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ma-lark-ey · 4 years ago

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Nick Close had never been a very fantastic child. That much was very obvious. Granted, most of the dumb and illegal shit they did was for their fathers attention (however rarely that option actually worked), but it was still dumb and illegal shit.

Tonight was not one of those dumb and illegal nights, however; tonight was still a night Glenn Close could never find out about. Nick prayed he'd never find out about.

Nick had always been closed off from their father. How couldn't they be? When they were little, it was always Nick and Momma at home, while Daddy was on tour or doing shows. Glenn only started being home once in awhile when Mom died. And yes, Nick calls him Glenn. Glenn was never... He was never 'Dad.'

And this, this was certainly one of the things Nick kept tightly closed off from their father. That thing being one of the biggest secrets Nick may ever keep; their gender.

Nick didn't *mind* to be a 'he,' don't get them wrong. Some days, they really enjoyed being a 'he.' But today? Today... Nick was a she. And she couldn't deny that. Some days she felt so fucking confident in her body, like she could throw on a baggy t-shirt and slightly too-big pants with a beanie and fight god. Others, her body felt like someone else's and she wanted to rip her skin off and start over. Dress like those beautiful alternative women she saw on TikTok. With the demonias, fishnets, skirts, ripped up shirts, messy hair. God, some days she didn't know if she wanted to be them, or be with them.

Tonight, she definitely wanted to be them.

She had done up her makeup in the most extravagant way she knew how, eyeliner to the gods. Fishnets under a faux-leather, checkered print pencil skirt she found thrifting with Grant a few days ago. She had one a torn up old t-shirt she'd cut into a croptop and not to mention her Docs. She felt like she could fight god with her chain belts and dramatic jewelry.

Nick knows Glenn would never care if he knew his 'son' sometimes felt more like his daughter, but she wasn't ready to give him that kind of trust. Grant? Grant got that kind of trust. Henry got that kind of trust. The twins got that kind of trust. But not Glenn. Glenn hasn't proved he'd deserved that yet.

And maybe Nick didn't want to take the time to explain why Grant sometimes called her Nickie beyond "Its just a nickname, Glenn."

And she was okay with that. She knew that she wasn't ready. Maybe she'd never be 'ready,' and Glenn wasnt in her life enough for it to matter.

...

Why'd the front door just open? Why is Nick hearing a car lock? Why is the front door opening? Glenn's not supposed to be home from tour until tomorrow. And here Nick is, in the living room. Looking like a pretty well passing woman. She had learned plenty of tricks over her last two years of presenting feminine some days. The lanky, stickman build the had was the one thing Glenn had given to her that she was thankful for.

But the genetics of Glenn Close that were gifted to his child were not the problem at hand. The problem at hand is that *Glenn's home.*

Glenn's home. Glenn's home, and Nick is not in her Glenn Mode. She's vulnerable. Vulnerable to a lot of questions she doesn't want to answer tonight. Doesn't want to have to explain where all this women's clothing came from, nor why she's dressed as one. It can't pass as drag, but she's obviously not in drag makeup. Fuck. Fuck it all. Fuck her life and her shitty decision making skills. Fuck Glenn for never communicating his plans. And fuck the stunned way he's staring at her now.

The awkwardness of the room was palpable at this point. Nick felt like a deer in headlights. Nick felt like melting into the floor and disappearing from the world. Nick felt like her whole world was about to collapse in on itself. What if Glenn hated her, what if he didn't want her to act like this or be this person, what if-

"Well, don't you look nice. Got a date or something, kid?"

Thats... That's not what Glenn was supposed to say. That's not what he's supposed to say! He's supposed to be upset or revolted or-

"I- I uh..." No. No don't cry. Fuck. Why are you crying, Nicholas? Nicole? Fuck what even if your name right now?

Glenn's here. It should be Nicholas. That's your name when you're a boy. But its a girl day. You want to be Nicole today. Glenn is here, and you're Nicole right now. And Glenn is here. And you're Nicole. And Glenn-

She heard a bag drop on the ground and footsteps come toward her. She stepped back and tried hide behind her arms. No words. She can't speak.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

She remembers the time she went to school in feminine clothes and a couple of guys almost jumped her, before Lark pulled a knife on them and got them both suspended.

Hands grab onto her shoulders, a gentle hold. She can feel the calluses on Glenn's fingers from his guitar. When was the last time he held her?

Her knees feel like jello. She remembers when she started posting on her second TikTok, open about her gender and pronouns because she didn't have to keep up a cisgender face when her dad didn't have the account. And how transphobes sent her deaththreats until she blocked all those words from her comments and the DMs got disabled.

She's a few inches taller than Glenn in her platform Docs. Which she realizes when he pulls her into a gentle hug. She feels makeup running on her face. And she's crying. Why is she crying?

She remembers being ten years old standing at moms grave, standing next to Glenn. Just after the burial. It was the first time she'd seen him cry.

Her chin's on his shoulder now, his arms around her upper torso and holding her against him. She realizes she's shaking. That he's just holding her. He's holding her. Daddy's home.. He's giving her a hug...

She remembers the last time Glenn had hugged her. At Mom's funeral. She was sobbing at her grave, and so was Dad. He pulled her into him and held her so tight. So tight she thought he'd crush her. But he just held, like she was the entire world. Like if he let go he'd loose her to. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hid her face in the mix of long hair and his suit jacket. He felt like her whole world in that moment, too.

Nickie brings herself back to what's happening. Glenn's holding her, her arms are awkward resting on his back, He's clutching her by the shoulders. She remembers these hugs. The hugs that he used to give her every time he left and came home. The ones he gives where every second of it is embued with love. It felt like that now.

She could tell he loved her. But those words felt like lies in her head.

Lies. Lies. Lies. So many lies. So so many lies.

"I'll be home by nine, Nick." It was a lie, Glenn didn't come home for three more days. "I promise I'll be home on your birthday." He wasn't. "I'll be there." He wasn't. "I'll make it, promise." He didn't. Everytime. Everytime, where Glenn shouldve been, it was Mom. And when Mom died, it was Henry. Or Ron. Or Darryl.

But he's here. Right now. And he's holding her. It doesn't make it okay, it doesn't excuse it. But he's holding her. Her knees go weak, and she crumbles. He crumbles with her.

She sobs, he doesn't force her to say anything. She doesn't return his hug, he doesn't expect her to.

"You're supposed to be mad." Nick mumbled after she doesnt remember how long. Glenn gives a light chuckle and adjusts his grip on her.

"And why would I be?" He asked, not protesting as Nick shoved him off and shuffled back a few inches. It felt weird to be so close to him after sixteens years of so much distance.

"Why wouldn't you be?" She spat, crossing her arms and staring at the ground. "Nick's fucked up again. That's my whole brand! Being a total and absolute fuck up! The disappointment! The druggy, the- the... The mistake." She felt more hot tears behind her eyes. She could feel Glenn staring at her in concern.

"Nick, you are not a fuck up. Or a mistake. Or whatever else. Nick, you're my baby, and I-"

"Then why did you leave? If you're gonna pull that bullshit, and say you love me no matter what, and that I'm your little girl, and that- that you wanted me from the very beginning and wouldn't give me up, why did you leave? Why dont you care now? When you come home, and woopsie! Your son's dressed up like some goth chicken. Why are you acting like everythings fine!? Everything is NOT fine, Glenn!" She hit the floor with her hands and growled in frustration. It wasn't fine.

Glenn stared down and took a deep breath. Then he sighed. "Yeah, I can't blame you on that one, kiddo. Alright, full disclosure, Nick. I already- I knew. I knew about the pronouns, and the name. I knew. Henry told me."

"H- Henry... Did what?"

"He told me. Soon as you told him. He called me that night, let me know what you had said. We have a rule in our group, we've had the rules since Grant came out. If one of the kids comes out as anything, you tell the other dads. Especially if its a name and pronouns thing. Cause, we agreed that since well, we were all kind of one bug cluster fuck of parents to each others kids, it was better if everyone knew who was what. So we didn't fuck it up."

"So you have a rule to out kids to their parents? That's-"

"No! Not any kids. Its just you, Terry, Grant, and the twins. Just you five. Because, here's the thing, Nick- Nickie? Whatever. Us dads? We arent- we're new to the whole queer scene. Its not as normal for us to just fliparoo what pronouns and names we call people as it is for you guys. So, we would practice to each other. When you told Henry you liked being called Nickie, he came to us and essentially said, 'I'm gonna say Nickie to you guys as often as i fucking can do I don't end up deadnaming.' "

Glenn took Nick's hand into his and held it tight. Nick still felt like punching Henry in the fucking face for outting her to Glenn.

"You know that I love you, Nick." Her body went rigid at that. And she looked uo at him, glaring as hard as should mister with how fucking teary eyed she was.

"Do I? Do I know that you love me, Glenn?" And his face fell. It was like she just sucked his soul out of him. Good. That should be one hell of a wake up call.

"Nick, of course I love you. What would ever make you think I didn't love you?" Nick but her lip, thinking over her words before she said them. She thought on a lot of things.

"You left. My mom died, and you left. My *mother* was dead and you went back to touring in a matter of weeks. My mother was dead, and I was ten years old. And I was home, by myself, for weeks. Glenn, I was alone for months. Sure, there the nanny. But that wasn't Mom or Dad. I needed my parents. I needed my dad. I needed my dad to give me a hug, promise me it'd be okay. That we were okay. And he fucking left. He walked out that door, didn't come back for months, only called every three weeks. Missed birthdays, holidays, soccer games, and whatever the fuck else. Why on gods green earth would I think that you loved me when you fucking abandoned me, Glenn? Why? Would you think I loved you if I fucked off to god knows where after being home for just a couple days? Huh? If when I found out you'd been up in drug city with your mates and getting caught by cops doing a bunch of stupid shit, all you got was a slap on the wrist and a phonecall that last three minutes?"

Glenn stared at the ground for a long time. He didn't speak. And he pulled her back into a hug, practically dragged her across that distance to hold her again. Hold her like the whole world depended on Glenn never letting go again. Like if he let go everything would come crashing down, like Nick was the entire fucking world and he just wanted to protect her. He held her like he had when Mom died.

"God, Morgan... He's just like you." He mumbled, clutching Nick so tight she couldn't breath. She didn't care he used the wrong pronouns, she didn't care he'd barely even addressed the elephant in the room, she didn't care her heel was digging painfully into the back of her other leg. Her dad was here. He was holding her. He was making sure she knew he loved her. Dad finally came home.

Glenn let out a painful sob into Nick's shoulder, he said something. Nick thinks it was an apology, but between the sniffles and the hiccups and layers of clothing, its impossible to tell. Glenn pulled her up into his lap, held her like he would when she was five or six. Her head on his shoulder, his arms around her middle as he sat horizontal across his lap. Her legs were too long to curl up like they used to, so they sat awkwardly half-stretched across the floor. It was nostalgic in a way. It felt Glenn was just realizing how many years he'd wasted. How much time with his child he had lost.

"I'm sorry, Nick. Im- I didn't realize. I'm so fucking sorry, Nick." He was still crying. Crying more than Nick had ever seen him cry. She could hear the self-hatred and the regret in his voice. She reached an arm around his neck and pulled him that much closer.

"Just don't leave again... Please, Dad." Nick doesn't remember that last time she had called him 'Dad.' But, it felt right in that moment. It hasn't felt right in a long long time.

#this is a whole mess of angsty Close boys #genderfluid Nick is the only kind I will accept in my writing anymore #dndads #dungeons and daddies #Glenn is a shit dad but I will accept a redemption arc for him

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dustingrayves · 8 years ago

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clean slate (1/?)

Pairing: (eventual) addcest [LPDE] & elsain [LKATh] WC this chapter: 2758 Rating: T+/M TWs: abuse/descriptive violence AU: modern/single parent Lusa (with his tiny son Arc) + runaway Esper Notes: hi im here to ruin EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is the first multi chaptered thing i decided to actually try and write in a long time!!! its all fleshed out thanks to @lnfi, so it should be much quicker than doing it from scratch! i hope you enjoy the Pain(tm), but dw it will get better!!!! i promise Extra notes: im sorry esper

It is with a pained groan that Esper stirs again, roused by his head hitting the window. Again.

The road seems to be absolutely littered with bumps and holes, and the driver seems absolutely uncaring towards them. Esper rubs at his eyes, shadowed by dark circles, and looks around the bus. Almost everyone is fast asleep, unheeding of the soft jumps of the vehicle. Even the mother and kid in the seat before him are curled around each other, and though the mother seems visibly less comfortable than her kid, they're both deep in the land of dreams, and Esper envies them.

Why can't he curl up and sleep the journey away as well?

He knows the answer, but he feels like blaming it on the bumpy road might help him a little. It doesn't. The reason swims behind his eyelids each time he blinks, aches around his throat and wrists.

It's the road's fault.

Definitely.

It's not the fact that he feels phantom hands squeezing his throat, or harsh yanks on his hair, even when there's nothing, head covered safely with a beanie. It's the road's fault. Not the way each passing car makes his head swivel to look and make sure it's not familiar. It's the road. Not the way most of his upper body aches with bruises, hidden underneath baggy hoodie and yet still so, so tender.

Yeah, definitely the road.

He curls up into a ball on his seat, knees tucked up to his chest and head resting against the window again. The next bump doesn't jolt him, but it does still startle him, making him frown at himself and his apparent sensitivity to something so miniscule.

A car passes by them, Esper's eyes flicking to it automatically. His breath gets stuck in his throat as the lines of light move past them, but then they pass and the car is gone and he breathe out, slumping from where he'd rigidly sat up.

The road is bathed in darkness, the sun long gone, and it turns the window into more of a mirror than anything. Esper gazes at himself, impulsively pulling his hood over his face a little more when he catches sight of the large, blooming purple bruise on the side of his cheek, stark against his pale skin. He hides it even though no one else in the buss is awake.

The rest of the bruises are hidden; beneath his turtleneck, long sleeves or pants. Defiantly frowning at the window and at his own reflection, Esper pulls out the spare jacket from his backpack, carefully folding it into a pillow shape and then wedging it to the space where the seat met the window. He lays on it and it makes the vibrations and jolts a little better.

He's finally kinda dozing off when the bus comes to a slow halt. The flickering lights of a gas stop shine out the window and people slowly awaken, stretching their sore limbs and then clambering out of the vehicle.

The driver is putting up a sign at the front window, to let the passengers know when they're leaving again. Looking at the faded sign and then at his beaten up watch, Esper concludes he has about an hour.

His legs cry in happiness as he stands on them, and he can even ignore the pulsing pain in his left ankle. The crisp night air is chilly, biting at his hands even after he shoves them into the pockets of his jacket. His backpack is haphazardly thrown over his shoulder as he wanders away from the gas station.

They seem to have stopped in a small town. It's quiet, not a single soul in sight. It's only ten PM, according to Esper's beat up watch, but that is pretty late for a town like this. People are probably at homes, getting ready for bed. All the shops are closed, no lights to light the way except the street ones.

Esper's feet drag over the stone-paved sidewalk, the seaside to his left and the row of darkened shops to his left. He stops to ogle at some, spying a clothes store with a mannequin dressed in a warm looking knitted sweater.

Esper hugs his faux leather jacket around himself tighter, mentally scolding himself for leaving his favorite sweater behind, but it's been buried somewhere in the mess of his room and he didn't have the time to grab much more than what he could stuff into his backpack right away.

The price tag says thirty dollars when he squints through the glass, and he recoils, sighing. That's way more than he has, or could even think of spending on a sweater, of all things.

He wanders down the street, watching the calm seashore as the tiny waves lap at the sand, the moon shining down on it all, unobstructed thanks to the lack of clouds.

It's quiet and almost serene; for a moment, he can forget he's running away and pause to enjoy the view for a few minutes. He glances at his watch when he snaps back to himself, trying to burn the rare, nice moment into his memory.

Esper starts making his way back to the gas station, but halfway down the street, he notices someone down by the shore. He frowns, looking at the person.

Upon closer inspection, it appears to be a kid, wandering around, seemingly aimlessly.

A frown still in place, body shivering, Esper carefully slides down the side of the street upon a higher ground, making his way towards the kid. It's freezing, no kid should be running around alone in this weather. Esper notices that the small boy is barefoot as well when he gets closer, much to his horror.

"Hey," he calls out, but the kid doesn't seem to hear him. Running up, Esper crouches in front of the boy, repeating his 'hey' once more. The boy's eyes are closed, and they only flutter open wearily when Esper places a hand onto his shoulder.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Esper asks softly as the boy blinks and looks around.

"I... sleep walked again," the boy mumbles, finally looking at Esper with his big magenta eyes.

"What's your name?" Esper asks, keeping his voice soft, "We need to get you home."

"I'm Arc. Dad is gonna be worried..."

"Okay, Arc. I'm Esper. Don't worry, I'll help you get home. Do you remember the way?"

Arc looks around, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of his kitty-themed pajamas. Then he slowly shakes his head. Esper can see tears welling up in his eyes. "I've never walked back from the beach on my own..."

"Hey, hey, no need to cry," Esper coos, patting his shoulder and standing up, trying his best to smile. "Let's go to the police station, I'm sure they can call your dad."

Arc sniffles, but he nods. Though when Esper turns to leave, he hesitates, tiny toes digging into the wet, cold sand.

"I'm cold..." he mumbles.

Esper is taking off his jacket before he can even really think about it, wrapping the too big article around Arc. The boy practically swims in it.

"You don't have your shoes," Esper points out, "Your feet must be freezing. Want me to carry you?"

Eagerly, Arc nods, and wraps his arms around Esper's neck when the lanky man leans down and picks him up, placing him at his hip, supporting him with one arm.

The boy isn't necessarily heavy - he's very tiny, after all - but Esper lacks much upper body strength, so it's a feat. He doesn't complain, though, doesn't even peep at the added weight.

"How old are you, Arc?" he asks, setting down the street. He'd noticed the police station when they'd stopped; it was the only place with lights still on, save for the gas station itself.

Arc curls himself against Esper's chest, warm like a water bottle, and hums into the crook of Esper's neck. "Five!" he says, almost proudly.

"Oh? You're going to school next year, huh? You're already such a big boy. Are you excited?"

"Mmhm! Dad promised to buy me a kitty backpack! I can't wait!"

Esper laughs, breath hitching as he steps more weight onto his bad foot, but it doesn't deter his enthusiasm. He can remember when he'd been small, and his mother had fretted over all his school supplies. "You really like kitties, don't you? You have them on your pajamas as well."

Arc hums again, voice bright. "They're the best! I want to have a pet kitty, but dad doesn't want to let me." There's an almost audible pout in the boy's voice.

"I think your dad wants you to be bigger so you can take care of the kitty all by yourself," Esper supplies, the words brightening Arc's eyes until they almost seem to shine on their own, without the moon's help.

"I wanna grow up faster!" Arc says, squeezing his arms around Esper's neck.

"You will, don't worry," Esper says, adjusting his hold on the boy lest he slips down. A voice from behind them catches his attention.

"You fucker!"

Esper doesn't even get to fully turn towards the angry voice before there's stinging pain in his jaw, forcing him to squeeze his eyes closed and cry out in pain. His hold on Arc slips and the boy drops to the ground, although safely.

"The fuck d'you think you're doing with my son, you pedophile?!"

Esper turns, cradling the side of his face as he feels blood bubble up in his mouth. He sees a tall, imposing figure before he's hit again, a steel-like fist driving into his stomach and knocking the wind out of him.

"Get away from Arc!" the man bellows.

Esper crumples to his knees, hugging his midriff in pain only to be kicked, falling to the ground and driving sand into the wound on his face.

"I'm sorry!" he cries, curling up on himself in hopes of appearing smaller. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Dad!" Arc cries in panic as the man kicks Esper again, driving the heel of his sneaker into his stomach.

Bile threatens to surge up Esper's throat as it constricts painfully. He keeps whimpering apologies, unsure of exactly what he's apologizing for, but it's not like that had ever stopped him before.

Arc throws himself at his dad, wrapping himself around his muscled arm and tugging. The man looks down at his son in confusion, and Esper takes the momentary reprieve to pick himself off the ground, tears painting his swollen cheeks and sobs wracking his body.

With another loud 'sorry!' he runs off, backpack forgotten on the ground as he runs away - anywhere far, where the man can't get him, where there's no more pain. The adrenaline pumping through his blood dims the pain in his ankle, but his stomach is making him double over and gasp for breath at the lip of every alley he ducks into.

Finally unable to take it, he crumbles down against a wall, head pounding and fighting back the urge to puke. Everything hurts, and he can't run anymore.

Huddling into himself, he tries to hide behind a dumpster, hoping to god that the man doesn't follow him.

When the lanky man disappears into an alleyway, Lusa kneels down next to Arc, pushing his hair to the side to look and make sure there are no bruises on him.

"Are you okay, Arc?" he asks, cupping the boy's cheek gently.

Arc smacks his hand away, much to his great confusion and, admittedly, hurt.

"How could you, dad?!" the boy cries, tears streaking down his cheeks and an angry sneer on his lips.

Lusa blinks, trying to pull the boy into a hug, but Arc pulls away like he's made of fire.

"It's okay, Arc, the bad man is gone now," Lusa mutters.

"You big meanie, dad! Esper wasn't bad! He was taking me back because I sleep walked again!" the boy cries. "How could you hurt him?! He even gave me his jacket!"

Lusa finally takes notice of the black jacket that almost hides Arc fully, so big that the boy has wrapped it around himself twice. "I- He was going the wrong way to home, I thought he was taking you away," he explains.

"We were going to the police. I don't remember the way home from here..." Arc says, but he still pushes Lusa's hand away when it reaches out to him.

The thought that he fucked up hits Lusa. He'd assumed, and he'd beaten up a kid that was just trying to help out of nowhere.

He pulls out his phone and dials the taxi service, telling them to come asap to the pier.

"Arc, I want you to go home, okay?" he tells his boy when the taxi shows up, a familiar driver waving at him. Though almost everyone is familiar in such a small town. "Don't go to sleep yet, wait for me. I will go find the man, okay?"

Arc looks at him dubiously but follows into the car with Ariel. "Don't hurt Esper anymore, dad!"

"You can pay me next time," Ariel says with a smile unfit for someone on a night shift, but that's just how she is. Lusa thanks her, and then goes to pick up the dirty backpack.

Lusa knows the town like the back of his hand, and systematically looks through the alleys the boy could've gone to. It takes him a long while, but finally, finally he finds him crumpled to the ground next to a dumpster, shivering like a leaf and passed out.

He panics, dropping to his knees and searching for a pulse on the boy's thin neck, even though he's obviously still alive, if the shivering is anything to go by.

He's scared - he'd beaten a kid to the point passing out, for fuck's sake! With shaky hands, he pulls out his phone and dials the only person who he knows can help.

Arme's voice is soft on the other side of the line, slurred a little too, indicating the man had been napping, if not sleeping already. "What is it, Lusa?"

"I- Okay, I- There's-" Lusa stammers, growling at himself for being so distraught. "An emergency, there's a, a boy. Near the pier, I don't know what to do."

Arme seems alert by the word 'emergency'. "Okay, calm down, Lusa. The boy is alive, I take it?" Lusa nods, and then chastises himself because Arme can't see him, idiot!

At his affirmative hum, Arme asks, "Is he responsive?"

"He's- He's passed out."

"Do you know what happened to him?" Arme asks, so used to this that he keeps his cool where Lusa is panicking his head off.

"I- I beat him up," Lusa admits quietly, biting at his bottom lip.

"You what?!" is Arme's immediate exclamation. Then he composes himself and says, "Okay, your house isn't far from there. Take him to your place and I'll come over to check him out."

From the rustling and Knight's voice in the background, Arme is already getting ready when he hangs up.

Lusa doesn't even put the phone away and instead dials the taxi again. Ariel comes within a few minutes, jesting that he should've just gone with Arc in the first place.

Her smile freezes on her face when she notices the limp, bloodied boy in Lusa's hold, but she's smart enough not to ask. She takes them home and Lusa leaves her a big tip, thanking her yet again as he pulls the unconscious boy out of the car and inside.

Arc is standing by the door, opening it for him when he hears him and Ariel talking. His worried gaze keeps falling on Esper.

"Dad! What did you do, dad?!" he cries, tears welling in his eyes anew.

"Shh, love, he's okay. Uncle Arme is coming over to look at him," Lusa promises, moving to the couch. "Could you fetch me one of the towels in the bathroom cabinet, please?"

Arc quite literally sprints to get it, returning with a large black towel that he spreads on the couch as per Lusa's instructions.

Esper is lowered onto it, his lax head falling backwards on the couch arm.

"Uncle Arme will fix him, right?" Arc asks, standing by the couch and draping Esper's jacket over him like a blanket. "He'll make him wake up? Why is he asleep?"

"He'll be fine, Arc, promise," Lusa says, crouching to kiss his son's forehead. Arc lets him, this time.

#elsword #diabolic esper #lunatic psyker #addcest #lpde #elsain #lkath #eso's fics #clean slate fic #uncle arme to the rescue!!!#dude this is gon be a wild ride so buckle up!#mine

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atomic-r0x · 8 years ago

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Lola’s second Challenge

Okay so for this challenge I kind of cheated a little bit – I don’t know if you can call it a proper date, though it kind of is???

I hope you guys enjoy this and don’t hate me, hahaha

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BOOTHBAY HARBOR, February 8th

She watched him walk ahead of her, hands deep down into the back pocket of his jeans, shoulders perched up as he kept on going against the wind, his wild tar-black locks all messed up by the breeze. She was maybe ten feet behind him, or were they fifteen? The reasonable distance between two strangers walking along the same muddy dark grey-and-gold combination of sand and sea-carved rocks. Only, they were not strangers.

Lola had been trying so hard to convince herself this was not a date. She was not there because Boris wanted to introduce her to his mother. They were simply on holiday, and he had to visit his single mother before going back to their hectic life in New York City. This was not a date. This was not a date. This was not a date. This was not a date.

“Aye, Pop, look over there! Do you see that?” Boris finally spoke, stopping in his tracks, fully facing the sea, stray foam reaching out further and further as if aiming for his shoes. His right arm was extended, pointing at something towards the horizon, while his left hand settled on the small of her back as soon as the girl stepped next to his slender figure. In the distance, almost blending in with the angry restlessness of the winter sea, was a rock formation making its way ambitiously high up in the middle of the deep blue.

“The rock?” she asked, her chocolate brown eyes following the direction his ringed index finger was pointing at. Lola rested her head on his shoulder, a tenderness unfamiliar and slightly overwhelming rushing through her body, a warm feeling jolting from her chest to her belly.

“Yeah, the rock. It’s pretty massive, actually” he let out the softest chuckle as his extended arm dropped, his head hesitating a bit before he rested his cheek against her head. “I remember I’d take dad’s boat and sail there, it took a good half an hour or something, and I’d tie it to bits of the rock and them climb it. Never been to a place more peaceful.”

There was a twisted pain hidden behind his half smile and the semi melancholy way his words rolled out from between his thin lips, an ache she was aware of, but had little experience handling. Boris had told her about the loss – the shredded wooden parts, the floating body, the thunderstorm that followed –, but only in passing, little after he suggested they flied to Maine to visit his hometown. He promised he’d moved on, it happened over ten years before, the dead remain dead and he knew crying over it was no use. Lola believed him, her bare body then pressed against his, in the pitch darkness of his New York City suite. She believed him then, but now, standing beside him on a beach tormented by a ruthless wind in the middle of winter, looking out into the horizon, there was something else surfacing, quite different from hurt. Longing.

They had been dating for what, almost four months now, and as time went by, Lola started noticing something familiar in Boris, something she’s spot in some of her one-time older lovers. It was the need for security, the need to know investing their feelings in someone wasn’t in vain, wasn’t pointless, the need to know that in the morning, the bed wouldn’t be empty. And in all sincerity, it was heartwarming to witness it, to watch Boris grow completely unarmed and ready to put his heart on a plate like that. For a heart that’d been running away from feeling anything for so long, her boyfriend’s courage marveled her, how he took the world so purely, like loving and hurting in love were the two purposes that fueled humans’ existence.

“You know, I’ve never taken a girl home. To meet mom, I mean” he spoke after a while, his hand holding hers loosely as they went on walking along the shore, facing the wind headfirst.

“Oh, shut up. I don’t believe it” Lola said almost immediately, as if hoping these words would help get rid of the urge to pull her hand away from his, shrink in inside herself and block out everything making her uncomfortable.

“It’s true, though. I mean, I never really had a girlfriend that lasted more than a few weeks.” Boris’s lips were curved into a small smile, the cheeky look he had when Lola just knew he was thinking much further than what he was saying, and for once, she was curious what was really going on inside his mind, what kind of thoughts were rushing before his eyes as he gave her only a restricted access to the things that clouded his brain.

“What?” she finally asked, analyzing the side of his face as they walked towards the cliffs separating the beach from the rest of the coastline.

“Nothing…” he shrugged, before he stopped and smiled to himself, facing the sea again. They stood in silence for a couple minutes, contemplating the foamy waves ahead of them, before he placed his hand on the back of her neck gently, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. “It’s just that I’ve never felt this good about someone I’ve ever been with, and I know you don’t like that kind of stuff… But I kind of see myself with you. You know, the bigger picture. It’s pretty cool.”

It took a good moment for Lola to remind herself to push at least one corner of her mouth up into a smile, something reassuring, something to hide how cold she’d gone inside, how badly she wanted to run into the sea and be swallowed by it, go back to the safe busyness of New York City where having to face emotions was optional and there was always a back door through which she could escape. “Yeah, I kind of do too.”

Why did she even say that, the question would haunt her for days after the walk along the windy shoreline.

+++

Boris kept thrusting, inwards and outwards, rocking his hips against her own in a perfectly balanced rhythm, like a metronome was permanently stuck inside his heart, pumping the energy to get him through the day in a specific tempo. His hand was gripping at the cheap cardboard headboard, though not even that seemed to be much help balancing the two frantic bodies, sweaty and bare on an oddly sized bed in Boothbay’s only motel.

It amused Lola to a certain extent that they had to get a room somewhere to fuck, but it seemed fair enough considering his mother lived in this tiny one-story house with the walls so thin it almost felt like the whole floor was just one big room. In the darkness of this trashy accommodation, she could see the outline of his skinny figure hovering on top of her, his breathless gasps inches away from her ears.

Tonight was different. She knew him for the rough guy whose stamina amazed her, never afraid to go a little extreme – he was amazing in bed, that was for sure. But tonight, his performance was nothing close to the usual, although the occasional bruising and bites did happen – there was affection and care invested in the whole act of making love, he was smoother and more tender than she’d ever seen him before. And while it did make her scream, it was not the intensity of the act that had her panting and clawing at his back, but the way it felt like an act of worship, something they (or at least he) made out of love and genuine lust for each other.

They came simultaneously and never had she ever felt more overwhelmed by that, Lola’s whole body shivering with jolts of pleasure and muscle ache from all the fumbling beneath the cream-white sheets. She watched him get out but not roll over yet, lingering a little longer in his hovering position on top of her, his eyes barely distinguishing in the pitch darkness of the room. He was planting kisses now, all the way from between her breasts to her belly button, proceeding to lay down with his cheek resting against the wet skin of her stomach.

“Your flight’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” he whispered, this moment too precious to ruin with unnecessary conversation.

“Uhum” Lola nodded, her hand reaching for the messy bunch of hair that tickled her abdomen, tangling her fingers in it.

Boris took a moment before saying anything else, though his heavy sigh gave the girl a pretty good idea of what was next. “Just… Be careful what you do at Fashion Week, alright?” he finally said and planted a kiss on her belly button, making Lola giggle ever so slightly. “I’ll be there in a few more days, alright? Don’t be too bad.” He concluded, propping himself up on his hands as he hovered on top of her again, this time aiming for the richness of her lips, engaging in a long and lustful kiss.

+++

New York City, Feb 10th

Only a day in the New York Fashion Week craze and Lola was already baggy eyed and sore, feet almost on the brink of starting a riot for having been trapped in high heels for so long. It had taken five alarms and a lot of determination to roll out of bed at barely nine o’clock in the morning, and Lola was already running late.

“Coffee’s ready!” Barbie screamed out from the kitchen, dressed in her pink bathrobe as always, golden locks falling in messy woke-up-like-this waves down her back. Lola couldn’t count on one hand how many times she’d peeled the silk material off her roommate’s shoulders, letting it slip on the floor as they proceeded to kiss on the kitchen counter or against the bathroom mirror, or even on the faux leather couch they’d turned sticky with sweat so many times. But today was not the time for any of that, and Lola simply threw on one of the shirts she’d stolen long before from Benedict before heading off to the bathroom, thanking Barbie for the coffee on the way there.

In the cold light of bathroom lightning, it was impossible not to take the shirt off to step into the shower without noticing the three bruises she sported along the interior of her upper left arm, remains from the hot night of love making she had with Boris only a few days before. And Lola couldn’t help but smile to herself, the warm fuzzy feeling she had on the beach in Maine coming back again, turning her stomach into a puddle of affection.

It was five minutes past the time she’d set her last alarm – the one reminding her to get out of the car and grab a taxi –, but there was something hypnotic about the way the three love marks popped up from underneath the cutout sleeve of her dress, like a permanent reminder that she was not just a directionless pair of eyes and a beating heart.

“Girl, you’re gonna lose the first show” Barbie spoke, ready to carry on with her scolding as she rested her hand against the doorframe of Lola’s room, but stopped in her tracks at the sight of the girl staring at herself in the mirror. It took a few steps to get behind her and look at the reflection her roommate was so absorbed by to understand what was going on, and with a small smile on her lips, she covered the bruises with her long pale fingers. “You know, you really gotta wear them proud. But you need to run now.” She spoke softly, placing a little kiss on the curve of Lola’s neck before she walked back to the living room, wrapping the silk material of her pink robe even tighter around herself. “The taxi’s downstairs, hurry up now!” she shouted, giving Lola a warm grin as she watched her walk out of her room, grab her purse, and head out, not before placing a kiss on her lips.

“I’m with you right this minute, on the way to nyfw, you’re right there on my arm” Lola’s fingers typed in a second before sending it to Boris, biting on her lip as she checked the calendar, only to see there were two more days until he landed back in New York. This was a dangerous road she was headed on, but right now, she was fearless. Maybe this really was what falling in love felt like.

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