriend sitting in the driver's seat and tried not to physically express any of the thoughts firing in your mind right then. dear god, did he look good today. you end up shamelessly staring at him as he strains his neck to squeeze his way through tight space. his knuckles turn to this ghostly shade of white when he flexed them against the wheel, his rings glinting under the sunlight.

once he finally put the car in park and shifted his weight back to you, he catches your gaze. throwing a wink, he pulls out the keys and stuffs his belongings into his jean pockets.

you’re sure he has zero clue about the effect any of this had on you. sure, he was your boyfriend but sometimes you found yourself feeling scared at how much you liked him. this boy has you wrapped around his finger and he barely knows half of it.

you reach over and run your fingers through his unruly hair a couple more times, enjoying the way the curls bounce back. “you look so good, rich.”

he rolls his eyes at your remark, but you don’t miss the way a small blush reaches tips of his ears. “enjoy it while it lasts, i can’t let the guards recognise me again.”

“i still can’t believe you got fired and banned on the same day, rich. that’s genuinely so impressive, you know that?"

richie rolls his eyes but you see the hint of a grin on his face, “you going soft on me, sweets?”

“could never.” you ruffle his hair, letting your nails glide along his scalp and you laugh at the way his head naturally tips back. richie had no clue why the feeling of your hands in his hair that made him short-circuit, but he wasn’t complaining.

“do we really have to go see them...” richie groans, grabbing your hand and placing it back onto his head when you pulled away.

“richard tozier. i did not pester you to drive us an hour away just so you could fold at me playing with your hair.”

he side-eyes you. “why did i agree to this again?”

“because every day for the last month you wouldn’t shut up about ‘taking eddie’s slushee v-”

“ed’s slushee virginity, riiiight,” he breaks out in a smile, “jesus, can you believe sonia never let him near one in his entire life?”

you tug his fringe towards you and the rest of his head followed, “well, now that he’s all alone there, someone’s got to be there to guide him through his first time, right?”

he faux-pouts back at you, the mischievous glint in his eye sparkling brighter. “fine.”

finally, you let go of his hair and he pecks a kiss against your cheek before putting on his sunglasses and tipping his cap further down his face. opening his car door, you sit there dumbfounded as you watch the 6'2 disguised dork clamber out of his side with your tote bag on his shoulder.

he glances back, offering a hand as if you were going to climb out on his side as well, “c’mon, we don’t have all day.” and richie made sure you knew that by dragging you through the park, evading the guards left and right in under a minute. it was only so long before you spotted a group of idiots wandering aimlessly. bev’s bright red hair was the instant identifier, and watching this bill’s lanky frame grab a fistful of stan’s curls to yank it about sealed the deal.

“stanley, darling,” richie yelled through the crowd, “if you wanted someone to pull your hair that badly you could’ve asked me nicely.” “shut the fuck up, trashmouth!” stan yelled back. “wait. rich?”

you walk over and sling your arm around bev, “you guys haven’t been waiting long, have you?” she grins at the sight of you, “no, but if i have to hear mike argue one more time that the high striker is apparently ‘broken’ i’m going to kill somebody.”

“do me a favour and kill me, bev!” stan’s voice cuts through, followed by a shriek when richie too grabs a handful of his hair.

bev’s hand leaves yours to go smack both boys upside the head. “y’all better stop acting like children before i get fucking fired. i’m not going out like dumbass richie here did.” she eyes the rest of them, who all halt in their tracks.

“yes, ma’am,” the chorus sighed.

🎡

"ed's, i swear on your mother's smokin’ bod that blue is the. best. flavour. there's literally nothing wrong with it."

"you just called blue a flavour, richie-”

"because it can be. it doesn’t matter if blue and red colouring are the same, you can feel the difference.”

"no, i really can't. i don't understand how the colour blue could possibly be-"

richie groans, "fine, eat your mommy's packed lunch like the big boy you are." he teasingly starts to wave his cup in front of eddie's eyes.

"quit it, rich. if eddie doesn’t want toxins in his body, leave him be." ben interjects before sipping his own neon drink.

the boys huddled together around a picnic table they had managed to snatch before the carnival’s lunch rush swept over. richie and bev used to work in the carnival last summer, the two-week period spent with one another supposedly being “worse than the devil’s asscrack.” the comment itself earned richie five slaps, one each from the boys, and a high-five from bev. that was until richie got permanently banned (which you still don’t know how) and now bev carried on by herself whenever they roll back into derry.

currently, you and bev were on your way back from the concession stands, attempting not to spill anything. you each held at least four bags of carnival foods and drinks in your arms, bev also balancing the few candy bars she stashed under her shirt. teeter-tottering your way back to the boys, richie burst out in laughter at the sight of you struggling.

“as graceful as a job you’re doing with that, sweets, do you want some help?” he smirks, already swinging his leg over the chair.

“nope, nothing to see here,” you groan at richie’s smug grin. “rich, i swear to god if you come near me i am going to-”

“hurt me, hit me, murder me, mmhm. i’m sure you’ll do a whole lot of damage.” he winks, swiping the bags from your arms.

“freaky.” stan muttered, churning his slushee with the straw. you grumble at richie’s endearing irritating act of heroism and plop yourself next to stan empty-handed.

“here, you want some?” stan raises an eyebrow, offering his blue slushee towards you.

“thanks stan, but he’s got my...” you glance towards richie, half-expecting to see him distributing the snacks, only to see him aggressively nudge the slushees in eddie’s face. “you know what, i’ll take it.”

stan scoffed, “what, you thought i was offering this from the depths of my generous heart? i thought you knew me better-"

the sound of plastic crinkling and eddie’s yelp cut through stan’s sentence.

you look back at the sight of richie threatening to pour the ice into eddie’s hair, eddie shrieking and wildly missing punches at richie. dear god, your boyfriend was such a menace. richie and eddie never spent a day where they weren’t at eachother’s throats though, but anyone with a pair of eyes could see that they deeply loved one another. rich had that effect on people, you think. he was rarely overtly loving, but it’s not like he needed to be. you guys just knew.

ben smiles sweetly between you and your gaze on richie. “you’re staring again, y/n.”

you immediately snap out of it and go to slug ben in the shoulder. “was not.”

“was too.”

"was. not."

"was too!"

you narrow your eyes at ben who sheepishly smiles in innocence. he reaches over to grab a couple onion rings from your bag to which you lightly slap the back of his hand. he groans, trying again from another angle, “just because i pointed out your goo-goo eyes at trashmouth?”

bev snatched a couple rings from across you and threw them at ben. he chuckles gleefully at the perfect catch. “you know, he’s not wrong,” she points out.

“for the last time, i wasn’t staring,” you groan.

“not about that, genius. the way you’re absolutely whipped for that dick.” she smiles. “i mean,” you barely conceal your smirk, “the dick is pretty g-”

"not what i meant," bev sighs while the rest of them groan at your words.

“seriously though,” bill asks with genuine curiosity, “how did you even end up together? how do you even like someone that much?” bev tuts from the other side, “tread lightly there, denbrough.”

“shut up, you know what i mean. it’s trashmouth we’re talking ’bout here.” bill grins, “it’s a mystery how someone can shut him up so quick.”

you laugh to yourself, thinking about the few times you get to see richie completely speechless. “it’s not that hard, you know?” you shrug softly at the way the losers nod. you may all pretend to hate the life out of him but he always had a special place in each of your hearts. “he cares with everything he’s got, no matter what. he’s always there for you even if you don’t want him to be. i just...i don’t think he’s been anything less than...”

“-if you say ‘perfect’, i’m going to hit you.” stan says.

you roll your eyes at stan, “fuck off, but... but yeah. it’s so easy to love him and i honestly owe you guys an apology for being so annoyingly whipped for that dork,” you joke.

aside from the distant bickering coming from richie and eddie in their own little world, a silence hung over the six of you. it was too quiet. wondering if you said something wrong, you scan over them, only to be met with six variations of a smirk. more than confused, you chuckle nervously. “i was joking about the apology thing but if you really want-”

“you said ‘love.’” bev laughed.

“what?”

“you said ‘love,’” she repeated. “that you loved him.”

“i... of course i love him, he’s..” not trusting any more of the words coming out of your mouth, you cut yourself off and gather your thoughts.

of course you loved richie. each and every one of you loved your resident trashmouth, he was one of your best friends. the two of you were the closest of friends, an insufferable duo for years before you began dating. it might have only been a few weeks since he asked you out, but it’s not like too much changed from when you were friends.

there was only more love, more affection, only slightly more sexual innuendos (majority of them were solely just to piss off stan).

so of course you loved him. more than you did when you were friends. which he’s gotta know... right?

“fuck, maybe i do owe you guys an apology.” you joke.

“don’t think twice about it, this is nothing compared to him. if i took a shot for every time he went on some sort of love ramble about you, i’d be fucking dead.” bev replies, “and then he would carry on.”

you laugh, shaking your head in denial, “c’mon, he does not do that.”

“are you blind?” mike speaks up. “you’ve had him since the first day you joined us at the barrens. i can still see fourteen-year-old richie ogling you clear as day.”

you stammered at your response, tripping over your words. “mike, i think you broke her. she’s become bill,” stan teases.

you go to shove stan again and sorely miss. “anyways, my point is...”

you avoid their eye contact and go back to churning stan’s slushee. “he has my heart, fuck, he’s got all of our hearts. like, is he an asshole? sure. does he get on my nerves every other day? definitely. will he be the death of me? probably. but i l-”

“i sure hope you’re winding up to something there, sweets.”

you snap your head up from your dreamy rambling to see richie smirking next to you and eddie squeezing himself next to bill. you feel yourself go bright red at the realisation that he had been listening.

“i- no. that was it.”

“you sure? you going off about me... ‘but’...” richie pushes, quoting your words.

“richie, if you genuinely think you have redeeming qualities, i suggest some self-reflection.” stan quipped. “yeah, i was just pointing how much you bother us. no ifs, no buts,” you jokingly agree.

“mean,” richie rolls his eyes, shifting back in his seat next to you.

he’s gotta know... right?

you wink and stick your tongue out playfully, to which richie raises an eyebrow at. he glances between the blue drink in your hand and your tongue, his gaze on your lips making you nervous.

“now, what?” you sigh, wiping the ice from your mouth and pretending that you weren’t dying to know what was churning in that brain of his.

“nothing,” richie shrugs smugly, “just that i’ve always wanted to know how my cock looked blue.”

the comment took you off guard, your instant blush only fuelling richie’s grin. without hesitation, you lean over with a faux-pout, an act that has richie’s eyes wide. “careful there, trashmouth,” you tease loudly. “you keep this up and you’ll see how stan’s looks blue.”

bev immediately gasps with her hand over her mouth, followed by mike’s stifled cackle as he slapped richie’s back. the rest of the group looks frankly stunned, and stan’s face is on a whole different level of red.

richie doesn’t even look the least bit angry. his jaw is dropped slightly and he runs his hand over his jaw, trying to stop the chuckle that leaves his throat. if anything he looks proud.

shaking his head with a smile, he slings his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer. “that’s my girl,” he grins.

“yeah, that for sure is tozier’s,” bill says.

there’s no way any of you miss the way richie’s face goes red under that comment and your heart skips a beat when he squeezes your side. when no one’s looking, you lean up and kiss by his ear, absolutely delighted by the deeper shade of red on his face.

“darl, if you don’t stop that i’m going to go as red as stan,” he whispers into your hair. the both of you look back at the boy who’s trying to concentrate on his slushee and not the blush that’s continued to creep to his neck. “i’m actually getting concerned.”

you giggle, “shh, he’s fine.”

“no really, i give it a couple seconds before eddie pulls out his medical fanny pack,” richie says.

you look up at him as you’re tucked into his side, his arm still slung around your shoulder. his dark hair and eyelashes caught the sunlight, his blue eyes glinting as he glanced back. his lips were tipped into their signature cheeky smile, almost like a cue that he was going to say something out of hand. you felt the swell of your heart grow as he raised his eyebrows, prompting what he knew you were going to say.

“you know, earlier...” you whisper, looking down to his hand intertwining with yours. “i just... i wanted to say that i... you know... that i-”

“i feel like i should be offended at how hard it is for you to tell me you love me, sweets,” he whispers back, clearly trying to keep a straight face. fuck. “oh god please, you know i-” richie shushes you, kissing the crown of your head. “it’s okay, i know.” you can feel the curve of his lips against your hair. “i love you too.”

trying to tame the aggressive blush and stupid smile that reached your face, you follow his gaze over to eddie. just like richie joked, he had this fanny pack laid on the table in front of stan. you weren’t listening to anything they were saying, but you watched the way stan was squirming from eddie, insisting he did not have heatstroke. mike stood right behind stan, pinching his cheeks and periodically wrapping his strong arms around stan to stop him from squirming. bev was leaning across ben and bill’s laps, joining in and poking her fun at eddie and you notice how bill’s hands traces figures along bev’s side. ben gazes at the group of them, chiming in every so often when stan’s quips got too violent.

it was one of those moments you wish you could freeze.

after a while, richie whispers into your ear. “do you think they’d even notice if we left for the ferris wheel?”

you break your eye contact from the group to gaze up at him. “nope, not at all. you think you can sneak us some tickets?”

“please, you think i got kicked out of here for nothing?” he scoffs.

“is this how you’re going to get banned again?” you grin, poking his side, “stealing tickets for your girl?”

with a soft smile, he takes your hand to subtly stand and back away from the group. with stifled giggles, the both of you manage to make it at least twenty feet without the losers even noticing. the second you two were out of earshot, richie wraps his hand around yours and begins to run, “i wouldn't want it any other way."

🎡

529 notes · View notes

sooibian · 3 years ago

Text

So Let's Runaway - Costa Brava

Prologue >> Costa Brava >> Seville >> Cuéllar

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Fem!Reader ft. bff!Chanyeol

Genre/Themes: Fluff, angst, humour, travel AU, road trip through Spain, travel buddies Chansoo

Warnings: Grief, loss, heartache, toxic relationships, mildly explicit language

Description: A bachelors trip turns into a soul-searching journey when an unlikely group of three travels through the scenic landscapes of Spain. Their experiences present them with opportunities to mend bridges, face their fears and fall back in love with the true essence of life.

Word Count: ~ 5.3k

A/N: this story is a part of @supermwritersnet ‘Around the world in 31 days’ event. event masterlist.

Tag list: @sooadorable @rosetvler @changshapatrol @his-mochi-cheeks @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt @j-pping @kysoobydoobydoo @exoxobsession @camillapad @reekyungsoo let me know if you’d like to be (un)tagged.

@smolgirlbigthoughts thank you so much for the description!!! ;~~~~~;

After having stayed the night (or whatever was left of it after a red-eye flight) in an Airbnb in Barcelona, the three of you hired a Lyft to Europcar to pick up the SUV that Chanyeol had pre-booked for the Costa Brava - Seville - Cuéllar itinerary. What you’d gathered from your several conversations with Chanyeol after that serendipitous coffee date was that each of the three friends had handpicked an adventure sport to try out in these places.

Chanyeol had chosen scuba diving in the rugged coast of Costa Brava with its spectacular cliffs and countless coves. Kyungsoo had appositely picked out an adventure sport involving throwing oneself out of an airplane thousands of feet above ground a.k.a. skydiving in Seville, the capital of Andalusia, resting, wise and old, upon the Guadalquivir river. And Yixing, bless his heart, had wanted to take part in a bull run in Cuéllar that takes place on the last Sunday of August each year.

Twirling the car key on his finger, Chanyeol, dressed in baggy black shorts, a loose fitting purple tee, super dark oversized shades and a snapback cap worn backwards, strongly resembled that ‘smiling face with the sunglasses’ emoji as he walked out of the booking office with Kyungsoo following closely behind. All set to catch a few winks in the rear seat comfort of the SUV, you pulled down the brim of your sunhat but suddenly, a blur of turquoise swooped past you, capturing your attention. Your drowsy eyes wrestled the summer sun to land upon a gorgeous turquoise Buick convertible swerving around the parking area before coming to a fashionable halt. A portly, bespectacled man stepped out of the vehicle and deposited its key with the booking office.

This was it.

This was the car ideal for a road trip, not some mafia boss’ kidnapping vehicle.

The essence of time dawned upon you so you trotted to where the Buick was parked and went down on your knees, hands folded in an implicit plea. The two men, startled at first, were quick to realize what was up.

Kyungsoo fixed you with a judgemental gaze that wasn’t any different from a mother’s fed-up of her child’s tantrums while Chanyeol broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Shoulders hunched under the weight of his tan leather backpack, Kyungsoo crammed his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants and sighed, “The SUV’s more practical.”

With a twinkle in your eye, you exclaimed, “Screw practical! Just look at it! It’s a convertible and we’re on a road trip!”

Grinning from ear to ear, Chanyeol advanced towards you gingerly. “Shifu, my love-”

Jutting out your lower lip, you crossed your arms over your chest and whined, “Don’t call me that after you’ve ditched me for Miss Perfect Hair!” causing Kyungsoo to roll his eyes which distracted you from Chanyeol’s stealth attack.

All of a sudden, the beanpole leapt at you, maneuvered you like he would a balloon sculpture, tucked his arms under your knees, picked you up and shoved you in the backseat of the dreary black vehicle with sun shades on windows darker than Kyungsoo’s soul. With Chanyeol’s finger pressing down on the ridge between your eyebrows, you laid down on your back, sulking, “Some road trip this is. Can I atleast drive?”

Before slamming the car door shut, he teased, “Take a nap.”

And...you tried.

Forty five minutes into the drive, you tried so hard to make up for the red-eye flight but Kyungsoo’s phone Just. Wouldn’t. Stop. Ringing. To make matters worse, he sounded like a broken record parroting the words ‘margin call’, ‘shorting’, ‘S’, ‘B’, ‘stop loss’ over and over again. The same damn thing, every single time.

“Enough Kyungsoo! We’re on a vacation, dude,” Chanyeol chided, the almost indiscernible crack in his voice indicative of his annoyance.

Leaning back into his seat, Kyungsoo bragged, “The last thirty seconds earned me enough commission to be able to buy at least five bags of the kind I bought Aera yesterday.”

“Now, why would you buy Aera a bag?” Chanyeol asked, a hint of suspicion evident in his tone. The sounds of their voices had been mercilessly thwarting your attempts at a peaceful slumber but, this was different. The lack of response from Kyungsoo seemed to have piqued your interest. Your eyes fluttered open to a one eighty shift in Chanyeol’s mood. Brows knit together, his fingers impatiently drummed on the steering wheel as you both waited for Kyungsoo’s answer with a bated breath. But in his stead, it was his stupid phone that broke the silence.

Wide eyes fixated on the screen, Kyungsoo suddenly cried out, “Stop the car!”.

“What?!”

“Stop the car, Chanyeol!”

Letting out an exasperated groan, Chanyeol rashly veered the car to the right before hitting the brakes, causing you to nearly roll off your seat. Kyungsoo darted out of the vehicle and the next thing you knew, he stood facing the hood of the vehicle, his laptop perched atop the bonnet and his life support cellphone clutched in one hand.

Bowing to the screen, he greeted, “Moshi Moshi!”

“Is he taking a work call right now?” you mused.

Chanyeol snorted, “That’s Doh Kyungsoo for you.”

Chuckling softly, you squished your face against the back of Chanyeol’s seat and groused, “Well, along with loony, your friend seems to be fluent in Japanese.”

“Yah! Cut him some slack. He’s had a rough couple of weeks,” explained Chanyeol, wrestling with a bag of chips in his hands.

“Yeollie -”

It was on the tip of your tongue.

You wanted to tell Chanyeol about your encounter with Kyungsoo on the rooftop but there was no way you could explain your own presence in the first place. To make matters worse, you were the worst liar you knew. So, you decided it was a story that best remained untold for your own sake, your mother’s and inadvertently, Kyungsoo’s.

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a chip?” you asked instead.

“All yours!”

“I’ll have just one, thanks.”

“You alright, Shifu?” Chanyeol slurred around a mouthful of chips, “Is there anything you need?”

“A nap would be nice,” you jested while nibbling at the edges of the deep fried snack.

“Aww, sleepyhead, we’ll be there in an hour.”

Humming in agreement, you reached for another chip and cooed, “Are you alright, Yeol? What’s with the whole ‘bag for Aera’ situation?”

Chanyeol’s head spun around to give you a warm, dimpled smile. “Don’t worry. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

You couldn’t help but notice how he had wolfed down an entire packet of chips in a matter of minutes along with a can of some neon and black fizzy drink. A distant memory of Chanyeol guzzling an entire bottle of water in three seconds for shits and giggles back in Uni stretched your lips in a wistful smile.

By then, Kyungsoo was done with his twenty minute long call against the quaint cerulean and stone backdrop of fishing villages by the coast. Who needs a virtual background when you’re surrounded by coves of deep blue sea and beaches of golden sand? As he reached for the car door, you whispered in Chanyeol’s ear, “One more call and I’m chucking his phone out the window.”

Grinning mischievously as he fastened his seatbelt, Chanyeol sang, “Oh, Shifu, I’ve missed youuuu!”

The moment Kyungsoo stepped inside, a tangible gloom proliferated in the enclosed space. Chanyeol started the car and you quietly curled up in the backseat. Kyungsoo’s head spun around, round eyes blazing with conviction. Pointing towards the trunk, he said, “Do you see that cloth bag on top of Chanyeol’s trolley?”

“This one?” you asked, hoisting yourself up on one elbow, your arm carelessly flapping all over the luggage before landing on said cloth bag with a dull thump.

“Hand it over, please,” winced Kyungsoo, “Be gentle, it’s a gift.”

Passing him his precious ‘gift’, you let out an annoyed huff and laid down again, facing the backrest. But curiosity got the better of you. You immediately turned back around to see what this ‘gift’ looked like.

Kyungsoo loosened the strings of the canvas tote to reveal a black Birkin Cargo. Soft and lightweight, it was supposed to be Hermès first off-road bag. Your droopy eyes flew open in awe of its high-brow craftsmanship and it was certainly a thoughtful gift for a bride-to-be. If this gift was meant for you, you were sure to forgive any and all of his crimes but the bag didn’t seem to have the same kind of effect on Chanyeol.

The air was still thick with tension.

Gaze fixed on Chanyeol’s profile, Kyungsoo murmured, “I didn’t want to do this now.”

Eyes on the road, “Spill,” grunted Chanyeol, as if expecting the obvious.

“This is an ‘I’m sorry’ gift for Aera,” started Kyungsoo before lowering his voice to a whisper, “I picked it up from duty free last night...it’s fifteen times Yixing’s annual agricultural income.”

Chanyeol clicked his tongue in disapproval at Kyungsoo’s snide remark.

“What do you want to apologize to her for?” he then asked with a deep sigh.

“I- I can’t make it to the wedding,” said Kyungsoo, faltering in his otherwise steadfast speech.

“Why?” quizzed Chanyeol in a terrifyingly cool tone while anger started to rise within you. Why he allowed this midget to walk all over him was beyond you. Didn’t he have better friends?

“I pushed back an important appointment for this trip. It was either Spain or the wedding. And since you insisted on Spain...”

Furious, Chanyeol struck the steering wheel with his palm. With the rattle of the metal strap of his Rolex reverberating in the car, he bellowed, “The actual fuck, Doh Kyungsoo?!”

“What?! I said I’m sorry!”

“No, you didn’t! Besides, ‘sorry’ doesn’t fix anything! You’re supposed to be my best man - are- are you listening to yourself right now?!”

Chewing on the insides of his cheeks, Kyungsoo patiently waited for his friend to simmer down. After a pregnant pause, Chanyeol resumed reasoning with him, his tone evidently milder this time, “Okay, okay, talk to me. Does this appointment have to be on the exact same day as the ceremony?”

“No, it doesn’t and...it isn’t,” Kyungsoo explained before hurriedly requesting, “Can we do this later?”

Chanyeol took a sharp right turn along the tapering road and brought the car to a screeching halt. Brows furrowed, lips quirked in an angry smirk, he looked Kyungsoo straight in the eyes and you felt as if the air conditioner had suddenly started meting out the chilliest of blows.

“No, I want to talk about it right now! So, tell me. What’s more important than your best friend’s wedding?”

Kyungsoo took off his glasses, threw his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Chanyeol, please -”

“No, I need to know!”

“Then remember it was you who wanted to have this conversation on the first day of our trip,” he stated curtly.

“Enough with the drama Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol’s roar rang through the car.

“FINE!” Kyungsoo grumbled, “I got a job offer from the London office and...I accepted. I leave a week after we’re back in Seoul….since it’s a new position I cannot fly back for the wedding. And I would’ve...I- I was going to fly back for the wedding had it not been for this trip.”

“So you decided to leave. Forever. Just like that. Without even talking to me about it first.” Chanyeol thought out loud, his tone tellingly casual.

Looking out the window, Kyungsoo whispered audibly, “There’s nothing left for me in Seoul.”

Without another word, Chanyeol started the car.

Putting his glasses back on, Kyungsoo threw his hands up and argued, “So you’re not going to say anything?!”

Chanyeol cranked up the volume on the car’s stereo in response, leaving Kyungsoo tongue-tied.

***

Ten minutes into the drive, Kyungsoo’s phone blew up for, conservatively, the fifteenth time. But before he could even swipe to answer, Chanyeol lowered the car window, plucked his phone out of his hand and chucked it into the shrubbery by the roadside and continued to drive at an accelerated speed.

Kyungsoo’s mouth fell open but no words came out and unbeknownst to you, you were mirroring the dazed look on his face.

Chanyeol stuck his thumb out to where you were seated and justified indifferently, “It was her idea.”

It wasn’t a house. It was a warzone.

The spacious three bedroom apartment had invisible borders drawn out and nobody dared to encroach upon the other’s territory.

After arriving in Costa Brava, the three of you settled in and freshened up before heading out for a scheduled theoretical lesson on scuba diving conducted by your PADI certified instructor. The lesson had ended sometime around sunset and through the entire thing, you acted like complete strangers, making it more awkward than necessary for the twenty something instructor.

After the lesson, Kyungsoo offered to drive the trio to a boutique hotel, Hostal Sa Rascassa’s restaurant, which was supposed to be located on the edges of a tranquil, secluded cove and served traditional sea-food centric dishes like -

“- grilled sardines, cod fishcakes and octopus stewed with onion and pepper,” Kyungsoo counted on his fingers, making your stomach growl and your mouth water.

Chanyeol brushed him aside with a bitter, “I’m not hungry.”

Turning to you, Kyungsoo asked politely, “Wanna come?”

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Chanyeol shooting you a death glare so you decided to wriggle out of the situation by citing tiredness.

Kyungsoo lifted his shoulders in a dismissive shrug and took off in a taxi, leaving the car to the two of you.

“Where do you wanna eat?” Chanyeol asked as you got into the passenger’s seat.

Slack jawed, you chastised a giggling Chanyeol, “Yeollie, you’re absolutely horrible!”

It had been months.

Months since Natasha had walked out of their shared apartment.

And ever since then, every night, the moment Kyungsoo’s head would hit the pillow, a sense of hopelessness would erupt right in the middle of his chest. Spreading its wings far and wide, this despair would engulf him entirely and render him sleepless.

Nothing he tried helped his disposition so he’d started working on accepting this feeling as an inextricable part of his being. Something he’d have to learn to live with for the rest of his life.

Overcome by exhaustion, Kyungsoo drifted off only to be jolted awake by a jarring memory.

Hands balled into fists, Natasha yelled, ‘HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?’

‘This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Natasha! This deal could help us!’ Kyungsoo thundered in the face of her dogged determination to not let this slide.

‘Can’t you see that I don’t care?’ She met his bloodshot eyes with tears welling in hers.

Brows knit together, Kyungsoo ruminated on his thoughts before firing back, ‘Are you saying that you don’t care about my life?’

Exasperated, Natasha ran a hand through her hair to ground herself and argued, ‘Stop it, Kyungsoo! Don’t confuse your work with your life! Your work isn’t your life. It’s just a part of it. WHAT ABOUT US?’

‘Us?’ Kyungsoo deliberated, ‘I bought this apartment so that we could live together.’

Natasha retracted with every step Kyungsoo took towards her, expression coloured in unpleasant shades of anger and disgust. Letting out a mirthless laugh, she taunted, ‘Oh, please! You bought this apartment to impress people with your upmarket address.’

Aghast, Kyungsoo sank into the couch, his mind flitting between despair and hope. Head in his hands, breathing jagged and raspy, he reasoned, ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this to me! I’m planning a future with you.’

‘The future is yet to come, Kyungsoo. WHAT ABOUT OUR PRESENT?’

‘STOP YELLING!’

‘THEN LISTEN TO ME!’

Hands on his knees, Kyungsoo’s gaze shot up to rest upon Natasha’s flushed face. ‘What do you want?’ He demanded in a terrifyingly low tone.

A silent tear slid down her cheek as she explained with a quiver in her voice, ‘I want your time, Kyungsoo. I want a relationship not a retirement plan.’

Helpless, Kyungsoo toyed with the words in his mind before blurting, ‘If the chairman of Nakamura Corporation wants to meet me then I have- to- go! If he likes the presentation, he’ll give us the entire account. Don’t you see how big this is for me?’

‘But what about us, Kyungsoo? What about our dinner plan?’

‘We can postpone it to next month, can’t we?!’

‘It’s my birthday, Soo. I can’t postpone my birthday. You’d promised me this dinner...no matter what! You cancelled the reservation without even asking me first.’

Cupping her face in his hands, he pressed his lips to hers and whispered, ‘Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...but I have to go.’

When you padded into the living room, sleep befuddled at 5 a.m., you caught Chanyeol and Kyungsoo locked in an embrace, both of their eyes squeezed shut, as if wordlessly conveying an incredible degree of warmth and affection towards each other.

All of it….in “bro code”.

You imagined the conversation in your head, in two deep, distinct male voices:

‘I’m sorry I threw your phone out the window, bro!’

‘It’s what I deserved, bro!’

Rubbing away the drowsiness from your eyes, you tiptoed back into your room so as to not disrupt this….whatever this was supposed to be.

***

Underneath the purple-pink skies, enveloped in the cool early morning breeze, Kyungsoo, Chanyeol, and you, dressed in spandex scuba suits, huddled together in solidarity on the boat’s bulwark.

The diving site that Chanyeol had picked was called ‘Boreas Wreck’. The Boreas was a high sea tugboat that served for the German Navy during World War II. It was deliberately sunk in 1989 for the purpose of creating an artificial reef and thus, a scuba diving attraction.

“Any non-swimmers?” the trainer asked and Kyungsoo’s hand shot up in the air.

Her full lips curled up in a dazzling smile. “You’re brave,” she remarked and you heard Kyungsoo swallow hard, inviting a snigger from Chanyeol.

Hands on hips, her perfect figure accentuated by the spandex, she instructed, “You will be diving deep into this sea now, do you remember the theoretical part I taught you on the shore?”

Chanyeol and you were confident (and loud) in your affirmation.

Kyungsoo, not so much.

With the bulky dive equipment on, the instructor created a circle with her thumb and forefinger, gesturing, “All okay?”

The three of you responded by following suit.

First dive, twelve metres depth.

You’d become the proverbial fish out of water except you were not the fish and you were under water and your whole world had been turned upside down….quite literally.

You spun around to find the instructor assisting Chanyeol with his breathing rhythm and Kyungsoo curled up like a shrimp, hugging his knees. Arm extended, he gave you a “thumbs up” which meant an entirely different thing under water from what it did on land.

Thumbs up, in diving lingo, spelled trouble. It meant that, for whatever reason, the diver wished to ascend. But, by then, you’d known Kyungsoo long enough to understand that there was no real cause for concern.

The look in his eyes told you that he was simply struggling to adapt.

You swam towards him, with your legs and not your arms, in order to maintain good buoyancy control. Clasping your hands together in a mitten grasp, you signalled him to hold onto you. Kyungsoo created a circle with his thumb and forefinger to signal “okay” before putting his hand on your forearm, the soft ripples caused by his gentle movements gleaming in the artificial light from your gear.

You then raised your other arm and flattened your hand, palm down, to “pat” the water in front of you as you would the head of a dog. Wearing a comforting eye smile, you essentially asked Kyungsoo to take it easy and relax. You then levelled your hand with his eyes, palm facing up before drawing a deep breath, wordlessly asking Kyungsoo to breathe slow, deep and long.

Another nod. Another “okay”.

He then pointed his index finger to his ear, the gesture indicating that he couldn’t clear his ears and had trouble equalizing. So you locked your eyes with his and took his elbows in your hands to pull him up to ascend slightly before quickly pushing him down again while wondering whether he’d paid attention to the theoretical lessons at all.

He squeezed his eyes shut before giving you another nod which meant that the equalization was a success.

Kyungsoo’s thumb and forefinger met in another “okay” but this time with an eye smile which you reciprocated with an “okay” before snapping your fingers into a teasing finger heart.

All traces of agreeableness instantly vanished from his visible features.

***

The deeper you went, your fluo green spectrum widened, whelming you with the underwater world’s tranquil beauty which neutralized the shooting pain in your ears and the violent thumping of your heart. Corals in the shape of giant mushrooms floated around you and sea urchins greeted you with their bright purple-brown spikes glowing under the ocean’s natural light. At your feet, a shy goby fish with its large head and tapered body tunneled its way into the sand upon sensing the arrival of strangers.

While you were immersed in this exquisite scenery, a wide eyed Kyungsoo grabbed your attention by waving at you, his hand holding a pink fin.

‘That fin looks familiar,’ you thought before realizing it was your fin that had released itself from your right foot. You almost choked from laughing with the regulator on and the mask attached to your face as Kyungsoo helped you stick it back on.

Having been privy to breathtaking videos and countless stories of the mysteries and magic of the underwater world, a first-hand experience felt surreal. You were quick to adapt to the environment and didn’t try to fight it or control it and your first breath under water had been an experience like no other.

The Boreas Wreck was home to a number of incredible marine species such as Mediterranean sponges and blue gorgonians, scorpionfish, sea urchins, starfish, goatfish, mullets, bream, lobsters, groupers, and barracuda. While you couldn’t pindown all the enticing, drop dead gorgeous palettes of reds, blues, and yellows that crossed paths with you, shoaling, schooling...or even solitary, it didn’t take away from the sheer awe you were overcome with at every second of your time several azure and viridian metres below the surface of land.

The instructor then guided the three of you inside the boat’s wreck, which was safe to enter since all hazardous items had been removed before Boreas was scuttled. With an excited Chanyeol in the lead per usual, you visited some of its confined rooms, and went further in to explore the kitchen, the engine room, the bridge and even the captain’s cabin. The dilapidated metal and wood body of the civil boat, covered almost entirely in sea fauna, was nothing short of a beautiful nightmare.

Traversing, you reached one corner of the boat basked in a blinding white light, enveloping you in a gentle embrace. Emotions so carefully locked away came flooding through the dam of your forced stoic indifference. Giving in, you stretched your arms out, allowing yourself to freefall into a distant memory.

Haphazardly flapping your arms and legs, you struggled to keep your head up but no matter how hard you tried, the pool water made its way into your mouth, nose, and eyes, even.

‘Appa!’ you managed loudly as you felt yourself drowning again.

Your Appa was the one who always came to your rescue.

No matter where you were, no matter how bad things got. He was always there. So when he just stood there, a smile on his face, watching you grapple with a force that mercilessly dragged you down while you kicked and punched and floundered to stay afloat...a mysterious emotion rose within you.

You felt betrayed by the man who was supposed to have your back.

Seething, ‘Appa!’ you bawled, but to no avail.

Until...magically...you didn’t need his help anymore.

After days of relentless torture, you’d finally found yourself moving forward, cutting through the water with synchronized movements of your arms and legs.

But the exhilaration hadn’t lasted long.

A couple of minutes in and you realized that that force was winning again but this time, you didn’t drown.

This time a familiar pair of hands grabbed you before you went under and threw you up in the air as your misty eyes took in the biggest smile on your father’s face with an equally big one gracing your bright features.

Circling his arms around your tiny torso, he nestled you into himself.

‘My champion!’ he whispered into your swim cap covered ear.

***

Back on the boat, with your diving gear off and fresh towels wrapped around your shoulders, you sank to your knees, completely wracked with sobs.

You felt a million emotions, all at once, the reigning one being embarrassment at this sudden outburst. With his arms around you and his chin resting on the top of your head, Chanyeol whispered, ‘It’s okay, it’s alright,’ to ground you while gently rocking you back and forth until you’d let it all out. Turning around, you buried your face into the crook of his neck as if to hide away from the inquisitive eyes of Kyungsoo and the instructor. Chanyeol held you closer, his hand stroking the back of your neck in silent support.

Even after a sumptuous lunch of salmon canapes, baked scallops, rice with spiny spider crab, mixed seafood finger foods complete with a chocolate semi sphere, Chanyeol was uncharacteristically quiet and Kyungsoo, uncharacteristically amiable.

“Feels a little morbid to be eating all this seafood after a dive,” you jested with a serious expression, nibbling on a piece of dark chocolate. And it was only then that the boys went back to being their true selves. Amused, Chanyeol guffawed, “Good to have you back!” while Kyungsoo choked on his sparkling white wine.

Shortly after, Chanyeol excused himself to make a call to Aera.

Kyungsoo ordered two coffees for the both of you and you noticed how he kicked about a conversation starter in his head as opened his mouth only to clamp it shut several times, before finally mustering, “I just want to say -”

“No,” you interrupted him in a mortified haste, “no, please don’t say anything I don’t wanna talk about it except, I’m really sorry for making it so awkward for you guys back there.”

“Oh, no,” he gave you a dismissive wave of hand, “it was just Chanyeol, me, and...erm...the pretty instructor who we’ll never see again. Chanyeol makes a complete ass out of himself every waking hour and as for me, please don’t worry about me. Especially not after you found me blind drunk on a rooftop in the dead of night. We all have our moments. I’m sorry,” he suddenly stopped short, expression solemn, “you said you didn’t wanna talk about it.”

You chuckled, teasing, “Pretty instructor, huh?”

This was the longest conversation you’d had with Kyungsoo so far and truth be told, you were caught off guard by... his smile. His resting face was a natural frown, mostly due to his poor eyesight. And in your experience, if he had his glasses on, it was Chanyeol who was the primary reason for his scowl, with you being a close second.

It took you a moment to take in that dazzling, heart shaped smile of his before you could speak again but it was Kyungsoo who lugged the conversation forward.

“I just wanted to thank you for what you did for me back there. I think I felt a little overwhelmed by the,” he pondered his thoughts before concluding, “the vastness of the ocean. Sorry, I’m no poet.”

“Don’t mention it,” you smiled, “How did you feel by the end of it?”

“Umm,” Kyungsoo ruminated on your question, “I felt like I was in the moment...like, reaching a stage of subtle awareness from surface awareness.”

“And you say you’re not a poet,” you quipped, “So, like, meditation?”

“Maybe. It felt as if I was letting go of...of all the emotional baggage -” he trailed off rather plaintively.

Voice laced with hesitance, you sang, “So….maybe…you’ll sleep better tonight?”

Clearly taken aback by your question, Kyungsoo exclaimed, “What?!”

“I’m sorry but, it’s very obvious that you haven’t been sleeping too well.”

Thick eyebrows scrunched together, he let out a confused ‘Oh!’

“Did Chanyeol -” he continued, only to be interrupted by a booming, cheerful voice, “Think of the angel and the angel appears!”

Kyungsoo looked up at a beaming Chanyeol and deadpanned, “That’s not how the saying goes. Anyway, what took you so long?”

Eyes holding a glint of humour, Chanyeol placed a neatly wrapped iPhone box in front of Kyungsoo and took the dramatics up a notch with a stage performer-esque curtsey thus inviting amused stares from the nearby tables in the courtyard style restaurant. Kyungsoo unwrapped the packaging with the eagerness of a five year old on Christmas Eve and to his disappointment, instead of the high end handphone, he opened the case to a hot pink flip phone.

Kyungsoo let out a low growl, “The fuck is this?”

Standing at a safe distance from his fuming friend, Chanyeol quipped, “A phone,” while making no effort to suppress his laughter.

“Thank you, Mr. State The Obvious, but I’m an adult male, not a Japanese schoolgirl!”

Tickled by his own little prank, Chanyeol threw you under the bus by triumphantly howling, “It was Shifu’s idea!” before darting out of the premises.

Dumbfounded, you exclaimed, “WHAT?! NO!” as Kyungsoo fixed you with a death glare.

‘When were you going to tell me about this?’

Maybe this was one of your endless nightmares.

Maybe this wasn’t happening at all.

Your mother deflected your question by putting things away. Dirty dishes in the washer, clothes in the dryer, leftovers in the fridge, while you followed her around like a lost puppy, a crumpled, time stained letter held delicately in your hand.

The throbbing in your head now bordering on numbness, bile rising up your throat, your legs threatening to give away, you reiterated your question, vociferously this time, surprised at your own power of will. A quality that forever eluded you. The inability to voice your needs, your opinions, masked under a not so thinly veiled sense of self deprecating humour was...you, in a nutshell. This sudden surge of fighting spirit consuming you whole felt alien but at the same time, very natural and, at the same time, it was taking a toll on every nerve, every muscle, every bone.

Every second felt like your last.

‘Would she be able to handle it all over again?’ crestfallen, you mused, ‘The grief. The sympathy. The cumulation of my life -- all these decades condensed into a tiny vessel of ever fading memories. The sands of time trickling through her wrinkled fingers.’

‘Eomma, please -’ you cried out, only for your plea to fall upon deaf ears.

It wasn’t until the next morning that she spoke to you again.

Bloodshot eyes framed by the weight of living, she handed you a warm cup of tea and let out a deep sigh.

‘He never wanted you. It was your Appa who accepted me...he accepted us… It’s been three days since your Appa -,’ wracked with sobs, it took her a while to compose herself to be able to speak again, ‘don’t dishonour his memory.’

‘Why should I believe a word you say? Why should I believe that- that my own father never wanted me?’

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, mentions of death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia and other warnings to be added

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Someone’s watching you.

Note: This one’s gonna be a bit creepy as it features a serial killer and stalking and all sorts of creepery. It’ll be about two or three parts!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The bleak headline glared across your screen as bleaker weather fogged the glass of your window.

'Grisly murder suspected to be connected to previous incident'.

You shivered as the steam rose from your mug and the smell of roasted bean filled your nose. The city was on edge. Death was not unfamiliar but killings so methodical were. There was a pattern that no one could deny, even if the media left out certain bloody details.

You tapped the porcelain and turned to look at the misty cityscape beyond your building. The city had a pulse; the car horns, the puffing manholes, the endless parade of footsteps on the pavement. The immortal metropolitan was unaffected by its mortal occupants.

You closed the window on your phone as you turned back. You couldn’t finish the article. To think that any human could do that to another; that any should suffer at the hands of another… One could never truly be immune to the helpless despair. It was a chance that set one in the hands of a monster, as much chance kept one from the same fate.

You finished your coffee and ate a bagel before you readied for another day lost in the sea of people below. Another day at your desk answering phones and staring at a screen between greeting many who acknowledge your existence with impatient disdain.

The same daily ritual in the mirror; another department store blouse, another grey skirt, another pair of low pumps. You grabbed your pea coat and your leather tote and hurried out to catch your train. Twenty minutes with your favourite podcast before you pulled the cord and ran off into the concrete jungle.

Another coffee at your desk; the watery fare from the staff room machine. You sat and began your work. Fake smiles and a sickly sweet voice for every caller and visitor to the small office. Log this, change this, email that. The mindless toil bearable only for the promise of your box-like apartment and its tiny comforts.

You never stayed in the office for lunch. Not anymore. It made the days suffocating, even on rainy or snowy days. You went to the park to eat, although sometimes you weren’t hungry. You watched the ducks or the shedding trees or the teens playing hooky and puffing none so subtly near the bushes.

When you returned, you felt at least that your break hadn’t been wasted even if it had only been more sitting. Ring, ring, click, click, tap, tap, cough, cough. The hours wore on in monotony. Nothing unexpected, nothing more than tedium. The most exciting part was when the clock bid you to leave.

You were almost so lost in the endless banality that you didn’t notice the man behind you until you boarded the train. Until you sat and took out your phone. You pretended to be enraptured by the screen as you scrolled through unread emails and peeked up at him. He stood by the door. His eyes avoided yours.

When you stood at your stop, he did not move. Not until the door began to close and you were near the turnstiles. His shadow was a fleck at the edge of your vision. He was definitely following you. You thought of the article, and its precursor the week before; the suggestion that the murderer had already amassed half a dozen victims. You shrugged away the paranoia and climbed the old filthy steps to ground level.

As you turned the corner onto your street you stopped and waited. The man nearly passed you as he came around the bend and you cleared your throat. You gripped your keys in your fist, ready to stab the man with the largest one.

“You following me?” You asked as pedestrians bumped into him and passed by.

He moved out of their path and stood beside you against the wall. He smiled to himself and scoffed. His blue eyes ran you up and down and you felt as if you’d seen him before. As if you knew him from somewhere. You just couldn’t place it.

“I am.” He confessed. “You’re very… observant.”

“You’re not very subtle,” you countered.

He lifted his head and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Capitals ran across the top; S.H.I.E.L.D. and below a name and picture; James Buchanan Barnes. You sighed and crossed your arms. Your spine went rigid. What on earth could he want from you?

“So…” You pushed yourself away from the brick wall, “How exactly can I help a government operative?”

He glanced around and tucked away his wallet. “Is there anywhere private we can talk? You live around here?”

“Private? At least tell me what’s going on?” You huffed.

“For both our safety, you need to wait for that answer,” he hook his thumb in his jean pocket. “But if you don’t give a shit, I can leave you be and see what happens.”

You frowned. You were confused and slightly afraid. You couldn’t guess at what could have brought him to you. A man you’d only ever seen on a screen.

“Fine,” you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, “Across the street.”

He followed you to the curb as the blood swelled in your ears. Your cheeks were hot and a chill gripped your neck. You crossed between the flooded New York traffic, aware of his shadow at your shoulder. His boots barely made a noise on the pavement as your short heels clicked noisily.

You led him into your lobby and fumbled with your keys. You shoved them into the slot and the door clicked open. He grabbed it before you could and waved you inside. You remembered him now. You rarely saw him without another. In your mind, the man didn’t exist exclusive to his old pal, Steve Rogers.

You stopped just inside the door and kept yourself from hitting the elevator button.

“Mr., er, Agent Barnes--” You began.

“Bucky is fine.” He corrected

“How do you even know who I am?” You asked suddenly. “I’m… nobody.”

“As I said, I’d prefer somewhere private,” he urged, “It’s protocol for this type of circumstance.”

“And which type is that?” You challenged as he stepped around you and hit the button.

“The type where you should stop worrying so much about me and more about yourself,” he said as the doors slid open, “Come on.” He stepped inside and turned, “What floor.”

“Third.” You answered as you entered the small box, “I’m in danger?”

He was quiet and his left hand balled into a fist then released as he stared at the numbers. You could hear the strain in the leather glove.

When the doors opened again, he let you off first and kept a step behind you as you led him down the hall to your door. You paused and looked back at him as you picked out the right key. He was impossible to figure out; stone-faced and staunch. You opened your door and welcomed him in with a flutter of fingers.

He shut the door and locked it behind him. You dropped your bag on the shoe rack and kicked your shoes beneath it. Your arches were sore as you backed up and watched him. He looked at his boots and back at you. You shrugged off your jacket and he sighed before he did the same. He reluctantly knelt to unknot the laces of his boots.

“Should I… get you something? Coffee?”

“This isn’t exactly social,” he uttered, “Can we sit? There’s a lot to… explain.”

“Sure,” you led him to the couch and sat. He lowered himself on the other cushion, on the edge as he kept an eye on you.

“Okay, so you’re first question, how do I know who you are?”

He leaned against the arm and dug out his phone. He unlocked it and flicked through its content. He turned it towards you and you frowned at the picture of yourself. You behind your desk, the phone to your ear, as you scribbled on your notepad. He dragged it over and another appeared; you at the grocery store. A third, you at the front door of your building.

“What--”

“These were found at a crime scene.” He interjected. He flipped his phone and searched through the images, “Do you know this woman?”

He showed you the screen again and you shook your head. Whoever she was, she was a stranger to you, although you couldn’t say she didn’t look familiar.

“Her?” He brought up another photo and got the same answer. Three more times as the hair stood on your arms. You didn’t know any of them but they all looked alike. They all looked like you.

“What’s going on?” You asked in a brittle voice.

“You read the news?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’ve heard about the murders? Of the women?”

You nodded and gulped. Your eyes rounded as you trembled in disbelief and fear. “Why are you here though? Why not the cops?”

“They are doing their part and we’re doing ours. You see, we found more than just the photos. Due to security protocols and to protect both of all, I can’t divulge all the evidence I can only say that it brings it under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction.”

His thumb slid across the screen and revealed another picture. One of the women with a welt across her neck and sloppily down make-up on her face. You blanched and he looked down. He cleared his throat and blackened the screen.

“Sorry,” he put his phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t… Look, I know it’s a lot to digest but it’s better you know.”

“But why are you here? I don’t understand… why did he have my picture?”

“From what we can tell, who it is has been following you. These killings seem to be steps on his path to you. He didn’t have anything about the other women. No photos, no writings--”

“Writings?” You gasped.

“Take a breath. Be calm.” He said. “I’m here now. To protect you.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Well, I guess that’s the real bad news.” He said. “I’m gonna be your shadow. Now, since we nearly got this guy and have all his stuff, we know he’s scrambling right now. He’s hiding, waiting to come back to you but we know he’s not dumb enough to do it yet. Which is why I am here at this very moment. When he does return, when he’s watching you, I’ll be watching him.”

“You can’t-- You can’t move me?”

“Scaring him away won’t do anything. You’re safer if we can catch this guy. We can’t let him know that anything’s changed.” Bucky said.

“So… I’m bait?”

“You’re safe.” He insisted. “You’ll have my number, you can call me anytime. And I won’t be far. Not really. And I don’t work alone. You’ll be protected.”

“Why are you telling me then if you’re just going to let him keep following me?”

“Well, we waited until it was crucial to let you know,” he said, “And given his desperate circumstance, we think you should now.”

“Do you know how long--”

“Months, years, we’re still combing through the evidence. We only know he won’t stop.” He shifted on the couch. “And I’m telling you because there’s a few things I need from you.”

“Like what?” You scoffed.

“A key to this place. Just in case. And we’ll need to keep a close eye on you. That means, you’ll have to wear a bug and we’ll be tracking your location.”

“What?” You shook your head. “That’s… a lot.”

“We need to know if anything happens immediately and we need to be able to get to you. If you do this, it will help us get him sooner and hopefully, that means that you won’t have to do it for long.”

“I’ll have to have the key made,” you said quietly.

“I can take care of that,” he stood and you watched him cross the room.

He went to the coat rack and reached into your jacket pocket. He took your keys and set his phone on the small round table just beside the shoes. He placed one key on his screen and it made a chirping noise, he turned it over before doing the second key. He dropped them back into your pocket and grabbed his phone.

“This,” he stirred around in his own jacket, “Has a mic and tracker.” He held up the golden chain with the small pink rose ornament. “Wear this and that’s it. That’s all we need. If you take it off, hang it somewhere it won’t be obstructed.”

“Okay,” you got up slowly and took the necklace from him, “Um, thank you, I guess.”

“Look, I know it’s all a bit fucked up but it’s to keep you safe.” He said. “And you are safe, okay? I’ve dealt with much worse than this creep.”

👁️

There was rarely a morning when you were eager to be awake but that morning came crashing down on you with a sense of doom. You rolled over and opened your eyes. The golden necklace hung from your bedside lamp, dangling, calling to you, reminding you of the man who had stalked you back to your apartment. And the other man who loomed in the shadows. A stranger who apparently knew you well.

You sat up and clipped the necklace around your neck so you wouldn’t forget. Was it Bucky listening to you? Was he even listening so early? You stood and ambled across the room with a yawn. Today, the rain left a sheet of frost on the window. Was it winter so soon?

You drank your coffee without tasting it and chewed on a piece of buttered toast. Your phone buzzed. Private number was all it said but you knew who it was.

‘What time do you leave?’ Bucky asked. You typed in the number and nothing more. He already knew which train you took.

You dressed as you did every day. You pulled the necklace over the collar of your shirt and sighed. You felt awkward as if you were living in a simulation; a facsimile of your meek existence.

Ready to face the day and the unknown, you set out as you flicked away another message; ‘You have a break? What time?’ You’d answer him after you got to work. You couldn’t be staring at your phone knowing that someone was undoubtedly watching you.

You stood on the train, too antsy to sit. You waited by the door, ready to bolt off at the slightest sign of trouble. You played with the rose charm without thinking. Your phone buzzed and you quickly drew your fingers away.

Another message from your private caller. 'There's disturbance on the mic. Stop touching.' You almost laughed. It was comical. You'd be an awful spy but you weren't anything close. You were prey.

What would have happened if those pictures had not been discovered? You hated to even think of it. So you pushed away the thought and got off the train.

The streets felt darker even as the grey sky paled. Pedestrians were villains, each one sinister and plotting. When you got to work, you were out of breath as you had nearly broken into a sprint.

You sat and clocked in. You took out your phone and responded to the texts but got nothing back. You hung your jacket on the rack in the corner and went about your usual routine but nothing felt usual. The incessant ringing of the phone and the chatter of the office added to the chaos of your mind. You tried to distract yourself with your work but found yourself fidgety and anxious. Every unfamiliar face that walked through the doors was a potential suspect.

When you took your lunch, you stayed in the office. The break room was empty as you sat and your phone vibed in your blazer pocket. You answered the private number and unwrapped your granola bar.

“You on lunch?” Bucky asked, you confirmed with a mumble. “Are you okay?”

“Am I? What’s going on? Anything?” You stilled the crinkling of the wrapper, suddenly sick to your stomach.

“It’s not going to be that easy or fast. Right now, he’s waiting for us to look away but he could also be in a panic which means he could do something impulsive.” Bucky explained.

“Impulsive? What does that mean?”

“Look, you don’t need to be afraid. I got this. This is nothing compared to what I usually--”

“Nothing?! Well maybe you’re used to this but I’m just a secretary, okay? I don’t know what I’m doing or what to do!” Your voice was shrill as you crushed the granola bar in your hand.

“Take a breath,” he said firmly. “Calm down and proceed as usual. I’m here. I’m watching.”

You sniffed and struggled not to hyperventilate. When you finally got your breathing under control you nodded into the phone and murmured a pathetic ‘okay’.

“Hey, you don’t need to be afraid, okay? Not with me around. So far you’ve been lucky. We figured it out before he got to you and now we’re way ahead of him and he doesn’t even know it.” Bucky coaxed.

“Yeah, I guess,” you deflated and stood from the table; restless.

You went to the kettle and flicked it on. Shaena was always offering you peppermint tea; you’d take her up on that. Maybe it would help calm you down.

“How about tonight I’ll come buy with a pizza and we can go over protocol?” He offered. “And it’ll be good for you not to be alone.”

“Pizza?” You frowned.

“Well, you know, I’m sitting on surveillance all day, I don’t exactly get to relax,” he explained. “...you can say no but it’d be my treat.”

“I’m sorry I’m panicking. I’m just… scared. I didn’t sleep-- I--” You choked on your voice. “You don’t mind?”

“Do you?” He returned.

You sighed and opened the cupboard to grab a mug. You tapped your fingers on the countertop.

“This must be really boring for you,” you said. “You don’t have to--”

“If I’m being honest with you, it’s supposed to be freezing tonight and I don’t exactly get to hang around in a five star suite. You’d be doing me a favour and have the extra security of some goon with a metal arm.” He chuckled.

“Alright,” you threw your hand up. “But I don’t like pepperoni.”

“Damn…” he uttered, “Well, I guess we all have to make sacrifices.”

👁️

You were slightly less frantic when you left work. Bucky texted you to assure you he was there… somewhere. You took your usual route. He explained it was best not to change your routine. You didn’t want to tip off the creep.

The train ride was slow and jittery. The frigid air of the looming New York winter crept in between the door and you shivered as you got off at your stop. Your heels clicked around you as you gripped your bag and the phone in your pocket. You struggled not to look around and try to search out your stalker.

You unlocked your door and dropped your bag beside the shoe rack. You kicked off your heels and rubbed your legs together to warm up. You hung your jacket and took your phone out as you began to pace your apartment.

How close was Bucky? How close was the killer?

You kept checking your messages and then slammed your phone on the coffee table. Stop! You were driving yourself crazy. You made yourself sit and flipped on the television. You put on an old sitcom and tried to settle in. You squirmed on the couch and found it difficult to follow the episode.

Your phone lit up suddenly and made you flinch. The sky was already dark through the window as your ringer blared over the television. You reached for your cell; Private Number. You answered clumsily and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You rasped.

Silence. You blinked and repeated your greeting. Still, the line was quiet. You shook your head and hung up. Before you could toss your phone, it shook again and cried out a melody. You answered again.

This time heavy breathing greeted you. It got louder as you listened and a trickle of ice rolled over your spine. You ended the call and stared at your phone. A third call. You slowly hit the green icon and then turned the phone to speaker.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me.” A man snarled in a crackly voice, “Ever.”

“Who… who is this?”

“Shhh, baby girl, I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” He said, “That’s all I want.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” You gulped.

Another silence. This one long and exaggerated, pierced only by a metallic whisper. “...You,” he purred darkly, “I want you, baby girl. I want your blood, I want your screams.” You shook as you dropped the phone, his voice muffled but his words clear, “I want that precious little cunt.”

You sobbed and bent to grab the phone again. Your thumb hovered over the red button.

“Baby girl, I told you about hanging up on me. I hope that’s not what you’re thinking of now.”

You said nothing as your eyes burned with frightened tears and you looked down at your necklace. Could Bucky hear? Where was he?

“Soon, I promise, we can be together,” the stranger cooed, “You and me. All alone.” He took a deep breath, “All mine.”

“Please, leave me--”

The line clicked and went dead. You stared at your phone and jumped at the sudden knock on the door. Your fingers curled around your cell and you stood. You crossed to the door. You peeked through the peephole. Bucky stood with a pizza box. You opened the door sharply.

“Where were you?” You snapped.

“What?”

“He just called!” You nearly shouted.

“Keep it down,” he warned as he stepped inside and you retreated. He closed the door and locked it. “He called?”

He went to the kitchen and set the pizza down. “Just now?”

“I thought you were listening? I had him on speaker.”

“I… I’ll have to play it back. I was on my way, I didn’t--”

“You-- you-- The things he said,” you croaked, “You can’t imagine and, and… how did he get my number? You said he would be hiding!”

“Well, these things aren’t exactly cookie cutter--”

“What if he’s watching me right now? Looking in through my window and--” Your voice was shrill as you rung your hands and brushed by Bucky. He followed you to the window as you twisted the blinds shut. “He’s going to kill me like he did all those girls. He’s going to--”

“Come on,” Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the window, “Just breathe.” He turned you to him and placed his hands on your arms. He rubbed them through your blouse. “In, out…” He began to guide you, “On my count; one, in, two, out…”

Your eyes rounded and you struggled to calm yourself. You were shaking but managed to measure your breaths in time with his voice.

“That’s it,” his hands framed your face as he leaned in to look you in the face, “I’m here now and if you need me to, I’ll stay all night.”

You nodded dumbly and grabbed his forearms. His metal thumb stroked your cheek and you slowly pulled his hands away.

“Bucky…” You whispered as he slowly dropped his hands. “Thank you.”

895 notes · View notes

blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years ago

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Anonymous asked: As a beginner in Classics I love your Classicist themed posts. I find your caption perfect posts a lot to think upon. I suppose it’s been more than a few years since you read Classics at Cambridge but my question is do you still bother to read any Classic texts and if so what are you currently reading?

I don’t know whether to be flattered or get depressed by your (sincere) remarks. Thank you so much for reminding me how old I must come across as my youngish Millennial bones are already starting to creak from all my sins of past sport injuries and physical exertions. I’m reminded of what J.R.R Tolkien wrote, “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” I know the feeling (sigh).

But pay heed, dear follower, to what Menander said of old age, Τίμα το γήρας, ου γαρ έρχεται μόνον (respect old age, for it does not come alone). Presumably he means we all carry baggage. One hopes that will be wisdom which is often in the form of experience, suffering, and regret. So I’m not ready to trade in my high heels and hiking boots for a walking stick and granny glasses just yet.

To answer your question, yes, I still to read Classical literature and poetry in their original text alongside trustworthy translations. Every day in fact.

I learned Latin when I was around 8 or 9 years old and Greek came later - my father and grandfather are Classicists - and so it would be hard to shake it off even if I tried.

So why ‘bother’ to read Classics? There are several reasons. First, the Classics are the Swiss Army knife to unpick my understanding other European languages that I grew up with learning. Second, it increases my cultural literacy out of which you can form informed aesthetic judgements about any art form from art, music, and literature. Third, Classical history is our shared history which is so important to fathom one’s roots and traditions. Fourth, spending time with the Classics - poetry, myth, literature, history - inspires moral insight and virtue. Fifth, grappling with classical literature informs the mind by developing intellectual discipline, reason, and logic.

And finally, and perhaps one I find especially important, is that engaging with Classical literature, poetry, or history, is incredibly humbling; for the classical world first codified the great virtues of prudence, temperance, justice, loyalty, sacrifice, and courage. These are qualities that we all painfully fall short of in our every day lives and yet we still aspire to such heights.

I’m quite eclectic in my reading. I don’t really have a method other than what my mood happens to be. I have my trusty battered note book and pen and I sit my arse down to translate passages wherever I can carve out a place to think. It’s my answer to staving off premature dementia when I really get old because quite frankly I’m useless at Soduku. We spend so much time staring at screens and passively texting that we don’t allow ourselves to slow down and think that physically writing gives you that luxury of slow motion time and space. In writing things out you are taking the time to reflect on thoughts behind the written word.

I do make a point of reading Homer’s The Odyssey every year because it’s just one of my favourite stories of all time. Herodotus and Thucydides were authors I used to read almost every day when I was in the military and especially when I went out to war in Afghanistan. Not so much these days. Of the Greek poets, I still read Euripides for weighty stuff and Aristophanes for toilet humour. Aeschylus, Archilochus and Alcman, Sappho, Hesiod, and Mimnermus, Anacreon, Simonides, and others I read sporadically.

I read more Latin than Greek if I am honest. From Seneca, Caesar, Cicero, Sallust, Tacitus, Livy, Apuleius, Virgil, Ovid, the younger Pliny to Augustine (yes, that Saint Augustine of Hippo). Again, there is no method. I pull out a copy from my book shelves and put it in my tote bag when I know I’m going on a plane trip for work reasons.

At the moment I am spending time with Horace. More precisely, his famous odes.

Of all the Greek and Latin poets, I feel spiritually comfortable with Horace. He praises a simple life of moderation in a much gentler tone than other Roman writers. Although Horace’s odes were written in imitation of Greek writers like Sappho, I like his take on friendship, love, alcohol, Roman politics and poetry itself. With the arguable exception of Virgil, there is no more celebrated Roman poet than Horace. His Odes set a fashion among English speakers that come to bear on poets to this day. His Ars Poetica, a rumination on the art of poetry in the form of a letter, is one of the seminal works of literary criticism. Ben Jonson, Pope, Auden, and Frost are but a few of the major poets of the English language who owe a debt to the Roman.

We owe to Horace the phrases, “carpe diem” or “seize the day” and the “golden mean” for his beloved moderation. Victorian poet Alfred Lord Tennyson, of Ancient Mariner fame, praised the odes in verse and Wilfred Owen’s great World War I poem, Dulce et Decorum est, is a response to Horace’s oft-quoted belief that it is “sweet and fitting” to die for one’s country.

Unlike many poets, Horace lived a full life. And not always a happy one. Horace was born in Venusia, a small town in southern Italy, to a formerly enslaved mother. He was fortunate to have been the recipient of intense parental direction. His father spent a comparable fortune on his education, sending him to Rome to study. He later studied in Athens amidst the Stoics and Epicurean philosophers, immersing himself in Greek poetry. While led a life of scholarly idyll in Athens, a revolution came to Rome. Julius Caesar was murdered, and Horace fatefully lined up behind Brutus in the conflicts that would ensue. His learning enabled him to become a commander during the Battle of Philippi, but Horace saw his forces routed by those of Octavian and Mark Antony, another stop on the former’s road to becoming Emperor Augustus.

When he returned to Italy, Horace found that his family’s estate had been expropriated by Rome, and Horace was, according to his writings, left destitute. In 39 B.C., after Augustus granted amnesty, Horace became a secretary in the Roman treasury by buying the position of questor's scribe. In 38, Horace met and became the client of the artists' patron Maecenas, a close lieutenant to Augustus, who provided Horace with a villa in the Sabine Hills. From there he began to write his satires. Horace became the major lyric Latin poet of the era of the Augustus age. He is famed for his Odes as well as his caustic satires, and his book on writing, the Ars Poetica. His life and career were owed to Augustus, who was close to his patron, Maecenas. From this lofty, if tenuous, position, Horace became the voice of the new Roman Empire. When Horace died at age 59, he left his estate to Augustus and was buried near the tomb of his patron Maecenas.

Horace’s simple diction and exquisite arrangement give the odes an inevitable quality; the expression makes familiar thoughts new. While the language of the odes may be simple, their structure is complex. The odes can be seen as rhetorical arguments with a kind of logic that leads the reader to sometimes unexpected places. His odes speak of a love of the countryside that dedicates a farmer to his ancestral lands; exposes the ambition that drives one man to Olympic glory, another to political acclaim, and a third to wealth; the greed that compels the merchant to brave dangerous seas again and again rather than live modestly but safely; and even the tensions between the sexes that are at the root of the odes about relationships with women.

What I like then about Horace is his sense of moderation and he shows the gap between what we think we want and what we actually need. Horace has a preference for the small and simple over the grandiose. He’s all for independence and self-reliance.

If there is one thing I would nit pick Horace upon is his flippancy to the value of the religious and spiritual. The gods are often on his lips, but, in defiance of much contemporary feeling, he absolutely denied an afterlife - which as a Christian I would disagree with. So inevitably “gather ye rosebuds while ye may” is an ever recurrent theme, though Horace insists on a Golden Mean of moderation - deploring excess and always refusing, deprecating, dissuading.

All in all he champions the quiet life, a prayer I think many men and women pray to the gods to grant them when they are caught in the open Aegean, and a dark cloud has blotted out the moon, and the sailors no longer have the bright stars to guide them. A quiet life is the prayer of Thrace when madness leads to war. A quiet life is the prayer of the Medes when fighting with painted quivers: a commodity, Grosphus, that cannot be bought by jewels or purple or gold? For no riches, no consul’s lictor, can move on the disorders of an unhappy mind and the anxieties that flutter around coffered ceilings.

Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt (they change their sky, not their soul, who rush across the sea.)

Part of Horace’s persona - lack of political ambition, satisfaction with his life, gratitude for his land, and pride in his craft and the recognition it wins him - is an expression of an intricate web of awareness of place. Reading Horace will centre you and get you to focus on what is most important in life. In Horace’s discussion of what people in his society value, and where they place their energy and time, we can find something familiar. Horace brings his reader to the question - what do we value?

Much like many of our own societies, Rome was bustling with trade and commerce, ambition, and an area of vast, diverse civilisation. People there faced similar decisions as we do today, in what we pursue and why. As many of us debate our place and purpose in our world, our poet reassures us all. We have been coursing through Mondays for thousands of years. Horace beckons us: take a brief moment from the day’s busy hours. Stretch a little, close your eyes while facing the warm sun, and hear the birds and the quiet stream. The mind that is happy for the present should refuse to worry about what is further ahead; it should dilute bitter things with a mild smile.

I would encourage anyone to read these treasures in translations. For you though, as a budding Classicist, read the texts in Latin and Greek if you can. Wrestle with the word. The struggle is its own reward. Whether one reads from the original or from a worthy translation, the moral virtue (one hopes) is wisdom and enlightenment.

Pulvis et umbra sumus

(We are but dust and shadow.)

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #classical #greek #latin #horace #poetry #literature #arts #cambridge #classics #personal #study #habits #reading #books #culture #personal growth

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nancypullen · 2 years ago

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Oops

Yesterday got away from me. I ended up organizing a few more boxes (yes, we still have stuff in boxes). I haven’t put anything away in the grandgirl’s room because it still has to be painted. I haven’t put anything away in the living room because we’re still waiting for flooring. The master bedroom has a couple of boxes in one corner, but those will be organized into baskets in the closet - they don’t count. Most pictures and mirrors are still in boxes because the floor installer requested that anything on the walls be removed. Our living room furniture will be delivered the 31st so we’re still in limbo there. We have a few pieces that we brought up from Tennessee and they look sad and lonely.

Notice the paint samples taped to the far wall. I have to see them in bright sunlight as well as evening shadows. The left is Comfort Gray, the right is Sea Salt. They’re both wonderful, calming, blue-green-gray tones. Sea Salt is my favorite, but in strong light can look downright minty and that’s not my goal. Also, neither looks great with the cabinet and the cabinet stays. Dare I chalk paint it? Hmmm. Anywho - I processed a couple of boxes, then ran up to the grocery store for a few items, then puttered in the yard a bit. I chatted up the tomatoes, letting them know that they’re in good hands. I’m already seeing blossoms.

Looks like they handled the transplant process okay, so I’m hoping for a bumper crop. I scattered a few sunflower seeds and a handful of zinnia seeds on the lavender hump/grave. It’s not the perfect location for either so we’ll see what happens. Zinnia has a way of powering through adverse conditions, so I may have some cutting flowers out there. I didn’t pop into the library, turns out you just register online and then they zip you a message when your card is ready. I filled out and submitted the form and they’ll check my ID when I pick up the card. Pretty sure I don’t need an appointment for that. I hope. Better call. I’m really loving getting to know our new town. Downtown on Market street there are shops, businesses, and restaurants. I’m looking forward to the patio dining at Caroline’s of Denton. The menu looks tempting. For casual dining there’s a very popular “Irish Public House”.

BUT, the place that I’m most excited about is The Foundry. It’s an art gallery that hosts weekly classes for all sorts of things - everything from painting to sculpture to weaving. I signed up for a beginners mosaic tile class tonight! If I have a knack for it I’d like to attempt a pretty bird bath. The Foundry is in an old building with interesting art just outside the doors.

I’m excited about getting involved with the artsy folks here - I can learn so much! Down by the Choptank River sits Steamboat Wharf which is home to the heritage center

and a really neat store called The Denton Mercantile at Steamboat Wharf.

I didn’t have a great photo of the place, so here’s one I swiped from their Facebook page.

Looks like autumn, just pretend that there are hanging baskets of flowers instead of cornstalks. Anyway, that store has everything from antiques to local artisans stuff, pretty kitchen items, gourmet groceries, you name it! You can get a darling tote bag or local honey. You could also spend hours exploring. Because Denton is so small, just about everything is 5minutes from our house. My class today starts at 5 o’clock. I can probably leave home at 4:45 and still have plenty of time to check in and get settled. I love it. There’s a Food Lion and a Super Walmart on opposite sides of the street, just 1.5 miles from our front door. Plenty of unhealthy food options as well - McDonalds, Taco Bell, Dunkin’, Burger King, and so on. We’re very fortunate to have a good-sized North Shore Medical facility less than 2 miles from us, as well as U of M Shore Regional Health. All we lack is a Sephora and a Home Goods and for that Mickey is probably sending up a prayer of thanks. So, this is day 13 in our new spot and I’m feeling very good about our choice. Did I mention that we’re surrounded by farm stands where the goods are picked and sold within hours? I’m already putting a dent in the local strawberry crop. I took this screen shot the other day when I was checking to see if we’d be seeing any rain.

We’re the blue dot. Seems that, just like in Mt. Juliet, bad weather seems to break up and go around us. Is it because of the bay? Maybe the Choptank River? Or was that just one lucky instance? Both nights that storms were predicted we didn’t get more than a few sprinkles. Interesting. Alright, time for me to work my way through a box or two and see if I can get some stuff put away in the grandgirl’s room without messing up the painting plan. Settling in, making this place a home, looking forward to a sweet summer. Fingers crossed! Stay safe, stay well, take good care. XOXO, Nancy

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rosaetae · 4 years ago

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spellbound to be | one

☇ “I don’t need to drink your blood to have my lips on your neck.”

[this is a part of tale of the purebloods] — prologue / one / two

➣ pairing: jungkook x reader

➣ genre: vampire!jungkook, fanatasy!au, soulmate!au, angst

➣ word count: 12.3k

➣ rating: pg-13

➣ synopsis: jeon jungkook is the cursed pureblood to have fallen in deep love with someone who was not his Complement. having to have fallen hard, he has to compensate with a life full of heartbreak and pain— one of which a burden weighs heavily on his shoulders. so much so, he hires a witch one day to reverse his inevitable Complement tie.

Bloodshed.

That is what derives from Witch Trial Week at Ember Academy— overly exaggerating, of course. A witch-made week established decades ago, the equivalence to Hell Week in the mundane world, but something your friend, Piper likes to call "Heaven Week" for her own musings.

Ember Academy's witches spend the week hexing, jinxing, cursing each other in the light of every October 31st, Halloween. There's no real motive behind it. Before, whoever was the last witch standing would be given special treatment, but in modern day, it was used as a tactic for the professors to oversee who would be a powerful witch, for some it was a mechanism to either get revenge or to let out one's anger. For you, it was always fun.

To your misfortune, you were at the short end of the stick, being clever and witty enough to be made part of Witch Trial Week, one of the notable witches that some would target, but unlike the rest of Ember Academy, you didn't grow up with the others. They all knew each other the day you stepped into the academy, looking and talking about you as if you were anything but one of them.

And it was true, you weren't fully one of them.

Growing up, you lived in the mundane world, surrounded by people who upheld no special abilities as those in the Upper World. Surely, you were no stranger to the realm of where your mother comes from, you coming home every day from primary school to your father, a human, and your mother, a full-fledged witch who gave up her immortality and her life in the Upper World for the sake of her Complement. You'd spend the day learning simple arithmetic, and after school, you'd come home to your mother teaching you simple, harmless charms.

It was a normal life growing up for you, your upbringing never straying too far from your roots. On some nights, your father put you to bed by telling you bedtime stories, on other nights, your mother would sing a lullaby of broken latin. You were convinced for awhile that it was your mother's soothing voice, but at a certain age when she stopped singing you to sleep, she exposed that it was a siren's song she learned from a friend in her hometown.

As a child, you'd constantly ask about the Upper World, having constant dreams about another worldly realm and a recurring figure holding their hand out for you. And the minute your finger grazes theirs, you awake. Not on your bed made of sea water and a ceiling made of glass, but in your normal New York apartment that had some crooked crevices on the ceiling, on your springy mattress with beige linen sheets. Although, despite your continuous desire to visit your mother's home world, your mother and father were very against world hopping.

However, due to your father's passing when you turned 14, there was no reason as to why your mother should keep you in the mundane world any longer if you didn't want to stay, and brought you to the Upper World of where your dreams of it had come to reality.

Entering Ember Academy, you could not fathom why your mother was so strict of you convincing yourself and everyone else around you that you are a full-fledged witch. And then you learn during one of the history classes that a hybrid witch that shares two worlds forbidden from each other was subjected to execution if entered the soil of the Upper World. You never understood why such a thing as your existence had such dire consequences, but that just made you more aware of your lies to everyone in the Upper World.

Your mother raised you believing that love shouldn't be forbidden, no matter the circumstances, even if that meant two different worlds. The mundane world was like that too. Star-crossed lovers consisting of Romeo and Juliet, Jack and Rose, Joel and Clementine, your own parents— they're all the epitome of what your mother likes to gush on and on about. And in hindsight, you are the product of it.

Due to your inability to grow up with the other witches, you had almost the entire academy against you for the past few years, especially on Witch Trial Week, only for this year to completely change that.

In the mundane world, sports like kickboxing was one of your favorites, and while there was no such thing as kickboxing in the Upper World, your main characteristic was that you like to play rough. A tug a war, a game of chess— this year, you were not holding back.

"Don't be so quick to be disappointed, Piper."

Piper, one of your only purely good friends at Ember Academy, watches you grind up dried lavender buds in a hard stone mortar and pestle, making a few grinds before running an index finger along an old page of your mother's book you took without her permission. She plops down onto her seat in front of you, her dark purple hair bouncing on her shoulders as she taps on her star glitters on her face. "It's Witch Trial Week, ___. That means I have to witch-proof all of my belongings because Rina and her damn fritter friends are going to pull a last year's move."

"Oh, come on. It wasn't that bad," you state, pouring the crushed up lavender into a glass bottle that had frog mucus and torn rose petals sitting inside about one fourth of the way. Piper doesn't question what you were up to, only continuing to voice out her frustrations.

"They cursed my assignments! You know how many extra credit assignments I had to do? 200 points gone because of this bloody witch-made week!"

Smirking, you peer up at her before standing up from your seat to grab a large jar of purple dragon drool on a shelf right behind you, before sitting back down, "calm down, I have plotted the perfect revenge."

"What?" Piper raises an eyebrow, her facial expression looking concerned. "Is that dragon drool?"

Opening up the jar, Piper makes a sour face when the aroma of a putrid, green whiff draws out of the jar, you having to stifle in a cough at the stench that made no warning traveling up your sinuses. Bringing your index finger and thumb to pinch your nose, you grab the small wooden serving spoon attached to the side of it and put two heeping spoonfuls of the dragon drool into your concoction before swiftly shutting the jar and finally being able to breathe again.

Piper lets out an exhale she's been holding in, staring at you with wide eyes, waiting for an answer that you were sort of stalling as you rip up a piece of paper. "I borrowed my mother's infamous dark magic book."

She gulps at the sound of that. "Dark magic?"

"Calm down, it's not that bad," you roll your eyes at her fear of using an area of magic that you were technically not supposed to touch upon— but you couldn't help it. It's dark magic, it's bound to be used somehow. "Just going to tease around with Rina's emotions a bit. We all know she's been trying to hit on Namjoon despite her Complement is Doyeon. I'm making a simple love potion for Namjoon to fall in love with Rina— only for the week though. She'll be a bit heartbroken at the end, but hey, she stained my uniform with troll's blood last year."

Jung Rina, daughter of Ember Academy's high priestess, who also adapts an attitude problem. She likes to taunt other witches from afar because of the power she gains from being the high priestess's daughter, cursing and jinxing others and acting as if it wasn't her— she gets away with it anyways. Unsure why, even when you do mind your own business, it's as if Rina has something against you— you confirmed this when even after Witch Trial Week, she wouldn't stop jinxing you.

Last year, she took your uniform while you were showering after with a game of shuntbumps, only to wear a uniform stained with a bright yellow color leaving a horrendous, pungent smell of troll's blood. It was one of the most talked about trick for the year, everyone bringing up the fact that Ms. Jung Rina was able to get her hands on troll's blood and use you as a target. A laughing stock, the black sheep— you've endured it for long enough.

"You're using dark magic! On the high priestess's daughter! That's—"

"Risky? I could care less." You finish for her, shrugging. You write down the template for the love spell that was written in high level latin, writing it carefully letter by letter. As your quill inks the paper, you look at a sweating Piper momentarily. "Stop worrying! If anything, you're guilty by association."

Piper places her hands over eyes and sighs. "I did not see anything."

"No, you didn't," you muse along with her as you place your quill back into its holder and roll up the paper into a thin tube, tapping it into the bottle that finishes up the spell. You watch as the dragon's drool acidifies the paper, already acidifying the rose petals, ground lavender buds, and frog's mucus prior, all in all creating a lilac hue in the glass bottle. "See? It's done. Now I just need to pour this into his cup of juniper latte when we go to potions."

"Huh," Piper says aloud. "That's sneaky."

Clicking your tongue at her, you slam the dark magic book closed, quickly shoving it into your tote bag while you plug the glass bottle with a cork, gently placing it along with the magic book.

"May the games begin," you whisper audibly only for Piper to let out another sigh of disappointment, but also in anticipation.

Everything was going smoothly. Going to class was like a mission, having to make sure that you don't mindlessly enter a trap, but as you sit down in your seat, in the sight of Professor Young of where safe base was, you just had to get through this class without being suspicious. Despite all else, everything was smooth sailing. Even pouring the potion into Namjoon's juniper latte when he wasn't paying attention was easy. And you noticed that no one has caught you— yet.

In a whirl of lingering moments, the grace period, you were sat in your seat, reading your potions book when you hear an abrupt sound, you and almost everyone in the class looking up to see Namjoon, his told figure looming over the other students with eyes wide as day.

He makes one audible noise, "Rina," before dashing out of the potion room in a coarse and gawky manner, Professor Young calling after him while the rest of the class took it to their own accord to follow him, already presuming that something only Witch Trial Week can influence. Eventually, all classes grew curious of the commotion that people trickle into the crowd as they follow in a hearty distance from Namjoon's graceless gait.

You pull Piper to the side when you see Namjoon approach his and your target, standing from one of the many columns of the area to get a good look given by the angle you were given. Piper couldn't help but to let out an amused giggle when you both see the moment unfold in front of your eyes.

"Namjoon?" Rina speaks, her cheeks going red when she sees Namjoon on his knees, head down. You almost snort at how her eyes go wide when she finds her biggest crush right in front of her, thinking this was out of his own willingness— Namjoon actually being in love with Rina. "Namjoon, what are you doing?"

"I love you!"

The loud announcement rings and echoes in waves down the hallway, you and Piper already having a hard time stifling your laughter at the confession. Rina gulps before she lets out a scoff in disbelief, a smile creeping on her face as if this was a moment she was expecting. Her cockiness makes you want to gag.

"I love you with all my heart, Rina! I want to stay by your side forever!"

Whispers upon whispers dissipate into the air, one of concern, one of cheer for Rina, and one of straight amusement.

Rina raises her eyebrows, clearing her throat. "Namjoon."

"Please, keep me in your life," Namjoon states, almost like a whimper. In that moment, he peers up at Rina with huge bug eyes, as if he was really begging. The anticipation stabs at you like daggers as Rina continues to stare at him in both awe and confusion by the sudden confession. "Master."

The last word leaves his mouth almost like a mutter, and you were for sure, for a mere second, that you misheard him— everyone did, until you're finding Namjoon leap from his stance into Rina's arms, immediately peppering her with kisses on her cheeks, causing her to stumble backwards. The murmurs amongst the crowd grow, following with a few giggles as Rina is trying to push Namjoon away, trying to hold in her giggles.

"Namjoon," Rina says through fits of giggles as she brings her hands up to his chest, trying to keep some distance between them. "Namjoon, not—"

The words are taken out of her mouth when Namjoon, shamelessly and giddily swipes his entire tongue along her cheek, earning a large gasp from the crowd. It leaves not only you in shock, but as well as Rina who entirely freezes in realization of the contact that was just made. Your mouth hangs open, until you roll your lips inward, trying so very hard not to break into a fit of laughter.

"Wrong spell, you hobworm!" Piper whisper yells, slapping a hand on your arm as you let a snigger out, looking at your friend with amusement, wondering why she wasn't finding this just as funny as you did.

"Hobworm?" You gasp at her insult, your amusement unabashedly shining through.

Piper scowls at you, biting her tongue to prevent from encouraging you further into amusement. "You cast the wrong spell!"

As your smile grows, you shake your head. "No, I swear I didn't. I did everything correctly—"

"Then why on earth is Namjoon under a puppy love spell?"

Glancing your eyes at Rina, you hear whispers among the crowd who watch as she tries to push a puppy in love Namjoon away from her. He whines and whimpers each time she makes the distance greater between them.

"Who did this!" Rina exclaims, trying to push a licking Namjoon away from her. "Who in the heavens thought this was funny? I will be reporting this to my mother and every little squeamish fritter that allowed this to happen— no, Namjoon, bad dog!"

This allows you to snort, all your laughter you were containing bursting out as you couldn't hold it in anymore. However, doing so only allows Rina to make direct eye contact with you, her face twisting in volatile spite, knowing very well that you are the culprit. Widening your eyes, you began to run before your mind processed it.

"___!" Rina screeches from the tops of her lungs, everyone in front of you turning heads to find you, the witch who dared to pull a little stunt against the High Priestess's daughter.

Legs stride step by step, zooming through the halls with adrenaline pumping your veins as the wretched witch was probably right behind you, chasing you down when you hear the sounds of heels, knowing very well that's Rina's 3-inch heeled mules clacking in the distance. Professors peek their head out of their classroom in curiosity, some yelling at you to not run in the halls, however, your eye is set on the prize— the exit.

It was closed, and to save time, you swipe your hand in front of you, a spell recited in your head swinging the door wide open that it hits the walls and causes a loud slamming noise. It was the door that led out to the garden of the academy of where fresh herbs grew, and at this point of your escape plan, you were hoping to hide in the depths of the greenhouse until class ended.

You run down the steps, eyes looking down as your feet land on each step, careful not to miss one or you'd fall down to your doom. And just when you safely made it down the staircase, you are bumped into a wall of rigid flesh and muscle, your immediate reaction to apologize, except the words are taken out of your mouth when you look up and see the face on all pictures and drawings matching to the person who looked just as mesmerizing in person as he is on paper; the one and only—

"Your grace," Jungkook hears you sputter, shutting your eyes and lowering your head to hide your own embarrassment and disappointment in such a quick second. His men behind him step forward, but he raises a hand to halt them in their place. "My sincere apologies—"

"Do you have no mind?" Jungkook hears the secretary who was leading him on a tour around Ember Academy snap, her booming and high-pitched screech at the sheer shame that has been exchanged by this incident.

"I am so incredibly sorry, your grace. I am at fault—"

The king himself is not at all bothered by a simple bump by a young witch, considering that it seemed you were on the run from something. He glances down at you in subtle curiosity, your head bowed before him with your hair braided, as you stand still despite the constant nagging of the secretary scolding you for being so unaware. And something catches his eye.

His eyes focus in on the crystal of pale, fair, ivory that hangs on your neck. It twinkles in his sight with the sunlight just bouncing off of it into his cornea, right before he settles in recognition of where he recalls it. There's a swift movement moments later of where you raise your head just slight, only to lock eyes with him.

How you've grown, he thinks to himself. He remembers how your eyes were that of similar of a doe, and how you stared at him with the same wide eyes when you were little. It scares him how much time has passed and how you stand before him, more matured than before— he wasn't expecting to see you this soon.

The locked gaze lasted briefly before your eyes widen and you bring your head back down.

He manages to let out a sigh, "I suggest you pay attention where you are going in the future."

Jungkook can tell that you were surprised by his response, despite you committing the worst crime by even daring to be this close to the king. Even the secretary was a distance away from him.

"Yes, your grace."

"You may look up," he speaks. The permission makes you hesitate, but swallowing the lump in your throat, you inhale deeply and rise, and when you steadily meet his eyes, immediately, it's as if you could see his past. The pain and sorrow he has been through. It all encompasses into the hallows of his eyes.

"What is your name?" You blink at the question blankly as he awaits your answer, arching an eyebrow when you stay mute. "Well?"

"___," you answer. "My name is ___, your grace."

There's this glint in Jungkook's eye that even he is aware that you notice. It occurs to him that he has not once asked your name before, but somehow he finds it this moment valuable to gain that piece of you. Meanwhile, you hope he does not find any significance to your name, that this incident isn't one to be held against one day.

It's then, he smirks, giving a single nod, etching your name into his brain for he knows he will not forget it.

"Your name will be in my memory, ___," he speaks ominously. Your heart drops in return. "You are dismissed."

six years later.

"Welcome."

The books weighed heavy in your arms, but you ignored the fact that it was nearly slipping out of your grasp as you gripped on the jar of dried magnolia leaves in the other hand, making your way to the small work table just right out into the shop of where you greet the presence inside the shop. Taking one last step to your marked destination, you let out a sigh of relief, your shoulders relaxing as you plop all of the buttery books onto the work table, still keeping the jar of magnolia leaves in your grasp.

"Is Circe here?"

At first, the voice processes in your mind, realizing that you were so engrossed on completing a minor trip without making a fool of yourself and dropping all your books at once that you forget for a mere moment that someone was in the shop. And what makes your whole body freeze like the ice age of modern day was the name you haven't heard in so long— only when your father would let it tumble out of his mouth and him being the last one to ever speak of the name.

The aura shifted within the shop. Not daring to turn around and meet eye to eye with the person who knows your mother's real identity, you keep your back turned away, placing the jar gently onto the table right next to your books, a pinky setting down first before gently setting down the bottom of the jar to relieve the loud sound it would have made.

"Who's asking?"

There's a moment of hesitation, one that you can only take in as sly and mischievous. Silently, you maintain a mantra in your head, one that recites a spell to freeze one's muscles entirely, the silence teeter totter between having to put the spell to use or not. The sound of a step is heard— one that sounds too close for your liking that in a whirlwind, you swiftly twirl around and let the mantra come to life in an instant, "carpe musculus."

And with wide eyes, you realize your mistake immediately when eyes lock with the ones that belong to the sheer ruler of the property you stand on— the king. It wasn't hard to forget them, since the last time you two had a rather unpleasant encounter. His eyebrow quirks up at your spell you casted upon him, his body completely frozen over as he was in the midst of grabbing one of the crystal necklaces hung on display at the register, an arm outstretched, but posture and dignified stature remained.

"An old acquaintance."

"Verto," you mutter, blinking with the same wide eyes as you see him gain control over his muscles again, his hand retracting and meeting his other hand from the behind, his throat clearing at the situation that he assumed— correctly— that you were fearful of. Bringing your head down instinctively, you open your mouth with eyes shut. "Your grace, I apologize—"

"Apology accepted," he cuts you off, making you peer up at his form from the curtains of your draping hair. Slowly, you rise your head, keeping your chin up to match his formal, dignified persona. "I am merely here to see your mother."

Scoffing lightly, you let your lips curl upward, turning around to grab at the jar of dried magnolia leaves from the table. "You must be an old acquaintance to call my mother by her real name," you take note aloud, wandering and maneuvering around the vast shop to the corner near the front of where the jars of special ingredients sit in the cupboards.

"Is Circe not what she goes by?"

You shake your head, opening the jar with one of the keys wrapped around your neck, twisting and turning before the cupboard unraveled a collection started by your mother. "Cora," you correct him. "She went by Cora."

"Very well then. Is Cora present?"

You blink at the question, mindlessly nudging the other jars to make room for your new ingredient you've obtained from the village due to a friendly seller who saved the leaves just for you.

"You just missed her," you announce, placing the jar snugly just between the phoenix feathers and pickled frog tongues. "By three years. She passed away."

"She passed?" The king speaks his question in subtle shock, evidently oblivious to your mother's passing, one that makes you question what connection he had to your mother as you turn around to meet his wide eyes. Politely, he realizes the atmosphere that was created and clears his throat. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"I'm sorry for yours," you try to keep the the spirits high, a teasing smile on your lips. "It seems like whatever reason you came here for was pretty important if the king is in need of my mother's services. And in replacement of my mother's absence, how may I assist you?"

In comparison to the young witch that was so invigorated with competition that you grew blind to your own surroundings, you were not like her to easily cower in front of intimidating figures— including the king— anymore. If she saw you now, she'd probably wonder why you are so nonchalant speaking to the king as you are in the moment, but there is one thing you noticed that allowed you to act the way that you are now.

He came into the shop looking for your mother, seeking for her services. Though he has the power to put you into exile or to chop your head off or to even rip your heart out of your chest, it means nothing when he is obviously wanting a favor.

Jungkook's eyes narrow slightly before he scoffs lightly. "Not quite sure if you can help me."

"I'm not that sure either," you muse. "But I am the next option to my mother's assistance. Or if you have no interest of my assistance, then I believe this shop is not meant for you, your grace."

It wasn't hard to notice that he was having an internal battle the minute you turned the other cheek to resume what you were doing. Shutting the cabinet and locking it, you wander to the back of the room of where the work table was, taking the top book of the stack and dusting it with one of your mini feather dusters.

"What do you know about Complements?"

Freezing your wrist, you take a second to process the question set in the air, your eyebrows furrowing. Setting the duster and the ancient novel down, you twirl around once more to meet the eyes of the distant king, each second becoming more comfortable under his gaze that seemingly brought temptation and fear amongst others.

"Depends. I'm not very interested in the topic enough to know the ins and outs of it. However, I do know how to expose a Compliment tie—"

"What about erasing a Complement tie?"

An eyebrow shoots up on your face, his questions becoming more questionable from your mere curious uprising, but as you let his inquiry sit in your mind, you shrug. "Never been done."

His grace scoffs, allowing the pad of his thumb swipe under his nose before returning to hold his hand from his behind. "That's what your mother said."

"And I'm afraid, to this day, her word remains true," retorting to his attitude, you fold your arms over your chest. "However, I can unknot a Complement tie if needed."

"Your mother has already done that."

"Of course she has," you roll your eyes, realizing that the more you talk to the king of Frawen, the more you realize that you were talking to a wall. "How about this? I will do some digging about it in her archives. She has mentioned before that terminating a Compliment tie is hard. However, I do believe it's not impossible." He stares at you attentively before you placate his energy with a smile, a little light of hope intended. "I will come by your castle once I've retrieved a decent amount of information."

He stays silent, a steady gaze on your eyes that slowly made you more uncomfortable with each passing second, but thank the dark lords that someone enters your shop, the door making a very loud entrance that ruined the staring contest between you two, your eyes averting to the customer who entered the premises.

"Welcome," you announce, strolling from the work table up to the front to sit right behind the register, flickering your eyes towards the king when seeing that he hasn't moved from his spot. "Until then, King Jungkook, I have a customer to attend to."

The customer that saved the awkward tension takes a step into the shop, but with a single glance headed their way from the king, the customer drops their head and mutters an, "I'll wait outside" and flees back into the Upper World sun, the door shutting again. Lips parting, you gape at Jungkook who looks back at you, ignoring that his own presence had made one of your customers scurry off in intimidation.

"When will I hear from you again?"

Scoffing at him, you shake your head at his evident advantage and inhale deeply. "I'll start doing some research tonight, your grace. Expect me in front of your castle in two days. And if you could kindly so, can you tell my customer they may come in on your way out?"

He lets his gaze linger on yours for a second before silently nodding on his way out, his presence exchanged for the customer's. The customer glances at you awkwardly as you count write something on a piece of paper with your quill, as if confused that you were not trembling after just speaking with the king, but going back to your normal day as if the king had never arrived.

"Why, King Jungkook came to visit. Quite sooner than I expected," the amused tone that drips from Circe's tongue when she notices the arrival of none other than the King of Frawen just two weeks after he had gone up and left her abode after the reveal of his dreaded Complement tie.

"Came to greet a happy birthday to her?" The witch doesn't meet his brooding gaze, but gathers bouquets of flowers in her hold.

"No," he flatly states. "I still have a favor to ask of you."

"Ah," Circe nods, balancing the bouquet carefully before tossing her aging hair over her shoulder. "The one about your Complement? You left so quick the last time we spoke."

Jungkook clenches his jaw, an attempt to not forget that his own fear and apprehension after making the forsaken revelation that he had met his Complement so soon; a child— a hybrid, a product against the Upper World law— is his Complement. Curse himself for being so easily affected.

And while the two have known each other for awhile, Circe wastes no time to remind him of inevitable fate, despite her own idea of the past he carries. It weighs on him heavily that even Circe cannot recognize the aura of whom she once knew of.

"Yes," he inhales sharply. "I need you to erase it."

Circe bellows a light chuckle, one that makes his eyebrows raise at the response. "Are you insinuating I kill my daughter?"

Jungkook knows that the witch likes to dig in places to prevent the other party from kicking around the bush. She hates fluff and she hates time being wasted. Only now, giving up her eternal life only makes her that much crabbier about it.

"Do you believe that I'd be daft enough to try to imply such a thing?" He shakes his head, a slight smirk growing on his face. "Murder doesn't sit very well on my shoulders, Circe. You must at least know that much of me."

"Do I? It's been too long."

Jungkook smiles at the grinning witch, "I am insinuating you sever our Complement tie."

The witch in decorative forest green and black, stares at the king who wears a sack-colored cloak that did not do justice hiding his black, feathered doublet that resembled such royalty and wealth. Even with the hood on, it is no mistaking that the man with raven hair and pale, glimmering skin, is the king. She laughs, her finger tapping against the paper wrapped around the bouquet of plum-hued calla lilies. "I'm afraid I can only live up to your favor in part."

"The most powerful witch I know cannot cut a Complement tie?"

She is no stranger to his challenges, but because she has no need to maintain the name of being the infamous witch who wields such immense power no longer (as she knows that name will be given to someone much worthy), she merely shrugs, a smile on her face. "Not even I know how to cut a Complement tie, dearest Jungkook."

"Your lack of knowledge of erasing something as mere as a Complement tie is disconcerting, Circe."

The witch hums in response, before whispering something of broken latin, and with a waver of a her fingers, a string of deep scarlet attaches against Jungkook's chest, one that floats in the air and trails in a ragged line right over Circe's shoulder and through the wooden door of her home as if he were tied to something— to someone.

The unveiling of the string causes Jungkook's breath to be caught in his throat, a pinch of nothing like before right against his chest of where the string is attached to.

"I see that, despite your best efforts, you could not stray away from her. And you want to know why?" Circe turns over her shoulder, before pointing at the single evident knot made along the string. "This knot was formed when she touched you and so long as it is there, you will live in constant yearning to see her and to be with her. Tell me, how many times have you had to prevent yourself from coming here until it became too unbearable?"

"Can you reverse it? Untie the knot?" His breath is tattered, uneven. It's as if the exposure of the string wrapped every inch of his heart and silently, the king of Frawen fears that his heart might be taken out of his chest.

"I can," she nods, an expression of indifference on her face. "But doing so does not change the fact that you are each other's Complements. It means that you will no longer feel the constant and desperate need to see her."

"Then I beg of you to do it—"

"However, the bond is strong, Jungkook," her gold eyes stare back at him before they soften, as Jungkook's mental mantras to fight off the peculiar pain deriving from the scarlet string has become a door to all of the pains he has experienced in the past. "I fear that the more you leave it in the dark, the more it will create more conflicts in the future."

"Having this complement now is already creating conflicts for me, Circe."

"Jungkook, if you two were to see each other again by the universe's happenings, must you know that the knot cannot be made again by simple touches. It has to be tied by the hand of a witch."

"If it's not any burden to you," he breathes in sharply. "I'd like you to unknot our Complement tie."

Circe makes a face of indifference before sighing. "Very well," she states just before she mumbles another string of latin and snaps, and lo and behold, the knot unravels by itself. The scarlet rope looked like it had no indentation of where the knot once was.

Jungkook lets out an aching sigh, as if he was under water for too long. Circe makes one more movement of her hand before the red string dissipates into the air, no longer exposed to the eye.

"There," she says. "Now leave, before she sees you again."

Circe doesn't give Jungkook a look of goodbye as she hurries inside her house. She feels the presence of Jungkook leave, exhaling in relief as she peers down at her daughter who gleams up at her, her hair in two buns on either side of her head. Her daughter lets out a squeal of "mommy!" before dropping a sage bundle in her hand to run up and hug Circe's leg.

"Happy birthday, my dear. Six years old already?" The witch pats her daughter's head as she giggles against her. "Go on into the kitchen. I'll be there in a moment."

And as she turns around to trot inside the kitchen, Circe takes notice of her neck that has been exposed due to her hairstyle that she wanted to wear this morning. The etching of her Complement mark that once inked her skin of a rose, had become a blank canvas.

As if the mark was never there to begin with.

You haul across the other wing of the castle that stretches from the main entrance of where the gigantic black, grandiose door stares at you mockingly for not having the privilege to be invited by the king himself as well as enter the main entrance to unravel the glory of what stood for centuries.

Servants of the fairest skin and darkest of hairs escort you to the a room you are unsure of, but you don't question them when they open the doors for you of the building. This was as close you were ever getting to the castle.

"Your grace," you announce your arrival before you could realize that another man stands there from the side of your kingdom's king. Freezing in place with books tensing against your chest, your lips part. "King Jimin—!"

"Hello— oh, please. I don't like the bowing," his voice is light, a striking contrast from Jungkook's ominous tone. You lift your head that was on the way down of honorability, eyes staying wide at his unexpected presence. "Trust me, I'm not a big formalities type of person like my brother."

"What is it? Did you find anything?" The king ruins the moment by his barking, an impatience growing in his chest.

You open your mouth, and close it. "Yes, and no."

"Proceed."

Walking over to the table, Jimin smirks when he hears the loud plop that comes from your stacks of ancient books slapping on the table, dust sprinkles in the air by such impact as you wave it dismissively out of your face to spread out the books evenly.

"These are just merely collections my mother had of Complement ties laying out and about," you begin, grabbing hold of the green and gold accented leather bind novel of browning pages. "They all talk about the history of it, the perspectives of it, and some old spells that used to be done moderately back then, but have been taken out of a witch's curriculum in school. Oh, like this one goes on and on about the importance of it and why finding out who your Complement is before you meet them is deemed as bad luck. Like seeing the bride before the wedding, which actually originated from arranged marriages when— sorry, tangent. If I can just find the book..." As your voice trails, your eyes furrow in concentration to find the book amongst the pile you brought that would deem as very important.

Finally, you hold it up to and pat it, Jungkook raising an eyebrow and Jimin looking bemused at your inner workings being elicited through your rambles and tangents.

"This is where I stumbled upon something fruitful," you began. "It's a book that's anti-Complement. The author was actually a witch who thought his Complement was, and I quote, "vile and tremendously horrendous", so he composed this book that explains how to unknot the Complement tie."

"Nothing about cutting it?"

You smile as you open the book. "There's a whole chapter about it, but," as you flip open to it, the book in your hands bursts into bright blue flames illuminating your skin with a blue tint before it calms down, living proof that the book itself was cursed, either by the author or your mother's doing. "The book has been cursed and the most vital information you want means you're not the only one who is searching for a severance."

"Couldn't you just... cut it?" King Jimin chimes in and you shake your head.

"No, this witch said that cutting it would damage the blade and not the tie," you close the book to prevent the fire from getting anywhere. "The tie itself, when exposed, is simply a scarlet rope. Its material is very ethereal and even your finest sword cannot cut it in two."

"Brilliant," Jungkook says, defeatedly. He sucks in a deep breath before looking at you, eyes flickering up and down your form. "When will I hear from you again?"

Making a loud sound as you stack the books on top of each other, you look up at him and raise an eyebrow. "Again? You're expecting me to continue the search for an answer that I can't give you? This is all the information that I can gather from my mother's archive. I don't know what else you expect me to do."

"What the daughter of the most powerful witch of this kingdom can do, of course," he retorts, easily. It makes you scoff.

"I apologize, your grace, but I am not going through those extra lengths."

"For someone who adheres to formalities very often, you don't seem to be very intimidated by me. At least not enough to do what I say."

"Is your job as a king to be intimidating?"

It was that type of riposte that would have your head, an immediate escort to your death for even thinking that a cocky retort would come out of your mouth. If only if Jimin hadn't let out an amused snort, punishment would not have immediately be put off the table, but the irritation forming in the king's blood remains. He doesn't turn to his brother to hush him, but rather keeps a heavy stare at you, narrowed eyes into slits as a heavy warning— yet you stay grounded, raising an eyebrow at him.

"And you don't seem to know when to not speak your mind."

"With all due respect, King Jungkook, may I remind you I am here because you requested my services. I've given you what I can provide, free of charge. My mother has probably dealt with a customer who has wanted the same thing, and if the book was cursed, it's a heavy sign that it's not a wise path to follow."

King Jungkook inhales deeply, eyes staring at the hybrid who fears nothing under his gaze. He mentally curses to himself knowing very well that Circe was the most probable culprit of cursing her own books, for the sole reason of not wanting him to get his hands on vital information that would separate a Complement tie attached to her own daughter. Sighing, he makes a dismissive nod towards you, a finger tapping on his arm chair repeatedly. "Very well. Dismissed."

And without a word, you gather your things and leave, the same men escorting you away from the castle and the inconsiderate king.

Once your presence no longer lingered, Jungkook sinks down into his chair, letting his head fall against the fist of his arm that propped it up. Jimin clicks his tongue beside him.

"Now tell that was not who I thought that was," Jimin sings once the door had fully shut closed and it was just Jungkook and his brother of the neighboring kingdom.

"Your instincts are spot on, brother," Jungkook says with heavy sarcasm, shaking his head.

Jimin heartily laughs. "It doesn't take a Merlin to see that she's your Complement. It's quite obvious."

"Care to go more in depth?"

"Other than the fact that she's the only outsider you granted a visit at your castle, you're not so quick to throw her out either," he begins before tapping his finger on the table. "You also don't like looking her in the eye. You get tense when you do. Either you fear her or you fear getting close to her."

Jungkook raises an eyebrow in surprise at his brother's quick observation— it must be all the times he's observing human behavior in the mortal world.

"She's mentioned that her books derive from her mother's archives— is her mother...?"

"Her mother was the one that undid our Complement knot."

"Her mother was the infamous Circe, then?" Jimin marvels with his signature taunting smirk on his face. "Well, I'll be damned."

"You already are," Jungkook rolls his eyes.

"Your Complement is a hybrid— and not just a hybrid, Circe's daughter?" Jungkook didn't like that his own brother kept reminding him of who his Complement was, thus encouraging the fire of searching for a severance. "Despite the fact that she holds tremendous power, she seems very promising. You're not fond of her?"

"Jimin, you know—"

"Right, pardon me. You don't want her," Jimin inhales deeply, nodding.

"Jimin," Jungkook begins once again. "I can't have her as my Complement. I need her to find a spell to wither our tie."

"Is there another reason why you need to find such spell other than you're dreading that she's bound to you?"

"So that she could find real love and romance. She will not find it with me."

There was an unreadable look in Jimin's face that even his own brother could not decipher. It lingers for a moment before he makes the executive decision to stand up from the seat, knocking on the table with his pale knuckles. "I'm heading back to Merosa. May I make the suggestion that you take her to Sagewood?"

"Sagewood? Why in the heavens would I take her there?"

"If you want to cut the tie so badly, then I think it wouldn't be a very shabby place to start, no? After all, she only has access to such limited information— you're not being much help either. Besides, you both will most likely find something valuable there."

It was pruning day.

The plants you planted outside your windowsill in its respected pots looked green as ever, with some minor flaws sticking out. You walk outside with shears in hand, identifying the buds you'd snip off with love. You enjoy taking care of your plants, the only common denominator between this world and the mundane world that gave you a sense of normality.

Humming an old folk tune from the mundane world, you admire your plants, recalling that some of these plants were the ones your mother would plant back in the mundane world. As you snip off one of your greenery, you hear the faint sounds of neighs from afar, halting in front of your shop and creating audible commotion behind your back. You overhear your neighbors rush out of their respected buildings, having you grow curious by the second.

Raising an eyebrow, you turn around to find nothing but the king hopping off his trusty steed of ebony glory with a luscious mane, planting his feet flat onto the ground with ease while two other men follow his lead, staying a hearty distance from him. He meets your eyes immediately, ignoring that everyone around him are caught in a trance by his sudden appearance in the town.

"King Jungkook," you marvel with a smirk, ignoring the fact that your neighbors were staring in mixed awe and fear. "What a lovely surprise."

He approaches you, stepping onto the gravel, expressionless. "I request your stay at my castle."

The words don't process fast enough in your mind, a blank expression being your response, but even then, you couldn't help but to laugh, but it came out more like a baffled scoff. "I beg your pardon?"

"To make use of the castle's library," he fills in, a smirk painting his face. "We, too, have an archive for all things your curious, knowledgable mind may want to see. Thousands of collections over the centuries, compilations from notable figures. I'm giving you access to that information in search of the severance."

You gape at him, lowering your shears. The king takes this action with positivity as his smirk only grows for a second before he's back to his emotionless expression.

"I will have my men come by to escort you to the castle tomorrow morning at nine-hundred. Pack your things," he says with no confirmation from you. His passive command makes you blink while you watch him turn his shoulder.

Amidst his turn to head back to his source of transportation and the other men who stand in front of your property, you stop him, "really? And when have I agreed?"

His body comes to a full stop just a hearty amount of distance from you. "And you wouldn't?" He calmly states aloud. In a moment, he's turning his body back to completely face you, cocking his head slight. "Tell me, you're not at all curious about how to cut a Complement tie?"

"Why would I? I have no intention of doing so."

"So you'd want to stay bound to one person your whole life? When you meet your Complement, you want to be so attached to the point that being even just miles away from them tears you apart? Every second you do not see them is as if your heart is being shredded apart in layers. Finding out who your Complement is only ruins you in a way that is a hell disguised as a heaven," he says as if it were straight spitfire. There was remorse and dread in his voice that even you cannot decipher completely— as if the pain that courses through his vein is truly authentic.

"In the mundane world, it's different, no? Humans fall in love with who they want, when they want. Did you ever compare that to the Upper World where it is frowned upon to not be with your Complement?"

"They differ, yes," you say through gritted teeth.

"Are you not so curious as to how to sever the tie? To at least be one of the first witches in centuries to hold great knowledge of a severance? That maybe you would one day change your intentions to cut your tie?"

You stay silent, placing your shears down as you stare at him attentively. Sure, you were curious, but your curiosity grew more prevalent seeing how the king was doing so much as to using a rhetoric tactic to ease your answer into a yes. And oddly enough, it was working.

"Besides... free stay, breakfast— in the castle? Surrounded by all things good and gold?"

Letting out a scoff, you narrow your eyes at him. "Is that your way of paying me for my services? A bed and breakfast at the castle? A week to pretend I'm royalty?" Challenge dripped from your tone evidently, but while the others around you and nearly the whole kingdom all feared the king's presence, you didn't share the same feeling. After all, this was the king asking for your services.

And suddenly, his expression changes, one of seriousness turned into dry amusement as he lets out a deep laugh bellowing from his stomach. "No, I'm offended that you may think I'm that cheap," he states as you raise an eyebrow, stabbing your shears, sharp point down into the window sill just right behind your plants. "I may have taken advantage of your services before, forgetting my place as a client to you. For that, I apologize sincerely. I am offering pounds of gold to you in exchange that you continue your search to cut a tie."

"Pounds of gold?"

"I notice that you live in your shop," he speaks of apparentness, making your cheeks go red as he turns his gaze to look at the shop behind you, a place you vaguely remember growing up in. "After your mother died, you decided to turn your home into a shop? Selling your services?" In that moment, you freeze only slight, caught off guard by how easily he put two and two together, you merely forgetting that he was an "acquaintance" with your mother— of course, he knew of this property before you probably were born.

"If the pounds of gold are not enough, I would be glad to make your stay at the castle permanent after you've found the severance."

You raise your eyebrows at his offer, never missing the way his lips quirked upwards for a ghostly second when he sees he's appealing you in the right direction.

"A permanent stay at your castle? As what? Your mistress? A maid?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Of course not. Your mother would find a way to resurrect herself to rid of my existence if she found out that I made you, her daughter, a mistress. Let alone a maid."

"You will be staying at my castle free of charge. And while I know this shop has been dear to your mother— dear to you, I am also willing to put a new location in the center of Sapphire Hill for your services on the table. Closer to the castle and in the heart of Frawen. That is, only if you have a mind to accept my proposal."

Inhaling sharply, you both stare at each other in silence as your mind juggles and he patiently awaits your answer, his body still as a stone, probably cold as one too. There was no other ulterior option to choose from— after all, why would you decline such a proposal? You were just as curious about the severance as he was, wondering why your mother never wanted to stray close to that path and why she has never mentioned about it before. And perhaps, you too could also cut your tie before you ever get to find your Complement if you ever came down to it.

However, despite his generous offers for a mere severance, there was a deep feeling in your stomach that didn't sit very well with you, one that was silently yearning you to not accept. It felt alarmingly unnatural. Just as unnatural as interacting with the king up close three times in a month.

"Alright," you sigh, defeatedly, grabbing your shears from the wood and returning to pruning day. "You've appealed to me."

"Wonderful," he acknowledges, a single celebratory nod coming your way before he turns around to head back on his steed. "I will have people to escort you tomorrow. Nine-hundred."

"Quite a castle," you announce, eyes boggling at the interior design of the castle you never thought you'd see in person. Hell, you didn't think you'd ever get to see it closer than it being on top of the hill until just previously.

The halls were a fair color accented with alluring gold, intricate designs resembling a brush stroke, as if the gold were painted free-handedly, yet a symmetry being maintained. Crimson rugs, drapes, furniture dabble the expense of the hallway itself, and ebony statues and sculptures stare back at you broodingly. Two broad statues of fairies introduce you on either side of the entrance, facing each other with conch shells held to their mouths.

Selene purrs in your arms, probably just as dazzled at the structure as you are. "I know, baby, I know," you mutter under your breath as your pace slows along the red carpet.

"___." The voice announcing your name echoes throughout the vast hallway, pulling you out of your thoughts and daydreams as you peer towards the grandiose staircase ahead, finding a familiar figure in red with accenting white tassels walk down the steps, slowly and gracefully.

Selene suddenly paws out of your grasp to be let go of, you lowering her down to the floor carefully as you know that she likes to roam around new and foreign areas by herself.

"Your grace," you acknowledge, pacing towards him to meet him in the middle, eyes watching Selene trot along the scarlet carpet just in front of you, only to realize that she made her independent way to the king. You arch an eyebrow when Jungkook stops his footing altogether, both of you noticing Selene taking a liking into him, purring against his leg and her tail curling around his calf, making elegant circles around him in adoration. "I see Selene likes you."

Jungkook coughs before removing his eyes from the feline to meet yours. "You have a cat."

"I do," you nod. "Is she not allowed in the castle?"

"I'll make the exception," Jungkook swallows as Selene rubs her cheek against his leg. You mentally thank Selene for kissing his arse, knowing that Jungkook might have gone soft for your feline friend immediately and discarded the direct thought of kicking her out.

"I was given her a couple years back."

"Were you?"

You hum in response. "Given to me as a gift for my birthday. I named her after selenite, one of my favorite crystals."

"As long as she doesn't get into anyone's way, your feline company is welcome. However, if she were to be causing mischief, do not be blowed if she is in your soup," the king warns as he turns around, a hand motioning you to trail behind him, but the whole situation nearly made you snort out loud. Was that humour in his voice?

Following him, you scoop Selene with a hand as you caught up to her, cutting her curiosity trip short as you did not want to have her disappear and find her as your dinner, despite King Jungkook's warning sounding slightly sarcastic. His foot steps climbing up the stairs echo, his boots emphasizing his steps as you follow a few steps behind him, your flats being light-sounded from underneath you.

The Upper World resembled a victorian age from the mundane world. As much as you missed your tennis shoes and trousers, the Upper World called for bell-shaped dresses, the air-sucking corsets, and uncomfortable shoes that hurt your back if standing for too long.

As King Jungkook walks down the spacious hall with such glorious designs, you notice that there were two beautiful women in gray high neck dresses, eggshell aprons wrapped around their waist standing on the side with head lowered. Despite their dull attire, their appearance is what caught your eye.

The one on the right had skin of the bluest topaz with complementing navy hair tied up into a sleek bun. If she had looked up earlier, you would admire her sunshine eyes that made her look so kind. The on the left had contrasting mauve skin and emerald hair flowing down her shoulders. She wore a headband to keep her hair out of her face.

Nymphs.

"Cricket, Calla," the king's voice ruined the solace of the hallway, the snap of both ethereal beings' heads making direct eye contact with King Jungkook, you catching the hazel eyes of the mauve skinned beauty for a split second before she keeps steady eye contact with the person she serves.

"They will be serving you throughout your stay," he states towards you, a nod cueing the two nymphs accordingly.

"Good morning, ___. I am Calla," the topaz nymph speaks first, bowing her head as you respectfully did the same.

"And I, Cricket," her partner speaks, bowing as well.

"It is lovely to meet you both, Calla and Cricket," you speak with a kind tone as they give the smallest of shy smiles.

"Aster and Fickle are unloading the carriages. They will be up to bring her belongings in any minute. You may start unpacking—"

"Oh no, that's not necessary," you intervene. The king sends you a glare for interrupting him, but daringly, you roll your eyes at him. "Cricket, Calla, just have Aster and Fickle leave my luggages on my bed. I didn't pack heavy, so it's alright. I'd prefer if I unpack myself."

"As you wish," Cricket and Calla say in unison before King Jungkook gives one last asserting, yet hesitating nod, turning his shoulder to continue walking down the hall.

"Come. I will show you the library," he orders, having you share one last look at the beautiful nymphs who both smile at you. In that moment, you give them a smile that you hoped would make them feel safe— as if you all have been friends before. As you tear your eyes away, you trot up to the king's pace, Selene being safe in your arms as you mentally curse the king for having long legs.

Walking for nearly a minute or two, you didn't realize he had stopped in front of large double doors, black wood engraved with the exact designs you recall in the main entrance, intriguing you with every bit. You blink for a nanosecond until you hear the door unlock and open, having to blink once more when you see that the king was only a few feet away from the immense opening, arms held behind his back as the door widened.

"Did you do that?" You question aloud. It sounded very mundane of you— as if you had not seen anything weirder in the Upper World.

"Yes," he speaks, raising an eyebrow at you as you wait for the doors to open fully. "I am a Pureblood, aren't I?"

His reminder made you realize that you did indeed forget that Purebloods hold some sort of power. It was only the three kings who held such powers, being why they were named the most powerful trio over centuries to live. Unsure why, you didn't take the King of Frawen to hold telekinesis, if anything.

The doors finally stop opening, two grand doors coming to a halt on either side of the opening and creating an entrance to a room that already has your mouth hung open.

"This is the library," he speaks, taking a step in first. "All of Frawen's greatest works over the centuries are all kept in here."

It was not the immense room that was its own castle itself, but it was the giant collections, endless spines of literature and word composition that was tempting you to swallow all of the knowledge up from them.

"These are the collections of Edgar Allen Poe," you observe, remembering that you had to read one of his famous works in your mundane junior high, the eerie components of his pieces standing out to you enough that you recall his name. "The Upper World holds mortal works?"

"Just the finer ones. Homer, Machiavelli, the Brontë sisters, Cordelia Maine—"

You widen your eyes. "No way. Cordelia Maine? You have her works, too?"

"Of course," he laughs at your never-ending bafflement. "She might be famous to you mortals, but her roots don't stray away from Frawen."

"Mortals," you repeat, catching his word that he knowingly categorizes you. It makes you blink up at him, more concerned why you weren't feeling as uneasy as you should that the king who stands in front of you and has brought you inside his castle knows you're the product against the Upper World law. "Dare I ask how you know this?"

The king smirks at you, probably bemused at how you weren't exactly trembling in your boots, but you probably have a spell prepared at the tip of your tongue. "Do you forget that I can smell your blood? You reek of mortals."

Arching an eyebrow at him, you narrow your eyes just slight. "Should I be worried?"

He smirks. "That I hold such knowledge? No, or else I would have no way to find a severance now, would I?" His rhetorical question is followed with a quirk of his eyebrow, a bemused smile illuminated from the indirect sun from the window. "Besides, your mother and I were acquaintances. I am well aware of your father and while I have never met him, I do know that your mother loved him, even if they were worlds apart."

Not saying another word, you smile. One that lingers on your face for a bit, one that is shared between you and the king, one that is as if you two have created some sort of connection by this secret he finds indifference to.

However, you do not let the smile linger for too long, for you cannot trust anyone so easily, no matter if your heart is oddly beating out of your chest and there is an odd stir in your stomach when his eyes remain on your form for a moment as if he is trying to study you and your every feature.

You disregard it though, as if a chip on your shoulder, or a hair in your face when he leads you back to your room from the grand library, claiming he has work to finish.

Later that afternoon, you were in the midst of unpacking your luggages when Calla and Cricket make an appearance into your room. They were there to escort you to lunch, but you told them to give you a few minutes to organize your things, encouraging them to wait in your room as you did so.

"Are you his betrothed?"

The sudden question makes you stumble, nearly dropping the books in your hand that you deemed most viable to bring to this trip. "Sorry?" You laugh, looking at them with a sheepish smile. A harmless question, but a stretch to inquire.

"Isn't that why he's having you stay here at the castle?" Cricket asks, keeping her hands intertwined in front of her as they both watch you organize your knick-knacks of books and crystals and Selene's toys.

"Oh to the heavens, no," you laugh, Cricket furrowing her eyebrows and cocking her head to the side, wondering why your peculiar stay at the castle isn't for that singular motive. "I'm here for an entirely different reason."

Calla blinks blankly, her long, blue lashes making it obvious. "Our king doesn't usually like to keep guests overnight— let alone indefinitely."

Placing your books onto the antique dresser, you raise an eyebrow at them. "Is that right?"

"We thought, perhaps, this was his attempt in courting you," Cricket says, rather timidly. "After all, you're very beautiful."

The compliment brings red to your cheeks. "You're just saying that—"

"But, 'tis true," Calla nods. "We're nymphs—"

"We can't lie—"

"We thought that he may have found love again—"

"We would be surprised if he didn't find you, at the very least, beautiful—"

"Our king doesn't open a room for just anyone, since he's very..."

"Closed off."

They jump off their sentences swiftly, as if a ball ricocheted against the walls in great speed and force. It intrigues you as you furrow your eyebrows, more interested in the last part they had to say. "Closed off? Why is that?"

Cricket and Calla look at each other before bringing their head down. "Have you not heard of his past?" You shake your head before Calla sighs and begins again. "Our king is the most kind, most fair— but it does not redirect the light away from his past—"

"Lost the people most close to him. Lost his mind along the way, and perhaps, most tragically, lost his soul. It began with Dawn and then his best friend who happened to be his general, and then his parents, and so on. They are frightened of him."

You furrow your eyebrows. "Who's they?"

"All of Frawen. Even those in the mundane world have heard of his story," Cricket answers.

"Frawen respects our king, if anything. However, that respect derives from fear. I'm afraid that the people in this castle are the only people who love him, who see the better in him."

"So I see it's been a lonely castle on this hill," you nod in understanding. "I won't bombard you both with anymore questions. You both are free to leave, I will meet you both in the dining room."

"Are you sure, my lady?"

"I'm sure. Please, I do not want to be a burden to you both."

The nymphs giggle. "We assure you that you are not. It's rather refreshing to tend to someone other than the king and his brothers."

"You both have been very kind. I will see you both there."

"And my lady," Cricket speaks. "We wish you a wonderful stay."

"Jungkook," Circe acknowledges his presence in a blink of an eye the minute he makes a step onto the property that was under an invisibility spell for nearly a decade, only to have it reappear as if it didn't disappear in the first place. "Here to welcome me back?"

The king lowly laughs, not taking another step onto the property as Circe turns around from watering her deep red rose bushes planted right outside. "I was surprised to hear that you made a foolish decision to move to the mundane world."

Circe ticks her tongue, shaking her head at how his prejudice against the humans stain his tone. "I don't believe it was foolish, dear Jungkook."

"Is that what you tell the Counsel?"

Circe lets out an amused sound, maneuvering around her bushes. "The Counsel can believe what they want, but they hold nothing against me. By law, I am allowed to be here and to be there. I may be a witch, aging like a mere mortal, but I still uphold powers strong enough to burn them alive before they can even think of crossing me."

"I have no doubt," Jungkook smirks. "But by law, is your daughter allowed to be here?"

Circe pauses her watering, hose in hand halting with the water continuously drenching a part of the rose bush as she raises an eyebrow. "Why are you here, Jungkook?"

"I heard she attends Ember Academy now. Enrolled as a full-fledged witch. I've come bearing a gift for her."

"A gift?"

"Call it a welcome back gift," he speaks with an anticipating tone right before he walks over to his horse of where a woven basket was attached to the saddle. Circe remains where she stands, watching him carefully as he walks towards her before she senses something, one that makes her hair stand on her arms. As he nears, Circe peeks into the basket, only to have her jaw drop as she sees that it is a kitten.

A kitten of midnight beauty, sleeping soundly in its basket of blankets.

Circe, who could not help it at all, laughs. Soft laughter rumbles through her throat as she coos at the creature, reaching her hands out to take the basket in her hands. "And your arrival has nothing to do with the fact that today is her birthday?"

"Is that today?" Jungkook ponders aloud as Circe laughs, sneaking a smirk on his face before she strokes a finger on the kitten's head carefully and gently. She can tell that he remembers, and that the years leading up to now, he always have.

Sighing, Circe's smile fades as she looks up at Jungkook, tired eyes and all. "I must tell you, Jungkook."

He raises an eyebrow at her.

"I've grown ill," she begins, retracting her finger from the kitten to hold the basket with two hands. "I have been for awhile now and I can feel my end nearing. I trust to believe that you will protect her."

Jungkook blinks a couple times, the odd construct of having someone who has been around for longer than he has tell him explicitly that their end is inevitable and that it was nearing quite sooner than he expected was worth a double take and a few seconds to digest.

"You may not want to stay tied to her, but I trust you enough to uphold her secret. And to protect her when needed," the kitten purrs meekly in the basket, making Circe glance at it for a mere moment before meeting the concerned eyes of Jungkook with matching knitted eyebrows. "Believe that I am not entrusting you with her life, but that the feeling in your heart of wanting to protect her is inevitable. No matter if the knot remains untied."

He opens his mouth, but the words he could not formulate were taken away quickly by Circe's chuckle, waving him off.

"I know what you'll say," she raises an eyebrow, lips curling and eyes creating crescents. "But if anything happens in the future, must you know you have my blessing."

"Circe," he begins.

"She'll appreciate this kitten," Circe interrupts, smiling at how the kitten inhaled and exhaled, curling in its ball with comfort of the soft fleece blankets. "I'm sure you don't want her to know it came from you, perhaps?"

There is a knowing look that the two share, one of pure guise. "May it be our little secret."

"Among thousands," Circe nods, one in which Jungkook does the same. "Will this be the last time we meet?"

"I would hope not."

"Then I bid you farewell, either for now or forever," Circe smiles, a weak curl of her lips, an evident form that made Jungkook realize that she looked much older than before— the gray hairs, her smile lines and forehead wrinkles. It all reminded Jungkook that she is, in fact, a pure mortal, withering faster than most. It scares him, but it makes him curious as to her motive despite him knowing that she did it out of love.

As he leaves the ebony kitten in Circe's hands to give to her daughter's possession, he departs her property with the lingering thought that maybe— perhaps people really do scary things out of love.

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runningwithhellhounds · 3 years ago

Text

Theo, across recent timescapes. Theo x life: a series of impressions.

Theo is an invasive agent in Hayden's sensory collection. She's trying to not pay him any mind.

She also tried to erase his self-importance by pretending he didn't exist when she knew he watched with his bridge-burn eyes as she and Liam kissed. Found success in his uncharacteristic silence in a moment that was ruinable.

They are standing in dappled shadows on the forest ground, waiting for Liam, who ran ahead to make a call out of Theo's earshot. Theo is sitting by a tree with his knees up and loosely spread, with his hands in between them. His hands, chained: it's simplest hazard control. Effective, though. Hayden feels spiteful as she's walking left to right, throwing a palm-sized rock from hand to hand. Theo looks bored, irked.

''Where are you going to, little Red Riding Hood?'' Theo addresses her, smooth to self-entertain, making her stop mid-throw, causing the rock to hit her palm and fall on the ground. She picks it up and mimes throwing it at him. Success unfound, in how he doesn't flinch. Success unfound, in how he's making this into a story about a little girl and a sneaky wolf.

She considers him. If answering at all would cater to his amusement, or lesser his situational unpleasantries, which she's trying to avoid. But Theo is in the midway of doing nothing and determined to draw attention to himself, the way he has been.

''We're out of flowers, I'm afraid. Would you like some redwood wood, instead?'' Theo offers in a made-pleasant public service voice. Hayden notices that he's siding with the forest, here, scuttling into its floors where he has found purchase through extended stay.

''You know all the tree species?'' Hayden asks. Takes a bite and wills it into a treat for herself, rather than bait. Theo probably meant the tall and non-wiggly tree he's sitting against; Hayden wonders if he ever studied forestry, or if this is werewolfery knowledge.

''I know better things, too. If you come closer, I'll whisper them to you.'' He grins. Lifts his chained wrists as he adds, ''No pressure, though.''

Hayden considers him. Again and again. This is, she guesses, learnt prudency; a refined taste for justice, maybe. Guesses resurrection does that to you.

''Warning, beware of dog,'' she says.

Theo looks at her, eyes hooding and mouth neutralising. He shrugs, looks sideways. Attention, lost. Trade, declined. Secretful threat traded for blankness, if anything. Hayden, it seems, does not entertain in Theo-ways.

—

Theo Raeken, it turns out, has a finitude to his spread of catastrophe. Sheriff Stilinski watches cross-armed as running-mouth-boy exposes the culprits of murder; aggravates them like it's his best expertise until they say things they tried not to say and so saves his own slate from police-worthy additions.

Stilinski watches as Theo, for some inexplicable reason, lingers in the police department. Theo is sitting on one of the reception benches, eating a bag of mixed nuts from the vending machine. One would think it's ill-advised, that as soon as Parrish released him, Theo asked Parrish to buy him some goods from the vending machine, said he was detained unfairly. Deprived of food for this short but uneasy time. Didn't have his belongings on him. But it mustn't be nonsensical; it must be some behavioural tactic of making himself appear unconcerned. As having clear consciousness, innocence, all of those.

Stilinski resumes watching through the screen as Theo's chewing slows down when an officer with a police dog walks to the machine. He watches Theo's frowned, suffering, doubtful expression, staring into the dog's eyes like he can't take the dog seriously. The officer stops fishing change out of his wallet with a metal scoop in his cupped hand to shoot Theo a questioning look.

''Everything alright, son?'' the officer jingles the change in his hand, looking Theo over.

Theo's gaze doesn't even change when he looks up. Doesn't turn into a stranglehold of a gaze, either. ''Does your dog bite?''

The officer considers Theo, the sagged, unruffled spectre of him.

''No need to worry,'' he assures. Starts inserting the coins. He then turns to Theo in an afterthought. ''Is someone picking you up? You need anything?''

''Oh,'' Theo breathes, ''for real? Would you? Just something to eat? I've been stuck here waiting.''

Stilinski watches as Theo picks up a protein bar from the machine drawer. Flavoured water, a second later. Probably, apathy comes easily to him. He must not think in any understandable way; rather, he must think unfeelingly. Kid's got— not a care in the world.

—

Liam is holding a bouquet and inspecting its flowery contents. Frowning at the petals he's scraping at, glowering at the buds he's poking.

In the aftermath of the ceremony ran on the anniversary of Liam's school in the decorated sports hall, his mother is standing by the chairs in unison with another boy watching her son.

She knows him from a photo Liam showed her, a boy new in the school, softly named: Theo. It was evident that Liam took the photo discreetly, which she commented on and which Liam denied. She notes the distance at which Theo keeping and approaches him.

''Don't worry, he's not keeping secrets from his friends,'' she says. ''He doesn't have a girlfriend, at least not that I know of. I was the one who gave him the flowers.''

''Oh?'' Theo says. ''I see.''

He puts his hands in his pockets. He's probably shy. This happens sometimes, with high-school boys, they can become clumsy with themselves. She feels motherly talking to them in moments like this; motherly and pleasant in her efforts to engage adolescents when they are dithering.

''I think he's reconciling masculinity with flowers,'' she comments.

He smiles. Smirks, more like it. They must be close.

''Good colour choice,'' he comments on the orange of the flowers.

She nudges his arm. ''Go talk to him when they're done taking photos.''

Theo shakes his head, shrugs once. ''Nah. I will be leaving soon, anyway,'' he says, and she drops her hand from his arm. He's probably a little shy.

—

Mediterranean sunrise comes with a surprise: a man awakening on the ground a few steps from the barely-formed footpath. A man, or maybe younger, his Mediterranean awakening accompanied by the smell of fig trees, and all. Kind red soil.

He's naked. He's slowly wiping a hand across his lips. You know, suddenly, that this is a complication. The circumstance makes his body looks like an involuntarily stripped body. Perspective changes: red soil is now needled soil. Acrid tones sour the sunrise.

''Hey,'' you call, stepping closer in your sandals and a coral-printed towel around your neck, feeling unsuitable for the demands of the situation. ''Hey. Are you okay? Should I call the police?''

He's pushing himself up. Not looking at you. Not mindful of the resin at his back. This is indicative, you think, of something, because you're mindful of the way road dust is making your hair dry and webby, while his attention is this narrow, or overall absent.

He looks up, then, at you. ''What?''

A surprise gifted by a foreign agency; not Italian, then. You switch to English and try to make it not clumsy.

''I'll call the police for you,'' you assure him. Scramble to find your phone in your tote bag.

''D'n't call th'police,'' he says. He isn't trying to cover where his body is exposed.

''I don't want to assume anything,'' you say, feeling odd and performative. ''But— Look. I can just call the emergency number and they can direct you to a centre for sexual assault.''

Body, bodily manuscripted into the soft soil. He looks like he's processing slowly. Gets distracted inspecting his hands. Is that blood, you wonder, realise, really, it all just getting worse and fraughter. In between his fingers.

''Don't call th'police,'' he says. ''Was jus' drunk.''

''Is that blood? On your fingers.''

''I jus'. D'n't call. Did s'me things I shouldn't have.'' He reads your face, then says, ''Not like that. T'myself.''

Heat is lowering to the grounds of the morning and your sandals are light on your feet, escape-hairs pleasant, pine trees your favourite. And the hostility-seen boy is trying to act alright.

''It's okay,'' you say, wondering if it is; something complicated about the okayness of not-okay. You squat down, to balance the eye heights. ''I can call the hotline for—''

''No, n't—. Just stupid, no police. Please.''

''Do you want some water,'' you say, taking it out of your bag, and he takes it. Uncaps and smells it, blinking with his nose above the bottle opening, before he shakes his head a little, and starts drinking. Your phone is still in your hand, but you're unsure. You give him your second non-swimly shorts and wait until he overcomes his hesitance and gingerly takes them.

''You don't have to tell me,'' you insist. ''But I'm sure that there's someone who—''

''Thanks. It's okay, you can go now.'' He starts moving to get the shorts on, then swiftly straightens his back, inhaling deeply and looking up. Must be avoiding some hidden ache.

You hesitate, phone in your hand, legs starting to feel stiff from the position.

''I could drive you someplace. My car is ten min—''

''Thanks, but I'm okay now. You can't help,'' he interrupts. There are cases like this one, right, people using caustic means for secret-maintaining ends.

''Are you sure?'' you press. ''I could go away while you're talking to—''

''You're not helping,'' he says, monotone now, now operative and controlled to be alkaline. He's looking at your eyes fixedly, and you stop hesitating. ''You should go.''

Ground gives. You shake your head and start walking away, leaving him with your shorts and thinking then good fucking luck, honey.

You turn back one more time. He's looking at you leaving with unfocused glossy eyes, and you wonder, surely not for the last time, how deeply and stickily swamp-lodged he must be.

—

A hot guy is walking in the chest-high sea and doing little dives. Grazing the water surface with his fingertips in between and wiping salt from his eyes, before diving again and re-salting his eyes, like some deliberately mindless-seeming cyclical mechanism. Salt for maintenance, salt a nuisance.

Now he bends his knees and only submerges up to his chin, and you imagine he's sensing freshness at his nape.

''You just have to relax,'' you say loudly from where you come to stand in the water to your ankles, ''and you can probably hold your breath for longer than that.''

He stands up and turns until he spots you. You walk closer until the water is at your waist and he's looking at you like someone unexpectedly interrupted. Unexpectedly perceived, unfortunately. A popular kid being addressed by an unpopular one.

''You wanna teach me how to swim?'' he asks and smirks a little, and you shrug.

''If you feel like you can't stay underwater for more than five seconds, it's probably because you're panicking. You can hold your breath comfortably for at least fifteen seconds, I dare say.''

He looks at the glistening in the water, looking weary.

''Can I,'' he says, more of a response made to be unrevealing than a question.

''One thing I'll say,'' you say, untying your hair to avoid breaking it when it will be wet and to be casual, maybe; mitigate the upfrontness and possible insinuation, ''is that your body looks mad functional. Don't take this in any funky way.''

''I won't,'' he says.

—

Theo is in no space. Some telephone line space.

Should I be taking this personally, Liam texts him. He knows that Theo has been straightforwardly ignoring his messages. He hopes, actually; hopes Theo hasn't run into any of his long-known non-friends who see his face as a face, fanged, and not eyes, often confused, tongue, often tied, responses, often belated. Hopes that Theo isn't not answering because of some surviving anachronism from his past, but rather because of something new. That would be more manageable.

He also hopes that Theo isn't not answering because he is succumbing to his self-damaging instincts, even though that would mean simmering resentment towards Liam; even though that would likely be the best possible option in the precarious array of options in Theo's life.

Liam texts, did you know that if space was infinitely big and infinitely old, it would be white? I don't really get why, do you?

—

You have a boy couched in your living room. His name is Theo. Picked him up on a staff-only fire escape. It would be a leisurely sight, now, a tracksuit-hoodie-boy sitting right next to a drying rack, which he said he didn't mind. If it wasn't for your rapid heart. Heart: heated, speaking in unit-free measures. Heat: a smooth, unfibrous thing.

''May I,'' he murmurs, and you lean in.

It's a classic student situation: a breathless undertaking to the backtune of wine in tea mugs. He selected a Sierra Nevada mug with a setting sun. Came with the flat.

''Add me on Facebook,'' you say. The two of you haven't even done much, but you feel so hooked, by the fire-escape boy who moves in a way so self-assured and touches indoor objects warily. ''Or Instagram. Wherever you want.''

''I don't use social media,'' he says. He uses his hold on your hand and your finger to push his hair out of his eye. You like the way it parts and hits his temples.

''Phone number?'' You suggest, more joking than not. Exchanging phone numbers feel more joke-like than not.

''No phone number,'' he says. Must see your expression, shrugs and says, ''Guess I'm too old for technology.'' He smirks at the dry look you shoot at him, knowing your age of twenty-three to his twenty-two. He's saying too old and you don't buy it. He carries no weariness in his jaguar body. He takes his lower lip in his mouth. ''What if,'' he then says, ''I'm a vampire.'' He touches the tip of his tongue to his upper teeth.

''My favourite paranormal activity,'' you say.

''Too bad,'' he says, grinning. You look at his ajar lips and think: too bad.

''Your canines are sharp, though,'' you say. ''At least.''

He grins wide. Pointedly and slowly leans towards your neck with an open mouth, until teeth make contact. You feel your smile dropping when his phone beeps. He hesitates for a beat and then leans his forehead on your chin, just breathing there, and you know you are both thinking about him saying no phone number.

''But none for me,'' you say. Because of all the places your bodies have been touching, a beat of silence means: five heartbeats of him staring at his phone, engulfed in the jacket he discarded on the floor by the couch, and you staring at him. And then he leans over, easily shifting your weight, until he can kick the jacket, some, not really achieving anything.

''Another vampire,'' he says, then, on the side of unapologetic. Luckily, you are known to be unresentful. Good at not taking things personally. ''From another brood.'' He places his hands back on your hips.

''Hm,'' you say. It's fine. The monomania of the green-eye boy is temporary. He's hot, but your desire never lasts, anyway.

—

There's a guy on your bus ride, on the opposite side of the passage, one seat forward. Your age. You noticed the generic niceness of his face.

He's drawing a sinusoidal curve on the fogged window. Moves his hand further right, where the window is still fogged. Starts drawing vertical lines, carefully, some methodology to it, the lines parallel to each other. He pauses after he draws four. Huffs, twists his smile into one that is hiding and downturned. He crosses the four lines with one that is horizontal, then adds another vertical line to the side.

You feel yourself smile. He drops his hand, shakes his head a little. Looks through the window at the frost-covered barren brown fields, away from his prisoner day-count. It's funny. He's funny. You look away.

—

It's a short, crude thing. Like this:

A fictitious boy stumbles out of a bare-walled building. Languid, unrestful body. Unleisurely, water-logged body. A tired backstreet play-doh thing. Young.

''Hey,'' you call. ''You. You good?''

The night is warm, humid. A post-rain road construction night. A night for cicadas, if you drive further out.

He inhales in the way of catching breath. Squints at his watch, eyes go glassy. Looks at the moon overhead, then squints at you. And you— you feel awake now.

You look him over, the sugarburn boy with a backwards baseball cap. The trouble of a tooth cavity, which means: okay, if you have some money. Some reckless uncare, too. He's watching you. You inhale slowly, but it turns out all tell-tale anyway. He must see the appeal you feel, in how he licks his lips and tilts his head.

''Interested?'' he asks.

You hesitate. Feel for your jacket pocket with your wallet in it. Lift it without taking it out, clear enough.

He nods. Clears his throat.

''Can you play nice?'' he asks. Teasing, but also not.

You can.

He nods. Looks at his watch. You follow him.

—

You pick up your pretend-sugar fake-care service by a closed ice-cream stand, its inviting light sign shining red on his face. It's raining lightly when you pull up and he doesn't have his hood up like he knows the wet hair strands sticking to his forehead make him look good. In the car, he has no song requests when you ask.

''How can I service you?'' he asks.

—

''What should I call you,'' you ask.

''No need to call me,'' he says.

''What if I want to,'' you admit. Not subtle and elusive. If I may be so bold as to in the back of your mouth.

He pauses, thinks. His gaze is saccading empty spot to empty spot and you know the only type of name you'll get is a fake. You'll take it, as a consolation purchase.

''Theo,'' he says.

—

Alec answers the knock with a toothbrush in his hand.

''Theo. Jesus,'' he breathes.

''Hello,'' Theo responds, overly carefully-crafted for the simplicity of a greeting, but Theo has never carried himself as though he was simple. ''I brought you those,'' he hands Alec paper sheets folded in half. ''I got my hands on some werewolves. Could you give those to Scott?''

It's more automatic than not, when Alec takes and unfolds them. They are black-and-white prints of photographs of ID's.

''You did?'' Alec says, still dumbfounded, still in the act of being interrupted. Habit-mindedness sliced in half. ''How?''

Theo shrugs. His face furrows for a beat, then he fiddles with the door handle, pushing it down twice.

Alec looks at the goods in his hands: a toothbrush, werewolfy profiles. ''Do you want me to tell him that they're from you?''

Theo looks conflicted. That's fair; it's a conflicting state of circumstances, or what is it that Liam told Alec. Maybe Theo turned to Alec because of the implied similarity: both well-accustomed to doing what it takes. Maybe Theo is finding some comfort in that; like Alec would recognise that Theo is a runaway object, or a throwaway one, only having made himself a weapon because he had been made into one first. Like Alec would recognise that Theo is trying to pay his dues. Or maybe Alec is misjudging and Theo isn't seeking comfort at all, which is what Malia thinks. Guess Alec is a little soft for softer scenarios.

''Jesus,'' Alec says again. ''You were gone so long. You didn't say anything. Have you—'' He hesitates, frowns a little. ''Does—Ah, well, you know. Does Liam know?'' He was going for tentative with this one before he swerved. Tending to the habits of skittish wolves.

Theo is looking past Alec's shoulder, distanced and glassy. Alec thinks of dolls, their eyes amiss in that they are unseeing and custom-built. It's a thought too cruel, unless it's sympathetic.

Theo shakes his head, slowly, and exhales, touches his temples with his index fingers, then drops them lower and presses them over his jaw muscles.

''TMJ pain?'' Alec asks.

Theo drops his hands. ''What?''

''Oh. The jaw joint,'' Alec points to his own.

Theo shrugs. ''It's just tender. This muscle,'' he taps.

''Have you been stressed? TMJ problems are common for young people. Can happen because of stress. Stress can cause teeth grinding.'' A clumsy explanation, but Alec can't re-order its parts now, just hopes Theo takes it. Hopes Theo makes his skin onion peel and shows something less dry underneath. And Theo:

Theo looks at him expressionlessly, for a beat, and then exaggeratedly sad-faces. Pouts, closes his eyes, nods slowly. ''I've been stressed,'' he says.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32225941

#teen wolf #theo raeken #thiam #teen wolf fic #for theo-thinkers who hunger #and dont frequent ao3 my home #do you like it any #do you want to buy me a treat yet #i painted a generic boy into my painting and am calling him theo for implied and unclear wolfery

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years ago

Text

cocky. beautiful. bastard. - chapter 2

Read on AO3. Part 1 here. Part 3 here.

Summary: It's time for you to learn the rules.

Words: 7500

Warnings: more delayed orgasm, cum eating, mando’a

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Hello! I know I mentioned this would be expanded to three parts, but I actually decided to crank it up to five, oops. I have some shit planned for this fic--I needed a break, needed to write something fun and hot, haha.

I have been blown away by the feedback on this fic!! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I really really hope you like this installment, it's literally 7500 words and 6000 of it is porn. ToT LMAO. Let me know what you think!! I love y'all so very very much.

This morning, you’d woken up on your half-stuffed mattress, rolled onto your cracked stone floor, and bathed yourself in the kitchen basin, scrubbed your skin with the ratty sponge. You’d stuffed your face with the stale roll you’d made for your stew the previous night and shoved the bowls in the conservator before tugging on underwear and tossing your robe over it. In your tote, you’d carted your usual: a jar of lotion, mint cologne, and the little case that stored your identification and tip portions, and when you left your flat, you’d slipped on a pair of sandals and locked the door.

As you followed the Supreme Leader of the First Order onto the ramp of his sleek, knife-wing shuttle, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever cross that threshold again.

He had been silent since the moment you’d left the brothel, and when you boarded the ship, you glanced around the empty hull, discovering that the both of you were alone. Before you could question it, he was in the cockpit, the ramp was whirring, and your mind was spinning, elated and confused.

Counting the handful of seats, your mouth screwed in consideration. Your eyes crept to the front, spying a pilot’s seat--occupied--and a co-pilot’s seat, invitingly empty. With a shrug, you strode over to it and plopped down, stowing your belongings on your lap. He did not address you, did not even acknowledge the weight of your stare as he fiddled with the controls, engine roaring to life.

Kylo Ren was not only beautiful. He was huge. Of course, by now, you knew he had a massive cock, equally large hands--but the rest of him was just as proportional, just as hypnotizing. His shoulders were broad, even swathed under his cloak, his arms thick, his whole torso wide and solid with muscle. In a flash, you pictured him naked, a little thrill shooting through your spine. He’d said you were his, whatever that meant, and in comparison to what you’d woken up to this morning, the idea was more and more inviting.

He stole a glance--his gaze arrested your breath--and gripped the controls; in seconds, the ship was hovering, screaming, shooting into the sky.

You watched, speechless, as the pane of transparisteel was swallowed by white yellow blue black starlight, and then you were careening through space, hurtling out of the atmosphere and toward an unknown destination. The vastness of it mesmerized you, an echo of this man’s own engulfing perpetuity--both of them equally perplexing, equally captivating.

Maybe that was a little dramatic, but to be fair, despite the sore throb between your legs and the ache at your ass, just being this close to him buzzed your skin.

He guided the ship toward another, larger vessel--a Star Destroyer, you knew that much--and as he docked it in the hangar, the reality of your arrangement descended upon you. Hordes of Stormtroopers marched across ebony tile, cut through by officers in black uniforms, all of them with duty, all of them striding with purpose. Meanwhile, you’d just been plucked from a brothel on Nevarro, clad in your skivvies and a chemise cover-up. There was no shame in that admission, but more so the recognition that you were now far from home, in the company of a total stranger--a total stranger with the power to crush you between his palms without blinking.

Said stranger went through a sequence on the dash--the engine died, the ramp lowered to the ground. He stood, a towering dark wall, and studied the bay before turning his eyes to you. They flicked over your figure for a moment--appraising--and without a word, he turned, marching off the ship. You scrambled to your feet and followed, walking in double-time to match his pace.

When you entered the bay, dozens of faces snapped to you, and then shot to the floor, perhaps due to your attire and with whom you’d arrived. It was strange, to be important enough to not only warrant a glance, but to warrant its immediate aversion. As you walked, the masses parted for their Supreme Leader, and you trailed in his wake, feeling altogether powerful and powerless, an ember wisp to his raging inferno.

The Star Destroyer itself was repetitive and long, but while you followed your new leader, you took in every detail. To you, it might as well have been a palace, some sort of opulent, obsidian cavern, with floors clean enough to reflect your anxious face. Not anxious out of fear, of course--if the chakaar wanted to kill you, he could’ve done so when you’d mouthed off to him in the brothel--but anticipation. How this had happened to you, you weren’t sure, but a portion of you hoped the arrangement wouldn’t be temporary.

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren stopped in front of a blast door, passing a hand over a sensor--it opened for him, and he stood to the side, observing you in expectation. The intensity of his gaze rippled heat through your thighs, and you entered, shoulders squared, ignoring the irritating thump of your heart. He stalked behind you, a heavy shadow, his presence both looming and lascivious as you glanced around his quarters. The ceilings soared high, stark white floors sweeping to white walls, a set of stairs descending in front of you, spilling out into an empty, bright floorspace.

You turned to him, gripping your bag. “Welcome home?”

He sniffed. “If you learn the rules. Earn your place.”

“My place?” A hand rested on your hip, and you cocked a playful brow. “And what exactly is my place?”

“It’s simple.” He stepped toward you, scorching you in his stare--your chest tightened. “Your place is wherever I direct you. Doing whatever I’ve ordered.”

You swallowed. His. “Mm. Okay. And what might you order me to do?”

Another long stride, and he circled you, skating a leather finger down your arm as his mouth swooped to your ear. “Bid etyc, kih tracinya,” he murmured. “You know very well why I brought you here.”

Though his release was dripping down your thighs, it was difficult to resist the urge to spin around and hop on top of him. How could you possibly help yourself? He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and he’d made you cum hard on his enormous cock. Twice.

“Me? Dirty?” You went to lean into him, and he stepped back, making you stumble. You pouted. “Hey!”

He huffed, crossing away from you, and you turned to follow him down the steps, grumbling to yourself. His chambers were huge, at least twice or maybe three times the size of the entirety of your efficiency--so large you couldn’t identify the location of the refresher, or the food storage, or even the bedroom.

“So,” you said, still scanning your surroundings, “where do you expect me to eat and sleep? What am I supposed to wear?”

“I don’t care.”

You balked, staring at his back. “You don’t care?”

He opened a door, gazing over something, not bothering to look at you. “No.”

“Okay.” You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Chakaar.”

At this, Kylo Ren spun, cloak whirling at his ankles, stalking to you in long strides. The thump of his boots rattled your bones, his size consumed your sight. You didn’t flinch--only stuck your chin out with a smirk. He stopped inches from you, chest rising, eyes glittering under the searing light of his quarters, vestiges of a beast.

He took your chin between gloved fingers. “This nasty little mouth is going to be my first project,” he purred, and tugged you flush to his solid frame. “When you speak to me, you will address me as Supreme Leader. Do you understand?”

You didn’t reply--you were too busy trying to pull your brain from a sea of lust. Ren pinched your jaw, and you whimpered, your thighs pressing together, skin flush with heat.

“Say it.”

A slow breath left your nose, warmth washing over his hand. Despite your desire to antagonize him, there was a deeper, greater desire to please him--to earn your place.

“Yes,” you replied, “Supreme Leader.”

“Hm.” He thumbed your lower lip, his voice black smoke. “Good girl.”

Two words, but still you clenched. “I might not be good all the time, you know.”

“Don’t worry.” A tiny smirk on Ren’s pretty mouth, and he leaned to your ear again. “I’m counting on it.”

The Supreme Leader released you, your skin frosting in his absence, and he moved past you, up the steps. You tracked him, shrinking in the enormity of the strange, soulless room where he apparently meant to abandon you. Frowning, you crossed your arms.

“Where are you going?” you asked, fumbling with your belongings. “Uh, Supreme Leader.”

“I’m departing.” Ren didn’t even bother to peer over his shoulder. “Remain here until I return.” In a flourish, he disappeared through the blast door.

You sighed, deflating. Nothing to do but become more familiar with what the Supreme Fucking Leader of the First Fucking Order had determined to be your new home.

If you earned your place.

You were alone for hours. After a bit of exploring, you’d located the food storage (a bunch of military rations, which you ate anyway), the refresher (replete with a tall standing shower), and the bedroom, at the bottom of another set of stairs--the most impressive to you. The Supreme Leader of the First Order slept on a wide mattress built into a nook, its supporting wall replaced with a massive pane of transparisteel. Beyond it, the galaxy floated by, a nebulous nightlight and blanket to his slumber.

You shrugged off your robe and underwear and climbed on top of the rumpled, soft sheets, curling on your side to watch ships wink in and out of existence. Nevarro was a tiny sphere in the darkness, everything and everyone you’d known shrinking to a speckle in the sky. Despite all of this newness, nestled in the bed of Kylo Ren, you were not afraid--you were exhilarated. You’d forgotten to contact Cerra, but in the moment, you didn’t particularly care. A sunshine vibration settled in your chest. At some point, your lids fell closed.

Thwack.

A sharp thigh smack ripped you to consciousness, and you squealed, whirling to face your attacker. At the edge of the bed stood the Supreme Leader, hair caked with sweat and filth, face smattered with dark red crust. You screamed, skittering back, until you realized he’d come from battle. This was his normal. And even as the stench of rotting copper filled your nose, when his gaze skimmed your naked body, you fought the urge to shiver.

“Uh, hello,” you said. “What was that for?”

“Come.” He gave no further instruction, and spun on his heel to climb the stairs.

The rules. You didn’t need to be told twice.

Kylo Ren led you into the refresher--a spark lighting between your legs at your impending reality--and activated the shower before peeling off his gloves. This was casual, emotionless to him, as if he was not the most powerful man in the universe, as if you, a former brothel wench, were not about to see him entirely naked. You could only stare, entranced, while he moved to his tunic hook by hook before shucking it to the floor, then pulled his undershirt free, revealing to you his thick, muscled torso. Carmine mud had soaked through his clothing, a mist over his skin.

The rest of his disrobing was similar--the removal of his boots, his pants and undergarments, until he was bare, human and ethereal, a deity decorated in blood and dirt. He gazed at you, face blank, urging you into the water with a nod of his head. Hiding your joy, you obliged, and stepped under the spray.

The moment the water hit you, Ren’s grip was at your shoulder, whipping you around and shoving your back to the chilly tile. You released a breath, staring at him, and his hand drifted to your neck, thumb rising to pry open your mouth.

“You will bathe me,” he said, tracing the line of your lower lip, “get me hard, and suck me off.” His thumb slid past your teeth, depressed your tongue. “And if you can make me cum, I might reward you.”

Heat--whether it was from the shower or your mind--rushed your flesh. You liked the idea of a challenge. You nodded, and he released your tongue.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

He gave your throat a warning squeeze. “Don’t make me wait.”

Biting your lip, you sought out the shampoo, finding it within an assortment of plain, regulation-type bottles. Everything you’d come across in his quarters had been quite plain, considering he had the opportunity to access the best of everything. Shrugging, you popped the top, squirted some in your palms before returning it, and lathered it between them. Turning to face him, your jaw dropped when you took in the enormity of his form. The Supreme Leader of the First Order was a molded machine, as gorgeous as he was terrifying. And you couldn’t wait to put your hands on him.

You crossed behind him, inspecting the collection of white scars that had faded across his skin before reaching to massage the shampoo into his hair. He was so tall, you had to stand on the tips of your toes to meet the top of his head, but you managed, working your fingers through the knotted tresses, freeing it of mud and blood. The water ran an eerie crimson as you combed through his dark locks, and when your nails scritched his scalp, you felt him tense, felt him fight a shiver from his spine. Hiding a grin, you did it again, drawing lines across his head, and you heard it--a soft, satisfied moan, caught in his chest. You swallowed, cunt throbbing.

“Do you like that?” you asked. “Supreme Leader?”

He only hummed, non-committal. You were determined to make him make that noise again.

Having finished with his hair, you let the water clear the soap from his head until his locks laid flat on his face, exposing his wide, rounded ears, flushed red from the shower. A devious little thought flicked in your brain--you grabbed the soap (also plain, a boring yellow bar) and made some lather, circled to face him.

The shampoo had loosened most of the muck from his face, but you decided to clean the rest, swirling tiny circles across his forehead, his cheeks, staring into his eyes. He stared back, watching you from behind an invisible barrier--and when you rubbed the shell of his ears, his gaze broke, lids fluttering in delight before he caught himself, lip curling in a hint of irritation. You smirked, another clench between your legs.

“What about that?” you murmured, ghosting your thumbs over the helix--another groan trapped in his throat. “You like that, sir?”

Ren stiffened his jaw, but didn’t move, almost daring you to continue. But you decided to move on with your task--there would be plenty more opportunities to tease him.

You cleared his face of debris before standing back to admire his body. To your disappointment, his cock was still soft, but you knew this was through sheer effort, through a determination to make you earn it.

Starting with his shoulders, you ran your soapy hands down his strong neck, skimming across the long scar that arced over his eye, a pretty crevice in his flesh. You were close enough now that you realized he was covered in scars, marring his arms, his torso, his abdomen. Rather than repel you, they drew you closer--the evidence of his survival, the physical remnants of his conquests made your mouth water.

Stepping into him, you massaged the soap into his flesh, working it into his muscles, down his biceps, glancing at him when you did, a spark of excitement in his gaze. You kept his attention while you washed over his hands, circling each of his fingers with your fist, pumping them like you might his cock. They were thick, rigid in your palms as you cleaned them free of grime. His eye twitched.

Grinning, you gathered more soap, swirling large loops over his broad, solid chest. His firmness made you throb, made you want to step even closer--but you focused on your duty, reminded of your mystery reward. You kneaded over his pectorals, flicking his nipples with your thumbs before dropping lower, smoothing soap across his abdomen. Kylo Ren tensed when you cleansed his stomach, and you glanced at him again. His pupils dilated--your fingers followed the line of his hip bones, inching toward his thighs, and he swallowed, shifting on his feet. You were getting close.

Licking your lips, you foamed more lather and shifted behind him, caressing suds into the powerful planes of his back. Here, you could see more scars, more war-made muscle, and you cleansed it all, digging into his shoulder blades, down his spine to his ass, squeezing handfuls of it--he tensed again. Keeping a giggle to yourself, you returned to face him, still juggling suds, and finally, finally dropped to your knees.

Kylo Ren’s thighs were just as large as the rest of him, big slabs of muscle smooth to your touch. He stared down at you, observing you with restrained desire, and you coasted over his quadriceps, the backs of his knees, his calves, rubbing up and down his flesh, all the while avoiding his cock. You marveled at him, at this marble-carved man, at the ripples under his skin as you kneaded over hard ridges of strength. Around you, the water faded to a translucent pink, filtering clear--you took the bar of soap a last time between your palms, placed it on the floor, and massaged a wide circle around his dick.

His legs and stomach tightened, and you smirked, keeping his focus and beginning at his hips, mouthing open, soft kisses to the inside of his thighs, moving closer while your soapy hand slipped over his length. Ren’s lips parted, and you did it again--a gentle graze of his shaft--and kissed his pubic bone, licking a stripe to the base of his cock. When you took it in your lathered fist, he gasped--you grinned, and started pumping it long, slow strokes.

A shuddered exhale escaped him, and you were spurred on, spreading your knees and continuing to kiss around the root, reveling when you felt him swelling and pulsing against your palm. You rolled your fingers around his shaft, cupped his balls, water washing bubbles to his feet, and you tickled the underside of his dick, making it twitch. With a grin, you wrapped him in your fist again, increasing your pace, letting him grow even harder in your hand--and Ren released a shaky, blissful breath. Celebrating an internal triumph, you peppered tiny kisses around the hilt of his cock before circling your thumb around the head, smearing precum into his skin.

“Don’t be coy, Supreme Leader,” you said. “I know you like that.”

He snatched your scalp, cranked your neck back into the water. “I don’t remember asking for your commentary.”

Wincing, you obliged him with a tight, languid stroke. “You’re right.” You squeezed his fully erect cock, wet and clean. He was even bigger up close. “I have a better idea.”

In one motion, you took the head in your mouth, dropping your jaw to seal your lips around it with a lewd moan. Ren strangled a gasp--you curled your fingers around the base of his dick, eyes trained on his while you swallowed his length inch by inch. He was thick, throbbing on your tongue, and you pressed it to his shaft as you pulled back, fist following your mouth’s lead. The dry rub of water scraped your grip, so you released him for a moment, locking with his gaze and dribbling a long line of saliva onto his dick. Ren gulped again, his amber irises hazy with lust, and you slicked him in preparation before sucking on the head of his cock.

Big hands coiled in your hair, and you groaned, pleased, twisting your wrist and bobbing back and forth on his length. His breath quickened, his grip tightened, and you whimpered, the ache between your legs burning you with desperation. But you were learning the rules--you already knew he would be serious about making you earn it. So you pressed your thighs together, another hand curving to grip his ass while you drooled and gagged on his cock.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Can you handle all of me in that little mouth?”

You hummed in agreement, taking him deeper, driving him into the wet heat of your throat--you wheezed, but fought through the tears, your gaze on his own, even as the spray of the shower fuzzed your sight. Fist moving faster, slippery with spit, you suckled in another inch, jaw sore from his size. You could only imagine how obscene you looked--dripping with water, salivating down your chin, tears stinging your eyes as you swallowed his dick.

It was incredible, getting to please him like this; since the very first time he’d fucked you, before you even knew his face, you’d dreamed of making his massive dick twitch and cum in your mouth. But now with the knowledge that this dick belonged to the Supreme Leader--you were intoxicated, your clit stiff and screaming for attention, your skin crackling with need. Yes, you needed to make this bastard cum, because you just as badly needed him to return the favor.

You tightened your fist, jerking him faster, and he yanked your hair, pushing your nose against the patch of hair at his groin. Ren fucked hard into your throat, and you heaved, writhed, sobbing onto his cock, both hands burrowing into his thighs as he pistoned his hips against your face. He panted through hoarse groans, his face flush, cheeks red, cock pulsing with an impending climax. Between clenched teeth, he growled, thrusting deep, gaze black and feral.

“That’s it,” he breathed, “that’s it…” He snapped his pelvis, and you retched, slobbering around his cock, clinging to his flesh. “Take my cum down your throat, tracinya. Fuck, take it--”

Kylo Ren suppressed a groan, rocked into your face, heavy cock throbbing and spilling the hot, salty loads of his release. You moaned, sucking it down, watching his chin tremble as you drained him through his climax, humming until he started to soften. Grunting, he slid out, untangled his fingers from your hair, and ruffled the wet fringe from his face before focusing on you. He scanned you: skin soaked, jaw sore, smugly satisfied. You’d certainly earned your reward, now.

“Good girl.” He pinched your chin, thumbed your swollen lip. “Come.”

He turned off the water and exited the shower, leaving you needy and clenching in the dewy air. Frowning, you stood, seething from the ache at your knees, and peered through the fog to spy the Supreme Leader toweling himself off before exiting the refresher. You mimicked him, drying yourself too, and trailed him with a grumble as he strode through his quarters, still entirely naked. A glimmer of hope when he arrived at his bed--until he reached into one of the closets at the side and started pulling on a pair of compression garments. You paused, folded your arms over your chest.

“Uh. Excuse me. Supreme Leader?”

“Hm.”

“Aren’t you. Y’know. Gonna make me cum?”

He huffed. “No.”

You gawked. “I’m sorry, what?” You paced over to him, feet sticky on the cold white floors. “You said you’d reward me.”

“No.” Ren was impassive. “I said I might reward you.” He grabbed a pair of pants, pulled those on, too. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck in the future.”

Gaping, you blinked, laughing in disbelief. You’d played by his stupid rules, worked to earn your place. Had you seriously done all of that just to have him deny you? Whatever game he was playing, it was frying your patience. He’d had you convinced from your trysts at work that he’d want you to have a good time, too--but perhaps he was just like every other man. A whirlwind of curses flew through your mind, in Basic and Mando’a, but you settled on a language that he didn’t understand.

“Ugh! Doompa wermo nek!” you snarled, stomping past him and flopping on his bed. “Oto to crispo chuba!”

For a moment, Ren did not respond, his silence a thickening cloud in the room. For that moment--that short, foolish moment--you felt as if you’d finally gotten one over on him, and a smile snuck onto your face. But it was only a moment.

“You want to kill me, hm?”

“Oh.” He spoke Huttese, too. Your heart sank. “Fuck.”

The Supreme Leader clucked his tongue--you could feel him behind you, footsteps drawing closer. Squealing, you hid your face in his sheets, moving to crawl away, but he seized your ankle and tore you from the mattress, flipping you onto your back. A burgeoning brute, he pounced, palms on either side of your head, wet hair flinging droplets onto your face. His eyes were simmering honey, prepared to boil, igniting a clamor between your thighs.

“Look at what we have here,” he murmured. “A schutta of many talents.”

You sighed. “What language don’t you speak?” you asked. “Di’kutla chakaar.”

Ren hovered closer, placed a knee on the mattress. “Mm, don’t think I heard you, tracinya.” A warm, strong hand moved to your throat, thumb pressing into the divot under your trachea. “What was that?”

His touch stoked the fire in your belly, the greed in his gaze inciting your own. Whatever game indeed. This was a revelation--the Supreme Leader hadn’t lied to you about there being rules. You had just misunderstood them. Certainly, there was a part of him that enjoyed your obedience. But there was clearly another, greater part that craved your defiance.

“I called you,” you replied, peeling the words from your teeth, “a stupid bastard.”

Kylo Ren smirked.

In a single breath, your wrists were gathered and tacked above your head, your legs spread open. And when you tried to move, you found you couldn’t, held by invisible bondage, paralyzed by the air. You thrashed, to no avail, pulse skipping in your veins--he observed you in satisfaction, attention wandering your vulnerable body. It was the same magic he’d used to make you cum, you were sure of it.

“What is this?” You tried to wriggle again, but it was useless.

Ren leaned back, smoothing his palms over your thighs. “This,” he said, “is how I get you to do whatever I want.”

“Oh?” An eager flicker in your chest. “And what exactly do you want?”

“You.” A hand stroked up, over the roll of your belly and down your hip, painting goosebumps across your skin. “Begging for my cock.”

You snorted. “After the stunt you just pulled?” you asked. “I’ve had enough of your cock. It won’t be that easy.”

Delight flashed over his face. “You’re right, kih tracinya.” A snap of his wrist, and your knees were thrown toward your stomach. “It’ll be even easier.”

Ren bent forward, palms gliding up and down your sides, and pressed a hot, wet kiss to your throat. You shuddered, a groan escaping, head rolling onto his sheets, and he growled, nipping at the thin tissue, mouthing more nibbles along your neck. His lips were soft--softer than you remembered when they’d been at your cunt--his tongue laving at every tiny mark he left behind, his hands gripping, squeezing at your stomach, drifting to your hips and to your thighs. The heat of his bare skin inspired your own, pleasure quaking through you, a building fissure in your flesh--when he dragged his teeth across your collarbone, you whimpered in need.

A hand left your hip, curled in your hair and tugged your head back. “Poor thing. Listen to you whine.” Ren peppered heated kisses along your jaw. “When was the last time you fucked a man who wasn’t behind a screen?”

It was difficult to speak through trembling breath. But you managed. “When was the last time you fucked a woman without using magic?”

Face still buried in your neck, he huffed--a low, dark sound in his chest. “You think I can’t break you without the Force?” Kylo Ren sank his teeth into the exposed column of your throat, and you wailed in pain. He dug in, forcing a shriek before he released you, speaking into your ear. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

The Force--you’d heard it referenced before, in passing. You’d just had no idea it was a real thing. And that this man was someone who could control it. As you’d thought it, he released you from its hold, but the ache at your neck had stymied any snark in your mind for the moment. He took the opportunity to bind your wrists with his sheets before standing back, admiring his handiwork. You gazed at him--your chakaar was wild with lust.

He grappled an ankle in each hand and tossed them over his shoulders. “This should be a familiar position for you,” he muttered, before attacking your neck again.

This time, he was savage, groaning as he sucked welts into your skin, grazing his teeth over your shoulder, biting mark after mark into the muscle. Though you squealed, yelped with pain, you relished it, ecstatic at the show of possession, impatient to see the patchwork of bruises gifted to you by the Supreme Leader of the First Order. Ren hunched over you, finding your breasts, crushing them in his grip--you gasped, but he continued, punishing your tits under his palms. Voracious, he moved to your sternum in a streak of saliva, thumb and forefinger tweaking your nipples in pinching bolts of pleasure.

“Ka’ra,” you gasped. “You’re a dirty bastard, aren--mmf!”

Ren had crammed two fingers in your mouth, shoving them to the back of your tongue. “Come again?”

Before you could protest, he took a nipple in his lips, the other still battered by his thumb, and suckled, tongue swirling around it, gentle moans escaping him. You whinged, trying to buck your hips, finding yourself pinned by his weight--arousal controlled you, your core contracting in a cry for something to fill it. He must have known this, too, from the way his hand floated across your belly and between your thighs, petting your folds with a tender touch.

You moaned onto him, eyes lolling back, overwhelmed; Ren was in your mouth, at your tits, teasing your pussy--he may as well have been in your head, hijacking your mind, making you yearn for his cock. He sucked your nipple fat between his teeth, and you returned the favor, wrapping your lips around his fingers; he rewarded you with a slight spread of your pussy, earning a squeak, tempting you to crack.

“Ready to beg?” A quick bite to your nipple, and you released a muffled squeal, shaking your head. “No?” He stroked your engorged clit--you howled. “Are you sure?”

Without giving you a chance to respond, he wiggled his hand further into your throat while he stroked your clit again, and again, thumb catching on the hood, slipping to your entrance before teasing more. You writhed, lids squeezing shut as you fought his hold, but his natural strength rivaled the Force--he caged you, a warden to your orgasm. He tapped your swollen nub, testing a tiny circle around it, and you sobbed, bounced your wrists against the bed, staving the urge to bite his fucking fingers.

“Needy slut,” he muttered. “I can feel how wet you are. How badly this cunt needs to get fucked.”

He continued to glance over your clit, making you throb, making your pussy scream for more. Another swift circle, and another, flooding you with bliss--and he stopped, back to feather-light touches. You wanted to burst, you sucked hard on his hand, skating your teeth over his knuckles in complaint. Growling, he relieved your clit for a split-second, only to spank your pussy with his palm. Pain and pleasure ruptured through your thighs, and you shrieked, gagged around him.

“You can’t help yourself,” he said, and spanked your cunt again. “You’re dripping for my cock.”

Perhaps it was the delirium--the potent cocktail of your need, his torture, the extended denial--but you fractured. And you nodded, agreeing with him.

A grunt of approval. “There we go.” His voice was filthy with victory.

You loved it.

“Dush, etyc kih tracinya.” Ren shifted, pulled his fingers from your mouth to splay your legs wide with his hands, dipping between them to kiss down your belly. “Sucking me off made you want to cum. Didn’t it?”

You nodded again. “Yes…”

“Yes?”

The bloated, heavy ache between your legs took rein of your tongue. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Mm. Good girl.”

The very same Supreme Leader rose to his feet, looming over you, displaying the huge, straining erection behind his pants. His eyes glued to yours while he pulled it free, circled his hand around its massive length, and you gazed at it, still agog. You supposed you’d never get used to how big he really was. Ren pumped himself once, twice, drinking you in, before shoving you further onto the bed and climbing over you.

His lips found your throat again, sucking softly at it. “Do you remember how I had to stuff myself in that little cunt?” he murmured. “How tight you were around me?”

Mouth dry, you replied, “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Good girl.” He propped your calves up on his shoulders, lowering himself to your entrance, taunting you with it. “And do you remember how good it felt to cum on me?”

“Yes,” you sputtered, growing frustrated, “yes, Supreme Leader.”

“And do you remember…” another false-thrust, another anticipatory clench. “... how you begged for me like a filthy little bitch?”

It took all of your power not to crack wise. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

Humming, he nipped your ear. “Then beg for my cock.”

“Ka’ra!” You lost it. “Shut up and fuck me, chakaar!”

He clucked his tongue. “You were doing so well.”

Kylo Ren slicked the head of his dick on your juices before pushing in just an inch, sucking in air through his teeth as he enticed you with a hint of stretch. Staring at himself throbbing inside of you, he held it, and eased out, then driving back in by centimeters--prying into your cunt, giving you only a bit of bliss before stealing it away. He shook with self-control, drawing in more oxygen, hissing in pleasure at even the slightest squeeze from your core.

Whinging, you tried to jerk your hips to take more, but found it difficult with your ankles at his ears. Hair tumbling into his face, he slipped out, slid in again, giving you an inch each time, letting your walls clamp around the length that wasn’t there. Ren leaned up, allowing the both of you watch his hips roll, watch his thick, heavy cock push you open with its head and pull back out. Frustration turned to tears--the sight alone was enough to splinter you, but his steady breath, the agony of being empty, the twitching of your clit, all of it compounded. It made you break.

“Please,” you whispered, “please, Supreme Leader, please fuck me, please give me your cock.”

It was impossible to miss the arrogant shimmer in his eyes. “No.”

Your face fell. “What?”

“You’ll take what I give you,” he said, “and if you behave, I will make you cum.”

Hundreds, thousands of thoughts raced through your mind in that moment, most of them profane, all of them capable of getting you in trouble. Yes, you were learning the rules. And you knew the only way you’d be sated is if you played by them. Steeling your jaw, you met his gaze.

“Yes,” you mumbled. “Supreme Leader.”

Ren settled over you, nuzzling into your neck. “Jate, little flame,” he rasped. “Now take my cock.”

With a slow rock of his hips, he pushed in--millimeter by millimeter, digging you open, in and out, in and out, letting you feel every vein of his cock, every thump of his pulse as he drove deeper inside of you. You stilled your chest, trembling with blissful, beautiful pain, the sweet sting of being full, the addiction of being stretched. Kylo Ren seated himself, fully sheathed in your tight, slick cunt, exhaling as you clenched around him. Gritting his teeth, he dragged out, deserting you in the same, torturous fashion.

This was, you realized, your consequence. He was going to make you beg for him until the very end.

“Supreme Leader,” you said, grinding your wrists together. “Please, fuck me.”

He huffed. “No.” Another slow thrust in, stretching you again, and he caught a groan in his chest.

“Please,” you gasped. “Please, I want your cock.”

Leaning closer, smothering you with his frame, he glided out. “Too bad.”

“Please,” you said, as he stroked into you, wet and hot around his dick. “Please.”

“Beg all you want.” He shuddered when you squeezed him, his hips twisting into you. “Fuck.”

Sex with the Supreme Leader before had been incredible, sure. But the warmth, the strength, the size of his body over yours, the ability to feel his breath, his heartbeat, the rumble of his voice--incredible became inconceivable. Never had you imagined that you could ever be so aroused, so desperate. Never had you considered pleading and squirming through tears for the fill of cock. Never, through any of your antics, had you been this entranced by any single man.

But Kylo Ren truly was not just a man, you were learning.

He was also an utter bastard.

He was also still, despite it all, a corporeal god.

Ren’s rhythm continued to torment you, pumping slowly in and out of your pussy. You could only wince, inhale, and clench around his girth with each thrust--a strategy that seemed to work. Though his hips kept their pace, his breath quickened, his heart pounded, another groan stopped in his throat. Spurred on, you continued, constricting him, walls milking his dick, working him to his peak inside of your pussy.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Nasty fucking whore. You want me to cum in this cunt, don’t you?”

Lust tore through you. “Yes, Supreme Leader, yes, I want you to cum in me, please, please…”

“Fuck.” Ren slammed into you, jerked out, slammed in again. “Yes.” Another hard, brutal thrust, piercing your cervix, and you quailed. “Fuck. Watch me.” He panted, propped himself onto his palms, sliding out until just the head of his dick was buried in your core. “Watch me fill you.” A quick snap of his hips, and he choked, trapped a deep groan--and came.

His cock, swollen and flush and veiny with the promise of orgasm, jumped and twitched inside of you, a climax so intense it pulsed to his groin. He gasped, tensing with every wave of pleasure as he poured hot cum inside of you, a rapid throb of release. A few aftershock ripples, and it dissipated, his cock softening.

“That’s right.” Ren’s chin dropped to his chest, his lungs filled with satisfied air. Exhaling, he glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “I think you’ve earned it.”

In a smooth motion, he pulled out of you and tugged your ass to the edge of the mattress while he dropped to his knees on the ground. Sweat was a second skin, your arms strained, your heart ramming against your ribs. And you gaped, a mere spectator to two large hands wrenching your knees wide before the Supreme Leader dove face-first into your abused pussy.

The words that left you were nonsense, a multilingual damnation of his soft, skilled mouth. Ren devoured your cunt, staring into your eyes while he gathered his cum and your own on his tongue, gulping it down, his lips brushing your neglected clit. A feral, anguished cry escaped you, an appeal for mercy--you were so stirred, so edged that even the slightest attention to the nub hurled you near-orgasm.

“Fuck.” No other words would come to you. “Please. Fuck.”

Finally, benevolent god he was, Ren sucked your clit between his teeth. You screeched in ecstasy, head thrown back on the bed as he licked, lapped, suckled at it, humming at your flesh. He flicked the tip with his tongue, traced tight circles around it, and when your breath picked up in expectation of orgasm, a hand left your thigh, two fingers gliding easily into your core. You moaned, writhed in delight, and Ren crooked them inside of you, the intrusion forcing his cum and your own to drip onto the sheets. Like a starved animal, he abandoned your clit for only a minute to gather the creamy globs with his mouth.

“Supreme Leader,” you groaned, “ka’ra…”

Smirking, he swallowed, sealed his plush lips around your throbbing clit, and sucked. Pleasure commandeered your brain, shutting out rationality, logic, reality itself. Thick fingers curled in your pussy, and you spasmed around him while he groaned against you. The vibration of his voice ricocheted to your thighs, and you cried out, soaring higher, higher, until you were at the peak, a witless body suspended in space. A twist of his hand, a lave of his tongue, and you ascended.

A scream shredded your throat, submerged in a storm of euphoria, sight whiter than the walls of Ren’s quarters. Convulsions wracked you, quaked to your bones, and you heaved, hunted for air while he suckled you through the receding tide of your release. You felt your cunt quivering at his face, felt the mixture of cum at his chin, and you drifted to full consciousness, lids flitting open.

Ren smacked his lips, standing and wiping his face. At some point, he’d tucked himself away. He scanned your panting, exhausted figure before reaching over you and freeing your wrists from his sheets. A groan of relief fled you, and you winced when you dragged your arms down to rub away the fatigue.

Seeing this, the Supreme Leader took your wrists in his own hands, encircling them with ease, and massaged his thumbs where you’d been bound. Your breath skipped, your eyes widened--he did not look at you, did not acknowledge this gesture was his own, even as he adjusted his grip to rub the opposite side of your joints. When he was finished, he glimpsed you for a shooting-star-second--and released you, letting all of you sink into his bed as he paced to his closet.

“You are mine.” He said this while he clothed himself. “Expect to travel with me. Expect to serve me.” His voice was empty. Dead. “Expect me to use you however I please.”

You arched your head back and gazed through the transparisteel, the galaxy appearing just as infinite and enigmatic from this angle as it did from any other. This view, a comfortable bed, a real refresher, and the attention of the Supreme Leader of the First Order? You could be fine with that.

More than fine with that.

“Tracinya.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” you said. “I understand.”

As Ren continued to dress, you hoisted yourself onto a pillow, pulled the covers over you. He still hadn’t told you if you could sleep there, but he hadn’t stopped you, either. After a moment, he crossed to you, boots striking the floor, and a gloved grip pinched your shoulder like a handle, turning you to face him. His hair was still half-dry.

“You’re learning the rules well.” He thumbed your lip.

For some strange reason, you blushed. “Only the most sincere effort for you, chakaar.”

He huffed. “Good girl,” he said. “Welcome home.”

Then he turned and left you there, climbing the steps, his footfalls disappearing into the air.

Four words this time, fizzing your blood with glee--home. You wanted to encapsulate this feeling, inject it daily, like a drug. Sighing, content, you stared into the stars, your sterling sentinels. Nevarro was as distant in your memory as it was in space. For now, you belonged to the Supreme Leader. For now, you’d never felt more pleased.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #cocky. beautiful. bastard.#fanfiction problems #just a meanie

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rocksandrobots · 4 years ago

Text

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 38 - Paris

Varian found Honey Lemon in the chemistry lab. She was just placing her folder, books, and pens inside her backpack, getting ready to leave.

"Hey," He called to her, "Are you busy right now?"

"Well, I guess not." She said as she zipped up the bookbag. "I just finished taking my final and I got to present my project tomorrow."

"Great!" Varian blurted out, barely giving her time to finish her sentence. "Come with me. I got something to show you." And without waiting for an answer, he grabbed her hand and started to excitedly drag her along with him as he headed out the door.

Honey Lemon decided to humor him and allowed herself to be led down the campus hallways to Varian's private lab on the first floor.

Fred was waiting for them when they entered. Not that he was given a chance to explain anything, as Varian blurted out his own explanation as soon as everyone was in the room.

"I did it!" He proudly crowed. "I got the portal working!"

"You found a way home?" Honey Lemon asked in shock.

"Well, not exactly." He corrected, "I still got a ways to go on that, but I did figure out how to control the spatial coordinates. I took the controller for Srique's miniature portals and programmed it into the main computer here. Now we can go anywhere in the world just by entering in an address. Whatta ya think!? Cool hun?"

"Oh my gosh! Yeah, that's cool! That's like mega cool!" She laughed and gave Varian a big congratulatory hug. "Oh just think what all you could do with this technology. You'd never have to board a plane or drive a delivery truck across the country. This could be the answer to reducing carbon emissions!"

She squealed again with joy and warped Varian in another tight hug, one that nearly knocked the wind out of him.

"Yeah, I haven't thought that far ahead yet." He gasped as she finally let go. "We still need to give it a test run, and that's why I brought you here. Where would you like to go first?"

He gave her a Cheshire grin as he walked up to the computer to enter in whatever destination she chose.

"Oh, I don't know?" She replied, "Freddie, what's someplace you'd like to visit?"

"Oh I'm not going." Fred answered.

"Not going? But I thought we were all going to try it out?"

"Well, we will, eventually, but we need someone to remain here in order to pull the return switch." Varian explained as he walked over the portal and placed his hand upon a long lever that was now built into the turbine. "All Fred has to do is pull this lever whenever we're ready to come home. That'll turn the turbine back on and the computer will just automatically open up a portal to the last coordinates entered."

"Sooo, isn't anybody else coming?" Honey Lemon asked.

"Oh they'll get a chance to go, I'm sure. It's just with finals and everything, it's hard to get everyone together. Besides it's not like we can all go to seven different places at once."

Varian tried to laugh off his excuses, but the truth was he had been planning this for a week now. He wanted to impress Honey Lemon and surprise her with a nice outing. Fred had agreed to help and so they had concocted this harmless little scheme together.

Honey Lemon however hesitated, "Well, I don't know. I still got another final this afternoon and-"

"Oh don't worry, we can come back whenever we want. All we gotta do is call Fred."

"Yeah, we'll be using international cell phones, like they use on navy boats at sea, if y'all decide to go far off." Fred interjected. "And I have the jet and the helicopter, just in case something goes wrong."

"Nothing's going to go wrong." Varian gave Fred a warning look before smoothing things over with a charming smile. "Look, I'll have you back in time for you next final, promise."

Honey Lemon bit her lip in thought.

"Think about it." Varian knelt in close as he persuasively whispered to her. "One day; wherever you want to go. No waiting, no long flights, no cramped car rides, and absolutely free. Your dream vacation. If you could see any place in the world for just one day, where would it be?"

Honey Lemon searched his eyes as she teetered on the edge of indecision. She wrestled with both her adventurous free spirit and her better angels, before finally blurting out "Paris!"

"Paris it is! Fred, you heard the lady, give us a Parisian address."

"Coming right up," Fred saluted as he pulled out his cell phone and looked up a street address they could use.

Honey Lemon could barely contain her excitement as Varian put in the coordinates. She was practically hopping in place as the portal roared to life. Soon the blue circular window opened up and afternoon sunlight streamed through the lab; a contrast to the early morning sun that hung up in their sky behind it.

Varian ran over to double check the turbine, then he gave a little flourish as he bowed and said, "After you my lady."

Honey Lemon held her breath as she tentatively stepped through the portal and out onto a small alleyway. Once fully through, she walked to the end of the alley and looked up. All around her were shops and cute little boutiques, and there was the Eiffel tower standing tall in the distance; looking every bit just like the pictures and romantic movies she'd drool over as a kid.

She gave a little squeak of joy and then started bouncing up and down frantically. "It's the Eiffel tower!" She shouted back to her friends, before hugging herself with joy and twirling on the spot as she laughed with abandonment! "I'm in Paris! I can't believe I'm standing in Paris, France!"

Varian watched her dance with a huge dopey smile on his face, only for Fred to pull him out of the moment.

"Hey don't forget the traveler's checks." He handed Varian a checkbook. "They're good anywhere."

"Oh, yeah. Hey, and thanks again, man. I really appreciate this."

"Oh, no problem, and don't worry about a thing. I got everything under control." He reached out his hand to pat the return lever, only to miss and topple over onto the floor.

"Yeeeaaah." Varian said as his confidence began to falter for the first time since hatching this little scheme. Not that he was given time to rethink his plan as Honey Lemon rushed back to grab him by the arm and drag him through the portal.

"Come on, come on, come ooon," She squealed, "lets go check out the shops!"

And with that Fred righted himself and pulled the lever down to stop the turbine. The portal faded away leaving Varian and Honey Lemon stranded in Gay Paree.

-----------------------

Honey Lemon was having the most wonderful day. She felt like she was living in a picturesque romcom. Everywhere she looked it was just like a scene out of a movie; cute shops, lovely parks, and of course famous landmarks abound.

They started the day shopping. Honey Lemon bought herself two new dresses, one of which she decided to change into and wear for the rest of the trip. It was a flowy peach sundress and she wore a matching floppy wide brimmed hat to go with it.

Or rather Varian bought them, using the travelers checks Fred had given them. She promised to pay them both back but Varian told her not to worry about it. That he had already squared everything with Fred and she could pick out whatever she liked.

She decided not to press the matter. Her friends finances weren't her business after all, and also, deep down, she didn't want to talk herself out snagging a lovely pair of earrings that she found on sale.

She also insisted that Varian should buy something for himself. If nothing else than to make her feel less guilty about spending money that wasn't hers. She picked out a waistcoat for him, thinking he might like it. It was a navy blue vest that went well with the lighter blue collared shirt he wore. Although, he opted to keep his purchases in a shopping bag rather than wear it around unlike her.

They must have been a sight at the Louvre toting around paper bags like the tourists they so obviously were. Not that Honey Lemon cared. She would have gladly gotten lost in the halls full of priceless art for days if she had been aloud too. But with finals still looming over her head and only a few short precious hours to spend in Paris, she agreed to take a one hour guided tour.

She fawned over the Venus de Milo, swooned at the Monet's and the Van Gogh's that lined the walls, and she and Varian both had a good chuckle over seeing the Mona Lisa again. When the tour guide brought them into the Da Vinci exhibit, all the two of them could do was share knowing looks at one another and whispered conspiratorially as they shared their private joke. The poor tour guide wasn't as amused as they were. At one point during his lecture on Da Vinici's life, Varian gently elbowed her and pointed at the flying machine blueprints on the wall and they both inexplicably broke down into barely contained snickers, interrupting the tour guide's speech.

Though all in all they had a marvelous time. The only rain cloud that hovered over the party came early in the tour, and didn't stay for long. One of the first paintings shown was Liberty Leading the People by Eugène Delacroix. It was an oil painting depicting the French Revolution, or well one of them anyways; apparently France had a lot of revolutions. Honey Lemon respected the artistry of the picture but never cared for such dark and unpleasant subject matter. She wanted to move on quickly from the scene of the bloody battle field and on to something more pleasant to look at.

Varian however stood there transfixed by the painting, even as the tour was starting to move on. On his face he held a curious expression as he studied the painting intently. It wasn't sadness exactly, nor was it anger, but some odd mix between curiosity, shame, pain, and cold furious pride.

He stepped closer as his gaze honed in on one particular part of the image. There was a young boy running behind Lady Liberty, his gun raised high in the air as he dashed towards the fighting, no doubt ready to die for his cause.

Honey Lemon shuddered as she involuntarily made the connection between the boy in the painting and Varian. But she just as quickly shoved it out of her mind and grabbed him by the hand. She forced a smile on her face as she cheerily told him the group was leaving without them and for his part, he allowed himself to be led away from the disturbing piece of art.

Once away from the painting his smiling mood returned, as if the very concepts of 'war' and 'violence' didn't exist and bloody revolutions were a thing of the far past, regulated to history books, and not something he'd taken part in only a few months ago.

After the Louvre, they went to the Eiffel tower. Honey Lemon's heart soared as she stood upon the top observatory.

"Isn't this amazing!" She said as she ran over to the nearest telescope.

"If you say so." Varian chuckled.

"Oh don't tell me you're not having fun." Honey Lemon asked with worry.

"Oh no, I'm having a great time." He insisted. "I just don't understand all the fuss over what looks like a giant antenna. There's taller skyscrapers than this."

"It's about the history. It's an iconic landmark, like San Fansokyo's golden bridge."

"Yeah, but that at least serves a purpose."

Honey Lemon playfully rolled her eyes. "You don't get it. It's the Eiffel Tower , it's the most Paris thing about Paris. You can't visit and not see it."

Varian laughed as he admitted defeat. "Okay, okay, whatever makes you happy. It's your dream destination after all."

"Well, I'm not the only person on this trip. What would you like to see?"

Varian shrugged.

"Oh, come on there's got to be something you always wanted to see?" She pressed.

"In Paris? Beats me. All I know is that in my world Paris is where all the rich nobles come to visit when they want to hobnob and show off. The city of high fashion, splendor, and elitist garbage." He mocked, but quickly changed his tune when he caught Honey Lemon's frown. "Not like that's how things are here, it's just, no, Paris has never interested me. Well except for the various musicals about the French Revolution, but I don't really fancy touring the Bastille." He joked.

"Yeah, I agree." Honey Lemon replied through a strained smile and then quickly brought the subject back on topic. "But still, if there's no place you wanna see, perhaps there's something you'd like to do instead?"

"Well, I could go for some lunch, how about we go get some food after this?"

"Okay, sounds like a plan."

-----------------------

Varian did happen to find one thing that garnered his interest on the way to lunch. He discovered a quaint bookstore tucked away among a street full of smaller shops and venues. He eagerly went in and Honey Lemon happily followed.

As she scanned the bargain bin of romance novels, looking for something written in a language she could actually read, Varian hovered over the classics section of the store.

"Molière, Voltaire, Shakespeare…" He muttered to himself as he perused the shelves, "Hey, they got Copernicus!" He joyously called out and Honey Lemon walked over to see what he found.

He pulled out a small paperback with an illustration of the famous scientist on the cover.

"De revolutionibus orbium coelestium," he read out loud as Honey Lemon peered over his shoulder, "On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spears, man I used to read this book constantly as a kid. It was my favorite, next to the Flynn Rider series that is."

"You read math books in Latin as a little kid?" Honey Lemon asked, both impressed and bewildered.

"Yeah, my mom had a first edition copy. No idea where she got it, but the thing was already a hundred years old by the time it got passed on to me. I had to keep binding it with homemade glue to keep it from falling apart."

"So your mom taught you how to read?"

"Well, I vaguely remember her reading bedtime stories to me at night, so I guess, but reading and other languages always came easy to me. Latin isn't that much different than say, French, and half the court speaks that back home. You could probably learn it easily yourself, since you're already fluent in Spanish."

"You think so? Would ya teach me?"

"If you want me to."

She let out a giggle, not entirely serious with her request and he chuckled along with her, before flipping through the book once more, fascinated with it.

"See, you like art, " he continued "but this," he held up one of the pages for her to get a better view, on it was a diagram of the solar system. "This is what inspires me. Copernicus's findings revolutionized the entire way science was even approached. Galileo, Newton, even that Einstein guy everyone goes on about, all of them built their theories based off this one man's work. Man, what I wouldn't give to have that kind of impact; to discover something that makes an actual difference to people's lives and does something good."

Honey Lemon looked at him in disbelief, "Says the guy who just finished building a working portal."

"Well, I - I didn't invent that. I just built off of Demantius and Callaghan's findings. Now, Demantius, he was also a genius scientist; miles ahead of even Copernicus."

"Yeah, but you just said it yourself, even famous scientists start on the foundation left behind by others. I wouldn't be in school studying chemistry if it wasn't for Madame Curie and Lenore Shimamoto. And yeah Callaghan, and that Dem- Demanty, guy…"

"Demantius."

"Yeah, him, they may have come up with the theories but you actually got it to work . When this gets out you're going to be famous. Like you could win the Nobel Prize, levels of fame."

Varian blushed at that, but then shook his head. "I don't care about awards, but I would like for my inventions to help someone for once instead of just making a mess of everything."

"Well they will. I know it." She gave him an encouraging smile and Varian felt in that moment as if he was ten feet tall. His face flushed and he wore a grin from ear to ear.

He continued to wear this gigantic smile as he walked up to the register to pay for the book and it wouldn't leave his face for quite a few hours there afterwards.

-----------------------

"What are you doing?" Hiro asked as he entered the lab. He was looking for Varian but instead he found Fred sitting upside down in a rolling office chair as he scrolled through his phone.

"Waiting for Varian and Honey Lemon to get back from their date." Fred said distractedly. "Hey what's another word for fool that's ten letters long? I'm on a hard level of Crosswords vs Killer Plants and I'm stuck on this one- oh…. Aww man! The Venus Flytrap from Venus just ate my puzzle piece, now gotta do the whole thing over again."

Hiro ignored Fred's complaints about his video game. "Waaait, you're telling me that Honey Lemon agreed to go out on a date, with Varian? Varian ."

"Well, yeah, what else would you call a romantic getaway to Paris?"

"Paris!?"

"Oh yeah, Varian got the portal working. Didn't tell you?"

"No."

"Oh, well he got the portal working. It still doesn't go between dimensions but you can travel anywhere in our world with it. They're using the date as a test run and I'm in charge of bringing them back." With this proclamation Fred righted himself, stood up, and puffed out his chest proudly.

Hiro gave him an incredulous look and Fred returned his doubts with a smug but oblivious smile.

"Aaand how do you do that?" Hiro asked.

"Oh, I just pull this lever right here." He walked over to the turbine to show Hiro what he was talking about. "All Varian has to do is give me a call when they're ready to return and I just give it a yang like so-"

Fred proceeded to demonstrate but as he pulled the lever down it broke off completely.

"Oh no."

-----------------------

Honey Lemon and Varian sat outside in the late afternoon sun at a café along the Champs-Élysées. They people watched as they munched on chips and sandwiches, just enjoying the scenery and each other's company.

"You know," Honey Lemon said thoughtfully, "Andre and I always talked about coming here together, but I actually think this was more fun with a friend."

"Andre?" Varian echoed.

"Just a guy I use to date." Honey Lemon tried to shrug it off as she took another bite of her brie and tomato baguette.

"What was wrong with him? Besides being an idiot that is."

"What, no, Andre isn't dumb at all."

"He has to be, to let you go." Varian quipped as he reached for another chip.

"It's not like that." Honey Lemon shook her head. "We met in high school but wound up going to different colleges, that's all. We decided it'd be too hard to keep up a long distance relationship so we just ended things there. There were no hard feelings or anything, just, we fell out of touch."

She tried to sound nonchalant but she couldn't keep the melancholy out of her voice.

Varian frowned.

"So which school did he go to?" He asked.

"Oh he got into Princeton." She chirped. "He's a political science major."

"And they don't teach that at any school in San Fansokyo?" Varian asked, confused.

"Well I'm sure they do, but he got into Princeton ." She waited for Varian to catch on but he only stared at her blankly. "You know, one of the three top ivy league schools in the country? Not just anybody can get into that and it was a great opportunity for him. You don't just turn down a chance to go to Princeton."

Still more confused stares, so Honey Lemon continued.

"Buuut it just happens to be on the other side of the county from SFIT. Which is also a great school. It and MIT are the best schools for STEM majors. I couldn't turn that down either. I'm really fortunate to be there and plus I've made such great friends since I've started going."

She finished off her ramble with a smile and Varian returned it.

"Well good, I'm glad things are working out for you both." He said as politely as he could and then more hesitantly asked. "Do you still talk to him, at all?"

"Oh sure, sometimes we video chat, last time he…." Honey Lemon paused as it occurred to her that "last time" was actually over a year ago, and it had not ended pleasantly for her. "... He just… he got an A on his exam." She lied and left it at that.

In truth he had told her he was dating someone else. They had previously agreed to remain friends and during the beginning weeks of their first semester they had genuinely tried to keep in touch. And while there had been no intentional malice on Andre's part, the casual way he had mentioned his new girlfriend into their conversion had just wrecked her. She tried to be happy for him, but she could no longer bring herself to return any of his calls.

It didn't help matters, being seventeen and living away from home for the first time in her life. She was in a new town, new school, and knew no one at all. The loneliness had been unbearable. More than once she had wanted to call it quits and run home to her mother.

Thank goodness for Business Economics 101. Most majors took the general course at some point and that was where she'd met her friends. They were assigned the group project of running a mock business.

Tadashi, being the natural leader that he was, brought them all together and made sure everyone worked as a group rather than just them each shuffling off to do their parts of the assignment on their own. He even convinced Fred to be their 'guinea pig', so to say, to bounce their ideas off; despite Fred not being an actual student and therefore only an unofficial part of the group.

Still everyone just clicked, and Honey Lemon found both solace and distraction from her lovesick woes. Tadashi had been particularly encouraging; making sure to check up on her even once the assignment was over, inviting her along to things, and making sure to drag her out of her slump whenever she felt like moping. That was just the type of person he was. He never wanted anyone to feel left out.

The thought of Tadashi pained her even more than the thought of Andre. Her first real friend, just gone and in only a few short months.

Geez, had it really been almost a whole year now? When was the last time she'd actually stopped to think about, well, any of it? She had kept herself busy, making sure her friends were okay, making sure Hiro was okay, and burying herself in school work and superheroing that she hadn't let herself process any of it. In truth the past year just felt like one big blur to her.

"Honey Lemon," Varian tentatively called out to her, "are you okay?"

She snapped out of her reprieve and found Varian looking at her with concern, so she slapped a smile on her face and said, "I'm fine. I was just thinking about what we should do next is all."

If Varian had seen through her white lie he didn't show it. "Well we only have maybe an hour or two of daylight left here, which means we should probably start heading back soon. I say we do one more thing and then call it a day."

Honey Lemon nodded in agreement, though she was disappointed that her magical day in Paris was slipping away so quickly.

"So one hour left. What do you wanna do, you're pick." He said.

Honey Lemon didn't even have to think about it, she knew precisely what she wanted.

-----------------------

Varian had never felt comfortable in church.

He appreciated the extensive library that the convent back home held, and he acknowledged that the nuns and few monks who ran it were much more proactive in helping the people of Corona than the royals, but the stuffy atmosphere, the endless and seemingly pointless rules, and the blind worship of a being he couldn't see, hear, nor study scientifically left him feeling out of step with rest of his village even more so than normal.

He only ever visited whenever his dad would drag him there, usually on appropriate holidays or when needing to deliver food shipments to the small abbey by the sea, and even then he'd hide away in its study pouring over ancient manuscripts and books. But being the son of the village leader meant he had to stand there, bored to tears, whenever a ceremony had to take place, like a christening, or a funeral, or even the occasional wedding.

Varian didn't begrudge anyone their faith, nor could he confidently claim they were wrong in their beliefs now that he had discovered magic was real, but he still didn't really want to participate. So imagine his dismay when Honey Lemon told him she wanted to visit a cathedral on her vacation.

Well, okay, it wasn't just any old church. Notre-Dame de Paris was apparently a beloved historical landmark the same as the Eiffel tower had been. It was famous for being the center focus of novels, plays, and movies; not that Varian had ever seen any of them.

While it was still functionally a place of worship, visitors were allowed and tourists of all walks of life and personal beliefs frequently toured the bell towers.

This helped to ease Varian's discomfort somewhat, knowing that he wasn't the only person there not conducting themselves in prayers or going to mass. It was still incredibly stuffy and somber though.

As the tour guide dispassionately droned on about flying buttresses Varian quietly weighed the pros and cons of excommunication vs the satisfaction of flipping the man of the cloth off and walking away. Fortunately things never progressed that drastically.

Honey Lemon tapped him on the shoulder and silently pointed to a little stairwell tucked in the corner of the wall at the end of the cloister. She motioned him to follow her and they snuck away from the rest of the group.

They ducked inside the archway and pressed themselves against the wall as they waited for the tour to move on. Once the guide and sound of footsteps was out of ear shot the two teens breathed a sigh of relief and then broke down in giggles.

"Oh man, if I hear the words 'flying buttresses' again I'm going to scream." Honey Lemon joked.

"Yeah that was pretty excruciating." Varian agreed.

"Hey, let's see where this leads." She said as she began to climb the stairs.

"Are you sure we're allowed to go up there?" He asked.

"Well I don't see any signs saying not to." And with this logical assumption the two began to explore on their own.

The stairs led to the north tower. The actual bells were held in the south tower opposite to them and they could see the famous chimes through the large windows as they made their way to the rooftop.

"Will you look at that view?" Honey Lemon breathed as she ran to the edge of the roof and peered over the stone banister.

The sun was low in the sky and bathed the city of Paris in a golden glow. She turned back to Varian and gave him a smile. The sunlight caught in her fiery red hair and sparkled like a halo around her. Varian forgot to breathe for a moment. How could anyone be that beautiful? Sure she was always pretty, but to him that was just a fact of life, like saying the sky was blue or water was wet, but there were times, like now, when she seemed almost transcendent, as if she'd had step down from the heavens itself to bless mere mortals like him with her presence. Yet she, and most other people, didn't even notice. They didn't see what he saw in these moments. They didn't recognize any significance in such mundane scenarios and Honey Lemon herself remained oblivious to the effect she had on him, even as she stole the very breath from his lungs. It was enough to drive Varian almost mad.

"You're so pret- I mean… umm, it's nice." He squeaked once he regained his senses. She didn't catch his flub and only smiled wider before turning back to look at the view once more.

Varian breathed in and out deeply as he tried to calm himself and work up his nerve.

"Okay Varian, last chance." He whispered to himself. "The day is getting away and you'll never find a more perfect moment, so just ask her. You can do this…. I can do this."

After this pep talk he walked over to join Honey Lemon at the banister. She barely acknowledged his approach, as she was too enraptured with the scenery. Varian looked up at her and suddenly became self conscious about his own height. He'd managed to grow a few inches since coming to San Fansokyo, but he was still dwarfed by the tall girl, especially in her high heels. He stepped up onto a broken piece of the mason, which created a nice little foothold on the wall, and leaned over the banister as well. Thus making himself eye level to her.

"I feel just like a princess up here." Honey Lemon suddenly said with a smile.

Varian was knocked for a loop. "A princess?"

"Yeah!"

"But you're a knight. That's way cooler than any princess."

Not for the first time that day Honey Lemon shook her head. "You still don't get it. I know castles are boring to you cause you grew up in one, but for me they only existed in storybooks. Every little girl dreams of wearing a pretty dress or some other nice outfit, while staying in a romantic far away land and being swept off their feet by a handsome hero."

Varian rolled his eyes, propped his elbows on the ledge, and rested his chin in his hands.

"Well I guess that leaves me out." He said under his breath.

He hadn't meant for Honey Lemon to hear that but she did anyway.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I'm not a hero," he reluctantly admitted and to deflect from this he self-deprecatingly joked, "and I guess the less said about the handsome part the better, am I right?"

"Oh I didn't mean it that way!" Honey Lemon quickly apologized. She placed an encouraging hand upon his shoulder. "You're very handsome, and any girl would be lucky to have you sweep her off her feet."

"Really?"

"Uh huh" she blithely nodded.

"Maaybe, even say, a girl like.."

Like you, Was what he wanted to say, but just then the cell phone rang interrupting the moment.

"Hey Fred, what's up?" Varian answered, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. It was a futile effort, especially once he had heard Fred's reply. "You What!?"

-----------------------

Varian brooded as he stared out of the airport's window. How did everything fall apart so quickly? He was seconds away from confessing his feelings only to instead have to embarrassingly explain to Honey Lemon why they couldn't return home immediately as promised.

Fred said that he and Hiro were on a private jet to come pick them up, so they weren't necessarily stuck in France, but it did mean that Honey Lemon would have to miss her final. She had been nice about it, but Varian still felt guilty and kept apologizing profusely to her as they left the cathedral and took a cab to the private airport Fred was supposed to pick them up at.

Varian snagged a sidelong glance at the pretty redhead. Honey Lemon was busy on her phone; no doubt trying desperately to contact her professors, or maybe she was just trying to avoid talking to him. Either way Varian sank lower in his seat and hid his face in his hands.

He ran through the schematics of the portal in his head trying to figure out what went wrong. It would have been easy just to blame Fred for the mishap, but Varian knew deep down that wouldn't be fair. He had been the one to build the return lever after all. He must not have secured it well enough or perhaps he needed a completely new system for getting back.

That's when the international cell phone rang once more. Varian got up and answered it nearer to the large viewing window. He acted like this might strengthen the signal, but in truth he just didn't want Honey Lemon listening in incase it was even more bad news.

"Hey Varian" Fred sang out over the other end of the line, "It took awhile for Heathcliff to get the 'all clear for takeoff' signal from the tower, but we're in the air and on our way now."

"Yeah and I already told Aunt Cass we were spending the night over at Fred's place, so your welcome." Hiro smugly added on.

Varian pinched his nose in frustration and bit back a harsher retort to the other boy. "So how long will it take you to get here?" Varian asked instead.

"Uh, I say about ten to eleven hours." Fred responded.

"Ten hours!" Varian yelled. He then noticed Honey Lemon looking up from her phone to stare at him after this outburst. His cheeks burned red and he turned his back to her as he continued the conversion, this time in a harsh whisper. "What are we supposed to do for ten hours? Sleep at the airport?"

"I don't know man, but no matter what you do none of us can get back to San Fansokyo until late tomorrow night. Even if we just turned around and left immediately once getting to France."

"You mean I have to stay on a plane for twenty hours straight and not even get to see the place we're traveling too?" Hiro complained.

"Do you actually care anything about Pairs?" Varian asked in a monotone voice.

"No, not really, but you try being stuck on an airplane for twenty hours. There's no internet up here."

"Then why did you volunteer to come along?"

"'Cause someone has to save your butt, and I wasn't going just leave it to Fred." There was an awkward pause before Hiro hastily added. "Uh..cause... cause traveling alone sucks."

"Ah it's not so bad," Fred encouraged, "I got a tv, game system, and the entire Kentucky Kaiju collection on dvd. Hey, we can have a Kaju marathon!"

"Grrreeaaat" Hiro said in a strained voice, then to Varian he threateningly whispered. "Once this is over, you owe me big. Got it? Like doing my chores for a week big."

Varian rolled his eyes. He never understood Hiro's aversion to housework, but whatever. He was tired of arguing.

"Fine. See you at, like, seven in the morning I guess." Then he hung up.

Varian made his way to the front desk as he pocketed the cell phone.

"Bonjour," He greeted the concierge. "Uh, pardonnez-moi, mais vous savez s'il y a, ummm… des auberges par ici?"

The woman at the desk seemed impressed that he knew French so fluently, even if he did have to stop and remember what the word for "inn" was.

She rattled off a list of options and Varian just randomly picked one out; having zero knowledge about any of them.

"Pourrais-tu...oh what's the French word for telephone?" Varian dug back into his pocket and pulled out the cell phone and mimicked making a phone call.

"Appeler au téléphone?" The woman suggested.

"Oui, Yes, thank you. So it's the same word hun? Neat. Uh, pouvez-vous appeler au téléphone l'auberge pour moi et réserver une chambre? Oh, s'il te plaît."

"How many? Une?" The woman asked while holding one finger up in the air.

"One? Oui. I only need one room." He responded back. "Oh and, seulement pour une nuit."

She nodded and confirmed the booking.

"Merci." Varian said and then walked back over to where Honey Lemon sat.

"I got us a room for the night." He said as he gathered up their shopping bags. "Turns out Fred won't be here until the morning."

Honey Lemon frowned at that but didn't argue. "Where is it?"

"Don't know, some place called the Regency Montmartre. I'm sure the cab driver will know." And with that they made to leave.

-----------------------

"Okay, here we are." Varian said as he opened the door to the hotel room

The accommodation was a modest suite decorated in a light and rustic style. As soon as you entered the door there was a bathroom to your right with brass fixtures and a stone tiled shower. On the left was the closet and beyond it the bedroom with a sliding shuttered door that separated it from the rest of the suite. In the sitting area in front of them was a small couch, more of a loveseat really, made of wood with a cream futon cushion on top and a matching coffee table in front of it. In the right most corner of the room was a desk made of the same light wood and a brass chair with a matching cream-colored cushioned seat. Next to it and in front view of the sofa was a pair of glass double doors leading to a balcony with sheer off-white curtains hanging over the windows.

"It's not too bad, is it?" Varian asked as they both entered.

However Honey Lemon let out a nervous "Ummm.." as she opened the sliding door to the bedroom. She hesitantly pointed at the single brass bed, also draped in matching ivory linen sheets.

"Of course." Varian said tightly. "I'll take the couch." He sighed as he dropped the bags on the floor and flopped onto the small sofa. He then brought a hand up to massage his eyes in irritation.

Honey Lemon just stood there shuffling her feet and watched him as she wrung her hands wondering what to do. Varian had been in a foul mood ever since Fred had called to tell them about the portal being broken.

His temper wasn't directed at her nor anyone in particular, she knew, but negativity always set Honey Lemon on edge. Especially if the person in question was usually upbeat and cheery like herself. Whenever tensions would arise, Honey Lemon always felt the need to smooth things over as quickly as possible.

"Well, it is a queen sized bed, maybe we can both sleep on it." she innocently suggested, looking for an agreeable solution. She didn't notice the surprised look on Varian's face as her problem solving skills kicked in and she rushed to the closet. "I bet they have extra sheets and pillows in here. Ah-ha!" She yelled in triumph as she pulled out said bedding and held it up. "See you can take one side with your own covers and I'll take the other side with the rest."

Varian however turned the idea down. "No, no, it's okay. The couch is fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I can sleep anywhere." And with that he went back to nursing his growing headache.

Honey Lemon bit her lower lip in worry. The sofa looked anything but comfortable. It might be okay for sitting in, but it was far too cramped to lay across and it wasn't very cushiony. It reminded her more of patio furniture than an actual couch.

She racked her brain for another way to cheer him up. "Well at least we get to spend more time in Paris." She said as she opened the doors to the balcony. From said balcony one could see the busy street below, the tightly packed buildings on the other side, and breaking up the skyline was the famous red windmill of the Moulin Rouge, all lit up in dusky twilight. "And the view is nice." She hopefully added.

Varian finally looked up. "Beautiful" he coarsely said.

Honey Lemon didn't know what he meant. He wasn't even looking at the window but staring past it, intently so. Varian was a hard person to read sometimes. His mind was like a puzzle box, hiding away formulas, inventions, grand schemes, and closely guarded secrets all while appearing earnestly simple and deceptively quaint in his stubbornly optimistic worldview. But there were moments, like when he was busy working on a project or, like when earlier with the painting at Louvre, he was reminded of his unpleasant past, the veil would drop and one could see the man underneath the boyish exterior. The intense focus, the no nonsense attitude, his searing gaze, and dark demeanor all bespoke of a person who grew up too fast and too harshly.

Honey Lemon couldn't help but shiver whenever he would look at her with such a serious glare, as if his piercing blue eyes were looking right through her and into her very soul. To further add to the confusion, the tone of his voice was always so sincere whenever he spoke and Honey Lemon honestly couldn't tell if his comments about the view were genuine, something told just to placate her, or a sarcastic quip.

But like always, when faced with something she didn't want to deal with, Honey Lemon just ignored the incident.

"I'm sorry" Varian hoarsely confessed in what had to be the tenth apology today at least. "I know I promised to get you back home on time and I know that my portal didn't work as well as I hoped it would. I swear the tests I ran before went off without a hitch. I just don't know what happened; if a screw came loose or if Fred pulled on the lever too hard, though probably not I used a titanium steel alloy to…"

Honey Lemon rushed over to him on the couch where he sat, interrupting his ramble. "It's okay. It was just an accident." She insisted as she knelt down and placed a comforting hand on his chest. "You couldn't help it."

Varian placed her hand in his but continued on with his apologetic speech. "I'll call Professor Granville, and explain to her everything. Tell her it's all my fault. I'm sure she can get you an extension on your final."

Honey Lemon pursed her lips as she debated about telling him the bad news, but he saw the trepidation in her face anyways.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"That might work for my chemistry final, but tomorrow was supposed to be my art finals at SFAI." She sadly told him.

"Oh." He said flatly as the light left his eyes and he proceeded to fall back onto the couch; this time staring up at the ceiling and dismay.

"Hey, I'm…I'm sure I could work something out with my art professors. Maybe write about my trip to the Louvre museum as extra credit or something." Honey Lemon couldn't tell if this encouragement was more for herself or for Varian, but she desperately hoped she sounded more confident than she actually felt.

Though it did seem to pull Varian out of his funk, if only just a little bit.

"You… you think so?"

She nodded yes, not trusting her voice to carry the lie.

"So you're not upset with me?"

"Nooo." She assured him. "Are.. are angry at Fred?"

"I mean, I'm a little annoyed, but no, I guess not. I'm more mad at myself then anything."

"Well, don't be." She smiled at him and for the first time since leaving Notre Dame that day, he returned it.

"So got a little more time in Paris, what do you want to do?" Varian asked her, changing the subject.

"I don't know." Honey Lemon laughed, just glad that the awkward atmosphere had dispersed. "I pretty much saw everything I wanted to see."

"Well, would you like to go to a show, or maybe dinner?" He suggested. "It's only 9:30, I bet we could still get a table somewhere. In fact I think the hotel has a restaurant attached."

He got up and walked over to the desk. There was a telephone on top and next to that a brochure listing the hotel's amenities.

"Yeah, it's called the Chez Francois;" he read, "sounds like one of those fancy multi-course fine dining experiences that the French love."

"Oooh! I can wear my new dress!" And with that Honey Lemon jumped up and started to search through the shopping bags for said gown.

"Okay, okay," Varian chuckled at her enthusiasm, "I'll call ahead and make reservations."

-----------------------

The dining hall was much like the rest of the hotel. Antique opulence with just a hint of wear and tear around the edges. It was high class, but not in the same way that the seafood restaurant they had taken Aunt Cass to last week had been. It wasn't ostentatious. There was a 'lived in' feeling to the place; a history to it that said it's hayday was long past but its respectable reputation kept the patrons still coming.

Varian felt far more comfortable here, even if the only nice thing he had to wear was the new vest Honey Lemon had picked out for him. Of course he could have been dressed in rags and it still wouldn't have distracted from his good mood as he stole admiring glances at the girl on his arm.

Not that she noticed. Honey Lemon was too distracted by the surroundings and prospect of dining like French high society to pay much attention to Varian's stares.

She was practically vibrating with excitement and it took all of her control not to bounce from corner to corner of the room fawning over every little detail. The waiter sat them down at an intimate table for two, complete with candle light, and she fidgeted with the end of her frilly yellow skirt of her new dress as her head swerved every which way; drinking in the scenery. She literally could not keep still.

Varian softly laughed at her and knelt closer, "Happy?" He asked and Honey Lemon nodded her head enthusiastically which only caused Varian to suppress even more laughter. Nothing made him more happy than seeing her delighted face.

The waiter came back over and Varian ordered them dinner, not that there was much choice. The restaurant served a traditional seven course meal with predetermined dishes. All you did was specify any dietary restrictions or allergies. Varian requested the vegetarian option, knowing Honey Lemon would prefer that.

It wasn't long after that bread rolls were brought out, along with a bowl of mixed nuts for the L’Apéritif course. Their server also uncorked a bottle of champagne to go with the salty snacks.

Honey Lemon looked flustered and confused as the garçon poured the bubbly wine, but was far too timid to protest. However once the waiter was out of ear shot she hissed accusingly at Varian, "What about your promise?"

Varian looked taken aback, "What about it? I promised I wouldn't get drunk at parties anymore, this is just wine with dinner."

"But we're both under twenty-one." She whispered.

Varian unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh. "That's only in America. We're in Paris. No one cares here, the waiter didn't even ask for ID."

Honey Lemon rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Oh don't believe me?" Varian insisted, "Check online, see what the age restriction on wine is."

She did and to her chagrin, he was right. "Okay, just because it's technically sixteen here, doesn't mean you get to… to skirt around the rules like you always do."

"Moi?" Varian sarcastically asked as he barely contained his giggles. "Perish the thought dear lady. I assure you there is no rule bending here. You can barely even get tipsy off of a single glass of wine. Besides," He added with a sly smile, "you wanted the authentic French cuisine experience didn't you? You can't very well have cheese and wine without the wine, now can you?"

Honey Lemon chewed her lip before giving in. It was true, she had always wanted to know what real champagne tasted like. She sighed in defeat and then took a small sip of the fizzy drink. She immediately made a face as the bitter undertones of the wine hit her. It was nothing like she thought it'd be.

Varian burst out laughing at the grimace she made, finally losing all pretense of composure. For her part she tried to lightly but repeatedly whack him in the arm with a napkin to get him to shut up, but she was also breaking down in embarrassed giggles even as she tried her best to hide her half-hearted assault.

When they finally calmed down, Varian leaned over and quietly confessed to her, "I didn't order the wine. It just automatically came with the dinner."

She tried to give him an angry glare for his little trick but she couldn't maintain it for long and wound up snorting in laughter. Which only served to send them into another fit of giggles.

"You're awful." She teased.

"I know." He proudly admitted and then added with a laugh. "I'll order us some water if you don't want the wine."

From there dinner proceeded smoothly. Hors d'oeuvres with cheese stuffed figs and mushroom pate on blinis, traditional French onion soup, followed by a lime and mint sorbet to cleanse the palette, and then it was on to the main course, a simple Cassoulet au Gratin plated with a flourish.

It lacked the usual sausage Varian would have added if he was making it back home for himself, but there was something comforting in the cheesy bean and potato dish. In fact most of the meal had been very familiar to him.

French food was not uncommon in Corona. Queen Arianna had been French herself, hailing from the border kingdom of Lorraine, and thus had brought with her French customs, fashion, cuisine, and even the language itself. Supposedly both the nobility and peasantry alike had taken to their new foreign Princess with gusto and accepted the French fad eagerly.

Of course this was long before Varian was born, and the villages on the mainland, like in his own home, still held tightly to their Germanic traditions. But even after ascending the throne and reigning for over twenty years, the royalists on the island capital were still fascinated by the latest trends from Paris and whatever new fashionable interest the Queen took up.

She even had packed the court with French dignitaries, nobles, and servants; including the head chef. Varian could still see in his mind's eye the sniveling lump of a man looking very small and impotent standing before the Saporians. For upon securing the castle, Andrew had ordered the kitchen staff to prepare a victory feast; a grand full course meal fit for a king.

Everyone who had assisted in the previous battle was invited; Saporians, political prisoners, and any citizenry who had joined their side. Varian spotted a whole assortment of people in attendance from rich nobility out to save their own skins to poor put upon servants; like Helmut the tailor, who still held a grudge against the king for locking him in the stockade over nothing more than a mere mishap involving a torn robe.

But the guests of honor were the royals themselves. While everyone gorged themselves on meat and mead, that for some had been denied to them for many a year, the king and queen were seated at the middle of the enormous dining table and forced to eat nothing but the food served in their own dungeons. While Varian ate duck à l'orange, King Frederick had to chew on stale bread. When Andrew gave a toast in his wine filled goblet, Queen Arianna had to drink water from a wooden bowl. As the revolutionaries feasted upon rare and expensive sweets like chocolates and fruit filled pastries the crown was given gruel.

Varian did so relish Frederic's outrage at being served lobster as the 'traitors' fed themselves on the royals' prized venison. Though he couldn't help but feel a tad guilty whenever he spotted the Queen. Unlike her husband, who never stopped ranting and raving and made all manner of threats towards the rebels, Arianna carried herself in regal composure. She remained calm and untouchable even as the Saporian invaders heckled and bullied her. Nothing could get a rise out of her.

His shame turned to anger though when he remembered how she enabled Frederic's worst excesses. She may have been 'nice' and well mannered, but that didn't change the fact she benefited from her husband's violent persecution of the poor. Crouching his atrocities as being 'tough on crime' and ignoring her people's pleas for help might have made her more comfortable with Frederic's lies, but that didn't change the fact that Varian's father was still gone, nor the fact that he wasn't the only orphan that had been suddenly separated from their family in the past twenty years.

So it was with little regret that as the petty and spiteful feast wore down the last course was rolled out; coffee, tea, and cocktails. As Varian nursed his own 'le digestif' he watched the Saporian sorceress, Clementine, serve the royals her own special brew. After drinking which they knew no more of feasts, wars, kingdoms, or criminals. In fact they no longer knew anything at all.

Varian shoved this memory aside as he watched Honey Lemon devour her cucumber and tomato salad with great enthusiasm. He much preferred the present company at this banquet over the vengeful vagabonds and their gluttonous feast.

Honey Lemon, for her part, was far more impressed with the dinner than her date. As the server brought the charcuterie board for the cheese course, she couldn't help but express her admiration for the meal. "This is wonderful! I can't believe all the new foods I've gotten to try. Though I am starting to get full; how many courses are there in a traditional fancy dinner?"

"In this one, seven, but an actual traditional full course meal is like seventeen to eighteen courses." Varian answered.

Honey Lemon's eyes went wide. "My goodness, who on earth could ever eat that much food?"

Varian shrugged. "That's royalty for ya. They waste tons of food, even as their people struggle to grow their crops."

He bitterly spat out this last criticism of the elite, then quickly slapped on a smile when he caught Honey Lemon frowning at him in worry.

"Have you tried the Roquefort yet? Boy does that have a kick to it." He joked as he pretended as if he hadn't said anything at all about his past.

Honey Lemon let him pretend. It was easier that way.

Increasingly Corona sounded less and less like the fairytale world of her dreams and more like a nightmare; and as for Varian, he was most certainly not the perfect prince that she had first imagined him to be. Though he was still charming, disarmingly so.

Somehow, Varian always knew just what to say to get people to go along with his schemes. He had a knack for making bad ideas sound fantastic and convincing you that he had all the answers even when he couldn't be more lost himself. That was how she had wound up stranded in Paris, eating cheese and wine, as she missed all of her finals.

Honey Lemon's stomach dropped at the thought. Oh god, what was she going to say to her professors? Worst; what was she going to tell her mother? Her mom was paying for her tuition to both schools and she most certainly wouldn't approve of Honey Lemon failing her expensive art classes just to go galavanting around a forgien city with some boy. It didn't matter that she was technically eighteen now, nor that said boy was only a friend, her mother would still find a way to shame her for it. Mama Rodriguez was not one to approve of frivolities like boys over good grades.

Honey Lemon took another nervous swig of the wine as she tried to think of what excuse to tell her teachers and the woman who raised her. She immediately made another sour face as it tasted just as bitter as the last time she had tried it.

"You know you don't have to keep drinking that stuff if you don't like it." Varian teased.

Honey Lemon plastered on a wide grin as she tried to calm her nerves. "Hey, when in Paris…" she said as she held up the wine glass.

"When in Pairs…" Varian agreed and clinked his own glass against hers in a toast.

They both took a drink and Honey Lemon shut her eyes tightly as she forced herself to down the nasty concoction. Shoot, if she was going to get in trouble anyways she might as well live it up.

-----------------------

Dinner ended with a sweet soufflé for dessert and coffee; which Honey Lemon preferred by far to the previous champagne. By the time everything was done and over with they were nearly midnight getting back to the hotel room.

Honey Lemon could barely contain her excitement as they made their way down the hall. She wanted to laugh, sing, and talk a mile a minute about everything and had to forcibly remind herself not to be too loud, that other guests were sleeping.

This jovial behavior was more due to her natural outgoing personality than any alcohol she may have consumed. Honey Lemon had had more water than wine to drink throughout dinner and Varian was so used to having a beer with most meals that the champagne barely fazed him. In fact neither of them had gotten even close to tipsy the whole night, and it was only the thrill of breaking the rules and getting away with it that made Honey Lemon so thoroughly giddy.

"I never had a day like today." She went on excitedly as Varian unlocked the door to the room. "It was just like out of a movie or a romance novel."

"Except for being stuck at the airport for two hours." Varian sarcastically quipped as he held the door open for her.

Honey Lemon shook her head with a wide grin on her face. She wasn't going to let Varian's usual snarkiness get her down.

"Even that was exciting, taking a trip in a cab to get there. It was like we were sightseeing. I even spotted the Sacré-Cœur Basilica on the way over here."

"What is it with you and churches? Are they a part of your normal romcom?"

"Well it's about the history behind them and the pretty architecture. Though I guess they might show up in a wedding scene." She mused as she sat down and took off her shoes.

Varian gave a chuckle. "Is that where your movie ends, with a grand wedding?"

Honey Lemon ignored his teasing. "Not in a cathedral," she said in all seriousness, "I would want an outdoor wedding."

"Oh and I guess you've got that all planned out already hun? Even before knowing who the groom will be." He joked.

"Every little girl ever plans her wedding out," Honey Lemon dismissed. "that and prom."

"What's prom?"

"Oh it's a big fancy dance you go to in high school. It's the one of the few real chances you get to dress up in an honest to goodness ball gown."

"You know you could just wear a ball gown whenever you wanted to. Nothing's actually stopping you." Varian pointed out.

"Oh sure, I'm just going to go to the grocery store in a hundred dollar full length dress." Honey Lemon snorted and she and Varian both broke down into more fits of laughter.

"Okay, okay," Varian coincided as he grabbed Honey Lemon by the hand and helped her up off the sofa. "So tell me what comes next in this fairytale dream of yours, hmm? How does the night end?"

Honey Lemon blushed, "Weelll…"

"Come on, you can tell me." He encouraged as he gripped her hand tighter and stepped closer to her, his Cheshire smile never leaving his face.

She was still taller than him, even without her heels on, but at least they were closer to eye level now and Varian could probably have kissed her easily if he had gotten the chance too.

But the cell phone rang once more, breaking the spell. Varian screwed up his face in irritation. He was going to smash the blasted thing before the trip was over with, he was sure of it.

"Hello." He answered as he stepped away from his crush. Nothing but static and garbled voices came from the other end. "I...I can't hear you. You're breaking up." he heaved a weary sigh as she turned the phone off.

"I'm going to go down to the lobby and try to call Hiro back." He told Honey Lemon. "I might be able to get better reception there."

"Okay," she nodded. "I'm going to shower while you're gone and get ready for bed." She let out a yawn as he shut the door behind him.

-----------------------

Honey Lemon vigorously scrubbed her hair as she tried to wash away her embarrassment and anxiety. She still didn't know what to tell her professors at the art institute and now she'd just made a fool of herself with all that talk about romance and weddings.

Varian had been nice enough about it. He didn't seem to mind her fanciful musings and even his occasional teasing was done out of genuine camaraderie and not any malice. But he was just a friend, the same as Hiro or Fred. Life wasn't really a movie and he wasn't actually her dashing love interest. He wasn't Andre.

Now Honey Lemon just wanted to cry. She was supposed to have done all these things today with her high school sweetheart. Andre had been her first, well first everything, and she had honestly believed they would have been together forever.

Which was foolish, she knew. High school romances never lasted and they had both moved on. She hadn't even spoken to him in nearly a year. Oh, and how her mother would scold her for getting her silly head lost in such romantic notions and getting hung up on a boy.

"You should be getting your degree and a good job, not wishing your life away for some philandering baboso to come waltzing back and making a bunch of empty promises he doesn't intend to keep."

Mama had never approved of Andre, or of any man who caught her daughter's eye. She didn't want her precious little girl making the same mistakes she had made growing up.

Honey Lemon knew she meant well and that she was probably right about needing to focus on school first, but it was still stifling to listen to.

Honey Lemon sighed as she turned off the water and wrapped a towel around her. There was nothing else to do. She'll just have to keep her Parisian excursion a secret from her mother. So long as she didn't let her grades dip, that would be easy enough to do, but if her missed finals did damage to her GPA she'd have to come up with a pretty creative lie to tell the family matriarch, and Honey Lemon was a terrible liar.

She changed into her regular shirt and tights and flopped on the bed. Whatever was she going to do?

-----------------------

Varian dragged himself back up the stairs to the hotel room. His conversation with Hiro had been exhausting. The other boy hadn't even really wanted anything, he was just sick of Fred's monster movies and wanted to complain to Varian again.

It has been the usual lecture about not thinking things through with the additional snide jabs at his attempts to romance Honey Lemon going awry.

"When are you going to wake up, man? She is so out of your league." Hiro snorted. "Oh by the way, I updated the terms of our agreement. You're now my personal butler for two weeks, cause I just had to sit through Kentucky Kaju vs Mothman and it is baaaad. Like the worst movie I've ever seen baaaad."

Varian rolled his eyes but didn't try to argue back. He was in no position to weasel his way out of it either, not when Hiro could tell Aunt Cass about his little cross-continental trip.

He didn't care about his aunt finding about his failed date, indeed he might even just ask her for relationship advice cause nothing he tried was working, but he didn't want Aunt Cass finding out about the portal yet. He wasn't ready to tell her about trying to return to Corona. That would just be a huge mess and both boys knew it. As far as their aunt was concerned, Varian was simply working on some new form of clean transportation and nothing more.

He was greeted by the sound of snoring as he opened the door. He quietly shut again behind him and tiptoed over to the bedroom.

"Honey Lemon?" He questioningly called out as he poked his head around the sliding door.

She was dressed in her usual clothing, minus the shoes and cardigan, and sprawled out on the bed fast asleep. Her wet hair was splayed out on the pillow in dark ringlets and a bit of drool was on the corner of her mouth.

His heart melted at the sight.

Honey Lemon was obsessed with fairy tales and unrealistic romances. She wanted grand gestures and to be swept off her feet by a knight in shining armor; ironically ignoring the fact that she herself fit that very descriptor.

And Varian was only too pleased to provide this to her when he could, but for him these were the moments he lived for; the mundane, the ordinary, the unflattering and uncompromising truth that belied the fantasy.

She was real. Not a dream come true, nor a happily ever after ending, but a person. A kind, caring, complex and beautifully flawed human being who actively chose to spend time with him, of all people, and no storybook princess or Hollywood heroine could compare to that.

She interrupted his thoughts as she gave a particularly prodigious snore and turned to lay on her belly, "Pass the bead please…" she hummed in sleep before snuggling with her pillow. It took everything Varian had not to burst out laughing as happiness welled up inside him. She was ridiculous. She was perfect. He thought her even prettier here than she had been at the cathedral shining in the sunlight.

He went to the closet and pulled out the extra blanket. He threw on top of her and whispered, "Dors bien" as he grabbed the extra pillow and laid down on the couch.

-----------------------

Six o'clock came far too soon. Varian didn't want to wake up and Honey Lemon really didn't want to get up. He had to practically drag her out of bed, by her feet, just to get her to open her eyes. Only for her to flop back down as he gathered up the rest of their things.

"Come on Honey Lemon, if you don't get up I'll have to carry you."

"Then carry me." She sleepy replied.

She didn't think he'd actually pick her up. But he did and she found herself being cradled in his arms along with their assortment of shopping bags as he strode out the door.

That woke her up.

Honey Lemon knew she didn't weigh much but Varian didn't seem to even acknowledge the difference between her and the paper bags full of much lighter clothes. He was stronger than he looked.

She insisted on being put down and he obliged once they reached the elevator. He handed her her shoes and sweater and after putting these on she took half of the bags. Then they were off.

They grabbed a quick coffee and croissant at the airport, and ran to meet with Fred and Hiro as their plane touched down.

"Welcome to Frederickson airlines," Fred said in a mockingly polite tone, "I hope you enjoy your flight. We have an in flight movie at nine and a mini bar complete with airline peanuts and your choice of coffee, tea, or limited addition Kentucky Kaju gatorade."

"Do you have a bed?" Honey Lemon yawned.

"Right this way, miss." Fred motioned her to follow him to the designated napping area on the plane as he pretended to play stewardess.

Varian and Hiro watched them board as they stood at the bottom of the stairs. Hiro gave Varian a smarmy smile.

"So Romeo how did it go?" He asked

Varian only gave him a warning glare, Hiro ignored it. "I told you." He shrugged, "Out of you league."

"Ferme ta bouche" Varian angrily shot back and Hiro didn't need to know French to understand he was being told to shut up.

-----------------------

The ride home went as smoothly as could be expected. Varian called Granville before it got too late and she gave them all extensions.

While she didn't approve of the reckless misuse of Varian's invention she was nonetheless still very impressed with his progress. He was sure to get an A in his final project, working return switch or no, and as for Honey Lemon, Granville assured her that she would speak with SFAI's headmaster personally and try to smooth things over with her art teachers.

Honey Lemon nearly cried with relief. Sure she may have to do some extra work to make up for the lost assignments but that meant she could circumvent her mother's prying questions.

After that phone call the mood on the plane lightened considerably and the teens had a good time playing videos and watching cheesy sci-fi movies on the long flight back.

They touched down in San Fransokyo at around ten that night and Heathcliff drove them all home. As Honey Lemon was being dropped at her apartment Varian got out and walked her to the door.

"Look I just wanted to say I'm sorry again."

"For what?"

"For getting us trapped in Paris."

"Say that again."

"I'm sorry I got us trapped in Paris?"

"In Paris." Honey Lemon emphasized for him. "You took us to Paris, France and it was amazing! There's nothing to apologize for."

"Really?" Varian awkwardly but hopefully smiled at her. "So I didn't screw anything up this time?"

"No." She shook her head with a laugh and returned his grin. "I had a fun time, but I need to go and prepare for tomorrow. I got five finals to make up."

"Yeah, I got three, though I think I've already past one of them with this Paris fiasco. Not sure how that happened."

Honey Lemon snorted, "You built a working portal, you'll never have to worry about failing school ever again. Granville would pass you with honors in everything if it meant making the inventor of portal tech an alumni."

Varian didn't know how to feel about that, not the least of which because he didn't think deserved the credit for inventing said portals, but he didn't press the matter. Instead he told her goodnight and walked back to the limo, not noticing the piercing eyes stalking him from the shadows of the alleyway.

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#Varian #Honey Lemon #tangled the series #BH6 the series #big hero 6 #tangled #rapunzel's tangled adventure #bh6 #of rocks and robots

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