#That twin flame to understand his playfulness and wants and needs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aomineavenue · 4 years ago

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Summary: Six years ago, L/N Y/N wouldn’t exactly say that she loves her life. It had always been problematic but her best friend, Miya Atsumu, since she was eight when she moved to Hyōgo, has always been there for her, and she wouldn’t change it for the world. However, things would always fall apart for her ever since, so she should have expected of such. Running away from her problems seemed like the easiest route to take at the time, so what happens when the past comes barging back into her life demanding answers? Will she be able to confront her demons?

Pairings: Miya Atsumu x f!Reader

Genre: Angst, ANGST I LOVE ANGST, a lil bit of fluff here and there.

Warnings: Language, etc.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except for the reader and my ideas. I do not claim any images used for content in this fic, everything goes out to their respective creators unless it is mentioned that it is mine.

Status: completed. | series masterlist

↩ at peace | dearest daddy

mia speaks!:

okay, wow. So it took awhile for us to get here and I apologize for that but we’re finally done with Homesick, wew. It’s been a challenge but I’m so happy and grateful for all the positivity you guys have been sharing with me. Also, thank you so much for your patience.

It’s been an emotional ride but we’re finally done. There may be a few short stories after this chapter but no promises. Hopefully I get the chance to though, I do want to be able to. But for now, if you guys have any requests for imagines/scenarios with this series, don’t be afraid to send them over!

Also, big thanks to @oii-sugasan and @sunshinesero for beta-reading this for me! I apologize if this chapter is any way lacking compared to the first nine chapters, it’s been awhile since I wrote anything so I hope this was a great way to end this series.

I love you guys so much, I’m so glad to be (sorta) back. I hope you guys enjoy this!

Time was a funny and fickle thing. Sometimes there was never enough of it, and other times it stretched out endlessly. It had been seven months since your life had once again made drastic changes. It often surprised you how time flew by so fast.

Seven months since your two precious boys had been introduced to the man that they now call their father. And well, seven months since you had been reunited with the love of your life. Sure, it had ups and downs, it wasn’t bound to be perfect since the two of you were your own person. It was inevitable for such different personalities to clash, it didn’t help when there were two children present, one of them being as handful as their own father.

Atsumu had shown that he was a doting father, despite only being a part of their lives for less than a year, he had put his new family as his top priority, wanting to make up for lost time. He would instantly drop anything and everything, sometimes even volleyball when he could for times when his family needed him. Not that his new family had been a burden since then, his sons and of course you, have been nothing but loving and supportive. Showing up to games to cheer him on and the twins attending his training to either join or just watch their father and new favorite uncles.

It had been a rollercoaster ride since it was officially announced that Atsumu was off the market and that he actually had sons. Some fans were supportive, believing the news and claiming that both the young twins were striking replicas of the volleyball player. And of course, there were fans that were against it, raging how you were nothing more than a money-grabbing harlot and that you had probably lied to Atsumu about the twins being his.

They were quickly shut down, of course, by not just fans but various people close to the volleyball setter who defended you without you even asking for it. You weren’t going to lie, that particular month filled with venomous words thrown your direction stressed you out but it was mostly because of your motherly instincts, wanting to keep your sons away from such unnecessary drama. You and Atsumu had decided to ignore the majority of the vile comments but seeing you so emotionally exhausted had only fueled the already tiny flame in Atsumu. He was quick to announce that he would no longer tolerate any form of slander towards his family and would handle things legally if anyone were to step out of line.

And by the next few weeks, the hate simmered and the stress that had engulfed you and Atsumu in its grip had vanished. All that was left that made you both worry was Atsuhiro’s health.

Fortunately, Atsuhiro’s sickness didn’t grow worse as time passed by since his first transfusion. If anything, the boy was healthier and it was very much evident in his features. The healthy glow returned to his skin, he was smiling more and had shown his usual energetic-self like before he had fallen ill. Atsumu on the other hand, much to Atsuhiro’s dismay, had started becoming such an overprotective father. It took a lot of begging from Atsuhiko for their father to spend the day outside of the protective bubble of your apartment.

It took time and patience from everyone’s side to get this far, and for Atsumu, (and of course, you) he didn’t mind it one bit. He had grown more mature, despite his twin brother’s disagreements, he not only took care of himself more but he had become a role model to his sons.

Not only that, but as his relationship with his sons grew stronger, the love the two of you had for each other only seemed to intensify as well. Sure, the two of you had ups and downs back then in your friendship but it was as if time and distance hadn’t kept the two of you apart. If anything, it was as if it made your bond stronger. Two best friends, reuniting and finally expressing their true desires, it was easy for the two of you to fall into a comfortable routine.

“Where are the boys of the hour? I’ve been wanting to see how good Hiko looks in my jersey!”

Bokuto interrupts your thoughts for a brief second before you return your focus to your duties of cutting up the vegetables in the kitchen. You can’t help but chuckle at the sour expression that graces Atsumu’s expression as he fills a tray of refreshments on one of the island counters. “Don’t remind me, Bo-kun.”

“You’re just jealous that your sons didn’t want to wear your jersey," he teases, a playful grin on his lips as he lifts himself off of the ground by his hands to sit on the counter.

The scowl on Atsumu's face only deepens at the reminder, "Get off the counter, Bo-kun. Don't be rude. Why don't you actually start to help and give out these refreshments to the guests?"

You watch in amusement as the two exchange their usual banter around the kitchen of your home in Hyogo. It was decided a week ago after Atsuhiro's second transfusion was a success, that the twins would celebrate their birthday back at Hyogo instead of having the guests cramp up in your small apartment in Kanagawa.

It was also then decided by your sons what theme they would be having for their birthday. It was traditional for the twins to have their birthdays themed depending on their current interest. Lately, since the two were very fixated on volleyball due to their new favorite uncles and of course, their father, it was decided that they would be having a volleyball themed birthday where the guests were required to wear their favorite player's jersey.

For a minute, your new friend Bokuto had been rather excited upon hearing the idea.

"So show up with our own jerseys? Great!"

And as for Atsumu, he was excited at the prospect of seeing his own sons wearing his jersey. That is, until his sons destroyed such dreams.

"Are the two of you really sure?" you hear Atsumu's voice echoing from the twins' bedroom throughout the walls of the apartment as you stepped inside, shutting the door behind you as you ventured further into the comforts of your home. “Like really? Those are your choices?”

You grew curious as you slipped out of your shoes and let your hair loose from its tight bun, wincing slightly from your tugging. There was a tinge of whininess dripping from Atsumu’s voice that you couldn’t help but wonder what the three of them were talking about. It wasn’t unusual for Atsumu to be around when you had to work on days where the boys came home from school or when they didn’t have school.

At most times, when Atsumu didn't have training, he would be the one taking care of the boys instead of your mother or Osamu. Majority of his free time away from volleyball was spent with his sons, wanting to make up for the time he had lost. And there wasn't a day where the young twins wouldn't ask about their father and if he was going to visit. It was as if they were scared one of them would disappear, wanting to spend the entirety of their lives together.

"Maybe we can go with superheroes this year!" Atsumu's voice grew louder as you reached the door to the room where they occupied. Leaning against the door's frame, your eyes land on the back of Atsumu's head as he's seated on the carpeted floor facing the twins who were playing with their action figures. A small grin curling upon your lips at the sight of Atsumu’s slightly dishevelled bleached hair.

Atsuhiro, who seems to have the ability to sense your presence, looks up from his toys and in an instant, his eyes widen happily. He was about to greet you but you quickly pressed your index finger against your lips to signal the little boy not to announce your presence just yet, wanting to see Atsuhiko and Atsumu's interaction. The smart little boy that he is, nods and returns to his toys.

"But daddy," Atsuhiko protests, his focus still on the action figures in his hands, "We did superheroes last year! I wanna wear Uncle Bo's jersey!"

You fight the urge to burst out into a fit of giggles as soon as you catch a glimpse of Atsumu slumping his shoulders dejectedly. Now you understand as to why he had his moppy voice on. "But don't you want to wear daddy's jersey for your birthday?"

"But daddy," Atsuhiko lets out a sigh, looking up at his father with a look that meant the little boy wasn't up for any arguments on the matter, "Uncle Bo is the best! So I wanna wear his jersey!"

You could have sworn you heard Atsumu whine, suddenly wishing you had decided to film this from the start. "But it will make daddy really happy if you wear his jersey!"

Atsuhiko shakes his head as he continues to play with his action figures, "But I want Uncle Bo and I to match!"

Atsumu sighs in defeat before turning his attention over to Atsuhiro, looking hopeful. "What about you, Hiro? Would you wear daddy's jersey?"

"No, daddy. I wanna wear Kageyama-san's jersey," he nods with a proud smile, "Wanna be just like him! He's so good!"

"But daddy's just as good a setter as Tobio-kun!" Atsumu cries out, throwing his hands up in the air, "betrayed by my own children. 'Samu isn't going to let me live this down."

This time, you let your presence be known by finally releasing a bubble of laughter. Atsuhiko instantly drops his action figures and rushes over with a happy squeal. Atsumu pivots his body, looking up at you with such a pitiful gaze as he juts his lower lips out ot a pout, "I want new children."

Needless to say, Atsumu had been pouty ever since and has been dreading today due to the reason that every single one of his friends had found out about it. He had tried a handful of times to change their minds, unfortunately, the young twins won't budge.

“It’s not my fault your kids like me better than you,” he huffs, folding his arms across his chest, “I am an ordinary ace after all!”

A scowl graces on Atsumu’s features which causes the other occupants in the room to chuckle in amusement. It wasn’t as if Atsumu didn’t like the idea of his sons becoming close to his teammates, but lately, it was getting harder for the setter to share. “Get your own children!”

“Ah, about that...” Bokuto trails off with a nervous chuckle which causes everyone to fall silent and look at him in curiosity, “I actually will be getting my own child soon, I think.”

“You think?” you ask with an arched brow, “You can’t just think you’re having a child, Bokuto-san.”

Atsumu interjects, “And aren’t you in love with that best friend of yours? What happened to never being with anyone else but her?”

He waves his hand in the air dismissively with a frown etched on his lips, “Well, I can’t exactly be with her when she just got married.”

“You are so getting your ear torn off by the management when this news gets out,” Atsumu snickers, which he earns a smack to his shoulder from you. “Ow!”

You narrow your gaze at your boyfriend, completely unamused with his behavior. “Don't be dramatic, I didn't hit you that hard!" Letting out a huff as you wipe your hands on the apron you were wearing, "You aren’t helping Bokuto, ‘Tsumu.”

His lips curl up to a cheeky grin at the sight of your expression. He leans forward to nuzzle his nose against your cheek, your cheeks growing warm from the public display of affection. His heart swells from your reaction to his gesture, murmuring teasingly, “Sorry, darling.”

“Please, don’t make me barf.” Osamu interrupts with his features scrunched up in distaste from the interaction between you and his brother.

Atsumu sticks his tongue out at his brother who returns the gesture with a shake of his head. His arm snakes around your waist to pull you closer to his side as he returns his attention over to his teammate, “Well, is the woman making you marry her?”

“Making you pay for child support?” Osamu quickly adds.

Atsumu quips with a chuckle, “Threatening to expose your sins?”

You interrupt the two with a glare towards them, “Stop ganging up on him!”

Bokuto lets out a laugh as he begins helping your mother set up the desserts onto one of the trays to bring outside to the guests, “Nothing like that, she’s pretty chill and we’ve gotten pretty close lately. So we’re going to co-parent.”

“That’s very mature of you, Bokuto-kun.” your mother compliments him with a smile before patting his back.

He feels his cheeks grow warm from the compliment, his heart swelling with pride. “Thank you.”

“Maybe you’ll end up falling for her anyway,” Osamu teases with a smirk playing on his lips, leaning against one of the kitchen counters.

He shakes his head at the idea as his brows knit together, “Jess and I won’t fall in love.”

“Jess?” Atsumu blinks at the familiar name before his eyes widens at the realization, releasing his grip from your waist, “Jess, that journalist that you showed around town when she first visited Japan?”

Bokuto nods with a smile gracing his features, “Yeah, she’s pretty cool.”

“Maybe you’ll learn to love her in your own way through your child,” you suggest with a shrug of your shoulders as you began untying the apron you were wearing upon realizing what time it was.

Atsumu shakes his head and responds before Bokuto could utter a single word, “No, no. That’s impossible. Bo-kun’s heart belongs to his best friend.”

“Stop teasing him,” you scold your boyfriend with a shake of your head, handing over the apron you successfully took off, “make yourself useful and help out here in the kitchen,"

"Bu—"

Cutting him off with a stern glare as you lift a tray from one of the kitchen counters and handing it over to Bokuto, a small smile gracing your lips, "Don't mind him, Bo. Can you bring these to the backyard and help out if anyone else needs help? I think Reiji needs a hand setting up the bouncy castle,"

Retrieving the tray from your hands, his eyes lighting up from the excitement, "bouncy castle, you say?"

"That's for the kids, Bo-kun." Atsumu scoffs but soon lets his lips form into a pout when he had been ignored, turning his attention over to you once Bokuto slips out of the kitchen, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to check on the boys to see if they're ready for their big entrance," you muse with an amused grin. Of course, you knew what your sons had prepared for the big entrance that they insisted. Atsumu had pestered both you and the young twins since he had heard of their plan but as your sons refused to budge, you had feigned clueless, claiming that your sons had opted it to be a surprise.

Little did Atsumu know that you had helped your sons pull off such an idea.

"I don't get why they have to have a big entrance," he sighs, brows furrowing as he racks through his thoughts on what the surprise could be. It didn't help that he was both curious and excited at what his sons might pull off.

Osamu lets out a snort, rolling his eyes at his twin brother as a smirk curls upon his lips, "What do you mean? They're your kids."

"What does that even mean?" Atsumu scowls as he slips on the apron you had handed over, walking over to where your mother was situated to take over what you were doing.

You shake your head at the two bickering older twins and shoot a look of sympathy towards your mother that was going to be left with them in the kitchen before she waves you off. Your heart was swelling from happiness at how natural everything felt, despite the silly banter thrown around. It was home.

As you step into your childhood living room, you're hit with a nostalgic wave from the memories surrounding the whole area. Though it may be a mixture of good and bad memories, since you had come to terms that you were no longer running away from your past, you only feel comfort. You made your way through your childhood home over to the bedroom that had been renovated to the liking of your twin boys.

The mere thought of your boys growing to love the place where you had grown up yourself was enough to bring a smile to your face. You press your knuckles against the wooden door to signal your presence by knocking on it repeatedly, “Are you two ready?” you ask, your voice probably muffled on the other side. Your fingers wrap around the handle of the door and as you were about to twist and push it open, the door instantly snaps back shut with a loud thud. “Can’t-”

“No, mommy!” Atsuhiko screeched causing you to blink from both the surprised force and tone. Pressing your palms and ear against the door to hear what the commotion was all about, you frown upon hearing only their shuffling feet, “What are you two doing? Guests have arrived and your party will be starting soon,”

“We’re almost ready, mommy!” Atsuhiro assures you from the other side.

A chuckle escapes your lips at their antics as you decide to not interfere any further, “Alright you two, just be sure to be out in a few. You don’t want your daddy to come fetch you. It’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Okay mommy!” you heard Atsuhiko yell out, their excited muffled voices purely obvious from the other side that you couldn’t help but smile.

On the other hand, back in the kitchen, the father of your twins was having his own little dilemma back in the kitchen. It wasn’t as if he was uncomfortable being around your mother, but it was more like he felt he was still lacking.

Despite him knowing that your mother and you hadn’t had the greatest relationship when your father passed away, he still wanted to be someone your mother would approve of. He didn’t know whether your mother knew the whole story of the relationship between the two of you but being away from you and your sons during most of their childhood was enough to make him worry. The mere idea of his sons looking up to him sent his heart soaring, but of course, he also wanted your mother to feel secure enough for him to be together with you and the twins.

“I’ll bring out these sliced up fruits outside,” Osamu cuts the clear tension surrounding the kitchen. Atsumu resists the urge to glare at his twin for leaving him behind with your mother, knowing full well that his brother knows his current insecurities. A small smirk graces Osamu’s features but not the obvious one that would make your mother notice.

Atsumu watches his twin slip out of the kitchen with a tray full of food for the guests before flickering his gaze over to your mother situated at the other side of the room, making final touches to the cupcakes. “Is there anything else that I can do?”

Without looking up, a smile etches on your mother’s face. “No, it’s fine. We’re just about done with everything.”

“It looks good,” he states with a nod of his head, not really knowing what to say.

Placing the piping bag to the side, your mother lifts her head up to look towards the direction of Atsumu and wipes her hands on the apron she’s currently wearing, “You know you can always start calling me mom.”

The mere sentence made Atsumu want to leap in excitement, but at the same time he was nervous, a sudden fear of messing things up engulfing him. “I don’t want to overste-”

“Oh please,” your mother waves her hand in the air with a light chuckle, “I’ve known you since you were eight. We’re practically family. So you might as well call me mom.”

Atsumu couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth tug up to a wide smile, “Alright, mom.”

“I’m really happy that the two of you decided to work things out,” your mother spoke with a smile as she delicately places the cupcakes on the cupcake stand.”

His feet shuffled across the room to help your mother stack the cupcakes onto the stand, “We had to for the kids anyway.”

Your mother hums in thought for a second before responding, “I think the kids were just the push the two of you needed. If anything, I’ve always thought the two of you would always end up together since the two of you always leaned on each other for anything.”

He nods his head slowly, leaning against the counter as he feels his heart swell with happiness. “I guess you’re right, mom. I did lean on her majority of the time when we were growing up. I guess I still am now. I just wish I could make her happy.”

“Don’t worry, you do. Before she left Hyogo, I know for a fact that she was miserable in this house after her dad had passed. You were the only one giving her a reason to move forward,” your mother spoke, sadness dripping from her voice.

A sigh escapes Atsumu’s lips as his features scrunch up to something that resembles pain. “I was also the reason why she left. I may be even the biggest reason why she left.”

Your mother extends an arm out and places a hand on Atsumu’s arm, trying her best to give assurance and comfort, “You weren’t the only reason behind that. I don’t know if she’s told you, but I had neglected her. I’m not proud of it and apologies are probably never enough for forgiveness. I was barely a mother when my husband had passed. I was almost an empty shell and instead of being a moth-”

“Mom,” Atsumu cuts her off and grabs hold of her hand in his own, “Don’t blame yourself. She loves you very much. It’s all in the past. We’ll be able to move forward, we already are.”

The two were interrupted with Osamu’s arrival, knocking by the kitchen’s door frame to announce his return. A smile etched on his lips at the scene before him, “Hey, Y/N wants everyone in the living room. Apparently the boys are ready to make their big entrance.”

Your mother excuses herself as soon as she removes the apron tied around her, excitement clearly evident in her features. Atsumu knew it well, despite the relationship that you had been slowly rebuilding with your mother, she was just as excited as him to have the twins into her life. She has equally doted on, if not more, on the twins ever since and well, Atsumu wouldn’t have it any other way.

Atsumu knew for a fact that you adored the time you’ve been sharing with your mother. As long as you were happy, nothing else mattered.

Osamu gives him a pat on the back, arching a brow in curiosity as they make their way out of the kitchen, “Everything alright?”

Atsumu gives him a nod, giving him the largest grin that he could muster. “Yeah, definitely.”

“You look disgusting,” Osamu jokes, pretending to shudder which causes Atsumu to give him a shove as they step into the living room where most of the guests have already gathered.

“Hey ‘tsumu!” Bokuto calls out from next to you as soon as Atsumu comes into view. “Hurry up! I’m excited to see Hiko in my jersey!”

Atsumu rolls his eyes as he approaches, grumbling to himself. As soon as he reaches your side, he places a quick kiss to your temple before snaking an arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Yeah, yeah. You have to stop rubbing it in. We get it.”

You couldn’t help but let a laugh escape your lips as you lean yourself into Atsumu’s warmth, “Oh come on now you two, focus on the big entrance will you?”

Bokuto just snickers from the side while Atsumu sends him a glare. If you were to describe the two of them, they were practically acting like petty children but you know those two will eventually switch attitudes as soon as your twins step out to make their entrance.

You flicker your gaze over to Osamu who was situated a few steps ahead from your little group, trying his best to act natural with his phone up. The two of you had discussed prior to the party that he would be the one to film the whole thing going on. Your little boys had practically begged their uncle to film their big entrance but mostly, what you hoped Osamu to capture was Atsumu’s reaction.

A part of you expects that he would be a grinning mess at the sight of his kids but also, you’re also hoping he’d be speechless from all the teasing his kids put him through of having to wear someone else’s jersey.

“What’s taking them so long?” Atsumu asks, tilting his head slightly hoping to meet your eyes as his fingers play with the hem of your shirt.

As you were about to answer him, the familiar voices of your two boys echo throughout the room from the top of the stairs. You didn’t even have to look to know about their surprise since you know very well of what they had planned. Well, obviously, you had helped them out with picking up the jerseys that they were going to wear.

However, you had wanted to capture Atsumu’s reaction to your boys with your own two eyes instead of just watching it from a video. And honestly speaking, you didn’t think you’d fall in love with this man any more than you already do but here you are.

Just the mere sight of his features scrunching up to a look of awe was enough for your heart to swell. It looked as if he was close to tears as watches the twins descend the stairs with the prodest smiles they could muster.

You pry yourself away from his side as soon as the twins approach Atsumu, knowing full well what was going to happen as they had practiced what they were going to say. Flickering your gaze over to Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro, seeing them in Atsumu’s high school volleyball jersey made your own eyes water despite the fact that you were the ones who had gotten them the uniform a week ago.

“Wh-What are you guys wearing?” Atsumu almost chokes out his words, “What happened to the jerseys that we bought that you said you were going to wear?”

Atsuhiko throws his arms out in the air, smiling widely. “We changed daddy!”

“We wanna wear your jersey daddy,” Atushiro nods his head enthusiastically, lifting his hand up to grip onto Atsumu’s shirt.

Atsuhiko wraps his arms around Atsumu’s waist, “‘cause you’re our favorite volleyball player daddy!”

The scene itself was enough for everyone to watch in awe, a few of the guests that were invited had their own phones up to capture the moment with smiles on their faces, the others were almost practically in tears themselves, and well there was also Bokuto by the side with his pouty self at the realization that neither of his nephews were wearing his jersey like he thought they would. Atsumu on the other hand, had eventually dropped down to his knees and wrapped his arms around his two boys, burying his face in between them as he let out his own tears stream down his face from the overwhelming joy that coursed through him.

Yes, this is your family.

This is your home.

You stare out the window from the kitchen of your childhood home, a smile on your face at the beautiful afternoon of your backyard full with people you adore and have missed so much.

The party was still in full swing despite the sun about to set, the laughter from the guests and a few children present rang in the air. Happiness had engulfed your heart and honestly, you had trouble believing it yourself but here you were.

You wouldn’t trade this for anything.

An arm snakes around your waist from behind and you would have been startled if you hadn’t felt Atsumu’s presence a minute ago. Despite not having seen each other in years, everything about him was still familiar. Sure, there were a few things about him that you didn’t know but that didn’t mean that he still wasn’t your Atsumu that you’ve grown to love.

“Thank you,” he whispers as he nuzzles his nose into your hair, a smile playing on his lips.

You place your hands atop of his and lean yourself back into his warmth, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you thanking me for?”

“For everything,” he lets out a sigh, causing a shiver to run down your spine from the heat radiating from his breath close to your ear, “For giving me two amazing boys and for existing yourself.”

Pivoting your body around so that you were facing Atsumu, your hands settling on his chest as you look up at him with your lips curling up to an assuring smile, “Thank you.”

“And what for?” Atsumu questions, matching your own smile with his own as his hands cup your face. He lowers his head slowly, nudging your nose with his own as the pads of his thumbs brush delicately against your skin.

Heat spreads across your cheeks at his gestures, feeling shy yourself but despite that, the majority of what you felt was only comfort in being in his arms. “For loving me as much as I love you.”

He hums in response, placing a quick kiss to your lips. “No, I probably do love you more. More than you can imagine.”

Before you could respond, he places his lips back firmly on yours and your eyelids flutter shut as if on instinct. The hands of yours that were resting on his chest eventually found their way around his torso to pull him close. Tilting your head to the side, the kiss itself deepens as he runs his fingers through your hair.

It just felt so natural being with him.

Before the kiss could grow more heated however, a loud yell from outside had interrupted the both of you causing you to pull away much to both of your dismay. Your heads turn towards the direction of the commotion, the bouncy castle coming into view.

Or rather, the depleting bouncy castle with Bokuto and Hinata coming out hastily in laughter.

You shake your head at the scene, a bubble of laughter leaving your lips before turning your head back over to look at the man before you. Just when you had decided to pull back and return to your duties of being a mother, he wraps his arms back around your waist to pull you back against him. Another laugh escapes your lips as you playfully slap his chest, “What now? We have a party going on, we have to entertain our gue-”

“Move in with me,” he interrupts, his features showing nothing but seriousness.

You meet his sincere gaze with your own and your heart makes a leap out of joy. There was only one answer you could possibly give.

“Yes.”

#atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya imagine #atsumu miya #homesick #atsumu miya smau

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years ago

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 21

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Hi,” she greets him as he walks in the door, “I have something for you.”

She’s perched in the armchair, a smile that’s coy and playful curling the corners of her mouth. He gives her a curious smirk as he slips off his shoes and overcoat.

“Okay, like a gift?” he asks, crossing the room to plant a kiss on her lips, stealing another to enjoy the warm feeling of her mouth against his, which is chilled from the wintery air outside.

She shakes her head as he goes into the bedroom, changing into sweats and a T-shirt.

“You’re going to have to find it,” she calls from the other room, and he smiles to himself.

This is his favorite version of her; playful and flirtatious, quick to smile and laugh. He loves all aspects of her personality, but the rarity of this one makes it feel special. She almost never acts this way in front of anyone else, even her family; it feels like it’s just for him. He moves to stand at the threshold of the living room, leaning against the wall.

“Are you going to give me a hint?” he asks, and she considers the question with a thinking man pose.

“Well, I will tell you that right now you are very, very, cold,” she finally says.

His eyebrows lift in understanding and he walks back into the bedroom.

“Colder!” she calls, and he moves to the kitchen.

“Still cold.”

He walks to her desk.

“Mmm, slightly warmer.”

Next he steps close to the fireplace.

“A little warmer.”

He turns to look at her and narrows his eyes. He takes a step towards her.

“Oh, warmer.”

He stands directly in front of her chair.

“Getting hot,” she says with a playful lilt to her voice.

He drops to his knees between her legs.

“Very, very hot.”

He slips his fingers into the waistband of her pants.

“On fire,” She says with a smile.

He moves to pull her pants down and the tips of his fingers meet with something foreign near the top of her thigh. He quirks his head quizzically, fitting his whole hand into her pant leg and pulling out two long strips of cardstock. Airline tickets.

“How do you feel about a California Christmas?” she asks hopefully, and he looks at the tickets to see that the destination is San Diego, December 22nd.

He knew that she and her mother had been talking about flying out to see Bill for the holiday, but he’d assumed that he’d be left at home.

“What about Priscilla?” he asks, both touched that she wants to include him in her family’s celebration and nervous about meeting her older brother, who he understands will hate him by default.

“We can ask the Gunmen to look after her,” she offers. “Unless you don’t want to come with me?”

He can tell by her tone that it’s not meant to be a way for him to opt out, but a test of his willingness to go. She clearly wants him to.

“Of course I want to go with you,” he replies, moving close and wrapping his arms around her waist. “I will admit to being a little worried about meeting your brother, and in his home, on his turf.”

She gives him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry too much about Bill. Missy and Charlie are going, and Mom of course, and they love you. I know Tara will too. So even if he does pull the big brother card and give you a hard time, we have strength in numbers.”

“Is Byers going?” he asks hopefully, and she shakes her head. “Missy only just barely told Mom about him. It’s too soon for them.”

“But not for us?” he asks with the smile he reserves for the times when she alludes to the seriousness of their commitment.

She shakes her head slowly. “Not for us,” she says.

———

“Oh my god, I’m going to lose my mind, Mulder.”

She’s pacing around the apartment, putting things into different piles and open suitcases, her level of stress palpable in the air.

“Honey, stop for a second,” he says, grabbing her by the shoulders and dipping his head to meet her eye. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs, waiting as she does so. “We don’t need to leave for the airport for another twelve hours,” he says, keeping his own tone calm and level to counter hers, “we have plenty of time to pack.”

“It’s not just the packing, Mulder, this entire week was a nightmare. Everything I was hoping to accomplish before this trip was waylaid in one way or another; I missed my doctor’s appointment because of an emergency autopsy and forgot to reschedule it before they closed on Friday, Trudy was out sick half the week so I had to absorb her workload, the dry cleaners lost the dress I was going to bring for Christmas Eve mass, Priscilla is out of food AND litter, and I can’t find my earplugs for the plane,” she rattles off.

He pulls her into a hug, feeling her relax a bit with the contact.

“I will go pick up cat food, litter and earplugs,” he says, pulling away to look at her again, “and I’ll remind you to call the doctor tomorrow and reschedule. Wear that blue dress with the little flowers on it to mass, it looks beautiful on you. And try to breathe,” he finishes, giving her a sympathetic smile.

She forces a small smile onto her mouth and takes another deep breath. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

He pours her a big glass of wine before bundling himself up against the cold and venturing out into the December night.

———

She glances at Mulder intermittently, watching for signs of overwhelm. She knows that coming from a small, dysfunctional family means that he’s not accustomed to the type of gathering they are currently entrenched in; the entire Scully clan plus Tara’s parents and brother, and several members of their church. He seems to be faring okay, sipping a beer while talking sports with Charlie and a few others.

As nervous as he’d been about meeting Bill, he was well prepared. Scully directed him to speak highly of the Chargers while eviscerating the Patriots, and to go easy on the PDA. While they aren’t exactly best friends, Bill doesn’t seem to actively dislike him, and they are calling that a win.

She’d fully expected them to be set up in separate rooms given Bill’s traditional family values, but the number of people who needed to be housed made that impractical. They ended up relegated to the guest room and a single twin bed, though the enormous stack of pillows and blankets arranged on it suggest that one of them is expected to make a bed on the floor. They don’t do that, of course, instead sleeping nested together like spoons, Mulder continuously making half-hearted attempts at getting frisky while she laughs and slaps his hand away.

They are dressed for midnight mass on Christmas Eve, Scully in her flowered blue dress and Mulder in one of his typical weekday suits. They sit in the pew between Mom and Charlie, hands clasped chastely on the bench between them, suppressing giggles as he leans over to warn her that he is at risk of bursting into flame. He traces patterns on her palm with his index finger and she realizes at some point that they are letters. She concentrates, trying to understand his message, expecting it to be ‘I love you’ or something similarly sweet. When she puts together that he is spelling out ‘sex tonight?’ she looks over at him with wide eyes and then purses her lips together tightly to keep from laughing, doing her best to glare at him.

They file sleepily through the door at nearly 2am, quietly going off into their respective bedrooms and pull-out couches, hoping to get some rest before Christmas festivities in the morning. Scully quickly brushes her teeth and washes her face before darting to the bedroom, wriggling under the covers and pressing her back against Mulder, her cold toes brushing against his shins.

“Hm, you’re cold,” he says softly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

“Thanks for going to mass,” she whispers back, “it meant a lot to my mom to have all of us there.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” he answers, his breath hot on her neck, “it’s nice to feel like a part of a real family.”

She threads her fingers through his where they rest on her belly, squeezing his hand. She tries to go to sleep, but his chest rising and falling against her back and the heat of his groin tucked against her backside are distracting. She wiggles a little bit against him.

“Hmmm,” he responds, thrusting his hips against her gently.

She swore that she was not going to have sex at her brother’s house. She knows that they can go without for the week they are here. But as she feels him grow hard against her ass, the throbbing between her legs suggests otherwise. No doubt it’s exacerbated by the forbidden nature of the situation; the door doesn’t have a lock and the house is quiet and still, though packed with enough ears that the risk of being heard is high. When his lips press against the back of her neck, she knows she’s done for.

She reaches behind herself to slip her hand into his pajama pants, stroking him firmly as he breathes hard into her ear, suppressing the groan that she knows would normally result from her touch. He pushes his pants down to his knees with one hand, then hurriedly brings hers down as well. She emits a small gasp when he slips inside her, simultaneously pushing his hand under her pajama top to squeeze her breast.

“Jesus fuck, you’re wet,” he whispers harshly in her ear, and she wants to make a joke about not taking the lord’s name in vain on his birthday but when he starts pumping in and out deliciously slowly, the thought slips from her mind.

If he moves too quickly the bed squeaks, so he keeps a languid pace as he pinches her nipples and kisses her neck, then slides his hand down to play with her clit in the tight space between her legs, which are still pinned together by the pajama pants around her knees. It feels incredible, and yet the necessary slowness and need to stay quiet make her wonder if she will be able to come. As if intuiting this, Mulder withdraws momentarily, sitting up and freeing her top leg from her pants, then lies back down and hitches her ankle behind his knee; her favorite position. He pulls the blanket back over them for warmth and modesty, though if anyone were to walk in now they’d have no chance of plausible deniability. With more room to move, he resumes his slow strokes and pairs them with hard and fast circles around her clit, murmuring little affirmations into her ear so softly she can barely hear them, much less anyone else. The vibration of his voice, the slip of his cock, the rough brush of his fingers, all come together in crescendo as she stiffens in his arms, turning to muffle her cries against his mouth as she comes. Now able to focus on his own release, he continues to pump slowly, pressing his face into her neck and letting out a low growl as she feels him throbbing inside her.

He slips quietly out of the bed, retrieving one of his dirty T shirts and swiping it between her legs before he pulls her pajama pants back into place. They get comfortable again, the sexual tension that had prevented them from relaxing before now dissipated.

He kisses her cheek softly, murmuring “Merry Christmas, Scully,” into her ear just before she drifts off to sleep.

In the morning, they sit around the lit tree, drinking coffee and eating pastries as they shake off sleep.

“Is your house haunted, Bill?” Charlie asks, and Bill gives him a doubtful look. “I swear I heard some weird noises, like creaking and whispering, I felt like I was in a horror movie,” Charlie defends.

Scully hides her face behind her coffee cup, glancing over to see Missy giving her a pointed look.

“I’m sure it was just the Christmas spirit,” Maggie says jovially. “Who wants to open presents?!”

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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nonstoplover · 4 years ago

Text

all that i need ~ fred weasley

summary: when the Weasley twins prank the possibly shiest girl of Hogwarts, what they don't expect at all is her performing a similarly playful, mischievous and very much impressive revenge on them, but oh boy, what a pleasant consequence it leads to.

pairing: Fred Weasley x Ravenclaw (female) reader

words: 5.2K

meaning of:

• (y/h/l) means 'your hair length'

• (y/e/c) means 'your eye colour'

a/n: this is written for @weasleydream 's 500 writing challenge (you deserve it all, love xx), and it's my first ever Harry Potter themed piece of writing! i'm nervous oh lord. also this has officially become the longest imagine i have ever written!

the prompt: "And the truth is, baby, you're all that I need." - Bon Jovi

(kinda) warnings: i have no clue if hairdye is a thing in the wizarding world or not, or even if the twins would do such a childish prank, but i couldn't think of a better idea, so sorry it'll have to do xxx i hope you still enjoy though

my masterlist

Ever since they woke up, Fred and George spent their time trying to decide who should fall victim to their next prank. Who would give them the best reaction?

They eat their breakfast in silence, only occasional names spoken out loud fill the air every other minute when someone new pops in their heads. But somehow nobody seems fitting, which makes the level of frustration grow swiftly in their bodies.

Knowing they have a class to attend, a couple minutes later the two of them move simultaneously to follow the crowd out of the Great Hall, an unusual moody seriousness displaying on their faces.

Just as Fred goes to step through the door and turn to the needed corridor, something bumps into his body, so hard that it makes him stumble back into his twin brother. The air that's been knocked out of his lungs leaves him in a gasp as his eyes try to focus on the sight in front of him, anger rising inside him, slowly clouding his mind.

Just as he's about to open his mouth, he recognises the person kneeling in front of him, gathering her things with hurried movements, and all his previous thoughts leave his mind, letting a new one appear and take all the space in there.

The smirk slowly but surely makes its way onto his face as (y/n) stands back up, her face flushed red. Her hair is a mess, her blue and bronze scarf is almost falling down, seemingly she threw it around her neck in a total hurry. She clutches a couple books to her chest, her (y/e/c) eyes glued to her shoes as her fingers drum a fast rhythm on the bottom book's hardcover case.

"Sorry," she mumbles so quiet it's almost inaudible, then she moves past Fred and disappears in the Great Hall.

Fred glances to the side, seeing the exact same thought that fills his mind written on George's face. They finally know who their next victim is gonna be.

(y/n) slumps down on the bench beside the Ravenclaw table and hides her still burning cheeks in her palms. As if it hasn't already been a misfortunate, bad day. She woke up late due to staying up reading half the night before and so she had to rush through the castle to be able to grab some breakfast before her first class starts. On her way down she first stepped on a loose shoelace, sending her flying down the rest of the staircase, then to top it all, she embarrassed herself running straight into none other than Fred Weasley on the corridor - so close to her final destination - , falling to the ground hard enough for it to probably leave bruises on her body and throwing her books all across the air.

Fred Weasley. The boy she has the most ridiculous crush on. She has always been a dreamy person, all the books she's read has raised the bar high when it comes to boys, but it seems like Fred is able to go higher than that, at least in her eyes. It doesn't even matter that she doesn't know him that well. Hell, she's not even sure he even knows her name.

Still, what she feels whenever Fred's around is the strangest thing ever, even to her - a person who's had multiple huge crushes already in her life. Her cheeks flush bright pink whenever she thinks about him. She's always admired the flaming red locks of his hair, the tallness of his figure, the mischievous glint that endlessly sparkles in his eyes, the seemingly all the time present smile or grin on his face, and all the brilliant ideas he and his twin brother come up with for their pranks.

She's been feeling this way ever since the Christmas break of their first year. Which means she's crushing on him for years now. And it's absolutely ridiculous, really. She knows he's way out of her league. He's one of the most popular boys in Hogwarts, many girls swoon whenever they look at him. And she'll never talk with him, not as long as it's her concern. She's too shy to be able to open her mouth in his presence - not that she talks so much otherwise. And it's possible that he didn't even know the fact she exists. At least before she flew straight into him.

Of all the people she could've bumped into, it had to be Fred Weasley. Oh, no.

As she shovels some food in her mouth, she makes a mental promise to never stay up late reading again. Then she gathers her things back up in her arms and with a sigh escaping her lungs starts running again, hoping not to arrive (too) late to class.

That afternoon the two redheaded Weasley boys sit in the Gryffindor common room, gathering all their knowledge about the girl that ran into Fred earlier so they can start planning the perfect way to carry out the prank.

What they have is not much, but still enough for them to come up with The Plan in less than an hour.

(y/n) is the most introverted and shy person the twins have ever seen. She rarely talks with anyone, not even from Ravenclaw, her own house, and when she does, her voice is shaky and quiet, her sentences short and swiftly spoken.

She's in the same year as the two of them, which means that they've often seen her in classes, but barely in other situations. She never attends Quidditch matches or other social happenings, barely goes to Hogsmeads, and whenever they happen to accidentally cross ways with her, she's huddled up in a corner or on a windowsill in a more hidden and secluded corridor of the castle, eyes glued to the pages of the book in her hands, her mind seemingly far away, travelling to whatever world she's reading about.

A couple days have passed since the girl bumped into Fred and now the two boys are waiting in their hiding spot for her to walk past them. They previously mapped out her usual routes to make sure she'll walk the way they want her to and now it's only a matter of time when their prank will finally be fulfilled.

It doesn't take long until her figure appears at the end of the corridor, growing bigger and bigger with every step. Fred holds back his breath, already imagining how hilarious her reaction will probably be as a wordless countdown starts in his head, the rhythm of it adjusting to the speed of her steps.

And 3, 2, 1...

It takes a second or two for (y/n) to regain consciousness and she blinks once or twice, trying to remember what happened. She tries to focus again, meanwhile her hands tap their surroundings, feeling the cold stone laying under her touch and she comes to the sudden realisation that she's laying on the ground. As her fingers move further from her body, they touch something gooey and she flinches from the slightly disgusting feeling.

She fainted. That's the only thing she knows for sure. But why? What happened? She rarely faints, and when she does, the cause has to be something big and serious.

When her eyes are finally able to focus again, she sees two heads framed with ginger hair leaning down from above her, concerned expressions on both their faces.

(y/n) pushes herself up on her elbows, looking around and all of a sudden a new wave of realisation hits her. The Weasley twins pranked her. She became victim to one of their (sometimes slightly vicious) jokes. Seeing all the gaping mouths and wide eyes belonging to dozens of students standing in the background, she wonders what the prank might have been.

Her eyes take in the green, thick liquid she's laying in the middle of, and just as she's about to ask them what on Merlin's beard is that, she feels a drop land on her collarbone, right where her robe has fallen to the side to expose her skin.

Reaching up with her fingers she gathers it up so she could take a look at it. When her eyes take in the tips of her fingers now hovering in front of her face, she finds the exact same liquid colouring her skin.

Did that drop come from her hair?

Slowly she cards her fingers through her hair, finding it wet and clammy. It indeed came from her hair. She moves her glance back up at the Weasley twins, and just as their eyes connect and Fred opens his mouth to say something - even he himself doesn't know what he wants to say, probably a simple sorry or how are you -, suddenly loud laughter bubbles from her lungs.

The loud noise fills the otherwise completely silent corridor and as she doubles over in laughter, the two boys squatting on each side of her laying body share a confused look.

Fred is sure he's never been more shocked than in that very moment as he watches the girl covered in emerald green hairdye laugh endlessly. He expected her to jump and squeal frightened, to cry and shout angry profanities at him (or more likely them), to run away embarrassedly. But now she's sitting in front of him in a puddle of enchanted hairdye, laughing so hard she has to clutch her sides.

The thoughts seemingly froze in his mind, he can't understand what has just happened. She seemed like the typical girl who wouldn't appreciate a joke like this, but now seeing the exact opposite, Fred suddenly doubts everything he's ever thought.

He sees George slowly stand back up to his feet and after a moment he feels a nudge against his shoulders coming from his brother's knees. He follows George's movements and stands up, but his mind still seems unable to work.

(y/n)'s laughter slowly fades back into a slight giggling and she watches the twins disappear behind a corner with an amused glint in her eyes. Still quietly enjoying herself she gathers her bag and stands up, glancing at the way the liquid drips from her clothes and hair. She takes a deep breath, grabs the edges of her robe and lifts them, then swiftly jogs down the corridor to get to her dorm without leaving too much of a green mess behind her.

Then he shakes his head and moves down the corridor, his twin mirroring him effortlessly as if they were the exact same person just twice. Glancing around the students still lounging there he sees a similar surprise displayed on all of their faces and out of nowhere he feels the blood rush to his cheeks, probably painting his skin in a colour similar to his hair.

Five days have passed and the twins are still not able to comprehend the reaction they never expected but still witnessed. Though proudness doesn't fail to sweep in their veins whenever they catch a glimpse of the bright emerald green in the crowd of students, casting a smirking glance at each other every time.

The first thing (y/n) did arriving back to her dorm was rushing in the shower, trying to wash the paint out from her hair even though she was a hundred percent sure the hairdye was enchanted. She was right. When she got out of the shower and dried her hair, she let out a sigh and turned towards the mirror, expecting to see a ridiculous version of herself.

What surprised her almost even more than the prank itself was how she actually liked the image she saw in the reflection. She liked the way the green complemented her skin, the way it looked great with the Ravenclaw colours, the way it was something different, and the colour itself was gorgeous in her eyes. And as she was looking at her own reflection, she felt a new, unfamiliar emotion appear inside of her. Confidence. The green hair made her feel badass.

Nevertheless, for the next day or two she was endlessly thinking about a way to get revenge, just for the fun of it. To show the twins that they're not the only one who can prank innocent and clueless students.

Now on the fifth day of being green haired she gets up early on purpose to be one of the firsts at the Great Hall, wanting to see if the revenge she carried out the day before has any visible consequence. Her eyes stay glued to the door as she chews on a toast mindlessly, waiting for the two identical tall boys appear, and she doesn't have to wait too long before amongst a small group of Gryffindors they enter the Great Hall, the sight almost immediately making (y/n)'s lips curve into a proud and mysterious smirk.

When Fred wakes up and gets changed, he notices nothing extraordinary. Everything is the same, the morning starts just like every single day in Hogwarts has ever started. Though only a couple minutes later as he waits for George and Lee in the common room to finally be able to go down to have breakfast, he starts feeling something weird on his skin.

Whenever he moves and his sweater and jeans move against him, even if only the slightest bit, he feels itchy. He swiftly makes his way back to his dorm to get changed, a frown sitting on his forehead as he tries to figure out what causes the invisible irritation.

George glances at him with a curious look in his eyes, watching as his brother swiftly pulls the materials off his body and grabs a new set of clothes to get into. As soon as he's ready, Fred starts pacing up and down the room, moving his arms and legs in a funny way, occasionally stopping for a moment or two.

By now both Lee and George stand in the doorway, biting back laughter as they watch the hilarious scene unfold in front of their eyes.

"What's gotten into you?"

Fred comes to yet another halt and glances at his brother upon hearing his voice.

"I don't know, something's weird with my clothes," he mutters, both hands raising to scratch his body furiously.

His brother raises an amused eyebrow, sharing a confused but entertained look with the third friend before shrugging and turning around.

"We're going down, join us when you're ready," George announces, then jogs down the stairs, Lee following suit.

The left alone redhead sends a frustrated look their way just as his stomach lets out a hungry growl. Fred looks down letting out a sigh, then he shrugs and makes his way after his best friends, swiftly catching up with the now bigger group - a couple girls from their year and Ginny with her friends joining them in the common room.

Fred keeps rubbing his fingers against his body, the itchiness slowly being unbearable. And sometimes it feels like it just gets worse and worse the more he scratches.

(y/n) ducks her head to hide the erupting giggle, but keeps glancing back again and again to see the result. Fred's constant fidgeting fills her with a new kind of joy and pride, and fearing that her contribution to his problem might be too obvious if the redhead's moving eyes accidentally found her, she stands up and with her glance cast to the ground hurries out of the Great Hall, thanking Merlin for it to be Saturday so she can hide somewhere without the risk of having a class together with Fred where she could easily expose herself.

From the corner of his eyes, Fred notices a flash of green but by the time his head instinctively turns towards the source that piqued his ever observing interest, it - or more like she, as Fred's a hundred percent sure the greenness had to be the dyed hair he caused - has disappeared. Though a moment later he doesn't even remember the event as the itchiness starts again and his mind goes back to trying to figure out a solution to the problem he's facing.

When he finishes breakfast - faster than he usually does - he jumps up from his seat and without another word, disappears from the Great Hall before his twin could even process his hurried leaving. He gets back to his dorm in no time, and immediately falls to his knees as his hands reach out for the clothes he has changed out of not long ago, eyes focusing on even the smallest details of them to find something.

It only takes a couple minutes before something out of place catches his eyes. Triumphantly he pinches the small string between two of his fingers, raising it high up in the air so the light would fall on it better. He examines it for one or two seconds, and it's enough for him to come to a conclusion, which is that it is indeed a piece of hair, and that its colour is very much green. Bright, emerald green. The one colour his eyes have grown so used to in the past few days that he would recognise it whenever and wherever.

His arms lower on their own, his eyes staring at but not seeing the bed in front of him as the small voice in his head keeps repeating a single word. A name.

(y/n).

An amused grin leisurely makes its way onto his face, eyes sparkling with an impressed happiness. He never expected the shy and extremely introverted bookworm girl to laugh loudly after falling victim to a prank by the Weasley twins, so he has already been taken aback by her reaction. But if there's one thing he would never ever have considered an option, one thing he truly never ever expected is her to prank him back.

He starts chuckling, just staring at the piece of (y/h/l) emerald hair, enjoying the unusual feeling inside his body - butterflies fluttering around his belly, his heart beating so fast he's sure his chest would burst, and the laugh that seems to fill even his veins up.

For a few minutes he just kneels there on the ground, basking in his mixture of emotions, then when he eventually gets over the initial shock (y/n) caused him, without another thought he springs up to his feet and dashes out of the dorm, out of the Gryffindor common room, down multiple corridors.

Since he's payed so much attention to the girl in the past days, he knows all the possible places she can be at and it only takes three tries for him to finally catch sight of her, sitting in a more secluded corner of the library, not at all surprisingly reading a book.

Fred slows down, letting his fastened heartbeat get back to normal as he approaches her, a small smile still stuck on his face.

"Hey," he speaks softly after stopping next to her.

(y/n)'s head snaps up so fast Fred fears it might break but as soon as his eyes connect with her bright and widely open (y/e/c) ones, all his thoughts get erased from his mind.

How come I never noticed how beautiful her eyes are? - Well, maybe 'cause she hides them with her constant reading and the way she never locks eyes with anyone, Fred thinks, not being able to form any more coherent thought than these.

His eyes drown in hers before making their way further, looking at every detail of her face. He has looked at this emerald green hair so many times in the past couple days and still, he never noticed how amazing it looked on the girl. Now he sees that she easily owns this hair colour, looking absolutely breathtaking as she glances up at his tall figure from her sitting position.

Several long seconds later he realises that he hasn't spoken a single word and that he seemingly fell into some trance so he quickly shakes his head, trying to get his usual thoughts back in there.

"Do you still have some from that itchy powder thingy? I'd like to buy it, I feel like it would be nice for a new prank," he smirks at her and what already seemed impossible for him happens: the girl's eyes widen even more.

(y/n) gulps, the thoughts - opposite to Fred's previous situation - swirling with extreme rapidness inside her head. How could he find out it was her so fast? She was so careful for it not to be obvious.

She already knew Fred is way more clever than what people usually give him credit for, but he's seemingly able to overachieve even her high expectations - and to do it so effortlessly.

"I-I... sorry, the what?" She manages to mumble in the end.

His lips curve into a knowing grin and his eyes start twinkling in a playful, entertained way.

"The thing that makes stuff itchy," Fred explains with a look that says 'we both know what I'm talking about but I still enjoy this little game you're playing'.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm sorry," (y/n) answers after a - hopefully not visible - gulp, and she feels proud at herself for keeping her voice steady and her face serious.

Though the next moment two things happen that shatter everything she's carefully built in the past minute or so to the ground. One, with an absentminded hand Fred reaches up to scratch swiftly at the side of his torso and as (y/n)'s eyes insinctively follow his movement, she's suddenly unable to hide the joyful look in her eyes and the quivering of her lips as she bites into her bottom lip to prevent herself from giggling. Two, with his other hand - now very much on purpose - Fred holds up something into the air between them, right in front of the girl's eyes, and at the exact same moment her teeth sink into her lip, her eyes focus on the piece of hair dangling from in-between the ginger boy's fingers.

Her own hand subconsciously reach up to touch her own hair tuck behind her ears as her jaw falls slack and lips open to form a smaller gap in the shape of a squashed version of the letter O.

"Are you sure?" Fred's confident and amused voice brings her back to reality and as she tears her eyes away from his fingers and back to his eyes, she all of a sudden has no clue what to say.

A second passes or two as her mind slowly starts working again and she lets out a sigh, feeling the heat appear in her cheeks as the rising blush colours her skin pink.

"I thought I did a good job," she mumbles to herself, slightly disappointed in herself.

Fred moves to sit down on the chair next to her beside the table, his playful grin softening back into a tender smile. "Well, love, if you ask me, I think you did quite a spectacular job with this."

Her eyes shoot back up into his as he drops the green piece of evidence onto the ground with a small movement of his fingers. Her heart first skipped a beat when she heard the nickname he used, then skips for the second time when she realises how close the two of them are as she raises her head, then for the third time when their eyes lock again and she sees the instensity in his kind, brown orbs that seems to make her drown then and there.

Her eyes move across his face, then flicker down to his lips for the shortest moment for her to be able to memorise all the details of him, the arrangement of his freckles, the way his eyes sparkle, the way that lovely, heartwarming smile splits his face in two - just in order to let her dream (and daydream) about him more precisely in the future.

Everything seems to disappear around her and time slows down, making each second feel like an hour and she basks in the feeling of being under his intense gaze - something that has only happened in her dreams before.

Unable to take it all in and equally unable to stop herself, she glances back to his lips for another moment, just in time to see the tip of his tongue appearing to lick his lips and she can't help but gulp.

Fred's lips curve into a smirk yet again, watching her reaction of being so close to him and feeling it boost his confidence - not that he actually needed that so bad, but it still feels good - and the newly appearing cockiness makes (y/n)'s eyes dart back up to his eyes. And just like that she suddenly has no clue where she is and why is she there in the first place, she even forgets to breathe under his look.

And even Fred has to admit that being only inches away from the girl made something turn inside him and out of nowhere he feels the same symptoms as she does - only significantly less powerful. He feels his breath hitch and he feels the whole world around them fade away. His thoughts slow down and he has to force himself to remember back to why he has come to the library in the first place. Quite painfully but he's eventually able to think about the girl's enchanting presence and he focuses on what he has wanted to say again.

"I'm actually pretty impressed by your prank," he admits and feels lightheaded by the way she blushes even more and how the small, shy smile makes its way onto her lips.

"Thank you," she breathes out. The next moment she closes her eyes for a second, simply letting herself fully enjoy the feeling of being this unbelievably close to the boy for the last time, and then before her heart would take over her rational thoughts once more, she slightly leans back, moving further from the boy - trying to break away from his intoxicating atmosphere.

Fred can't help but feel a tiny bit disappointed by the sudden distance between them and that it was the girl to pull away, but he swiftly gathers his thoughts back to more relevant ones.

"Though I have to ask, why me? Why not George or the both of us?" He asks, a curious look appearing in his eyes under (y/n)'s watching ones.

"I didn't have much time and I guess your bed was the closer one to the door," she shrugs and Fred lets out yet another chuckle, slightly throwing his head back in entertainment, mental images of her sneaking in his dorm filling his mind.

Oh, how happy he is for having that very bed.

He starts wondering how she was able to sneak into the Gryffindor common room in the first place. It must've been difficult. And she couldn't have known if there was anyone in there who could've seen her. Yet still she managed to get in there and what is more, up to his dorm room, to carry out her prank. Suddenly it seems even more impressive and Fred's heartbeat fastens again in a way it never did before.

His thoughts move further, desperately trying to find a way to keep this extremely talented prankster in his life before the simplest idea pops in his head.

He swiftly straightens his back, eyes lighting up in excitement, his movements so sudden that it scares (y/n), making her jump in her seat. "You know, I had an idea just right now."

The girl waits patiently for him to continue, her heart pounding fast and loud in her chest, making her think that he must hear it by how incredibly loud it seems inside her head.

"You should join us."

Confusion makes her frown as she tries to makes sense of his words, because even though they're simple and there's only four of them, for her mind it seems like she has heard the longest and most acutely phrased sentence.

"Join?"

"Yeah, me and George. With pranks."

"Pranks? Me? Why?" (y/n) can't help but feel utterly dumb for asking so many questions but she just can't help herself. In her mind, the Weasley boy's words make absolutely no sense.

"I think we need a new perspective, the new ideas you can provide, and the professionality you seemingly make pranks happen with," Fred speaks as if he's just had the discovery of the century, eyes wide with joy and excitement. "At least I clearly do, beside you I feel like I can just hide away."

"That's not true," (y/n) shakes her head in disapproval. "You're way better than I am."

"Let's just settle on more experienced, alright?" The ginger boy smiles at her, not wanting to get in an argument when seemingly they represented the two opposing sides in this question.

She's just too shy to admit how incredible she is.

"If nothing else, you can just give us new ideas and we'll do them on our own. Come on, it'll be fun!" The small voice in Fred's mind tells him that his desperate attempt to convince her is totally unlike him and is absolutely ridiculous, he can't stop it. He knows that if he left without making her agree, he'd regret it for the rest of his life. So with a softening voice, he adds one more - probably embarrassing - thing. "I need the new perspective you'd bring."

The frown is still clear on (y/n)'s forehead even though inside she's already bursting with happiness. She has never expected to hear such words from none other than Fred Weasley himself.

She takes a few deep breaths to try and collect her thoughts and words when suddenly, she feels a previously never felt, enormous wave of confidence fill her veins.

"I thought the prank master himself, Fred Weasley doesn't need anyone," she quirks an eyebrow, her lips curving into a wide, playful and absolutely mischievous grin similar to his - especially after hearing her complementing words, his own widens even more, face seeming to actually split in two.

His heart beats rapidly in his throat as he lightly places a palm on top of her hand that rests on the table, and he looks deep in her eyes, voice turning completely serious. "The truth is, love, you're all that I need."

And just as her eyes widen once more, he leans in to press the softest, shortest kiss on her lips, heart bursting with a newly found feeling as he feels her melt under his touch and respond to his action.

Out of nowhere he feels a hundred percent sure that his life has just become fully complete and that from now on, it's gonna be an even more amazing ride with this incredible girl by his side.

.::the end::.

my masterlist

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mrs-theirin · 3 years ago

Note

also! you still havent told me about eden's exes *nudge wink*

only took me a full year 🤡

all the others (& you)

ship: hawke x varric (among others) wc: 1,494 rating: t notes: it’s about all of eden’s relationships what more could you want

[AO3 link]

age 4

Frayed, dirty, and perfect. Dust collects on her stuffed animal like cobwebs in an attic.

A tiny Eden Hawke wraps her small hands around his knitted face and calls him, “bubby,” baby-speak for, “boyfriend”. She loves him. She loves him as she loves cake, as she loves bubble baths, as she loves when her father creates explosions from his staff, orange and red and yellow sparking in a dance of flame.

When the neighbor runs away from her, screaming about danger Eden doesn’t understand, she’s forced to leave Bubby in that same attic, collecting cobwebs like the rest of it all. It hurts just as bad as any breakup.

age 9

Now taught to be cautious around others, Eden is scared to speak. A goddess with golden hair and eyes as green as emeralds walks by her home every day, and she is enraptured. She doesn’t understand what she feels, not really, but she stares, bright blue eyes following the girl as she passes.

On a day where the sky opens up and rain pours from the clouds, the girl slips. Ever helpful, Eden rushes to her aid, helping her to her feet with blush spreading as far as her neck. Hands brush. The girl’s normally sunny hair is darkened with mud and Eden sees her for what she really is, an angel fallen from grace. Dirtied from the mud, the girl looks much more human.

Attainable.

They have a short relationship, but a sweet one. Neither realize the gravity of their quick pecks on the cheek or playful hand holding. When the girl moves to a new home, Eden feels hollow and alone. Her angel has returned home, and she is shackled back to the cold, dark house, instead being directed to the role of big sister. The twins are two years old now, after all. Someone has to look after them.

age 14

With the new ability to control her magic, Eden is allowed a little farther out of the house. Only permitted to roam the grass fields beside their home, she frolics, relishing in the way the tall grains of wheat tickle her skin.

When two brown eyes peek out at her through the grass, the same color as his skin, she screams and falls to the ground. A wide, gap-toothed grin follows, and a warm hand helps her to her feet, steadying her as she regains her balance. He’s 16, old enough to wander out by himself, he says. She wouldn’t know, she replies.

“Can I show you something?” he asks.

Daring a quick glance at her house, uneasy, she nods slowly, tightening her grip on his hand as he drags her away, running at top speed. With her feet pounding against the ground, her black hair flying in the wind, the wheat whipping against her skin, she has never felt more alive. He is not just showing her what it is to be free from her house, he’s showing her what it’s like to be free. Free of worry, free of cares, free of responsibilities. He whisks her away to a secret spot by the water and returns her a different girl.

When it’s discovered Eden has been running off unsupervised for months—and with a boy, no less—she’s forbidden to leave the house. The boy looks for her every now and then. One day he stops coming.

age 15

A girl with hair as red as the fire Eden can conjure replaces her last, and Eden is as grateful as one can be. Soft kisses shared behind bales of hay enlighten her. Nights of brushing each other’s hair, hands gentle and caring, hushed giggles falling from their lips. She is beautiful.

I love her, Eden thinks, and for once in her life, she is sure.

When the girl makes snowflakes with her magic, Eden is certain. She understands. She won’t run. She won’t scream. She channels the same energy Eden does, beautiful and bright, warm and cold and free. Papa warns Eden of the danger of their magic, but she doesn’t mind. They’re safe. In the hidden reaches of the Hawke barn, they’re safe. No Templar can touch them there.

When her love calls, she comes. When she beckons, she obliges. So young and hopeful, they feel as if they'll float together forever.

Eden feels the weight of a thousand pounds settle on her chest when her love is taken away, finally revealed as a mage, and swears she’ll never love another the way she loved her.

age 17

Brown hair that falls in front of his eyes like waves, eyes as dark and stormy and blue as the sea, lips as pink as a ripe peach; Edward Colmes is a god among men. A perfect gentleman, poised and refined, with a grin as charming as his speech. Eddie, he says. Call me Eddie.

Eden is trapped.

His mouth casts a spell of its own, without magic, filling Eden’s head with thoughts of love and devotion. In just a few months, Eddie has Eden wrapped around his finger tight. In a moving sea of danger, uncertainty, and doubt, Eddie is her shore.

It takes three years to notice anything’s wrong.

Eddie’s hands are possessive, not caring. Eddie’s eyes are predatory, not loving. His mouth is devouring, not gentle—devouring like the ocean during a tsunami, destroying everything in its path, looking as beautiful as ever as it does so. Being around Eddie is like being in a haze, surrounded by fog that seeps within and creates doubt, that turns thoughts into vague ideas, that twists resentment into need of reassurance. Eden loses possession of her thoughts, handing them over to Eddie with apologetic fervor.

When she’s 21 years old, her father pulls her aside. “Songbird,” he warns, warm brown eyes gentle and worried. “That boy’s no good for you.”

Instead of listening, she locks the door to Eddie’s cage herself, content to be caged for the rest of her life. Eddie visits with another’s lips whispering across his own, and she pretends not to notice. Eddie is gentle when he murmurs, “Edie,” into her ear, his kisses anything but gentle as he moves down her neck, to her chest, and below.

He is slow and tender and kind when he touches her, his thin fingers trailing down her uncorrupted body, and he is even sweeter when he is the first to take her. To claim her as his. He is all of these things, and yet, Eden feels a dark nest of horrible feelings and insecurities boiling in her chest, growing into a terrible pit in her stomach.

She hears, I love you, but he says, I own you.

She hears, You’re mine, but he says, You’re mine.

When she’s 22, he says, I’ve found someone new, and she hears, You were never worth anything anyway.

age 31

In Varric’s arms, she is worth everything.

He lies, but not to her. Never to her.

When her name is spoken on his tongue, it is like honey and wine and good bread shared with good friends. It’s like standing on top of a building to scream your love to anyone who will listen, it’s the rush of standing outside in a storm, it’s everything good wrapped into one little word: Eden.

When he sees her, really sees her—not Hawke, not the Champion, not the impossible legend the citizens of Kirkwall have built up over the years—it is like being stripped of every insecurity she’s ever had, of any grief, fear, anger, any negative emotion she’s ever felt in her life. She’s a new person when Varric looks at her.

His gaze is full of admiration. When he looks at her, there is no possession, no lust, no need for control. He is looking at her, not what he can get from her. He is looking at the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, at the way her lips curl upwards when she’s up to no good, at the way her chest rises and falls when she’s deep in thought.

Stolen glances across the table during Wicked Grace are enough to get her heart pounding, galloping in her chest like a wild horse. Eden doesn’t have to prove herself to Varric; he’ll love her at her highest and at her lowest, when she’s painted with purple and red, when her face is bare and her lips are that perfect shade of pink, when she’s beaten down and bloody and bruised. He loves every scar, every blemish, every weird mole, because he loves her.

And she loves him. More than Bubby, more than the blonde goddess, more than the boy in the fields, more than the red-haired mage, and certainly, definitely, more than Edward Colmes.

More than herself.

More than anyone can possibly love another.

And she thinks, maybe, just maybe, all the others were worth it, if it meant she can have him now.

#eden hawke #varric tethras #varric #hawke #hawke x varric #edward colmes #dragon age #dragon age 2 #da #da2 #malcolm hawke #writing #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #quill's writing

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analogicisms · 4 years ago

Text

[Gift Fic] The Best Laid Plans of Sides & Dark Sides

Summary: Virgil and Janus were meant to be together. Everyone could tell. It was just obvious. Obvious to all except, the two of them. But the rest of the sides plan to fix that, one plan at a time.

Giftee: Em (@aceoffandoms)

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

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Logan was the first to try. He had thought of every possible way this could work. Finally, he had come to the conclusion that the best course of action was to try to write a letter to each that mimicked the speech patterns of the two. He had done his best but, apparently, he had not done his job because Virgil and Janus had congratulated one another on a great prank and laughed about having done it at the same time.

The point had been for the two to think the other had sent the letter and while that had worked, the outcome had not matched his proposed hypothesis and since they were supposed to believe the other wrote it, he could not correct their misunderstanding.

With a put upon sigh, Logan went to inform the others.

----------------------------------------------

Patton had been the second to try. He had conjured a stuffed spider dressed like Janus for the emo side. He had then conjured a snake dressed in a purple plaid hoodie with smudges under the bead eyes for the lying side. Each had a gift bow of their associated color wrapped around them. He then discreetly delivered them to each side’s room. He started with the spider because though he created it, it was still rather scary! He wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible.

With the plushies delivered, he waited with excited breath for the results. Once again, the two had snorted and made sly comments about the “gag gifts” before grinning and smirking and parting ways.

Patton, sad that love had failed him once again, dropped to inform the others.

----------------------------------------------

Remus had planned to help, seemed eager to actually. However, after hearing all the ideas that his brother had, Roman quickly put a stop to it. Remus merely shrugged and cackled. For all his gung ho of wanting to contribute, he seemed just as happy to be benched. So instead of proposing any more lewd or disturbing ideas, he simply grinned and settled back to hear Roman’s plans.

----------------------------------------------

Naturally, Roman had the most obvious and romantic ideas. In Logan’s mind they were outrageous and over the top. But for Roman, they were just perfect.

His first idea was to send a bouquet of red roses to Virgil. If anyone was near his level of showmanship, it was Janus. He had Logan dictate the card and had Patton add in hints of his own version of love before reaching out to Remus for just a touch of desperation and a pinch of lasciviousness. He then made edits and flourishes here and there.

At first, Roman thought it had worked. The four of them had watched from afar as Virgil found the bouquet and had blushed but said nothing, instead dropping out with the roses. Later on, and rather loudly, Virgil had snarked at the other in regards to the roses and assured the lying side that his pet spider was quite fond of them as a snack. Janus, in response, claimed that they had been for the spider in the first place.

For a moment, Roman thought he had seen some confusion and concern in the snake-like side’s expression. However, whatever he had spotted vanished just as quickly as he had seen it, to be replaced by open amusement. It happened so quickly, the creative aspect wasn’t sure if he had really seen it at all. In the end, he decided it didn’t matter. Not in the wake of his plan going down in flames’.

But Roman, as the Romantic side, was not done yet.

Unfortunately, ideas two, three, and four ended up just as Logan and Patton’s ideas had. The constant failure made Roman loathed to try again, for fear of it happening once again. Stopping would have been the sensible thing to do but at this point, he was determined to make it work. Also, he was quite invested. Janus and Virgil were clearly meant for each other, they all knew it. It was why they decided to play matchmaker to begin with. So he couldn't give up! He had to go back to the drawing board!

----------------------------------------------

Idea five had seemed to work at first. Roman targeted Janus as the gift receiver the next time around but just as Janus seemed to go in for the kiss, something stopped him. Instead he gave the other a punch to the shoulder and a snarky little comment instead. Roman never felt frustration as great as he did as he watched the embodiment of deception walk away after that exchange.

Groaning, Roman decided that was the end of his and the other’s playing matchmaker. Besides, Christmas was now just a week away and there was still so much to prepare for the sides’ holiday party.

That was the much more important focus now.

----------------------------------------------

He had meant to give up. Truly, that had been the plan, but he was stubborn. Almost to a fault. As the epitome of Romance among the aspects, how could he stop when two people were so obviously destined to be together? Surely there was something he could do.

So Roman had decided that he would give it one last try. The ‘ol college try, as Patton had called it. He had quickly gone deep into the imagination to find the plant that would help him out. Deep in the imagination, thick in the forest, there was a plant that was very similar to the real Christmas Mistletoe. In fact, it basically was the real Christmas Mistletoe.

The only difference?

This Mistletoe had magical properties. The properties were that they “caught” an unsuspecting person and followed them until a potential romantic partner came into their vicinity. It would then pull that potential partner to the “host” and, if their chemistry was strong enough, would sort of urge romantic feelings to surface and usually resulted in those two people kissing under the magic Mistletoe.

It proved itself to work well when it fixated on Logan and Roman quickly found himself pulled toward the intelligent side and professed that he found the Pointdexter to be quite cute for all that he was an insufferable know-it-all. Logan had then confessed to being quite taken by Roman for all that Roman was a flighty, silly, outrageous drama king. The two then kissed and Roman forgot for a few moments what he had been testing in the first place.

------------------

The second time Roman attempted to catch the slippery sides in his Mistletoe trap, he had the added bonus of having his new boyfriend there to assist. Of course, the two argued about the way in which to make it work but it was with love and affection.

Unfortunately, it caught Remus instead who cackled, exclaiming that Roman would now have to go into the imagination to find another, if one existed, because no one would ever be drawn to one such as him.

Remus’ foot was soon shoved into his mouth, though not literally--not that anyone would question if it had been literal--because Patton turned the corner and smiled brightly at the naughty and intrusive side, praising him and building him up before Remus cackled again, tugged him in hard by the loops on his dad jeans, and quickly dropped them out to one of their rooms. Not that it mattered as their lovemaking could be heard all over the mind palace.

----------------------------

Roman had decided to give up. That was, until he caught sight of Virgil standing under the mistletoe at the sides’ Christmas party. He had a moment of confusion, certain he had released the mistletoe back into the imagination after the second failed experiment. But maybe he had forgotten to or it had come back of its own accord, maybe sensing that two other sides needed to be matched.

Whatever the reason, it was here. And Virgil was under it. Roman glanced around and started to wiggle in excitement as he tugged on his boyfriend’s sleeve and nodded in the direction of Virgil and at the snake-like side who was heading toward him.

“Well, perhaps the theory was not unlikely after all,” Logan surmised. He waved at Patton, who was decorating his own boyfriend with tinsel and Christmas bows, trying to catch the Moral side’s attention. Once it was caught, Patton and Remus joined them.

Silent, they watched as Janus walked toward Virgil as if in a trance. They watched as Virgil turned to look at the aspect of self-preservation. At first, a snarky sort of smile spread over his lips. Once his eyes fell on Janus, however, a softer, more open gaze fell onto his face.

“Janus…”

“Virgil…”

The four other sides watched, breath bated as they waited for the match to finally be made. The two spoke in lowered tones, their playful banter steadily becoming more flirtatious and engaging. Finally, the two moved into each other’s space, Janus reaching up to press a hand to Virgil’s cheek and the Emo side leaning into the touch.

“I… I can’t believe…”

“I… I know, Virgil... “

Roman was wriggling with unbridled romantic excitement as he clung to Logan while Patton was squealing as quietly under his breath as it was possible to do. Roman didn’t notice what Logan and Remus were doing as they were quiet in their reactions.

If he had looked, he would have seen a sudden look of understanding pass over Logan’s features as a knowing smirk slipped over his twin’s lips. He was not looking, however, and so he watched as the two went in for a kiss--Janus even gripping Virgil by the waist, dipping him as their faces grew closer only for the two to stop just before their lips met.

“I can’t believe…” Virgil started.

“That these idiots…” Janus continued.

“Think that they are the ones…”

“Who got us together.”

Roman blinked as the words caught up in his brain suddenly growing red with exasperation.

Virgil and Janus both turned their heads to smirk at the four of them.

“YOU TWO… YOU… YOU!!!”

Janus snorted as he lifted Virgil up, kissing his nose before holding him close by the waist.

“Yessss. Us two.”

“What just happened?” Roman asked his boyfriend. He knew of course, to an extent. He was the center of Thomas' Romance. He just didn't understand how all of that had come to be. And right under his nose!!!

Logan, readjusting his glasses, shrugged.

“It seems that we’ve been… what is the word… oh, right… played.”

Patton giggled.

“Oh, this is quite the twist, kiddo,” Patton enthused, laughing as he looked at Roman.

“So what… you just let us all believe that you hated each other when you’ve been dating the whole time?”

Virgil shook his head. “Not all of you…”

Janus snickered. “Remus knew from the start. He is our closest companion, after all. But yes, the rest of you we played like a fiddle.”

Virgil shook his head. “Logan figured it out right there at the end, though, didn’t ya, nerd.”

Logan cleared his throat, ignoring the heat rising up his neck at being called out, but nodded.

“I did. It was too late to say anything about it. I did not, however, surmise that Remus was involved, so well… ah… played.”

Roman was still fuming but the others were able to get his attention focused on the festivities. He was shocked however that he had not realized that the Mistletoe at the party was of the non-magic kind. Magic and fantastical stuff was supposed to be his area of expertise after all.

He supposed, however, that it served him right trying to involve himself in someone else’s love life.

“Well, my dear, it was not a complete failure,” Logan reminded him. Roman tilted his head in confusion. Patton giggled.

“What Lolo means is that even though it didn’t work on Virgil and Janus… since they already had fallen for each other… it is because of this whole thing that you and I found our other halves in Logan and Remus.”

Roman, smiling, supposed they were right.

#tsart #anxceit #logince #intruality #ts anxceit #ts logince #ts intruality #sanders sides

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bubblyani · 4 years ago

Text

Back for Good

(Jim Davis x Reader)

A Jim Davis One Shot

Movie: Harsh Times (2005) by David Ayer

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Alcohol use, Swearing, Violence and Sexual Content

Word Count: 9k+

Summary: Your spirits are lifted when your older boyfriend Jim Davis returns from the Army for good. As the lovers passionately reunite, you begin to reminisce the first encounter, and the unforgettable event that sealed your fate with Jim, possibly forever.

Author’s Note: One of the fantastic Balehead Accounts on Instagram once posted a photo of Jim Davis with a caption more so along the lines of “…Older boyfriend Jim visiting you at College…”. It was too irresistible to ignore. So this story was born. @tammykelly You are an angel to even show some enthusiasm towards this, even before I started, Thank you for the encouragement ! Hope y’all enjoy!

P.S: If anyone want to be tagged in specific Bale! Character fics please do let me know. And if you wanna be removed from anything NOT BATMAN, please feel free to let me know. I understand completely.

Three.

It costed three people. Merely three for this nightmare scenario to enter reality.

A tall young man panted fast, his right hand assuming full responsibility for the broken bottle, not to mention the intense bleeding that resulted from it. All the while he stared down at his finished product: a much younger man. He watched the figure groan for his dear life, laying defeated and thoroughly bruised; as a weak stream of blood appeared prominent from his head as well, adding a splash of bright color to the dark and dusty pavement. Only in that moment, realization and bitter reality coupled up to surprise the standing man, with a sucker punch.

Which was transparent enough for the young woman beside them, the witness. Violence, Danger, her trembling heart sensed it all. For that was what his strong aura emitted. However, never did she flinch. Never did her heart consider retracting from him. On the contrary, she was compelled to trust him even further.

Especially when she sensed complete safety in him, above all others.

“Let’s go”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Present)

The dusky skies appeared just as serene over South Central Los Angeles as anywhere else in the country, filtering over the streets and the neighborhoods. Cruising through in favorable speed, Mike Alonzo finally took his eyes off the road, permitting them to land on the tall, young man sitting beside him on the passenger seat: his best friend, Jim Davis.

His downcast expression was evident, with his tall frame sunken into the seat. He stared right ahead, while he sipped his bottle of beer in his suit. This posture was nothing short of a surprise for Mike to glance upon. If he had squinted his eyes, he swore he could imagine Jim as the rebellious teenager he once was. Only with a new buzz cut. Otherwise, it seemed that nothing had really changed.

Except it had. Older and forced to be responsible, they were facing times considered very harsh. And Jim just had a taste of it.

“Sorry, dude”

Mike began, looking back at the road. Shaking his head with disbelief, Jim sat up in slow motion as his teeth began to grind.

“Man! Fuck…this...shit!!”

Jim drawled with disappointment, enunciating every word whilst holding up a piece of paper, “I’m so done with this cop hate bullshit!” He added, taking another sip of alcohol. Mike nodded:

“Yeah, dawg. Forget about that! ” He smiled, smacking his friend on his shoulder in a playful demeanor, “Hey, Syl is cooking tonight…You wanna join us, bro?”

The possibility of his girlfriend Sylvia agreeing to this, was at an all time low. Mike was well aware. Yet, he was certain it was a question worth posing to his friend in need.

“Nah, man! I got plans”

Hitting the brakes in front of the stop lights, Mike looked at his friend again with surprise, “Yeah?” He inquired, looking quite pleased. Finally flashing a proud smile, Jim nodded:

“Yep! Gonna go see my woman soon…” he answered. Eyes widening seemed appropriate for Mike at that very moment.

“Yo, No shit!” Mike cried out with excitement, finally stepping on the gas, “The chick from UCLA*? You…you still with her?” He inquired.

“Yeah, Homie! ”

“Dawg!…” laughing with sheer amazement, Mike looked at Jim, “I’m impressed…really” he added, proceeding to chuckle, “Look ‘atchu…my boi Jim....going steady with the fine ass college chick…”

“Whoo!” With his soul finally returning to his body, Jim howled, “Finer than fine, dawg!”

“Hell yeah!”

Given the state of hyped energy that erupted in the car between the two young men, it would be nearly impossible to guess how sombre it was just before. “So…so…” Mike continued, holding on to the wheel as they kept driving, “… where you gon’meet?”

“Well…actually…” Jim looked at him, licking his lips, “….it’s a surprise” he added with a playful smirk. To which Mike could not help but laugh, “What?” Mike paused, “You didn’t tell her you’re back for good?”

Seeing his friend shake his head like a naughty schoolboy forced him to laugh harder, “Ohohoho!! this is gon be one hell of a reunion, dawg” He added with sheer enthusiasm, “But seriously though, she’s a real good one too, bro…” Mike opinionated, as soon as his laughter died down, “ I mean, even Syl liked her”

“Shit! For real?”

“Yeah yeah yeah…” Mike answered immediately, “And you know Syl, she ain’t easy to please”

Gulping down the remnants of the bottle, Jim exhaled and stared out through the window, “Shit man!” He exclaimed, “I’m really gonna see her again, huh?”

With his tone growing deeper, his eyes began to burn with a flame that could only be categorized as lustful. Sensing the vibe that did not seem so new, Mike chuckled:

“Oh yeah! My homie’s gonna get it tonight! Salud*”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The buzz, the chatter of young adults was consistent in the hallway outside. It served as background noise when the door of the toilet cubicle burst wide open, spitting a rather young woman out of it with haste. Only then did the mirror managed to identify her: You.

With your hand clutching on to a bra, you let out a relieved sigh. For within a few seconds, your body experienced a new form of liberation. And you managed to savor it on your own in a public ladies washroom. Wearing a soft smile that was easily reflected in the mirror, you stuffed the piece of lingerie into your shoulder handbag.

“Seriously?”

You jumped with a yelp. Being so wrapped around in your own thoughts, you did not even notice Yara, your friend standing there. With her arms folded and eyebrows raised, it was clear that her face was rife with judgement.

“What?” You inquired breathlessly, “Auntie Flo* is about to visit…and the twins were just swelling to …get some parole time” you added with a playful smirk, pointing at your chest with no shame. The curves of your now-freed bosom seemed more visible through your cardigan top, “And fuck! it feels so good” you exclaimed, as you washed your hands. Yara however, scoffed with amusement:

“So you’re saying you were squirming in your seat the whole time to let the puppies out?”

“What? I had to pee too!”

“Well, You could have just left right then!” She insisted with a seeming annoyance, as you grabbed a tissue.

“…and miss Mr. Linney’s Final Notes? Uh uh! No way, bitch!” You waved your index finger with disapproval as you both exited. Students had flooded the hallway by then. Evening lectures at UCLA finally had drawn to a close, and Friday night was about to make its entrance. Youth in all shapes and colors, gathered in bunches all over the campus area, even beside the beautifully lit Royce Hall. Suffice to say, all were relieved to have some time off in the weekend.

“So…you coming, right?”

You looked at Yara upon her casual inquiry with confusion, “For what?”. Scoffing again, this time in disbelief, Yara's eyes widened looking at you: “Dinner?…tonight?”

She stressed, taking a step out of the campus building, “Last week you promised you’ll join me and Chase” with her arms folded and foot tapping on the ground in pure restlessness, she was a clear visual of a loanshark. However, that impatience left her system the moment her eyes fell behind you,“…and speaking of Chase…Baby!”

With her face lit up, her tone grew affectionate as Chase, her boyfriend rushed over to her.

“ ‘sup babe!” The tall, young blonde greeted, pulling his ebony goddess of a girlfriend for a passionate kiss.

Folding your arms, you could not help but avert your eyes. All the while you drew circles with your foot on the ground. Chase and Yara’s relationship certainly was a refreshing one to glimpse upon in the campus premises. You approved of it with sincerity, even when you looked away in awkwardness. It was not on spite. Truthfully, PDA was nothing you disapproved of. You were certainly not envious of the joy they possessed as their lips played with one another, quite similarly to a steamy MTV music video. You merely looked away, for any display of affection was a sheer reminder of him.

It had been months since you last saw him, possibly 6. And constant communication was not exactly convenient for him. Not in his situation. Was he alive and happy? The sheer reminder of gunshots and helicopter whirring forced your heart to race, which was nothing short of new. Granted, you had learnt to ‘compartmentalize’, a term you recently came to knowledge in your psych minor class. Yet, you were young and only human to have those concerns return to haunt you even for a few seconds. The sound of Yara and Chase’s lips smacking urged you to look up. Finally, you thought.

“So?” Yara inquired, casually wiping the smudged lipstick off her face, “You coming?”

Carefree, yet extremely inconsiderate, that was what she exuded. A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach. For oddly enough, the sight of the happy couple managed to drain your energy out tonight. You longed to run away.

“Honestly…” you began with a sigh, “I don’t really feel so good tonigh-”

“¿Qué pasa, guapa?”

What’s up, gorgeous?

That voice. That deep, spine tingling tone was a reminder of your mere existence. The tone that tempted every hair in your body to stand at attention. Turning around in a flash, you covered your mouth, shocked to find the person you prayed to see all this time.

“JIM??” You cried out in a muffled tone, “Oh my GOD!!-”

Squealing in pure joy, you sprinted towards Jim Davis before jumping into his arms. Seemingly extremely pleased, Jim let out a hearty laughter. Suddenly the energy you were drained had returned in the form of a shot of adrenaline when he picked you up and spun you around, kissing you without hesitation. And you swore the feel of his lips on yours added a couple of years into your life.

“Wait, you didn’t tell me you were coming back so soon” Breathless, you pointed out when he finally put you down.

“Well, I’m back for good, baby” Jim replied, extending his arms outward with pride. Your eyes widened: “What? You serious?”

“Yep…” he grinned nodding, “Honorably discharged…and all yours”

You sensed his tone morph into a low purr the moment he pulled you close to him. And you would be lying if that did not fill your stomach with butterflies. After ages.

“Umm….”

Yara’s voice emerged. You and Jim turned back, to find her and Chase appearing the most confused, “…you mind telling us who this is…?” She inquired with raised eyebrows.

Finally in realization, you chuckled. For introductions were in order.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The aromatic scent crept into your nostrils, only to soon disappear out of the lack of attention provided. All the while an uptempo Latin Pop track playing in the background mingled with Yara and Chase’ voices, but unfortunately faded away into mere mumbles. For none of that seemed to be the key focus for you tonight. Not when Jim Davis was around.

Even seated at a crowded Mexican Restaurant, he mattered the most to you. Even when platefuls of delectable Taquitos* were served to the table, your eyes did not leave his irresistible side profile. And when his sense of expertise noticed and his eyes caught your gaze, you were breathless. You wondered if it was the romantic in you surfacing, for all seemed to appear in slow motion. His eyes remained seductive, washing all over you that it was certain your panties might melt and diminish into thin air. Those eyes were truly sorcerous, that your eyes suddenly had lives of their own to the point you could sense their figurative cheeks heat up with heavy blushes. For his eyes, they were proficient in the dirty talk as much as his mouth was. Breathing in his cheap cologne with depth, you suddenly grew aware of his touch, and the fact he had his arm wrapped around your shoulder all this time. Being lost in his eyes was definitely an out-of-body experience.

“Hey!”

Your soul reunited with your frame upon Yara’s call.

“Mmm?” Looking over at the couple sitting across the table, you and Jim were unfazed.

“Aren’t you two gonna eat?” Yara inquired with raised eyebrows while Chase had began to gobble. Her gaze questioned both your sanity. To which you and Jim could not help but chuckle in response. Shaking her head, Yara scoffed:

“It’s so weird…” she began, “…seeing you like this”. Wiping the crumbs off his mouth, Chase joined in with confidence, “Yeah! How did you guys even meet anyways? I mean, no offense but…we never thought she’d be the one…” he stressed, pointing at you, “… to have an older boyfriend who’s a Marine-”

“-Army Ranger” Jim corrected. His gaze and tone was dominant, enough for Chase to wither with intimidation.

“Yeah…” Chase nodded with a gulp, “…what you said…”. You would be lying if you admit you did not enjoy that sight.

“Actually…” you finally began, “We met a year ago” turning to face your boyfriend, “ He was back in LA during his break. We met at a bar”

“Hold up! ” Raising her hand, Yara was wide eyed, “How come I didn’t know about this?”

“Cause this happened a year ago, hun. Calm down” you chuckled, “Actually, this was even before Cin transferred. Hah! you didn’t miss much…Don’t worry” you assured upon seeing Yara’s pout, “It was a small bar, but I loved the Pistos*-I mean…” you paused with a smile, “….the beer there…” Your pause caused Jim to chuckle alongside once again. Safe to say it was a chuckle that encompassed a shared memory. A sweet reminder of your first ever meeting.

“And?…that’s it?” Chase inquired with amusement, with both hands resting on the wooden table, “You both meet at a bar one night and…” he whistled, “…then sparks flew?”

Looking at them both, you could sense the suspicion in their eyes. You longed to answer, however it was not so easy to do so. Pausing, you struggled with a response.

“Absolutely!”

Jim answered for you with nonchalance, while his grip on you tightened. For a split second you both exchanged a gaze of reassurance. And you had never been more relieved. The secret was safe.

“So…”, Turning towards the couple, Jim began, “How did you lovebirds meet then?”

Hesitation was certainly not in Yara’s vocabulary when she offered to speak. Leaving her sight, your eyes darted towards the the chilled beer that Jim placed on the table. You smiled to yourself. They were certainly filled with memories.

Reminiscing your first meeting with Jim Davis, never failed to be exciting every single time. Before Yara ended up in your life, there was Cindy. Noticing your evident sadness due to her surprise transfer to USC*, Cindy was hell bent in comforting you, thus suggesting you join her and her boyfriend Ray for a night out in South Central. You agreed, being desperate enough to spend the final few days with your roommate. Situated at the suburbs, this bar was small, intimate and seemingly inhabited by those who knew Ray, which resulted in a welcoming atmosphere upon arrival. Though the place was mostly filled with gangsters, you did not care for the slightest, when especially you found yourself falling for the unexpected; The beer.

Chilled to perfection, the beer there was unlike any that you had tasted before. And it was certainly a surprise, given they were the usual brands. You could not fathom the refreshing sensation that trickled down your throat with the first sip. That sensation tempted your hips to sway, urged your feet to move in rhythm. All in syncopation with the music that played in the jukebox under the dim lights. Until finally bumping into a man woke you from your intoxication. A man you were fascinated with in an instant:

Jim Luther Davis.

Such a pity that Yara’s gusto-filled story barely reached your ears. For reliving a memory simply seemed sweeter for you. Thus, you continued to do so.

Fortunately, Jim Davis did not end up being a handsome stranger that you simply bumped into, for coincidence had other plans. Especially, when he and Mike Alonzo turned out to be Ray’s mutual older drinking buddies. You were ecstatic. Internally, of course.

With the entire group packed together in the booth table, it was one loud but engaging hangout. Except for you. Somehow you preferred to sit right next to Cindy in silence, being distracted by two things: Beer, and Jim.

Blame the chemicals embedded in your system, for you simply found yourself drawn to him. Truthfully, it did not seem so difficult to begin with. Not when he turned out to be your type in appearance. You found yourself watching him. The manner in which he listened to others with swagger and confidence, the manner in which he held himself ; They all brought a certain air to him. Your attention had pierced through all manner of secrecy that he would occasionally end up catching your gaze. And then you would look away, quick and embarrassed. Though you must admit, it was a game you thoroughly enjoyed playing. But at the same time, you felt idiotic and childish.

“Cat got yo tongue, baby?”

You blinked, looking up. Fabio, one of Ray’s friends threw the query over to your direction, all of the sudden. And with that, the table grew quiet. All the eyes landed on you, except for Jim’s. A surge of embarrassment rushed towards you when awkward silence filled the booth. For you were definitely distracted to the point you did not follow the conversation. With you struggling to form an answer, Fabio snickered:

“Yo Cindy, What’s up with yo friend? She deaf or somethin’?”

“Easy, homie”

Before Cindy could respond, Jim’s quick reply arose. And you swore your eyes caught the sight of his hand ball into a fist as his eyes had grown dark. Oddly enough, that was the comfort you needed right then.

“Don’t mind me, Fabio…” you shrugged with confidence, “I’m just a girl hooked on her Pistos” you said, enunciating the Spanish word before taking another sip. You may have smiled at him, but you knew how much you feigned it. Awkward silence remained intact. But Ray managed to save the night, by changing the topic of conversation. Slightly embarrassed, Fabio shot you a look. All before he leaned towards his friends, muttering some words in Spanish.

“You speak Spanish?”

Jim’s low query made you turn to him.

“N-No…” you answered with nervousness.

“Well…” he began, “…you should” Though his tone was of seriousness, he did not fail to flash you a soft smile that comforted you even further.

Thus, the evening progressed. And you began to notice Jim in much detail. The more you did, you discovered a warmth that seemed to trickle down your heart. For you realized, you would not be able to stop yourself from falling for him. Hard.

You smiled to yourself, relieved Yara still did not know you were drifting away in your head, stuck in a memory.

Unable to stop obsessing over him since that first night, you remembered how you found yourself returning to the same bar the following night, alone.

Stepping into the venue, you suddenly were aware how unprepared you were. Even while placing an order at the bar counter, you remembered covering your mouth with embarrassment. Was this a mistake?

“Hey Baby! ”

Jumping in your barstool, you sighed with annoyance when you realized it was Fabio sneaking up on you.

“Just…” you feigned a chuckle, “Don’t call me baby, okay?”. Evidently ignorant, Fabio seemed to have chosen to stay. To your dismay. Sporting gold chains on his neck and wrists, Fabio was on a dire attempt to emulate a thriving gangster, when he actually was just another college kid like Ray.

“So, whatcha doing all by yourself, baby? Don’t tell me…you’re here to see yo boi Fabio?”

Keep telling yourself that, you thought. Exhaling in frustration, you maintained a tight smile, “I uh…just waiting for someone” you struggled. Flashing a mischievous smile, Fabio leaned in closer. You prayed he would not notice how your nose scrunched up by his heavy cologne with disgust. And how your body tightened when his eyes scanned you from top to bottom, licking his lips by the sight of your choker and your red, floral short dress.

“Who are we kidding?” He sniggered, “You wanna piece of this, huh? Come o-” “No!” You cut him off, “I’m really…” feigning a chuckle once again, “…waiting for someone…Thanks” you said, extending your hands in defense. Given the reaction of those around you, it may have been a louder response than expected. For Fabio turned red, making it his queue to slither away. You sighed deep. Luck did not seem to get on with you from the moment you stepped in here. Was this a mistake? When you felt a finger tap you on your shoulder, you rolled your eyes and turned around. For you were ready to give Fabio a piece of your mind.

Except, it was not Fabio.

“Hey…”

Jim greeted you, his deep tone announcing his arrival. Standing at an appropriate distance, he stood tall with a hint of swagger. Your body began to finally relax by the sight, especially when your eyes were refreshed by the open plaid shirt worn along with his white vest and baggy pants.

“Hey…” breathless, you began, “Hey!” Confidence finally became you as you repeated with a smile. The bartender caught your attention the moment he placed a chilled bottle of beer on the counter before you.

“Make it two, Hermano* ” Jim said, handing the man some cash. All the sudden, guilt washed over you as you gasped: “Oh I-”

“I got this…” Jim assured, seeing you reach into your bag. Grateful, you nodded, “So…” he began, “Can seem to get enough of them Pistos, hmm?” An inquiry left his lips the moment he received his own bottle. Smiling shyly, you bit the side of your lower lip. The manner in which that word rolled out his tongue caused excitement. Besides, his mouth suddenly seemed more delectable. Oh, his mouth.

“Yeah…” you admitted, “Can’t get enough…and I hope I never will”

You added, gazing directly into his hazel orbs. It simply was a mistake to do so, given how those eyes burnt with curiousity, urging you to blush in return, “And er…” pausing, you looked down, “ I was kinda hoping I’d catch you around” you said, looking up again.

“Yeah?” Jim inquired, genuinely surprised, “Why?”

That was when you froze. He was right, what exactly was your intention of seeing him tonight? Unfathomable on how you gathered courage to blurt that silly line in the first place. What if you dragged yourself all the way here to be rejected? What if there never was a form of enthusiasm from his corner as you hoped? What if this ends up being the story of a silly sophomore college girl, having delusions over an older man?

You chuckled with a nervous tone, “Well I-…” you paused, as your pulse began to grow loud within you, “Sorry…” you muttered, sliding off the stool, “This was just a stupid idea. I should go-”

“Wait!”

You turned upon Jim’s call. Showing his bottle, he shrugged:

“These Pistos aren’t gonna get finished themselves, hmm?” He dared to pose that inquiry with a playful grin. Smiling back involuntarily, you knew you had no comeback for that.

You remembered the chill outside the bar that night. The breeze that caressed your exposed skin of your legs were still fresh in your memory. Gazing at whatever stars your eyes could make out amidst the city lights, you and Jim sipped on the chilled alcohol from the porch. Given the fact there were little to none outside, the evening was unexpectedly intimate.

“Your uh…” clearing your throat, you finally broke the surprisingly comfortable silence, “Your friend not with you tonight?”

“Mike?” Jim inquired, to which you nodded, “Nah! he’s got his hands full” he answered with a smile.

“You guys close?”

“Hell yeah…He’s my homeboy, ya know? Since we were kids”

“Sweet. Must be nice.” You smiled in return, looking back at the sky, “I uh…remember that you serve. Iraq, huh?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Fallujah* ” Jim answered with a nod, looking at you.

“Whoa…” you breathed in wonder. Silence took over once again while your tongue savored the beverage.

“And you?…UCLA?” Jim spoke before wiping his mouth, “Man! That’s some fancy ass shit right there”

“Yeah well… it ain’t a walk in the park…” you contradicted in a shy tone, forcing him to shoot you a look of concern. To which you chuckled, “I’m on scholarship, I mean…” you added, helping him come to realization, “Hehe yeah…I had to nerd my way into that gig” moving side to side, you could not help but take another sip,“But, I know…what a good thing I got going on. And I know… if I screw it up, then I’m FUCKED” you enunciated the end, which drove him to laughter. You adored how it soothed you somehow.

“Well…” he began, “…whatever fucking takes, right?”

You nodded, “Hell yeah…Here’s to…uh…positive shit! Hah!” You laughed as you both clinked the bottles together. The more alcohol that chose to settle in your system, the bolder you became:

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

You fully turned to him, “Being out there…in Iraq…” you continued, “I mean…I’m guessing you’ve seen some shit…” you inhaled, “you know…shit you can’t forget, right? I mean, shit like that…” you scoffed, “….that shit can fuck…you…up…” at that moment you could not help but find yourself lost in thought.

But Jim’s surprised expression made you pause. You chuckled in embarrassment.

“I’m just…guessing…” you muttered, sipping once again. Perhaps you went a tad bit too far with the blabbering. For your cheeks began to heat up with worry. Until Jim spoke:

“Well…Shit or no shit…Follow orders, that’s what we do” Instead of a frown, Jim replied, taking a huge gulp from his bottle.

“Yeah…I get it” you nodded in a fast pace. Robust, and straightforward, his attitude was to be admired. Funny you found yourself staring at his side profile long enough, his face could easily be compared to that of a statue. Perfect in proportion, your mouth began to dry out. You were attracted to him, shamelessly so.

“I-”, You paused, suppressing a grin, “…never mind”

“What? What is it?” He asked, looking at you. To which you shook your head frantically.

“Nah, it’s really silly…”

“Come on!…tell me” Fully turning, Jim insisted with a smile. His voice had its way of being persuasive. And his voice had its way of tearing your defenses down, or so it seemed. Taking a deep breath, you began:

“I kept thinking about this but…” you paused, “Last night, you said I should learn some Spanish… Why?”

Desperate for more interaction, that was your excuse. Jim responded with a shy chuckle. Certainly was worth it.

“I mean, we just met and you barely knew me…” you continued with a smile, “So…why?” As your question grew more confident, your inner desperation grew strong. Taking his last sip from the bottle, Jim surprised you by taking a step towards you:

“You really wanna know the truth?”

“Try me” , You replied, quickly finishing your own bottle, all without breaking away from his gaze.

And thank goodness you finished it. For you would have surely dropped it. Especially when Jim stood dangerously close to you, causing you to be immediately aware of the muscles between your thighs contracting. Even more so, when his irresistible eyes traveled from your very own all the way to your alcohol stained lips.

“Cause…” he purred, “…you have no fucking clue how sexy you sound”

You both may have chuckled to his line, but that did not mean your pulse did not quicken. Which increased in speed the moment his eyes took hold on yours once again. Seduction, he certainly was proficient in it. And you, were a witness. A witness who suffered from internal combustion of frustration.

You inhaled deep, “Really?” “Yeah…” he breathed in a sultry manner.

Just when you thought no force on earth could break this eye contact, the door burst open. Some men exited. Breaking away, you looked at your watch watch in an instant. You sighed. Real Life was calling you.

“I…I gotta go…” downcast, you muttered with guilt, “Class tomorrow…” adding extra guilt, you knew that excuse certainly did not put you in a good light.

“Lemme drop you then…”

Jim’s nonchalant and nonjudgmental reply urged you to look up with relief. Smiling in agreement, you watched him enter the bar with the empty bottles. And in that very moment, a tingling sensation filled with thrill washed over you, leaving no inch unattended. Butterflies returned to your stomach, fluttering harder than ever before in your life. Were you being hopeful? Could Jim Davis be desiring the same? Goosebumps traveled through you when that tingling sensation returned with much detail. Too much detail to be specific.

Until you realized it was real. And Jim’s hand was directly at fault here.

Blinking back to the present reality, your eyes caught the sight of Jim’s chilled fingers on your leg. They ran over over your inner exposed thigh in circular motion, thus, inciting the tingling sensation. Of course, no wonder the detail was accurate.

Yara and Chase were oblivious to all this, for they were caught up in their own love story as she kept yapping. But that was only the fact Jim kept on such a convincing focused face. He may be ‘listening’ to your friend, but his hand was evidently not. The longer his fingers lingered on your skin, the more you were reminded of him. And the more you began to tingle and sweat in the most unexpected places.

You were young, and unapologetically shameless. 6 months. It was exactly 6 whole months since you were last physically intimate with your boyfriend. And with studies piling up along with the expectation of a scholarship holding sophomore, ‘getting yourself off’ was never an option. Not with a roommate around.

The tingling sensation grew even stronger. And you began to hear your own quickening breath. Jim Davis’ elongated fingers, they spoke of pride. You longed for them to travel to locations far more adventurous and private than your thighs. Especially when they were rife with experience. Truthfully, it was a fact that his hands and his delicious lips and tongue were fluent in your body than your own self. Being pleasure deprived for too long, the mere thought of him ravishing you, aroused you even more. Aroused, and certainly very starved. The kind that food simply could not satisfy.

“...and under the stars…” Yara continued, holding on to Chase with lovestruck eyes, “…he told me he loved m-”

“Excuse me!”

Cutting her off, you cried out as you stood up in an instant.

“What’s up with you?” Chase inquired, whilst Yara looked offended.

“Just I gotta…pee…” you lied, eyes landing on Jim, “…now”

“Okay…” you heard Chase mutter in kind as you left the table, “…TMI, but whatever”

In all fairness, being judged was the least of your concerns. With every speedy step you took, the faster your heart began to beat. Storming into the empty ladies room, you found yourself staring at a mirror once again, with a heaving chest and noticeably flushed cheeks. It was plain to see, you were engulfed in the flames of pure arousal, and the fire needed to be put out.

And when the bathroom door opened up once again, you turned to find the fireman enter. Wearing a serious expression, it was slightly difficult to decipher his thoughts.

“I…” you struggled as Jim strode towards you, “I didn’t know what else to do-” Except he knew. When he attacked you with a passionate kiss.

Jumping into him was reflexive. Wrapping your legs around his waist seemed almost choreographed. Finally resting on the washroom sink, it was quite safe to admit how both of you were very much relieved to be the only occupants in the room. For there was no intention of holding back. Your denim skirt hiked high up, revealing your thighs in completion under the white fluorescent lights as Jim stood between your legs. And they were much cared for, as his hands gingerly rubbed them back and forth while his lips indulged yours with hunger.

“You think they know I lied?”

Breathless, you inquired with innocence. Except you did not receive an instant reply. Not when you found yourself gasping when he pulled your head back by your hair with a growl. With liberated access to your bare neck, Jim celebrated by placing equally starving kisses all over, resulting in your surprising moans.

“You think I fuckin’ care?” He chuckled into your skin, to which you could not help but chuckle back:

“Oh no, you bad boy” you purred in tease.

“Oh yeah, baby girl …” purring back, his reply incited a giggle out of you before he kissed you once again.

“Ay Papi*!” You breathed into his lips before he snatched up yours for good. Surroundings were simply irrelevant the moment the kiss turned intense, as his tongue crashed in like the rude boy he was, and grabbed onto your own tongue in a passionate embrace. They clashed against one another in frenzy, him claiming you as his. As the kiss grew deeper, your moans grew louder. When he pulled away all the sudden, whimpers left your lips with desperation. Teasing you so, Jim took a good look at you:

“¿Como esta tu Español?” He breathed low. And you were pleased that you actually understood.

How’s your Spanish?

Pressing himself against you, he began to slowly grind. You grew excited. Listening to Jim Davis speak Spanish was simply erotic in the first place. And since you have been studying it on your own for past few months, you were certainly impatient to show him.

“Yo…” you began, finding the words “…estudio pala-sorry…” with a nervous chuckle, you looked down, “..I know I suck-”

“No no…keep going” Jim insisted with a smile, bringing your chin up for a reassuring kiss, “Now say it again…” he added, maintaining eye contact with ferocity. Taking a deep breath, all the words clearly appeared in your head. Thus, you flashed a mischievous grin:

“…estudiando palabras…muy importantes”

I am studying…very important words.

Gasping was all you could do when Jim picked you up, carrying you into the nearest toilet booth. Thankfully with this restaurant being surprisingly hygienic, you did not mind. Life barely was embedded in your legs the moment he put you down, locking the door behind you to push you against it.

“Oh yeah?” He inquired, panting, “¿Cómo cuál?”

Like what?

Panting alongside him, you stood up straight, “Por ejemplo…”

For example…

Amidst his pants and his impressed expression, you grabbed his hands, placing them over your buttocks. All the while you looked at him with eyes, heavy with lust:

“¡Haz lo que quieras!”

You could not believe how confident you sounded. Smiling with equal lust in his eyes, Jim kissed you in approval, definitely pleased with what he just heard:

(Do) whatever you want!

Growling with effect, his animalistic nature was exuded as his hands gripped onto your buttocks with passion. His big, generous hands felt through every cheek with familiarity, as if they just reunited with a long lost friend. But that did not mean he forgot about all the other friends, the rest of your frame that had missed him as well. Moaning with pleasure, you began to unbutton his white shirt during in haste.

You simply adored his hands, for they were as passionate as his Spanish was. As he proceeded to hold on to your hips, your own hands roamed over his torso over his white vest. Except you froze the second his hands landed on your chest. Shaky breaths exited your lips as you shivered by his touch, for your breasts were at its most sensitivity even through your thin cardigan top. Palming them generously, Jim groaned into your lips:

“Fuck! I missed you, Guapa”

“I missed you more, Papi”

Confessing in return, you kissed him once more. Moans of desperation mixed into your kisses the moment his hands dipped inside your cardigan crop top, only to make direct contact with your untethered bosom. You winced involuntarily, even from his touch so gentle. Jim chuckled with seeming victory. And you were not afraid to admit, how you were simply in the palm of his hand.

Usually, during the peak pre-menstruation, you dared not let anyone come close to you, let alone touch you. But when it was Jim Davis, those rules halt by the door. He was a man who could maneuver his touch. However, he certainly was no good boy. Proceeding with his sweet torture during kisses, you were relieved to have a door to keep you balanced. For his long fingers, they flicked, encircled and pulled your now-sensitive nipples, keeping them fully erect and thoroughly visible even through the clothes.

Gripping his vest even tighter, you pressed your thighs together, for intense levels of pleasure and sensitivity crashed within you, akin to an avalanche. In truth, it simply was an overdose, and you could not handle. You were a mere animal trapped in this cage of frustration. But like an animal, you managed to set yourself free. You pushed Jim back with such force, that he ended up sitting on the closed toilet seat behind him. A surprised expression adorned his face when you straddled him in the process. Peeling your cardigan off your torso, you hinted your need for him. Which immediately was motivation for him to unbuckle his pants. However, his eyes did not fail to leave your sight while he did. For his eyes revealed nothing but pure amazement and hunger. He inhaled deep:

“Fuck!” He uttered, while his hand dipped into his hardened manhood.

“Yeah, that’s right Papi…” you breathed, maintaining the ironclad gaze. All the while you permitted his hand to feel the intense dampness of your opening, “Fuck me!”

And thus, public decency went flying out the window the moment the lovers fully united. The manner in which his hands rested on your bare back; whilst you moved upwards and downwards in syncopation to his thrusts, it drove you wild. The manner in which his generous and erect shaft felt so familiar inside of your tight walls, was too intoxicating as always. His mutual desperation and hunger translated well, as his lips savored on your swollen and sensitive bosom as if they were treasured food rations. Tingles were divided into million branches, impacting every form of stimuli in your system. But even in the midst of these endless waves of pleasure, that certain question from Chase yet lingered in your mind:

“And?…that’s it? You both meet at a bar one night and…then sparks flew?” “Absolutely!”

For in truth, it was not just a night of drinking and playful flirting that caused this relationship to blossom. And just like that, You could not help but recall further.

And peek into the moment that remained stored in the deepest corner of your mind. In the form of a secret.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

With arms folded, you kept on waiting. Long enough for the chill outside to grow stronger. Long enough for you to begin pacing nervously. Even long enough for several men to exit the bar during. Given its cabin exterior, it became more and more evident that this was more of an old fashioned bar. You sighed. Jim was certainly taking a little bit too long inside.

Paranoia knocked on your heart’s door, forcing you to welcome it inside with reluctance. Thus, several questions began to occupy your thinking space. Was there trouble inside? A possible Bar Fight? You shook your head, for you were surely being delusional. Or worse, was this a part of his plan all along? The player type to ditch you for someone else? Perhaps with someone better looking that he just met. Envy formed in your heart towards a woman that possibly may not even exist. Your stomach turned in a merciless fashion. When the door opened again, a surge of hope grew in you. Could it finally be Jim?

Except it was not.

“Baby! You still around huh?”

Fabio said, in a pleased tone, exiting the bar. Clicking your tongue in an involuntary fashion, you turned away with frustration. For he was the last person you hoped to lay eyes upon.

“Hey-Wha-What’s the matter?” Fabio cried, “Can’t look at a friend?” Whilst he tapped you on the shoulder repeatedly. Alcohol was strong in his presence. And the fact he stood uncomfortably close certainly turned your stomach even more.

“Well, technically you’re not my friend” With a forced smile, you turned to him, “You’re Ray’s friend, OKAY? ” a snappy tone exited your lips. And for a split second, there was genuine offense painted in Fabio’s face.

“Just tryna be nice, jeez!” He muttered low, with arms lifted. Coming one’s senses, you finally drew in deep breath while letting your arms loose.

“I…I’m sorry, dude” you said, in a soft tone, staring the droopy eyed young man. Being Cindy’s friend, your last intention was to cause friction Ray and his friends. Your tone seemed to have been convincing enough, for Fabio flashed a soft smile in return:

“It’s okay…” he replied, to which you were relieved.

But that relief was short lived. Especially when Fabio leaned forward with puckered up lips in an instant, forcing you to gasp.

“What the hell, man?” You inquired, pushing him back with aggression.

“Ah come on, baby…” he drawled, chuckling in a playful manner, “Just one kiss…I mean, look at you! You still waiting out here. For who? I know… you really came here for me” with open arms, he went in for an embrace. Scoffing, you pushed him back again. That was when your pulse quickened again. To the point you hoped to flee.

“That’s it! I’m leaving! ”

You snapped, darting away from the entrance. The concern of leaving Jim behind or finding a cab did not seem problematic anymore, for all you needed was to get away. However, a painful cry left your lips when you felt your hair being pulled back. Your eyes widened. It was an angry Fabio.

“Ugh! Why you being such a Puta* right now, huh?” He said through gritted teeth, pulling you closer “Oh wait I forgot…” he snickered, “….you don’t understand Spanish, right bitch?” turning you to him. The alcohol had certainly rendered him more maniacal than ever.

“Don’t’ be a jerk, Fabio…” You cried, as you began to swing desperate punches towards his direction. But your defenses were lowered and moot, the moment he grabbed you tight by the wrists. You gasped, “..let… me… go! HELP! ”.

However, despite your cries, no one came to your aid.

This feeling, certainly was the ‘stuff of nightmares’. This feeling, had haunted you every now and again in imagination. To have it form into reality, was worse. No matter the force you exerted to free yourself, it seemed moot. For Fabio had the upper hand with his strength. And you were overpowered with intimidation. With the heartbeat increased in record speed, your heart was on the verge of exploding with fear. For the first time, you feared for your life. You despised the fact there was no one around, the fact this bar was on the outskirts. Almost close to tears, You heavily despised the fact you may be getting hurt in more ways than one tonight.

Until you heard a bottle shatter. Loud.

Glass fragments dripped from Fabio’s head as he cried out with immense pain. His grip on you loosened before he dropped down to the ground. Only for you to find Jim Davis standing behind him, with with a bottle broken in hand, and sheer rage in his eyes.

Rolling over, Fabio caught the sight of the man, “Jim??” He groaned, “What the hell, man? Why you helping this bitch-ARGH!”

A kick in the stomach was Jim’s choice in response, which incited more cries from the fool.

“THE FUCK YOU TOUCH HER FOR, HUH?” Jim yelled, his loud voice piercing through the tension like high pressured flames. However, the question seemed rhetoric, when he continued to kick Fabio, aggression growing more and more evident, “FUCKING…ASS…HOLE!” With tightened fists, he enunciated with each kick, “MOTHERFUCKE-”

“JIM!!!!”

You cried in an instant. And that very moment was when he finally froze. That fateful moment, you watched his face change, for his expression was clear as day. As if a wave of realization washed over him. As if bitter reality surprised him with a sucker punch.

All the while he stared down at his finished product: Fabio. He watched the the young man groan for his dear life, laying defeated and thoroughly bruised; all the while a weak stream of blood appeared prominent from his head and his mouth, adding a splash of bright color to the dark and dusty pavement.

Which was transparent enough for you, the witness.

You regretted being frozen with shock. If it only was for you to control. Thankfully a shred of it reached when you finally mustered the strength to call for him out from a potential murder. Violence, Danger, your trembling heart sensed it all. All from Jim. For that was what his strong aura emitted. However, despite your shock, never did you flinch. Never did your heart consider retracting from him or running away.

On the contrary, you were compelled to trust him even further. Especially when you sensed complete safety in him, above all others.

“Let’s go…”

You found yourself uttering those words, as you took his hand in urgency. Pulling him with haste, you both fled from the scene. Adrenaline coursing through the veins whilst running away, leaving a wounded man laying in his own mess before anyone could find out.

You remembered how Jim drove. Quiet, but focused. He drove and drove, until the bar disappeared from your sight. He drove to the point you both found yourselves ending up at a remote beach. And finally, time had returned to its normal pace once again.

Calming sounds of the ocean waves filled your ears, while the sight of the foamy waters barely were visible in the darkness. You watched Jim slowly take his hands from the wheel, rubbing his face. Your eyes widened, when you noticed his hand bleeding slightly. Perhaps from the broken bottle. You longed to speak, however no voice was present. Pushing the seat back, Jim slowly crawled over to the back of the car. Silence overpowered for too long, which urged you to clear your throat and speak:

“A…Are you ok-”

“You’re right, you know…”

You paused, upon hearing Jim’s interruption. Looking back from the front passenger seat, you found light finally shining on his face. Much to your sadness, cracks formed in your heart by the sight of his expression. Especially when silent tears streamed down his chiseled face. As if his mask of bravery was stripped away. Or even melted.

“You’re right…shit’s been crazy over there…” he chuckled with sadness, “…worse, shit’s crazy over here too…” he said, pointing at his own head.

Joining him in the backseat, you took the bandana off your head without hesitation.

“The thing’s I’ve seen…” he continued in mid-whisper, “The shit I had to do. The shit I wanted to do. It’s fucked up…so fucked up”.

It was unfathomable. Witnessing emotions of Jim Davis on variant scale in one single night, including him unveiling his vulnerability, you did not know where to begin processing. Simultaneously, those cracks in your heart, they could not help but form deeper to the point you ached inside. For a second, you were filled with an overwhelming desire for this misery in his heart to disappear. You longed for him to smile again. You froze. Were you tasting a slice of pure affection? Perhaps even, love? For him?

“It’s too fucked up…I’M fucked up-”

“Hey…hey…”

Your voice cracked when you finally began, leaning towards him, “Shhhh…It’s okay…” you said in comfort, while rubbing his forearm, “…its okay…I’m here” you said, as you occupied yourself with tending to his bleeding hand as a coping mechanism. The bleeding that he did not even notice.

With his hand on yours, the heart did feel heavier in comparison. As if his hand was magnetically powerful enough to keep you nearby. Thus, forming an attraction. Not the type that stirred the loins, but merely the kind that longed for you to wail on behalf of him. The kind to carry the pain for him. As if you did not wish to carry on another minute of your life, without knowing he would be well. And you would be lying if you did not want to show him that.

Your trembling hand reached out for his surprised face, turning it towards you with patience. The deep breath you took, it occupied your lungs in completion. Butterflies exploded in your stomach , causing a riot before you moved close. Close enough to feel his breath on your face. And close enough to press your lips on both his cheeks.

You tasted his salty tears, that stained his face. Pressing your own lips together, you hoped you could share his pain this way. Your eyes were smart, urging your voice to take a breather, whilst they gazed at his lips. Those lips that turned you greedy the moment you saw first laid eyes on them. And his trembling breaths of despair were enough for you to finally dispose of any form of hesitation.

For you finally moved to kiss him ever so gently on the lips.

With your kiss, you were there for him, in spite of it all. In spite of the violence and the tears. And the moment you instantly felt Jim kiss you back, you knew you were hopelessly his.

All the sudden, a dose of sweetness was infused with the salty kisses, weakening the flavor of the beer that lingered in his mouth. Selfishly, the need for comfort vanished. For all you needed was him. In every possible manner. Safe to say, Jim wholeheartedly agreed.

A sudden injection of passion entered your systems, setting your bodies in its entirety, in flames. Which also included the loins. Powerful enough for you to straddle him, powerful enough for Jim to flip you down to hover over you. And certainly powerful enough for the both of you to make love.

You treasured it all. The manner in which his fingers were precise, hooking on to your panties to gingerly peel them out of your frame. The manner in which his eyes gazed upon your own, then traveling all the way south to take in the sight of your now exposed opening, that dripped with wetness, blushing in its own means and begging him to explore it. Thus, it was to be expected, when you welcomed him inside you effortlessly. As if it had waited for him all your life.

Even for the first time, Jim was fast, and was rough. Yet surprisingly, you did not care. You knew where it originated. And it seemed most apt.

While he moved in body, he fled in heart. Away from the horrors, away from the pain. This resulted from his need for a distraction. Amidst the syncopated moans that filled the car, you cupped his face. Looking right into his hazel orbs, you witnessed his need. His need for a distraction. And at the peak of climax, you witnessed his desperation. His desperation, that urged you to never him go.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Present)

“I failed the test…”

Jim uttered low, capturing your attention. With your face buried in his neck, you heard it louder than ever. Tilting your head, you sat up straight to face him, confusion taking over. After reaching climax following a session of passionate and exciting love-making in a restaurant toilet booth, there you both were in recovery. Never did you expect him to break the silence with a statement such as this.

“What do you mean?” You inquired in a half whisper.

“The Psych test…” Jim elaborated, while you proceeded to put your cardigan top back on, “…for the LAPD gig” sighing, he was downcast “I failed that shit…”

“No….” You breathed. The disappoint that was rife in his tone, somehow pierced through your heart. Thus, ushering in a wave of sadness that came crashing in, “Baby, I’m so sorry…” you said as you embraced him tight. To your surprise, Jim held you tightly in his arms in return. For when he buried his face on the crook of your neck and remained in silence for a mere few seconds, it was evident that was what he was required of. A rush of butteries attacked as you gently cupped his face. You loved this man, and your heart was the witness.

“Fuck the cops if the they can’t relate” you said through gritted teeth, before kissing both his cheeks, “Fuck ‘em! Cause something better is comin’ ” you added with a soft smile, while your thumb ran over his upper lip, “We just gotta ...keep our heads straight”

To your relief, Jim seemed amused, “Speaking from experience?”

You smiled with pride, “You could say that…”

Both of you chuckled. “The point is…” you continued with a deep sigh, and huge smile, “I’m glad you’re back for good, baby”

Except for his own smile, it vanished right then. And in turn, his eyes watered and they shone, reflecting nothing but desperation and vulnerability. You took pride in being the one to witness it, just as you did that fateful night a few months back. Stroking your head with both hands, his forehead gently touched yours:

“¡Eres mia!” He breathed deep.

You’re mine!

How dare he? Expanding with immense warmth and impatience, it did not take long for your heart to gain rapid pace, as it was your very first time.

“¡Si, para siempre!” You answered with confidence. For it was simply the truth.

Yes, Forever!

——————————————————

Index

UCLA : The University of California, Los Angeles Salud: Spanish term for “Cheers!” Guapa: Spanish term for Beautiful, Gorgeous Taquitos: A Mexican Food Dish Pisto: Mexican slang. A general term for an alcoholic beverage (usually beer) USC: University of Southern California Fallujah: A city in Iraq Papi: Spanish Term for Daddy Puta: Derogatory Spanish term for bitch, whore

Tagged: @tammykelly @ladyerina @kittenlittle24 @everyday-imfangirling @lucy-roo @works-of-fanfiction @bale-is-a-babe @badsext @maddistyles17 @truly-insatiable @gooseyhouse @artsymaddie @quarterback-5 @mamooska8 @jensen-impala @lilyofthesword @woodencupcake @fonduebitches @soullesstaco @spicybellinger @marvel-lously @glitterypinkkitty @danceyreagan @barikawho @lostgirl0020 @diogodxlot @xxdearlybeloved @shewearsprada @lexiespeaks

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alisarb · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on Frenchie and Kimiko (deleted scene + 2x04)

Okay so tHINGS have happened since we last saw each other, folks, so let’s get cracking immediately.

Spoilers for The Boys season 2 until 2x04, stop reading if you haven’t seen it yet!

Before I delve into last episode’s events, I’d like to talk a bit about two deleted scenes that I think still play a vital part into context for the kiss scene in 2x04. Get for a LONG meta post.

The events that lead up to that kiss are influenced by everything we saw last season and that I talked about in a previous post: Kimiko opening and sharing her trauma with The Boys because she trusts Frenchie, Frenchie telling her and only her about his dad and his traumatic childhood, how their relationship is defined by freedom and absolute liberty to choose without judgement, etc.

Then, on season 2, we see that Kimiko has begun to interact with the other members of the gang a lot more (Hughie approaches her from behind to praise her on her writing practice and she smiles), and that everything has been going a bit roughly since Butcher left, holing up in the back of a store with some sketchy guys that Frenchie knows.

It’s obvious from the beginning of the season that Frenchie has been stressed and frustrated since everyone is highly wound up, but the moment Kimiko goes to him to show him the origami piece he stops to pay her attention and smiles.

One of the main points of this season is that Kimiko is finding a voice, a way to communicate. Unfortunately, another main point of this is that Frenchie is struggling to understand her.

He doesn’t get what the paper means, or why she keeps talking about “a boy and a girl.”

This boy, as it turns out, is her brother, who was also taken from the terrorist group into America and injected with Compund v, turning him into a Supe like her sister.

The conversation between the two of them is very telling. At one point, she asks if it hurt when they injected him, and he says: “I wanted to die.” She replies: “Me too”, and goes on to say that Vought had turned her into a monster.

A few scenes earlier, Kimiko goes into the store with Frenchie and brutally murders one of the employees. Frenchie looks completely horrified at the excessive force and shocked at Kimiko for “returning to her old habits”, in a way, but then realizes that he belongs to the Shining Light Liberation Army.

These two things help us understand her personality: when we first meet her, she’s locked in a cage and is completely feral and savage (understandably so). She’s only able to form a bond with Frenchie, and uses violence towards people without much remorse.

However, this season she doesn’t seem so prone to it, and I think the change in her character is what surprises Frenchie at the store.

Now, before we go into 2x04, let’s talk about the deleted scenes.

The first deleted scene: Cherie

I’ve tried to record the scene but to no avail, so I’ll describe it for those who don’t have Prime Video since I can’t find it uploaded anywhere else.

The scene is presumably set at the beginning of 2x02. We see M.M working on his dollhouse when suddenly some voices can be heard arguing in the background: Frenchie and Cherie. Frenchie sounds angry and tense and Cherie talks in a playful, passive-aggresive manner.

Frenchie: You’re getting on my nerves. You need to shut up.

Cherie (laughing, playful): You shut up. Just fucking say the truth then.

Frenchie (tense): Bye-bye...

Cherie (now visibly angry too): That’s all I’m asking. Say the fucking truth.

Frenchie (shouting): Okay, you can stop right there, okay?

Cherie: You wanna fuck her? Fuck her! Just (I didn’t get that part lmao)

Frenchie: We are not-! I would never sleep with her!

Cherie: Why!? Then what does she do, then? I mean, I see the way you look at her!

Frenchie: It’s difficult, it’s difficult to explain, okay? She’s special!

Okay, I won’t transcribe the whoooole conversation because IT’S LONG but I’ll describe the rest and quote the final part:

Cherie gets offended because, oh, Frenchie can fuck her hard and rough just fine but she’s too “magic and special.” Then Frenchie tries to explain (through C.I Joe characters wtf Frenchie) that him and Kimiko are like soulmates: they can “read each other thoughts”, and they think and feel the same, they are the same.

This mirrors what Karen Fukuhara, who plays Kimiko, said in a recent interview (posted a week before 2x04) when asked about the nature of their relationship:

“It could be love, romantic love. It could be like paternal love, because in the comics, she is portrayed as a younger girl, I think, when you first see her. Or it could be something deeper than friendship, something that we call “twin flame,” something that ties two people together kind of like a magnet, soulmates, if you will.”

Cherie grabs him and asks him how does he know what the fuck she’s thinking if she doesn’t say a word. Maybe he’s just projecting what he wants to believe into her for this very reason (VERY TELLING OF THE KISS SCENE).

Then, she turns around to leave and runs right into Kimiko. Cherie touches a strand of her hair and tells her: “I don’t think you’re too magic to fuck” before she leaves.

Kimiko looks at Frenchie confused as fuck, ofc.

The lovely @daddy-winter asked me what I thought because they’ve been announcing for a while now that their characters will drift apart this season, and I think this scene is key in understanding that.

Their relationship has been interpreted in many ways throughout the show, and this scene marks it clearly as romantic, as it shows Cherie being jealous or at least annoyed with how much attention he’s giving Kimiko. This also resembles a scene in S1 when she demands to know when he’ll be with her again. Then it takes a turn when Frenchie tells her he’d never sleep with her (which seemes to be disproved when he later tries to kiss her).

The way I see it, this scene was too open-ended, and at the same time, gave away too much of what’ll happen with them. I also don’t think it’s truly fitting with Cherie’s character since she later learns Frenchie tried to kiss Kimiko and is not excessively annoyed nor surprised (CHERIE KNEW FROM THE BEGINNING AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL).

We don’t see all the glimpses into their relationship and everyday life. In fact, when S2 begins we’re taken already into present day with no clarifications as to how much time passed (it doesn’t seem like more than a few weeks) or what has happened in that time (except for Butcher disappearing and them hiding with the gun smugglers). But we get this scene, which, as another user commented, is incredibly romantic in the way Frenchie straight-up affirms he would never sleep with Kimiko.

And now we get to the dreaded 2x04 and the terribly terribly timed kiss.

2x04 and dumbass Frenchie’s fucked up timing

The third episode ended with the death of Kimiko’s brother by Stormfront (played brilliantly by Aya Cash, btw) and her staring at the TV with boiling anger and grief.

The fourth episode begins pretty much the same way, and it reminds us of an earlier version of Kimiko: disheveled, huddled up under a table and staring at the TV in a dark room.

Frenchie, who was first introduced as a character way too comfortable with taking pills, stops getting high in S1 (coincidentally when he meets Kimiko). Then, all of a sudden, we start 2x04 with him snorting coke and getting high as a kite (Butcher’s words, not mine). The stress of the situation could be triggering enough on its own, but as we talked about at the beginning of this post, he’s seen relaxing instantly when Kimiko is around. However, the minute they start drifting away even the slightlest (them not being able to communicate, her isolating herself to grieve her brother) he feels the need to consume again.

That’s how he finds her: high, tense, and emotionally destroyed. An explosive mix, to say the least. He goes up to her to comfort her, but does the stupidest thing he could do: he goes in for a kiss. Of course, she pushes him away swiftly, and is shocked and angry.

The timing is terrible: she’s grieving her brother and the last thing she needs is to deal with this right now, especially when the show has already established that she’s emotionally fragile and not ready for more than slight contact (and just with Frenchie).

Once again referring to Karen’s interview, when asked about her brother’s death and whether or not it will be a setback in her character’s development:

“But then because of this loss, it’s going to create rifts within her relationships, especially with Frenchie. In a way, it’s not necessarily Frenchie’s fault or anything he does. Actually, scratch that. He does do something. But Frenchie’s not the source of the pain, you know? The source of the pain is the death, and she doesn’t deal with it. I mean, nobody deals with death the right way. The rest of the season is her grappling with how to deal with loss and grief”.

Later in the episode, Frenchie goes to Cherie (for the first time in presumably a long time) and they sleep together. Afterwards, she asks him to tell her what’s wrong and he admits to trying to kiss Kimiko. He affirms he was just “trying to make her feel better.” I’ve seen some discussions about how this means the relationship could still be platonic and he didn’t know any other way to do it, but I want to offer a different approach.

We already know Kimiko is inexperienced. I mean, it’s not explicitly said but we can all assume she probably doesn’t know a lot about normal, functional relationships apart from the one with her brother. Everything she’s known outside of that is violence, abuse and cruelty.

But we forget Frenchie is just as inexperienced.

They both come from abuse, and even though he prides himself in being succesful with women, Frenchie has never been in love. He doesn’t know how to properly love someone or communicate with them. Yes, he has had sex, but he doesn’t know anything about intimacy (sexual or otherwise). Kimiko was the one to show him, and the only way he can think of to comfort her is sexually, as it seems to be the thing that works for him (that, and drugs). This is confirmed when he later goes to sleep with Cherie to drown his sorrows, probably still high or drunk or both.

His face in Cherie’s bed as he tries to convey his feelings is heartbreaking. He just doesn’t know how to function in such a situation, and he’s terrified that he destroyed their bond by going too fast.

There’s another deleted scene set in 2x04 where Kimiko is in her room watching Stormfront’s speech and she finds a mouse wandering about. She feeds him, as it probably reminds her of her brother (her nickname for him was Mouse because he used to feed mouses in the camp that didn’t have a mom). Then later, she tries to feed it again and finds it dead under her bed, caught in a mousetrap. She breaks down and goes to Stormfront’s rally as Frenchie keeps pounding her door, pleading her to let him in. He hears the noise and forcibly opens the door, only to realize she’s gone.

The next we see of them is already at Stormfront’s rally, where he saves her from literally killing herself. As Frenchie says, she will not survive. Stormfront is more powerful and dangerous and she’s probably too weak anyway to fight her again. She looks at him and it’s clear there’s no resentment from before in her eyes. Kimiko feels safe with Frenchie, and she feels love for him:

Look at this and tell me they don’t love each other, I DARE YOU

But her grief and her vengeance are too much of an obstacle right now. She needs to leave and sort it out. It’s a clever, intelligent move for her character and for once I’m so glad the writers are aware that female characters are more than their romantic interest. She gets annoyed at him when he tells her “let’s go home”, for the simple reason that he’s not understanding her. He does it out of pure concern for her, but also comprehensible selfishness: he loves her and doesn’t want her to die. But by doing that, he’s belittling her need to get revenge for her brother. In this matter, Kimiko feels alone for the first time, and it mirrors the S1 scene where he offers her a choice to leave and find her brother. Now, he just can’t bear to see her go (of course now she’s in a lot more danger, but still).

This episode is so perfectly described in a post by @pineapplesperhaps: it is about love. From the title (Nothing Like It in the World) to the whole plot: the women talking about it and relationships in a ‘When Harry met Sally’ style (about communication, which is sorely lacking between them this season); every character’s story this episode is marked by love in this, in all of its forms: Hughie and Starlight, Butcher and Becca, Homelighter and milk. And then himself. Thinking about it, let’s not bring that up ‘cause it was too disturbing. Also please stop writing scenes about Homelander and milk I can’t bear it anymore wRITERS-

Karen mentions in the interview that there’s an episode this season about Frenchie’s background story that will also cause another shift (not rift, mind you) in their relationship. I’m so excited about it.

I think their drifting apart was inevitable and necessary to a degree for them to be able to come together in a healthy way. Kimiko is learning who is she as a free person, as a Supe, as a member of The Boys, and it’s hard to do so while figuring out the complex relationship with Frenchie. I don’t think she didn’t want him to approach her romantically, but the timing, as everyone has pointed out, was terrible to say the least. They are both new to this kind of bond and need to find the common ground necessary to get closer.

I am hopeful that this rift will only make their bond stronger and help them move forward with their relationship. The show has already established that Frenchie feels attraction towards Kimiko (as much as you want to comfort someone you don’t kiss them if you see them as a little sister or a daughter; besides, in the deleted scene with Cherie, she asks him if he sees her as those things and he denies it), and I think it’s pretty clear those feelings are returned, just expressed differently. The way all their physical interactions in the show have been initiated by Kimiko prove this.

To conclude this essay about the pairing that will probably kill me, I want to recommend a fanvid of them with a song that perfectly describes them: x&y by Coldplay. The lyrics talk about a lover the singer tries to comfort after a terrible loss but being ultimately unable to do so.

Trying hard to speak And fighting with my weak hand Driven to distraction It's all part of the plan When something is broken And you try to fix it Trying to repair it Anyway you can

I dive in at the deep end You become my best friend I wanna love you But I don't know if I can I know something is broken And I'm trying to fix it Trying to repair it Anyway I can

This is the video, it’s perfect and beautiful.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk and please keep up the fanfiction, you’re the ones that keep me going till Friday arrives.

#frenchie #kimiko #frenchie x kimiko #kimiko x frenchie #the boys #the boys season 2 #the boys spoilers #the boys spoilers season 2 #i will literally die next week #when i tell you i GASPED when he went in for a kiss #like i knew he was into her fuck holy fuck the writers are not playing #we all know kimiko is the one that's going to kiss him next time

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beni-draw-ikemen-please · 4 years ago

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EYES NOSE LIPS CH 4

EYES NOSE LIPS CHAPTER 4 - DON’T

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR X FEMALE PREFECT

Rating: Mature Readers (no smut yet)/ Fluff

Word Count: 4,072

You can read the previous Chapters below:

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4 — DON’T

“Ever since I was born, there’s been an immovable stone on top of my head. No matter what I do — I’ll never be king. Even if I studied all of the magic in the world and master them — to be king? — Never. Just because it’s an inevitable force as the order of your birth — life’s not fair.”

A lavish lifestyle with no real responsibilities rendered Leona to be a slothful prince. His role as second prince of the savanna and his line of kinship was a vignette — completely disappearing as soon as Cheka, his nephew was born.

The moment Leona discovered his curse was when he finally understood what his gift was. His small hands held valuable tapestry, stones, and fruits born from the rich lands but they all turned to sand. A prince of the savanna, whose magic was to turn everything, even human beings and fellow beasts, to sand — he’d been feared even by his closest retainers. The fertile lands feared long dry spells, and he was one to instantly cause it. He could hear the giant murmurs and the whispers of disgust. If he wasn’t a prince, he would have been exiled or executed.

Leona loved his older brother, Farena, with all he had. He was a thunderous presence, admirable strength, and like the sun, a source of warmth and inspiration for all.

And there he was, the second son. Leona felt himself as a small and dark dot slithering towards the bright gradient of pink and orange that was a sun in the horizons of the savanna. A long road ahead of him, and looking back, there were only shadows and thorns. His shadow grew further and further away as he walked towards the bright source of light. Beneath his feet was dust and sand — the vestiges of his curse. Once they were living, now no more under his hand.

He could hear his older brother call out to him. An echo that haunted him every night. The echo that hummed him to sleep each night. The warmth that fed his cold.

****

Leona barely saw the prefect in the last two days before the Ramshackle Dorm handover. He attended class, much to everyone’s surprise, barely absorbed in any lesson though. And yes, he was relieved to be praised by Trein for coming to class, but this time, his head was filled with thoughts of the prefect. The exterior hallways never changed, in the hundred years that Night Raven College stood, very little things changed. And in his three years there, the deep green carpets that extended like eternity didn’t impress him one bit. They were a boring sight. Nothing new. His brows knitted in boredom.

“Where is she now?”

“Club activities? Since when? I thought she was busy with chores in Savanaclaw and especially making food.”

“To think she would have time for club activities.”

Leona lazily scratched his right eyebrow, whilst fighting the urge to sleep through last periods. After class, he will have Magift training; being the captain, he needs his energy every single day. Magift training was something he never missed. But ever since they slept together, his focus was now somewhere else.

The night before, he allowed himself to fall asleep with Asami happily atop his bed. Not that they did anything strange, no. He would recall the moment when he awoke in the middle of the night. His own restlessness jerking him up from his slumber. Someone else’s hands and arms wrapped around him that night. Was he dreaming?

He opened his eyes, and as they adjusted to the darkness of his room, he recognised the events of the previous afternoon. Asami lay on her side, her one leg clung to Leona’s. Her arms wrapped around his torso, practically hugging him closer to him, if there was any other chance to be closer than that. Her dark hair filled his favourite pillows — burgundy and mustard yellow.

He couldn't believe he actually slept in his clothes. And as his eyes hovered over Asami’s sleeping figure, he could slightly peek under her skirt that was now lifted by their shifting sleeping positions. She wore black tights so there was really nothing to see, but the thought of her sprawled on his bed, made it almost impossible for Leona to fall asleep.

He, in fact, stayed awake — the whole night. Just watching her. Just resting there, limbs tangled with hers. He had zero regrets staying where he was. He listened to her breathing, as he did before he fell asleep.

When daybreak came, Leona pulled himself off the bed and took his time to sober himself up from the drunkenness of being in her embrace.

He wanted so badly to be around her more often.

He started wanting to be around her?

When morning came, he felt fine. When she woke up just as he was drying his hair, he was glad to have that stupid towel on his head. He could at least cover his face.

Leona Kingscholar wanting to hide his face? It was a thought that made him scoff. But when he looked at the prefect, there was no fear in her eyes. No fear, but worry. How worried she looked as she searched his face for unknown answers formed a dry lump on his throat.

Why does she look so worried about me? When she needs to worry about herself?

Leona didn’t understand it. How casually she walked behind him on the way to the Savanaclaw mirror. And how, despite the intense blush on her face, she stayed closed as they passed through. And, as he was about to head towards the third year hallways, the way she called out to him made the hairs on his nape tingle a bit.

*****

��You sleep with Ruggie—” Leona blocked the way to his room as Grim attempted his daily retreat.

“Why?! We— we still have tonight and tomorrow!” Grim pushed him with his soft grey paws in protest.

“But you can sleep with Ruggie. He’ll prep a meat platter for you—” Leona’s haughty offer was truly tempting for the small grey monster. But Grim was undoubtedly tired from the past two weeks. And he really just wanted to rest.

Leona kept his stance, calling out to Ruggie as he dodged Grim’s attempts to push him away.

“What about my minion? Where will she sleep?!! Don’t tell me, with Ruggie or Jack!” Grim was angry, the blue flames of his ears burning brighter with every word. Leona let out a sordid laughter.

“What do you mean? The kitten will be sleeping with me—” His relaxed countenance made the furs on the back of Grim’s scruff stand up. Leona’s bloodthirst emanated from that smirk. And Grim knew better than to stand up to the king of beasts.

“Hunyaaaa—!!!!!!!” Grim jumped, protecting his tail, and Ruggie carried him off by the scruff.

Leona waited. His arms tucked under his head, he waited while relaxing atop his bed. His eyes glued to the doorknob. He wasn’t really sure what would happen, what he would say or what would be the offer when the prefect returned; but he waited for her return. Restless turning and shifting. His ears twitch every time he heard footsteps passed by the hallway leading to his room.

Leona clicked his tongue. Where is she?

She’s supposed to be back by now. Leona took a deep breath to try and relax himself. It wasn’t like him to be this excited over a girl. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

****

“Are you excited?” Jade Leech towered over her. The twins both did. She was a small thing compared to them but after working part-time at the Mostro Lounge for two weeks, her fear of them dissipated. Floyd was now more playful around her and would even hug her randomly. Jade noticed her interest in the variety of tea leaves they housed in Mostro Lounge, and to his surprise, their little human actually had a knack for blending leaves. Her brewing methods might need some refining work, but he appreciated the care she put into every pot she made.

Jade took a liking to her, day by day, his gold and rust-coloured eyes would follow her around as she waltzed around the floors of the lounge. They’ve gotten a lot more patrons since she started her part-time shifts. And Azul, was gracious enough to let her have her dorm back, and her part-time spot. Their initial deal was problematic, but Asami worked hard to earn her keep and Azul was a man of his word. And, he found better use for the prefect other than making her his errand dog.

“I’m excited! It feels like a long two weeks….” Asami held the tray close to her chest. Her shift was almost done. Jade looked at her, there was a certain calmed chaos that crashed in his sharp eyes; like the waves that crashed into the shore.

“It must be tough living in Savanaclaw—” Jade’s voice was always calm. And it was soothing to Asami’s ears. She’s grown to like him and she was happy not to be judged whenever she rambled about tea leaves and indoor plants and mushrooms. But the mere mention of Savanaclaw softly wiped the smile of her face. Her head bobbed low, Jade waited for her words to come out.

“It’s not really tough… I actually—” Jade leaned towards her, she had this habit of talking so soft it became hard to understand what she was actually saying at times. But he didn’t really mind it as he accustomed himself around her. It gave him a better excuse to lean in and carefully listen.

“I actually like it there… I’ve grown to like everyone in Savanaclaw—” A meek smile bounced back on her face. A slight blush creeping up reaching even her small ears.

He saw the blush on her cheeks at the slight mention of Savanaclaw. And how, whenever the dorm was mentioned, she'd dip her head low, almost as if trying to hide her already small self. Jade noticed. How she would let out a heavy sigh when someone enters the lounge. It was as if she was expecting someone to walk in, but it never turned out to be the person she wanted to see. When blazers adorn with yellow ribbons walked by, how her eyes would open wide — like a child peeking through the windows of a candy store for the first time. Her eyes searched for something. Maybe, someone. And Jade, very much wanted to know who that person was.

Jade Leech would feel his head slowly shift towards her direction. Just as she finished her shift, he carefully watched how she hurriedly removed her white bow tie and fedora hat then headed towards the changing rooms. With elegant, careful and elaborate gloved hands, Jade took a copper canister and examined the next blend Asami had prepared.

Loose black tea, bits of dried mint and shaved chocolate bits. He took in a deep breath. An exquisite blend. He carefully ran a finger over the characters Asami had written on the canister label. “Chocolate Mint Truffle” in small dainty cursives. A smile gently appeared on Jade’s face.

How lovely. He thought to himself.

****

Leona could feel the peeking sun peel his eyes open. “Tch—” he muttered as soon as he felt himself wake up. Too bright. He thought. His hand reached for his phone to check the time.

Too early. Too early for anything.

Leona felt himself jump out of bed to look around. He suddenly remembered that he wanted to wait for the prefect to return. But he unknowingly fell asleep. Out of frustration? Out of anticipation? Maybe actual exhaustion? He looked around the room, and found her sound asleep on the usual futon on his carpeted floor.

It was the first time he actually woke up to her sleeping there. Minus their ‘sleeping together’ incident, of course. He felt a sense of relief on his shoulders at the very sight of her. Her guard, finally down — and she allowed herself to be there — knowing he can wake up at any given time.

Leona languidly moved from his bed down to the floor and even closer to her. Asami lay on her side, her hands in front of her face and slightly covering her lips. It was the steady and soft breathing which was familiar to him. And how he treasured that moment.

Leona then — with half-lidded eyes — moved closer to the prefect. And he joined her space, snuggling himself behind her sleeping figure. His arm drew closer to her — if not — maybe it was him who actually scooted closer to her.

He couldn't remember, he was falling fast asleep again as he found comfort in the scent of her. She was familiar and warm; a tantalising medley of wanting, longing and owning overcame his senses as he, yet again, allowed himself to be in this world. The world that was just her.

****

Asami couldn’t remember when the last time she slept so comfortably in Leona’s room. She had been actively avoiding it. And frankly, she didn’t remember sleeping there for more than just a few hours. But yesterday was an exception. She arrived at Savanaclaw later than usual. Evening meals have been cleared, after-dinner runs are done and the lounge is empty. No one in sight. Her feet dragged her to Leona’s room, the only oasis she knew she could run to. She opened the door ever so softly, still managing a soft creak, and as she peaked inside, Leona’s sleeping figure assured her that everything was normal.

She fell onto the futon, not even noticing that Grim was gone. Leona’s soft snores made her smile, and she let herself rest and fall asleep.

At least, that’s what she last remembered.

Her last day in Savanaclaw, Asami awoke to strong arms around her waist. And the warmth of long luscious strands all over her face. A soft kind of purring buried onto the back of her head, soft breaths tickled her hair and ears. “A cat?”

She didn’t remember Grim being in the room, nor him being this big—

She felt her cheeks turn hot when she realised what was happening. Her fingers slowly and gingerly brushed over his hand—a tight grip on her waist, drawing her to his crouched figure. Asami tried to face him, but his grip was much tighter than she could manage.

“Leona-senpai…” her soft voice called out to him, she was careful not to wake him so suddenly. She knew his waking mood was not the best, and she didn’t feel like getting devoured after working so hard to be under his mercy these past two weeks.

He let out a soft groan. A rather gentle groan, and pulled her even closer. “Early…” he mumbled, lightly chewing bits of her hair that gave Asami’s back a quick shiver.

“We… We have to get ready….” Her hands tugged his carefully laced fingers around her waist. Her face felt hotter but the minute she felt him breathing into her made her legs squirm a bit.

Leona cleared his throat, and tight hands around Asami suddenly broke free, his body pulling himself off of her yet again. What a pain. What a chore. He thought. He wanted to stay asleep. Why was being around her so comfortable?

Asami looked at the dorm leader, who seemed like he was inebriated. Hand on his forehead and unmoving. Her hand was hesitant to the idea of touching him. When was she okay with actively reaching out to him? Asami couldn’t remember.

“I’m sorry I woke you… Dorm leader…” Her eyes worried and focused on him. Worried he might have not slept all right. Worried she woke him up when she arrived and opened the door. Worried he might be angry at her. Searching, her eyes searching for an indication that he was okay and he wasn’t angry.

Leona’s eyes found hers. Sleep still drowned his focus. He reached out to her and held her close to him. Head resting on her small shoulders “Five…. Minutes.” He mumbled softly, like a child refusing to get ready for school. It was sweet, she thought. She did not move, she let herself enjoy this version of him. Like a dream she refused to wake up from.

Leona languidly pushed her off of him and slowly stood up, and still ended up sitting on his bed. Hands covered his eyes — almost as if he was trying to hide himself. Asami stood up and smoothed her pajamas before approaching him.

“Are you okay?” Asami ducked lower to meet his eyes, worried he might not be feeling well.

“I’m fine” Leona faced her, eyes now focused and awake.

Her eyes fixated on him, seemingly searching for a sign. What exactly would that sign be? He didn’t know. But only now, only then, did he notice how the centre of her eyes were dark red. Something dark in the middle of the bright carnelian swirls of her eyes. Her face in the morning was soothing, in a way. Somehow it was alright, and it felt right to be there. Leona didn’t realise it but his hand was already reaching out to touch her. Warm palms rested on her neck. He felt himself gulp, as he took in the sight of her. Waking up not cramming to get ready to be anywhere or to do anything. But waking up, to see her.

How beautiful. He thought to himself but he was careful not to say it out loud.

Asami was still. It was as if she understood the need to be still whilst his hand rested on her neck. Her hair was a bit messy but it didn’t bother him, really.

Did she always wear pajamas?

He doesn’t really know.

Did she always wear that light pink colour? It suits her. He thought.

Asami was still, and yet she seemed to look brighter and brighter the more he looked at her. Like the rising sun in the savanna. The lone golden sphere pushing away the darkness of everything. His darkness, perhaps?

“Did you sleep well?'' Finally she broke the silence. Voice still soft and husked from slumber. Her lips moved so beautifully, he thought. How he wanted it. Since when he thought he wanted them, he wasn’t certain. But his eyes trailed from her eyes, down to her small nose, and then to her lips. Slightly parted lips, flushed cheeks, like they always are around him.

Did he make her so nervous her face is always this flushed? He wasn’t certain. He thought he knew a lot of things. Leona Kingscholar thought he got the lion’s share of intellect. But now he realises that he has a list of things he did not know. And she was on the top of that list.

He paused for a moment, and looked to what appears to be the direction of her chest. Leona looked away and cleared his throat.

“You should change…” and he coughed again, hastily standing and heading for his dresser to throw her a fresh towel. “I mean get ready…” lazily pointing at the bathroom door as he walked out of the room. Asami looked down at herself and realised that her pajama top’s spaghetti straps were already half off her, revealing the top part of her chest. Asami ducked to cover herself but Leona was already out of sight.

Yet again, she felt very small around him. And in that corner of his room, her face and ears displayed a brighter deeper tint of red.

It was their last day in Leona’s room. And Asami felt a heavy kind of melancholy wrap around her as she finished getting ready. She looked around; his pine green sheets were still new from yesterday. His dresser — messy as always — looked the same no matter how many times she cleaned up. Shirts half-pulled and other bits of clothing scattered around it. Red and blue beads scattered on the floor. How his choker and bracelets stayed in place, she will forever wonder.

Not that she minded, really. She enjoyed the last few days of it. She sat quietly atop his bed. Reminiscing that time when she felt the closest to him. She slept on his bed and never did she feel any sort of malice come out of it. Leona too, When did she allow herself to be okay with him being around?

When did it start?

How is it that now she could look into his eyes and feel no fear when she had been actively avoiding him during all of her time staying in Savanaclaw?

Asami folded her futon and gathered her things, tightly zipping her duffel bag close. She took a deep breath, hoping the scent of the room would imprint onto her brain. Who knows when she could step into this room ever again?

She walked out and headed for the hall of mirrors.

That day, Leona Kingscholar didn’t wait for her outside his door.

*****

Leona Kingscholar could feel that he was slowly falling off the world of reason. Ruggie and him took their usual spot at the rooftop during lunch. There was no special box for him or Ruggie. And, when he returned to get ready, the prefect, along with their things were gone. He expected as much.

She must have been glad to get out of there. He thought to himself quietly as he hummed. Leg propped on top of his knee, hands behind his head. Ruggie was quietly eating his lunch, quietly watching the dark-haired prince as he hummed to himself with eyes up to the sky.

“Kantokusei-chan said she’ll come by again to clean, maybe after school.” Ruggie waited for a response. His tone was flat, much like his daily reports. Leona’s tail didn’t swish around in interest. His head unmoving and his store-bought lunch untouched. Ruggie thought of things to goad Leona.

“I’m sure she’ll drop by to give you a thank you present or something—” Ruggie chuckled, a hint of teasing formed his sentence.

“Whatever.” he drawled. Leona did not wait for her. Instead, he let her take her time and got ready somewhere else. He didn’t feel like staying in the same room after the sight of her, in that.

He didn’t want anything from her. Leona didn’t want to think the prefect owed him anything. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to think about her at all. The amount of wanting and owning he had for her was only on a bare simmer. And he was well aware that, sooner or later— if he allowed it — he’ll want enough to carve his way into her life if he let it bubble away. He had the chance to kill the fire. And the prefect moving out of his room meant he would see her less. And he will have no chance to interact with her.

For a second, it gave Leona a sense of relief. A kind of normality, after two weeks of abnormality. Leona focused on the feeling of relief. The relief of knowing the prefect wouldn’t have to put so much effort into getting to his good sides. The relief that she won’t have anything to do with him after the handover. Relief that she can sleep peacefully every night, without him.

Without him.

Leona tried to focus on the feelings of relief.

Because the bitterness left on his mouth and the pang on his chest felt stronger. He didn’t think even her sleeping face could save him from that bitterness.

“Leona-saaan! Why won’t you say anything? Are you really going to just leave things like this?”

Ruggie once again tried. He stood up and sat in front of Leona. Eyebrows raised in confusion as he stared at the prince. Leona did not move, his eyes were closed. More like a sloth and less like a lion.

“Leonaaaa-saaaaaan!” Ruggie grabbed the untouched sandwich bag and cheered. Leona not minding. A deep and heavy sigh escaping him. “Stop nagging.”

“If you leave things lying around, people will take them.” Ruggie mumbled as he munched. Leona’s eyes were closed, but his one eyebrow rose in irritation.

His ears twitched as he listened to Ruggie.

To be continued....

Tagging: @ohno-otome @pseudofaux @shannie-writes ^ u ^

#Leona Kingscholar #Twisted Wonderland #Leona x Asami #Twisted Wonderland Leona #Onibeni

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caitlinsnicket · 5 years ago

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Bittersweet Tragedy pt. 3

Part one | Part two | Part four

Request: Would it be possible for you to perhaps so a part three to Bittersweet Tragedy? Perhaps it's set a while into the future and Jaskier and the reader get married, or get ready to start a family of their own, and we’ll get lots of scenes of them interacting with Geralt and Ciri.

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Y/N, Ciri.

Warnings: One cursing word, talks about pregnancy, Ciri being a baby, maybe some OOC and the usual bad writing.

Pairing: Jaskier x Y/N.

A/N: HI I’M ALIVE. Finally finished this piece, I hope you guys like it. Feel free to like, reblog, or leave a comment! Also, requests are open!

When people say “my family is weird”, they’re probably talking about a funny grandma, an alcoholic father, or a non-existent mom. Even a bunch of siblings, too many to fit in one hand. But when we say “my family is weird”, we mean it.

You see, I was just a castles maid, minding my own business, but longing for adventure. Then, Jaskier and Geralt fell from the roof (literally), and my life changed completely. Too many adventures, too many close calls, and my nerves still longed for that chill of adrenaline. Then, that separation. We don’t talk about that anymore. We did talk some time ago, even screamed about it (I screamed the most), but now it’s been forgotten.

And then, we fell on the road again. The constant bickering between Geralt and Jaskier left a lot of room to bond with Ciri, and we are as close as sisters now. And, for the first time in so long for us, this is going calm. It’s almost like we are just in a touristic trip to see some nice places.

But there’s something different. The first one to notice was Ciri.

“Are you okay? This is the third time this week that you throw up. Did you eat something rotten?”.

I stop for one moment. The boys are walking ahead of us, talking casually about something (weird), so I grab Ciri’s arm and I pull her closer to me.

“I don’t think it was something rotten. I don’t know what it is, but I feel like something is wrong. When did your cycle end?”.

“Three days ago. Your’s should’ve started already, right?”.

Ciri and I also talked about that, one night while I was brushing her hair. Now that we were all traveling together, we shared soaps and other hair products, so her white locks were starting to get soft again. I almost hit Geralt when he told me they only had cheap soap for a while and because of that, he said she could use it in her hair.

“Let’s not go too far into conclusions. Let’s wait, if I start to get bigger, we’ll be sure”.

She smiled wickedly at me, and then put her hand over my stomach.

“I will call you Bug”.

I push her affectionately, starting to walk again while we laughed.

“Shut up, you don’t know if there’s someone there”.

“It could be twins. Can you imagine your size if you had twins?”.

I look shocked at her.

“Ciri!”.

“How do you feel about triplets?”.

I push her again, and we reach the boys, who stopped ahead of us and observed with curious eyes. Jaskier laughs nervously, and Geralt just looks... weird. Like his face is trying to look confused and amused at the same time, but is not used to it. Jaskier rests his arms in his hips.

“Wha- what are you girls laughing about? I would like to hear the joke too”.

Me and her share a knowing smile, and now we take the lead of the walk side by side, leaving the boys behind.

“We were talking about women's issues. You wouldn’t understand”.

I can hear Geralt’s chuckle, and Jaskier takes a breath.

“Oh, the matters of the heart. We men certainly are not capable like you women to talk about this kind of stuff”.It’s like everything stops for a moment, and I can feel Ciri’s eyes on me, as well as Geralt’s. I can also feel Jaskier’s regret.

“Actually, it was about strength, something that you wouldn’t understand much, am I right?”.

I turn around, his mouth open in a circle, and he seems about to argue, but Geralt hits him (lightly) in the back of his neck, and tries to hide his smile. Ciri is giggling. I wait for Jaskier to get closer to me, and I hold his hand, while he pretends to be mad at me. When I kiss his cheek, he tries to keep pouting.

He fails.

Even with Ciri cheering for a child (and me being kinda hopeful), it turns out it was actually a bite from a bug that made me throw up so much, and my period was missing for a few days, so no child. Now, it was already dark, and I sat in front of the fire with Geralt by my side. Ciri and Jaskier had gone to the nearest town to buy candy, so it was the most silence we had in days.

“So, how are you?”.

Geralt never started conversations that would be useless. No, casual wasn’t a word in his dictionary. I eyed him with an incredulous look in my face, but he seemed serious. I hesitated at first before responding.

“I’m fine. Why?”;

“Nothing. Just, you know. Checking in” he said the sentence uncomfortably. Shifting, he moved away from me, looking at the fire with meticulous interest.

I cross my arms, a playful smirk blossoming in my face as I turn directly to his direction, watching him. The fire seems very interesting to him.

“Geralt, you would never ask me ‘how are you’ all of the sudden. Maybe after a battle, but not now. What is it?”.

Someone would’ve thought that he hadn’t listened as he continued to look at the flames, but I knew from the movement of his eyes and the twitch of his eyebrows that he had heard very well. Geralt of Rivia was *speechless*. But, thinking about it, there was no reason whatsoever for him to ask me that. The last time we fought was miles ago, I didn’t whine for any pains, I had even been in a good mood the whole day!

He didn’t turn my way, but he seemed conflicted now. Not that a stranger would know, but after so many days living with him, I learned to read his little expressions. Still hesitating, his chest widens from the breath he takes, but before he starts talking, Jaskier and Ciri appear from the woods, arms stuffed with packages, laughing at some joke they told each other.

Geralt’s stoic expression came back with Jaskier’s voice, but he didn’t seem embarrassed: actually, he seemed angry. Ciri came to my side and handed me one of the packages that had some cake slices in it. I smile at her, and when I turn around, Geralt is whispering angrily at Jaskier, who looks disappointed. I take a bite of the cake, which was made of strawberry. Ciri suddenly pokes my shoulder.

“Jaskier was weird today, asking if you were okay. I think he thinks that we think that you are... you know” she whispers as low as she can.

I finally realize what was happening: Jaskier left with Ciri to see if he could squeeze something from her, and Geralt stayed with me to do the same thing. The ridiculousness of the situation made me choke on the cake, and I started coughing like a madwoman, Ciri patting my back gently, and I could feel the boy's eyes on me, and when I managed to calm myself down, I quickly looked at them.

Geralt looked quickly back to the fire and Jaskier went back to his cake.

“He thinks that he knows that we thought that I was pregnant?” I whispered back, fighting off the laugh that started to bubble inside of me “Did he hear something? What did he say?”.

“He asked if I knew why you puked a few days ago. He saw it and was worried, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable”.

“I’ll talk to him in a few days. But now I want the cake” I comment, getting back to eating the piece with her. The boys were still mumbling, and I couldn’t help but imagine what was Geralt’s face when Jaskier asked him to talk to me.

Why did he say yes?

After making sure that Ciri and Geralt were walking ahead of us, I pulled Jaskier with me. Through the rest of the night, he avoided me like the plague, as if sensing that something was off. When we went to sleep, he just turned his back in my direction, pretending to be asleep. Now, he tried to break free from my grasp, but I had a firm hold on him.

“We are going to get left behind Y/N”.

“Do you need to ask something to me?”.

He gave up, sighing and after what seemed to be an eternity, he answered, hesitating in each word.

“Is there a... possibility, just a possibility... that you’re pregnant?” he finally spoke, looking at me in agony.

Then, it hit me that he might not want a baby. He might not want to be with me forever. Maybe, after everything got solved, he wanted to back being just friends like before, so he could flee and sleep with whoever he wanted. My heart sank when everything came into place.

“What if I was?”.

His expression changed completely, a huge smile blooming in his face, and he placed his hands in my hips, switching his gaze between me and my stomach.

“Are you?” He asked, puppy dog eyes glowing at me, expecting.

I instantly felt bad. Jaskier was the sweetest, loveliest man I’ve ever met, and doubting his love for me wasn’t logical. Better than that: he wanted a baby. My own expression changed to an apologetic one, and I place my hands upon his.

“No sweetheart, I’m not. I thought so because of the puking, but it was just a bug bite” his aspect dropped a little, but I quickly held his chin with my right hand “but I’m glad to hear that you want a kid” I smile at him.

I kiss him, and he sticks my body in mine. A family, who would’ve thought. But before I could get more lost in Jaskier’s embrace again, I hear Geralt’s voice in the distance.

“We can’t wait forever you two! Hurry the fuck up!”.

“Geralt, she’s not pregnant!” Jaskier screams and Ciri laughs echoes through the woods “but she will be” he looks back at me, hopeful gaze in his eyes as his voice drops to a whisper “I wish. I hope. Do you want to?”.

I giggle, kissing him again.

“Yes, I do want to”.

#imagine #Jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #jaskier x y/n #dandelion #dandelion imagine #geralt x reader

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robbiekaysfavoritelostgirl · 5 years ago

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The Hybrid

Pairing: Jacob Black x hybridCullen

Edward Cullen x hybridCullen

Edward Cullen x Bella Swan

Plot: You are the last witch of your kind, you were turned after you vampire father decided to get back at your mother. In a effort to throurt him your grandmother transferred the magic of the entire coven over to you, so that when you woke a vampire you would have access to your magic but had the speed, heightened senses and immortality . After a century you meet Carlisle and agree to join his family. Everyone thought that you and Edward were going to end up married until he met Bella. You were left heartbroken until you meet a certain wolf.

Fandom: Twilight

A/n: So this is what inspired my story “The Hybrid” so I had to do it. Also the pairing only refers to the certain part. The pairings crossed out are the ones that will come in another part. This is only part one.

“Does this town ever change?” I moaned, my head falling against the cool window as I continued to stare blankly at the never ending sea of green that lay outside.

“Of course it does, there wasn’t a high school last time we were here.” Edward laughed, reaching over for my hand, lifting it so he could press a kiss against my knuckles. I sighed, rolling my eyes softly as I leaned over to press my lip against his own.

“Hey now! Don’t distract him, I don’t want to die because you two feel like having a makeout session while driving.” Emmett laughed, grinning widely at me as I turned to face him.

“Aww don’t worry Em, if were to crash I would make sure to save Rose and Edward.”

“Oh well that’s wonderful and all but what about me?” Emmett demanded.

“Oh sweet Emmett I am only but a witch, I can not save you all.”I giggled, ducking as he aimed a playful punch my way. The moment he did Edward let out a snarl, despite knowing fully well that Emmett would never actually apply enough force to harm me. He was full aware that as part human, I was much more vulnerable than the rest of our siblings.

“Easy Edward, I’m not going to harm her. Do you really think I want to spend the next century listening to you, Esme, Carlisle, Alice and Nik yelling at me?” Emmett sighed. “Not that I would the chance. If she gets out of this car in less than perfect condition her twin will eat me for dinner.”

“I can defend myself you know.” I laughed, smiling wickedly as I snapped my fingers, causing a flame to appear in my hand. I turned it over, watching as the flame wrapped itself harmlessly over my skin.

“Will you stop that!” All three of them hissed, Edward reaching over to pull my hand, which I had unconsciously lifted up towards the window, back down. At once I let the flame die out and glanced at the three others in the car.

“Sorry, I forgot people may actually be able to see us.” I muttered, biting my lip as I glanced shyly at them. Rose was the first to sigh, shaking her head softly and giving me a small warm smile in return.

“It’s not that, no one is around us to see and if anyone did you could easily deal with that.” Rose said quickly, leaning forward so she was between Edward and I. “It’s us. Seeing you in flames, even ones that we know you can control, scare us.”

“I keep forgetting that. I have never seen a vampire be destroyed, so it’s so easy for me to forget. My coven never knew how to destroy us.” I sighed, kicking myself mentally forgetting that fire was a sure fire way to keep us dead.

“We know and we will work very hard to insure that it’s something you never have to witness.” Edward vowed, reaching over to squeeze my hand gently.

“Just do us all a favor and forget that spell exists.” Emmett sighed. “If it wasn’t already stopped, you would have given me a heart attack.”

“Right, fire spell is no longer a thing.” I promised, earning a relieved smile from all three of my vampires.

~~~

“You know, I have to admit. I miss this view.” I sighed, curling myself into Edward’s side. He chuckled, running his finger tips over my exposed flesh, the feeling causing me to shiver with delight. There really was nothing better than his touch.

“Hmm it’s a nice view. I mean nothing compared to the one I currently have, but nice enough.” He answered, smiling at me as I lifted my head from his shoulder. He was staring at me, laying naked against his side, my knee positioned over his hips, his free hand making a trail from my hip to my knee.

“Maybe I have the better view.” I mumbled, moving forward just enough so I that I was able to press a kiss to his lips. As he pushed me onto my back, his body sliding so he was hovering over me, I couldn’t picture how this would ever stop. How Edward and I would ever not be like this. Surely we felt like this, because we were meant for one another.

“I think.” I muttered sometime later. “That the reason we were both turned is so we could be together. I think this was always how it was supposed to be.”

“I couldn’t agree more. This, all of it, was so we could spend forever in each others arms.”

~~~~ Two Years Later~~~~

“I’m not Edward’s mate?” I whispered, my voice barely loud enough for me hear, yet Alice was able to hear it perfectly.

“I am so sorry Y/n, we all truly thought that you were. I mean we have never seen anything like you and Edward, the love you have for one another.”

“Had.” I sighed, my voice breaking as I struggled to hold back the tears. “The love we had together. I’m nothing to him now.”

“You know that’s not true.” Rose cried, moving so she could pull me against her. “Look at how hard he fought it, fought against the pull she has on him. He wouldn’t have done that if you meant nothing to him.”

“It doesn’t matter now. It can’t.” I mumbled, shaking my head as I brushed the unshed tears from under my eyes. “I need to talk to Esme and Carlisle. I can’t stay here. I’ll go stay with Tanya and her family. I just, I can’t...” I shook my head, jumping up from my spot beside Rose and darting from the room. I could hear Edward down below, arguing with Jasper and Emmett, demanding that he at least gets to talk to me. I ignored it, pushing aside the part of me that wanted to run to him, to make the pain in his voice vanish and instead turned to Esme’s room. She was waiting for me, Carlisle standing silently beside her.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, letting out a sob as I fell into her outstretched arms. “It’s to painful. Watching him with her.”

“Don’t worry honey, we understand. Come home when you can.” Esme whispered, pulling me back to kiss my cheek. “And call us, you won’t have to talk to Edward but please promise you will talk to the rest of us.”

“Of course I will mom.” I promised, leaning into kiss her cheek before stepping towards Carlisle and hugging him tightly. “I promise to call both of you every night.”

“Good. I’ll call Tanya and tell her you and Nik are coming to stay.” Carlisle sighed. “Take care of each other. You two are the ones I worry for the most.”

“We will dad, we always do. I love you.”

“Not nearly as much as we love you.” Esme sighed, brushing a stand of my hair behind my ear. “Rose and Alice are waiting for their goodbyes and I imagine the boys will be up for theirs as well. We won’t keep you.” She kissed my forehead one last time before brushing past me, not wanting me to see just how badly my leaving hurt. Carlisle smiled softly and gave me one last kiss on the cheek before following her. I knew they were going to take Emmett and Jasper’s place so they could say goodbye.

“You had better call me every single day too.” Rose demanded as she pulled me into a hug. She didn’t me go until I promised and then she gave me a swift kiss on both cheeks before going to assist Esme and Carlisle with a now furious Edward.

“Try to forgive him, he can’t help any of this.” Alice sighed as she pulled me in for a hug. “If he had any say in this it would be you.”

“I’ll try.” I muttered, trying my best to mean it, after all she was right. This wasn’t something he could control.

“I could make it easier you know, you don’t have to go.” Jasper sighed, a small hopeful smile on his face.

“I do. The only way I could stay is if you were by my side every minute of the day. Eventually Alice would grow to hate me.”

“If meant you staying than I would live with it.” She vowed and while I knew she meant it I still couldn’t bring myself to leave.

“How will I know I have truly moved on if you are always there making me feel like I have? It’s for the best Jasper, I promise I will see you again though.” I hugged him tightly then, not wanting to ever let go.

“You had better.” He whispered, kissing my temple as I pulled away.

“If you decide to come back let me know, I’ll send him away myself.” Emmett whispered as I hugged him, his grip on me tightening as I let out a small sob. Leaving Emmett and Rose would be the hardest, well second hardest. The three of us have a bond like no other and the idea of leaving them both killed me, though not nearly as much as staying.

“Come on. Edward is getting to the point he may just throw Rose through a wall. It’s best we get going.” Niklaus sighed, smiling softly at me as he came out of the room that had once been mine and Edward’s. He had a suitcase in each hand, a pink one containing my things and a black one that held all of his.

“You don’t have to come with Nik. I know how much you love it here.”

“I promised mom, dad and nana that I would never leave your side. I am not about to risk getting murdered by pissed off spirits because you didn’t want me to leave Forks. Besides it won’t be the same without you here.” I nodded, knowing that it was useless at this point.

“Y/n wait! Please!” Edward cried, his voice so full of pain that it tore me apart. I let out a small cry and turned to the nearest window, jumping out onto the roof before stepping off onto the driveway. Someone, most likely Alice, had the car started already. I had just slipped into the passenger seat when Nik landed by the hood, quickly throwing the bags in the trunk before getting in the drivers seat beside me.

“To Denali.” He said with a grin, turning the radio on full blast in a desperate attempt to drown out Edward’s cry of my name.

“It’s funny how one human can cause all this pain.” I sighed, letting my head fall against the glass.

#jacob black x reader #jacob black imagines #jacob black #twilight imagines #twilight #edward cullen #edward cullen imagines

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we-live-in-a--society · 4 years ago

Text

Nulla dies sine linea

Line.

A blunt, straight-edged cut that divides the surface into twain separate expanses, or a curve, soft and feminine – a contrast for what is stern and malevolent – a pair that undeniably completes itself, deprived of all the flaws, yet soaked within, exemplary balance of two factors.

Equilibrium.

Turmoil, sleeplessness that is supposed to bring answers – a foolish hope of an at-halt man.

Outdated ways of thinking, of perceiving reality, the ones that prevent a person from seeing any alternative, an entirely new approach, a breakthrough that results in remarkable success.

Uniqueness – a pursuit never meant to be achieved.

Truism that holds all the components of the world, a design of another restless demiurge, a greater one maybe, yet a parallel for every single creator, architect of his own destruction.

The Lambs, lost in post-delirium state of an incompetent mind.

* * *

Smoke has never ceased to mesmerize him, the fluency of transferring into billowing shapes that it acquires, only to evaporate moments later – a fleeting notion, so difficult to capture, which might be the exact factor that makes it so appealing to the eye, so desired, a conviction that it is only a matter of seconds required for the vapor to dissolve. Fire has always hit him with a similar impression – hypnotizing, yet fascinating, in possession of a power that he could only dream of obtaining, the one that could easily destroy acres of land, leaving only the grotesque stumps behind – remains of prior imperiality.

Crystal used to rant about how ‘those cancer sticks’ are going to kill him one day, how each of them reduces his life expectancy, how it is even possible for a person to be so blind, so ignorant, so coarse... Truth to be told, he doubts whether she, indeed, cared about his well-being that much, suspecting an entirely different outcome, even more straightforward; she liked to stand out of the crowd, a single woman bathed in the mist of smokers, inhaling the pungent scent either way, as if her perseverance, or maybe stubbornness is a better word, made any difference here – a gloss of irrationality.

Simplification: she was just a pain in the ass.

Past tense.

Either way, he somehow managed to tolerate such behavior for exactly fifteen days, then broke up with her, though she never failed to amuse him, such a frivolous, little girl who took a liking into playing adults, not even referring to her age. He has never believed in such absurd concepts, age as a life-defining factor, ultimate description, featuring every single aspect imaginable – paradox, blatant simplification, something that people seek out in their free time to paraphrase the reality – a trait of the weakest, majority of population.

Such a shame to be a human.

Deep in his reverie, he fails to notice that the cigarette is almost smoked to the filter until it literally burns him, a telling sting in between his fingers, slight but still unpleasant, enough to toss the remains on the street – a dole to society. He catches a glimpse of the smoldering tip, before it disappears into the night, swallowed by the darkness, blinded by the city lights – another contribution to the transience of the temporal world.

Truth to be told, the rooftop has always been his favorite place in this fungous building – a coalescence of equally moldy flats – with the view spreading across miles of urban estates, skyscrapers, and parks. It bestows him with a certain understanding that in spite of his lifelong inhabitance of said space, he is never meant to reveal all of its mysteries, cover every square meter of land, which in turn evokes this peculiar feeling of pettiness, the one he absolutely loathes – helpless man within a harmful world.

Nevertheless, he can either accept, or deny it, while keeping in mind that the latter is a trait of permanently stupid, close-minded people – a group that he wishes to collaborate with at last, if ever. It reminds him of a sect, less formal obviously, yet the analogy is obtuse: one sacrifices the prospect of self-development on behalf of leading a facile life – a blessing as some of them might say.

But not him.

What is beneficial about flatting out one’s existence? Rolling it out to the point where it is almost impossible to surmise whether there is a carpet sprawling on the floor, or the woodblocks are just bumpy? To make sure that there will not be any need to pay the professional to deal with said issue?

Worthless.

Aside from the cult-related illations, he senses yet another alteration lingering in the air, a distinct notion that shifts his focus, akin to a smell of a freshly cooked bacon that tickles one’s nose in the morning, prompting to lift the heavy eyelids, a burning sensation of being watched, even if for a split second, spreading over the flesh of his back, until he is forced to break the logy lull.

“Fancy a cigarette with me?” A thick timbre that slices through the silence, clearly startling the intruder, evident in a startled gasp that the person utters.

“I thought no one comes here,” a silvery voice, definitely female, accompanied by a telltale clink, signalizing that the woman is approaching his sitting spot.

“That would be ignorant, don’t you think?” He remarks, fingers dipping inside a package for another cigarette. “To deprive yourself of the opportunity to see the city from such exceptional perspective.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she shrugs, flopping down on the concrete beside him, gaze flicking to meet his – green interfering with grey – topping it up with a subtle, polite smile thrown in his direction. Her face seems familiar: unlined, with round eyes and shapely nose, prompting that their paths must have crossed somewhere in the past, which evokes a burning need to ask about said issue, followed by a blunt query.

“You live here, don’t you?” He mutters indistinctly with another cig pushed in between his lips, flicking a lighter to ignite the flame.

“I do,” she affirms with a refined nod, hand reaching out to draw the coattails together, as if to keep herself warm, exhaling a billow of air through her nose, visible due to the low temperature. “Is the cigarette still available?”

“I think so,” he flashes her a fleeting smile as the package tilts in her direction, inclining the woman to help herself, to which she complies, fishing out a single fag. He lights it up for her with seemingly no effort – a proficient manner of a long-term smoker – watching her drag on the cig as if anticipating her to choke on its contents, but nothing like this happens. Instead, she lets out a puff of smoke that forms another bizarrely shaped cloud, soon to evaporate with the cool, autumn breeze – another ephemeral prove of world’s temporality.

“You are that painter, am I right?” She conjectures, glancing at him briefly, as if his reaction was supposed to affirm the surmise.

“Should I be concerned that you know about my trade?” He cocks an eyebrow at her – a cunning, seemingly playful banter.

“I thought artists aim for being renowned,” she remarks with a sarcastic tingle that he subconsciously notices, either way decides against acknowledging for now. “But no, I’ve been told that someone with such occupation lives here, and it someway fits you, I mean in appearance.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he laughs, a throaty chuckle laced with a hint of harshness that comes from smoking.

“I wouldn’t say it surprises me,” she mimics his manner – a refined smile playing upon her lips – although not daring to crack yet. One of his friends would claim that if someone is interested, he, or she in this case, will subconsciously attempt to copy your gestures – knowledge that is supposed to be a key to success, at least according to his assertions.

(“I guide others to the treasure I cannot possess.”)

“You never told me why you chose come here,” he interjects after a few longer intervals, enlaced in a peaceful silence, if one excludes the metropolis din, dull and monotonous.

“Well, you didn’t ask,” she eludes, but carries on either way, her voice oddly tranquil in the mist of hectic city. “The explanation is simple: look down. They all seem so far-away, departed from our reality, unable to perceive the world in terms of integrity. I think sitting here gives you an entirely different perspective, allows you to see all the obvious correlations, the ones that they consistently miss.”

“In case someone would want to involve more deeply, am I right?” He retorts – a question that needs no verbal answer. “I think of it more like a paradox: we see more, yet less at the same time, the details long forgotten at such altitude.”

“Are any of those important to you?” She carries on with the queries, glancing at his briefly, as if to affirm whether he is serious. “Those, people, those trifles?”

“Nah,” he counters, flashing her another teasing smirk, “I disagree for fun.”

“Is ‘disagreeing for fun’ a trait of artist in general, or just your trait?” She laughs this time – a pearly chuckle that he finds oddly charming – as the cigarette slips from her fingers, following its path on the concrete sidewalk a few floors below. “Don’t take it personally, or even seriously. I don’t generalize, and to be honest I think it’s a holdover.”

“Trust me, I don’t,” he throws her a mild smile, his ember quick to follow its twin traces. “Also, sorry I haven’t introduced myself earlier,” he adds, luckily without bothering to shake her hand; she doubts whether there is anything worse than that, “Alexander.”

“Serena,” she reciprocates, holding the eye contact for a few longer moments – an affirmative gesture.

“It suits you,” he remarks, eyes glinting with an emotion she is yet unable to place, and so decides to shove aside for a while, soon to be back on the abandoned track of thoughts.

“Alexander…” she begins, letting it reverberate for a little while – time required to formulate a surmise, “like Alexander The Great?”

“Nah,” he chuckles, “like Graham Bell. My mother was particularly fond pf telephones, ‘such life-changing devices’, she would say.”

“To be honest I’ve never given names much thought,” she professes, running a single hand through her windswept hair, their texture silky in between her fingers, “I take them more as a-”

“Form of classification, I know,” he interrupts, spurring her to glance at him, both eyebrow raised, visibly caught off guard. “Quite a rare point of view if you’re asking me.”

She only hums in response, her eyes glued to the cityscape ahead, a bunch of high-rise buildings with most lights already extinguished, considering all the ‘sane’ people are fast asleep by now, with yet another question lingering on the tip of her tongue, curiosity waiting to be satiated.

“Why have you chosen to be an artist?”

“I wouldn’t say this is something you ‘chose’,” he frowns, two thin lines stressing out his relatively youthful face – an inclination that he might be right at the cusp between mid- and late-twenties. “It is more about going with the flow, doing things because you find certain pleasure in them, not a formal occupation with all those scraps of paper that people like to label as ‘employment contracts’. Plus it’s not my only ‘job’, considering I manage to pay the bills on time.”

“Okay,” she acknowledges with a fleeting nod, so subtle he suspects it to be yet another half-conscious implication of his mind, “but that still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he teases, an expression comparatively close to amusement enlightening his features. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Never heard of it before,” a flat response, betraying her mild impatience, “but do go on, I’m all ears.”

“Before I move on to the due story, it’s essential to know that my old man was a hippie,” he begins, green enlacing with grey once more. “During my childhood, I barely saw my father, so I used to idealize him as any kid would do, considering his constant absence – quite a simple mechanism if you’re asking me,” another fleeting glance thrown towards her, “and yet, when he wasn’t busy doing hell knows what, he taught me about aspects that appeared more useful to me at that time than all those school rules and down-to-earth expectations from my mother. He taught me how important it is to be free, to go your own way, and stand for what you consider essential, so I did that and almost got kicked out on the street for falling behind on rent.”

“Well,” she shrugs, as if not quite sure how to react, “some social standards are impossible to outrun.”

“It’s not even about that,” he contradicts with a graceful flick of his wrist, too dapper to appear as dismissive, “he was… how to formulate this properly… detached from reality, which is something that I realized during my teenage years, yet was unable to make a use of at that time,” he explains, quick to resume after a brief interval of silence. “Summing it up, I paint because I find certain pleasure in the activity itself, not to make some real money.”

“So are you working on anything particular?” She carries on with the questions, as if genuinely interested in what he is saying, not that he finds said aspect surprising. Something about him has always seemed to attract various kinds of people, maybe encouraged by his pertinent remarks, quick wits, or the general charm he oozes with, as if an intrinsic part of his body’s chemistry.

“Currently? Nah,” he shakes his head in denial, longish hair flowing around, skimming the tops of his shoulders, and luring Serena to run her fingers through the beach waves, to finally verify whether they are, indeed, as silky as they look like.

(Quite a weird thought if you are asking me.)

“Creator’s block? Is that so?” She nags further, as if irking him up already managed to situate itself in between her very special penchants.

“Something like that,” he huffs dismissively, pique evident in his manners, evoking the need to carry on with said intension.

(Mmm… that’s a bingo!)

“I hit the nail on the head, haven’t I?” She teases, too impudent for his tastes – a matter meant to be rectified in due course, another conception already blossoming underneath his skull, a brainchild soon to be implemented.

“Um, maybe you have,” he mutters indistinctly as he slips an unlit cigarette in between his lips, “which gives me a wonderful idea, if I’m being honest.”

“What kind of idea?” She inquires further, aware of the indispensability of said contribution, and despite knowing him for less than half an hour, she would have to be blind and deaf to miss his performative tendencies, topped with self-centered attitude – a form of paradox in itself: decoy and deter.

“Would you mind if I painted you?” He proposes, out of nowhere, snorting when he hears her choke on own saliva. The variety of reactions in this case is something that he still has not fully gotten used to: from the bewildered silence to excited squeals, each of them beautifully exceptional in some sort of way, or at least not overly repetitive.

(Uniqueness is for fools.)

“Excuse me?” She utters a brief moment later, as soon as she manages to compose herself, voice tremulous – a display of confusion and fuel for his amusement, gasoline to put out fire with.

“You’ve heard me,” he replies bluntly, exhaling a ring of smoke through his mouth, as if her response was not even included in the list of all current subjects of interest.

“I mean, um, I don’t know,” she fumbles with the words for a couple of seconds, as if not quite certain which one to pick. “I didn’t expect you to make such request.”

“Think it over then,” he suggests with a carefree banter that she finds a little annoying at this point, “I’m in no hurry.”

“But when-”

“Save the w-questions,” he cuts in, shushing her with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “It’s a simple, yes-or-no matter, plus I have no answers to any of them yet.”

“I don’t know if I should trust you,” she admits, long nails scratching the side of her face, as if it was supposed to relieve the tension and reclaim the focus.

“That’s okay,” he shrugs with suggestive smile adorning his lips – a prelude to whichever impure thought he is just about to verbalize, “I don’t trust myself either.”

“That’s not as reassuring as I would like it to be,” she chuckles – a girlish display of nervousness, or maybe a part of well-developed play, considering his doubts when it comes to whether he is able to read her like an open book by now, not that it lies out of his ability range in general.

“Okay, S,” he disrupts, dumping the half-smoked cigarette aside a brief moment later – a signal that he is just about to leave her here to own company, as if standing up was not clarifying enough. “no pressure. Supposing you make up your mind about this, you know where to find me.”

And with that he walks away, swallowed by the gloom prevailing the staircase, steps echoing in the dusty corridor.

Damn him.

* * *

To begin with, there are a bunch of aspects that can be easily associated with empty flat, solitude being the very first one of them in his case – room bathed in a daylight, clear and bright, such an unusual occurrence during the fall season. Almost blinding upon his face, eyelids forced to shut, as he decorates the ashtray with leftover ember, mashing in into the glassy surface, all remains turned to dust, black powder meant to be taken with the city breeze.

The habit of smoking by the open window should not concern him anymore, since the lingering smell makes no difference for the lone smoker, and still, each subsequent attempt to drop the subject ends up with following the well-known path either way. Said inference entails another one: certain aspects appear to be labelled with a transcendent meaning that walks one through life, upbringing for instance, what parents pass on their children – questionable balance of benefits and burdens – a lead to the final conclusion, a reason why he has to catch a cold every fall season, considering he rarely bothers to put on a coat – ludicrously futile pursuit.

A passing opportunity, bright daylight but no brushes, no easels, no paints, just a half-empty space, the aforementioned objects nestling in the corner, as if intending to express their permanent resentfulness, a silent question why he does not bother to flash them even the most insignificant glance. In the late night hours, he can almost hear their faint whispers, pleas for attention, paired with the jeering mockeries, all addressed to him, reminders that he is heading straight towards the inevitable lunacy, unless, of course, he gets back on track with all the abandoned works.

Highly improbable, considering the time expanse dividing his encounter with Serena from the present situation, rather unfavorable in his case, but also immune to any significant changes – such a life-defining paradox. At some point, he even dared to ponder asking her to come by, but then again he has formed a conclusion that the outcome might be his last intention, if not entirely omitted, having her perceive him in terms of some pathetic desperado who he is unable to sense when is the right time to let go.

People are truly the oddest creatures.

Final verdict followed by something else – a ring, a tearing noise that slices the lull into twain harsh pieces, all blunt, sharp edges, an exhortation to open the door and whisk away the thoughtless intruder, foolish to disrupt him during his time-out. With an exasperated huff, he moves towards said object, unlocking it with a deft flick of his wrist, and so revealing the visitor – a woman, moderate in her motions, hands shoved deep inside the pockets of her trench coat.

Speak of the devil.

“Seems like you’ve made up your mind, huh?” He greets her, first words that come to the mind as soon as his eyes land on her silhouette. The garment itself reminds him of one of his past girlfriends, or rather her clumsy attempt to surprise him with lack of clothing underneath back in his college days, times when he considered most of the career opportunities to lie sprawling within his reach, followed by the caustic awakening soon after the glorious drop out.

“Seems like I have, indeed,” she affirms, chin tilted upwards to meet his scrutinizing gaze, laced with undertones that she is unable to define yet, a manner that she has always associated with botanist examining his subject, spotted merely a few minutes ago.

“Would you like to come in then?” He proposes in time with a graceful step aside, exposing a sliver of his flat to her curious eyes – a bright room, lacking in almost all furniture that have a wide appeal in most houses, at least according to her observations, as if the oddity itself was calling her in.

Intending to find out what else might be hidden inside, she accepts his informal invitation, stepping past the doorway, her surmise soon to be confirmed – an open space with celling-high windows, oriented to the east, and a bunch of objects propped in the corner. On the side, a simple bed pushed up to the opposite wall, adjoining the compact kitchenette – a view that leaves little, if anything, to her imagination, display of exemplary minimalism.

“Tempting, isn’t it?” She cannot help but flinch at the low rumbling of his voice from behind her, a distinctive word, as if signifying a pending promise, an implication impossible to ignore.

“What precisely?” She manages to utter, concealing the incertitude evoked by the odd emphasis, all while he appears to be perfectly aware of her inner perturbation as his hands ghost over her shoulders, eliciting a surprised gasp from the woman.

“The liberty of open spaces,” he clarifies, smirk audible in his voice – a component that she finds rather annoying – blatant amusement, purposely on full display. “Let me take your coat.”

“I’ll manage,” she flashes him a brief glance, immediate to slip her arms out of the sleeves and hand over the garment, leaving him with no other choice than hang it in the wardrobe.

Deciding to have waited long enough, she walks towards the middle part of said main room, indicating to familiarize with the view sprawling just past the windowsill, while he is busy with all the essential preparations – a part that remains almost unnoticed to her until the jarring scrape reverberates in the air, enough to attract her attention. As he moves the easel towards its designed spot, she wonders how many people, or more precisely – how many women, he has brought here before he met her, intending to capture them even in the most vulnerable state, a fleeting expanse of time branded on the blank canvas, an opus for the clueless generations to ponder upon.

“So,” she clears her throat, following the query, “how are we gonna do this?”

“Without making you feel uncomfortable,” he mutters, in process of tying his hair in a messy bun on the back of his head, features now on full display: high cheekbones and sharp jawline obscured by the reddish stubble. “It’ll be visible, trust me.”

“No, I mean-”

“No?” He interrupts, lips laced in a teasing smirk, head tilted to the side, cocking an eyebrow at her in a manner that reminds Serena of some posh aristocrat, flirting with his love interest, but at this point she suspects it might be just an inherent part of his demeanor, approach towards women in general.

“I mean, where am I supposed to stand?” She queries, followed by a refined, although not suppressed, laugh – something that he has learned to associate with her mannerisms overall.

“I’m not sure yet,” he scrapes his nails over the chin – a signification of wonder. “We’ll try a couple of settings, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” she nods in affirmation, albeit quick to verbalize a newfound doubt. “Should I change?”

“Nah,” he waves her off with a dapper flick of his wrist, “I believe your personal choice of clothing is a form self-expression, and I want my models to look more organic, and by saying ‘organic’ I mean comfortable and self-assured with their appearances,” quite a fair explanation, she thinks. “Of course, if you are willing to strip, you can strip, that’s neither an issue nor something new to me, but there’s no pressure, as I mentioned.”

“Mmm… how diplomatic,” she almost purrs, sarcastic manners that fit in his tastes quite dearly, captivating yet caustic, enticing yet eerie, with an underlying promise, bulging just below the surface, meant to soak through the papery layer.

One of many reasons why he has always troubled with finding the right person, although is far from considering himself in terms of a delirious perfectionist with non-satiable cravings, searching for one sublime muse that would give his works meaning, pristine essence, remedy for all maladies, liquid to wash away the dirt. Truth to be told, the situation presents itself as no more no less than a mere cakewalk, which might as well be a polar exaggeration in such case, but either way it never appears to deny the existence of one distinctive aspect, appealing to him in almost every setting possible – freedom of speech, sparring match of two equal opponents, field for discussion, for development, for enrichment, mutual agreement laced with a hint of disparity, merely a flick of a lighter.

Ignition. Initiation.

Inception.

“You’re not listening to me,” a sentence that snaps him out of the trance, crawls in between his thoughts and pulls the threads apart – such an odd association – a slide to the temporal reality.

“I’m not,” he reaffirms, a ghost of what might as well be a smirk lacing his lips, as if to keep up with the ‘cheeky bastard’ profile, “so would you be so kind and reiterate that for me?”

“You don’t have much furniture,” she begins, a statement obtusely simple yet seemingly incomplete, gaze skimming past the empty space only to interfere with his in the end, pupils narrowed due to harsh brightness.

“Thank you, darling,” he smiles, seemingly polite – a well-sculptured façade, she has to admit, “I wouldn’t have noticed elsewise.”

“So I thought…” she carries on, not quite bothering to acknowledge the sarcastic remark, “maybe I could sit on the sill, since the light seems to do us a favor today.”

“Let’s try it out then,” he concurs almost at the spot, gesturing towards said window, to which she complies, helping herself up on the narrow seat, back supported by the wall, ruffling her hair to add some extra volume.

(Now that is interesting.)

“Is that acceptable?” She glances towards him, as if his countenance was supposed betray the intensions – highly improbable display of lacking control – although he would be lying if he said it strikes no cord within him, passes by without acknowledgement, without a single though occurring to be verbalized.

“Yes, darling, you look lush. Now focus,” he bestows her with a quick compliment, although definitely short-lived, his main interest now shifting towards more pragmatic matters. “Before we begin, you should know it’ll be exhausting, or fatiguing maybe, I don’t intend to hyperbolize, but tell me if you need a break.”

“Sure,” she nods, wriggling a little bit to find the most convenient position for those few following hours, “but I believe we’ll find a way not to bore each other out.”

“I believe we will,” he hums in agreement, pencil already in his hand, soon to initiate the process, graphite gliding smoothly over the canvas in a manner that reminds her of a longtime dancer in his natural habitat.

“You’re left handed?” She remarks, eyes glued to his movements from behind the easel.

“I vary,” he replies, ever at ease. “Although I happened to be called a communist from time to time in primary school.”

“What?” She laughs in disbelief, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

“It was a catholic one,” he glances at her briefly, with a sardonic smirk playing upon his lips. “I think that explains itself well enough.”

“Okay, but why a communist?” She carries on with the queries – a matter of incredulity.

“For some reasons they associated left-handedness with devilish collusions or, as I mentioned before, communism,” he shrugs, his gaze now glued to her face, although not quite meeting her eyes, quick to add a bunch of adjustments on the canvas. “No idea why.”

“Why did you went there then?”

“Well, I was just a kid,” he explains, impatience striking the chords. “My mother made that choice for me.”

“Seems like you managed though,” she remarks, voice laced with a subtle hint of carelessness, as if mimicking his manners, yet galvanizing them with something else – an act of subduing, partial eclipse, moderation.

“Well, I started smoking in the eighth grade and somehow went through,” he admits in a feignedly serious manner, chuckling at her frowning expression. “Christ, it’s just a joke, although I’m glad to be past that stage. It was too… restricting for me.”

“I think it’s every system’s main purpose – to restrict,” she reckons, glancing at the passing cars a few stories below. “But I also don’t have many fond memories concerning my pre-higher educational stage.”

“So you’re in college now?” She hums in agreement. “Well, I dropped out after three terms, I think.”

“Why?”

“I realized it didn’t matter,” he explains as if it was supposed to be the most evident absolute ever encountered. “At the beginning I thought it would allow me to discover fresh ideas, strengthen my expertise, but the professors mostly kept blathering about things that I’ve already come across at some point in my life, and to be honest it felt like a massive waste of money, and most importantly – time.”

“What were you studying?” She asks, most likely out of plain curiosity.

“Journalism,” he reveals, accompanied by a sarcastic snort, “but I intended to mix it up with sociology at some pointed, then switched to philosophy for a while, which actually helped me realize what a great waste it was, at least in my case.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she shrugs, noticing him switch from the pencil to brush, first few paints being squeezed out on the wooden palette. “If we look at education more objectively, I think we can risk saying that reading is the only necessary skill to acquire, and then you’re good to go.”

“Mmm… it’d be more interesting if you disagreed though,” he hums, as if genuinely displeased with the outcome, brush sweeping over the canvas with almost flawless agility that reminds her of a dancer once again, graceful and elegant.

“Then make me disagree,” she concludes, one finely sculptured eyebrow perking up in a teasing manner.

“Should I take it as a challenge?” He baits, glancing at her briefly as an essential.

“Take it however you want,” she replies, ever so carelessly, almost able to set the bar as high as he has once managed to.

“So what are you studying then?” He resumes after a brief moment, gaze glued to her figure in a scrutinizing manner that she finds slightly disturbing, still uncertain how she is supposed to perceive the given adjective – enticing – as seductive or maybe lethal?

“Criminology,” she informs bluntly.

“And what do they teach you there?” He asks, not quite bothering to look at her this time, engaged in searching for the most accurate color proportions – cinnamon mingling with some darker, much cooler shade.

“They teach me about criminal behavior,” she enlightens, an information so indecently obvious that she would find it offensive if uttered toward her.

“And more specifically?” He continues, as if not taking her point, or at least deciding not to indicate it.

“Its biological, psychological, and social causes,” she clarifies, unable to fight the faint shiver running down her spine as a response for the blatant acuteness he eyes her with, caught off guard for a brief moment, hopefully not long enough for him to notice, “so you can safely assume it’s sociology-related.”

“You think it’s the only place where you can learn that?” He quires, as if aiming to pop holes in her outlook, see if it holds up as sensible as it appears to be now.

“No, but it’s the only place where I can get the diploma,” she eludes, flashing him a refined smirk, as if ready to assume the inevitable victory, “since I would like to pursue with this line of work in the future. Although I believe that certain aspects lay beyond education.”

“Aspects such as?” He mutters, seemingly half-preoccupied with his work, stroking the canvas in formerly omitted areas, lighter shades now in use.

“The intuitive component,” she specifies, while he sets the items aside, abandoning the previously heeded canvas, “you either have a hunch where to seek out the truth, or you don’t, which I think is rather obvious.”

“Exactly,” he agrees, quick to snatch a pack of cigarettes from the kitchen counter. “Although I believe we should equalize the two components, since evidence influences the intuition, or the other way around, and it’s better to keep that in mind for more objective judgments.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious,” she reaffirms, pushing herself off the sill, landing on the floor with a quiet thud.

“I hope so,” he mutters indistinctly, cigarette already slipped in between his lips.

“We’re taking a break now?” She ascertains, quick to step aside in order to make a room for him by the sill.

“Yeah,” he nods, reaching out to open the window, cool air hitting her face, goosebumps rising on the exposed parts of her flesh, “and wait till the first layer is dry so that I could add some details.”

“So you have the background now?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head in denial, flicking the lighter with a barely audible click, “I had it prepared before. It was my very intension to paint you on the sill.”

“What if I wouldn’t have agreed?” She speculates in a teasing manner, ever so subtle he questions his abilities when it comes to judging whether it is a matter of fact, or yet another insinuation of his mind.

“Then we would’ve find a way to make you,” he banters, exhaling a cloud of smoke through his mouth, soon to be taken away with the fall breeze.

“Sure, don’t sweat it,” she replies in a careless manner, as if intending to nip the barely existing zeal in the bud, eliciting a horse chuckle from him. “Mind if I take one?” She asks then, having decided to cut the topic short, gesturing towards the pack of cigarettes on the counter.

“Well, that’s the only one left,” he laughs, glancing at the smoldering fag between the two of his long fingers, stained with carob paint that overlaps four runic symbols tattooed on his skin, “but we can always share.”

“That’s very kind of you, indeed,” she purrs with an ever present hint of sarcasm evident in her voice, nevertheless takes a drag from the offered cigarette, soon to be snatched from in between her lips by the greedy partner.

“I see you’re a man of generosity as well,” she huffs – a display of irritation, extending past the point where she considers repaying him in kind, even if for a brief moment.

“In capitalistic society you gotta work for your expenses,” he retorts, eliciting a pearly chuckle from the woman, outcome that she finds rather odd – his fluency and deftness in evoking contradict reactions from her.

“You’re relentless,” she laughs, shaking her head in amusement, either way leans towards him once more as he brings the cigarette to her lips, cheeks hollowing in time with the inhale.

“Can’t say I disagree.”

And with that he slips it out of her mouth, almost smoked to the filter, stealing one last drag, before he tosses it out of the window, soon to join its predecessors fouling on the streets.

Damn him.

* * *

A few weeks have passed since their last encounter, time essential for him to complete the project, merely disrupted by his mother’s attempts to call him, asking whether he is coming home for Thanksgiving.

Seems like three times is not always a charm.

Nevertheless, life has been good to him, sparing most of the nuisances that never fail to come along at some point, clinging to him like a limpet, until he collects the willpower to tear them all off, adorned with bloody pulp that once used to be an inherent part of his flesh. Some would claim it is not worth it, to sacrifice oneself for any profits, no matter how considerable, no matter how the so-called balance of benefits and burdens presents itself, to pursue but also prepare to face the consequences of one’s choices.

But placing any result above it?

Understanding this attitude has formed quite an issue for him since the very first attempt of cogitation – profound, not periphrastic – leading to one fairly important conclusion – immaturity is what clears out this path, paired with incapability, with imprudence, leaving only cinders behind – matter of self-destruction. Sinfully tempting, to burn it all down and begin as a newborn man – Child of the Ashes, Phoenix that raises from charcoal embers, shaking off the excess dust to despair of all sceptics.

Although he considers it as not necessary the easiest way available, he prefers to let this challenge shun him, regardless how interesting it might come out as in the end, since annihilating his lifelong ‘legacy’ is currently the last intension, supposing it even counts as one. Development has always appeared as more momentous to him, using anything in possession to form what one labels as artwork, not only in the narrow understanding that applies to exhibits and museums but also as an everlasting creation, as satisfactory as possible, reaching beyond the conceptual realm.

An ulterior motive of his.

With reasoning not quite as clandestine.

“I knew I would find you there,” a melodic voice, definitely female – déjà vu, throwback to their first meeting, enhanced by the prevenient notion, inkling that he was being observed, even if for a split second.

“You’re very astute,” he remarks with a lingering tingle of sarcasm, a tune raspier than she remembered, sending an unresolved shiver down her spine, fueled by the cold weather. “But I assume you’ve came here for a reason, haven’t you?”

“Look who’s a wiseacre now,” she chaffs, nevertheless quick to approach him, steps echoing on the dusty concrete. She perches down next to him, gaze glued to the blunt edge for a brief moment, required to restrain from dangling her feet off the edge – devil’s incitement, belonging to the conceptual realm, never meant to be carried out in reality.

(What if I scratched his car? Spilled hot tea on him? Seized his bag? What would he do? Would he make me pay? Scream? Call the cops? What if…?)

“I’ve came to ask if the painting is ready to be seen,” she rectifies, her head held upward, eyes gleaming with some odd determination, unplaceable, obscured yet visible enough for a perceptive man, the one who knows where to look.

“What would you do if your mother asked you to come home for Thanksgiving?” He ignores her question – a fill-in for time, purpose hold-up, verification of her intents.

“Depends on the relationship I had with her,” she bestows him with a rushed explanation, right according to his suppositions.

(Such a clever man I am.)

“If I wanted to signify I take it as an essential, I would come. Otherwise – not really.”

“That’s what I thought,” he nods slowly, as if hesitantly, which might as well be a misconception, not a fit for his usual demeanor, rather drawing out the act for suspensive purposes.

“So you’re not coming?” She attempts to clarify as if her patience was running thin, most likely fueled by an occurrence from the recent past, partially his seemingly never-ending queries.

(What are you hiding from me, kitten? Claws?)

“Nah,” he shakes his head, meaning to carry on with the explanation, “each time I’m around her, I tend to doubt my abilities to remain calm,” he exhales, as if to get rid of all the pent up frustrations, bulging just below the surface, protected, or rather prevented from being discovered by the wrong person. “And so, years ago I came to one conclusion, a conclusion of great significance: unless she accepts me for who I am, I won’t try to negotiate with her.”

“Negotiate?”

“I don’t take things for granted,” he clarifies, throwing her a side glance, a dapper flick of his wrist required to indicate the obvious, “She is trying and yes, I can see that, but the effort doesn’t parallel with the goal. Look before you leap, isn’t it what they say?”

“Tell me,” she huffs, irritation now more than evident, almost palpable, tactile, spread out for a graze – his personal penchant, “why do you even ask a question if you already know the answer?”

“The essentiality of comparison,” he reveals – ultimate truth she had never possessed before, “the importance of rectifying one’s opinions.”

“You’re an odd person, Alexander,” she alludes, not quite bothering to acknowledge his words, with approximately another goal already occupying her mind. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Does it disturb you?” He cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at her, body turning in her direction for the slightest bit, barely noticeable at this point.

“I wouldn’t put it this way,” she counters, voice odd, distant, dreamy, fingers raking through her hair – a shift he should find disturbing but decides against, even if subconsciously.

“So how would you put it?” He queries further, scooting towards her subtly, still against crossing any comfort zones without an undisputable signal.

“That I like weird,” she avows, a simple statement rolling off her tongue, smooth, thick like molasses, caressing him like the finest silky sheets.

“If I didn’t know you better, I would assume you were flirting with me,” he chuckles, corners of his lips upturned in a teasing smirk – a signature of his.

“Why assume,” she halts, allowing the words to linger in the air for a brief moment, now facing him, her eyes staring, or rather drilling into his soul, captivating, leaving no room for a look away, “if you can find out?”.

“How exactly?” He mutters, a vague whisper, tickling her cheek, faint cigarette scent that fans over her face – lure of agitation, promise of something that is yet to come.

“How would you prefer to?” She leans in further, weight supported on the flat palms, propped on the dusty concrete, bits of gravel biting into her flesh.

“That’s your invention,” he purrs, so tantalizingly close, enough for a taste, tactile and inviting, tempting in his own way – a mannish privilege, sacrifice of fragility. “Surprise me.”

And she does, without a need of further explanation, a clarification, verbal approval, simply accepts the offering, her lips brushing his in a heartwarmingly gentle manner, as if hesitant, uncertain of succumbing to their shared desires. At first it catches him off guard, since he has ever dared to label her with such terms, and although the action itself was rather predictable, he remains still, even if for a brief moment, barely long enough for her to register, allowing the woman to play it out according to her whims.

(What a gracious man I am.)

With a movement too swift for Serena to register, he grabs her by the waist, tugging closer to his frame, which forces a surprised gasp from the woman, hands reaching forward to brace her weight on his chest. Practically seated on his lap, she wriggles a little, feeling the muscles contract just below – an unconditioned reflex to the extra pressure – as his lips work their magic, teasing her in a manner that she has never counted as such, delivering just enough to have her wanting more.

Deliberate. Mercenary.

Bastard.

Who still elicits a breathy moan in response to the harsh bite he delivers, soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue that leaves a lingering nicotine taste behind, a flavor she never suspected to be considered as pleasant. She lets him guide her for a change, curious about his intents, willing to accept the offering in any given form – desire so potent that it sends an inordinate shiver down her spine, never occurred before.

While awaiting for the situation to resolve on its own, she allows her hands to wander, tracing the protruding line on his collarbone, approximately a scar, following the path up his neck, meant to lay a palm flat on the cheek, coarse stubble tickling her fingertips as she examines the texture. Oddly so, his hands remain in place, sprawled on her sides and cradling her ribs, heavy breaths palpable in such position, while the blunt nails dig into the soft flesh, prominent yet subdued by two layers of clothing.

Instead of gliding them up her body, or even slipping his tongue inside, he breaks away, leaving her aching for more, frowning in bewilderment, mouth still agape, as if supposing he is just about to resume, although nothing of such kind follows, replaced by a verbalization – clearly not a fit for her current desires.

“Still wanna see it?” He mutters against her lips, a lingering brush that might as well be result of delirious mind-prompting, adjusting reality to expectations instead of the other way around, of how it is supposed to be in the first place – malady of a sane mind.

“See what?” She almost purrs – a sound he has heard her utter somewhere in the seemingly distant past, eons before their kiss – rationality abandoned long ago.

“The painting,” he clarifies as he departs from her, fully now, all body heat evaporating from the previously compact space, allowing the autumn air to regain the invaded land. However, on this occasion, he allows his eyes to wander, to take in her figure, still settled on his lap, hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

The initial discernment is striking – flesh of her bottom lip swollen, lipstick smudged – prove of his ‘abuse’ – and yet, he restrains from tracing it with the pads of his fingers, an action that he would like to safe for later, for more intimate setting. Her lips part, as if intending to say something although no words leave them, and instead of that her eyes lift, obscured by the curtain of dark lashes and some eyeshadow, color impossible to discern in the dim lightening. For a brief interval, he hold her gaze, misty grey irises delivering an involuntary association with the ongoing season, nevertheless appearing as seemingly calmer than before – steady undulation of a post-storm ocean – lost somewhere far away within her thoughts.

“So what about the painting?” He repeats, obviously to break the reverie, giving her sides a slight squeeze as if to ascertain eliciting the desired reaction.

“You have my lipstick here,” she mutters, hand rising to clear out the remains from the chapped bottom lip, but he is quick to grab her wrist, locking it in a loosening grip.

“Thanks, but I’ll manage,” his thumb replaces hers, wiping it off with a firm swipe, arm immediate to be released. A fleeting frown passes her features in response to his abnegation, although definitely short-lived, soon to be replaced by a contrary one – smile, benign albeit ephemeral, as if evoked by the newfound concept.

“About the painting…” she alludes, a lingering statement, reverberating in the air for a brief moment. “Still wanna see it.”

“Get up then,” he prompts, motioning her with a flick of his wrist. “I’m not intending to push you off.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she laughs, hesitant to rise from the well-accustomed-with spot, nevertheless back on her feet within a relatively short expanse of time, him following briefly afterwards.

They jog down the stairs, one story below, greeted with a sight of his mahogany door, of course in color, not material, and a telltale click of the lock mechanism that preludes entering the flat, unchanged since her last visit, if she excludes a messy stack of equally unspecified objects lurking in the corner. She tags along with him, eyes glued to his figure approaching the easels and a single hand gripping the cloth, soon to be yanked away, revealing the portrayal below.

Her breath hitches in response to the view unravelling in front of her, seemingly unimportant work of some self-proclaimed painter, and yet linked with so many aspects, just like that, on the go, subconscious associations that invade her mind. Truth to be told, she does not find it that hard to believe – a conundrum of emotionality – since it is the very first opportunity for the young woman to get acquainted with someone else’s interpretation of her persona – experience considered beyond interesting.

Blurred lines yet drawn by a deft hand.

Faint fog yet shapes fairly distinguished.

Bathed in lucid daylight, such an unusual occurrence in the fall season.

Fleeting expanse of time.

Guaranteed to perish in the nearby future.

And the central persona, enhanced by the subtle rim of glow.

Distant? Dreamy? Delusive?

Ethereal? Eccentric?

Feigned?

Or right the opposite?

Authentic?

Ceaseless? Classical?

Expressing verity.

Verdict of his virtuosity.

Exquisite.

“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head, as if to clear out the mind, return onto the steady ground. “You were saying something?”

“I was meant to ask about your impression,” he meets her still misty gaze, lips laced in the same unplaceable smirk she has seen him perform a couple of times in the past, “but I believe that’s not necessary anymore.”

“No, it’s fine,” she smiles, as if to substantiate the impression. “I like it.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that,” he nods with a wide grin stretching his features – highlight of his vanity, meant to taunt her, “although verbal affirmation is always welcome.”

She only hums in response, as if in defiance of his indication, still standing in the middle of the main room, gaze alternating between him and the painting, as if unable to pick, maneuvering on the pinnacle dividing twain polar opposites – conceptuality and reality. Seizing the opportunity, his eyes rake down her form, quick to notice a few distinctions, incompatible with her usual looks, the heeled boots for instance, or a tint of eyeshadow applied on the usually bare skin, which eventually leads him to another conclusion.

“You went out today?” He asks, the drape back in its prior setting, shielding the picture from her scrutinizing gaze, as if to ascertain receiving undivided attention from his guest.

“Yeah,” she affirms with a refined nod, eyes alluding towards the floor – a fleeting, almost unnoticeable glance, “but it wasn’t lucrative. I mean, the meeting didn’t go as expected.”

“Why?”

“It was a blind date,” she sighs, as if utterly defeated, displeased with being forced to recall tonight’s events. “Fill in the blanks.”

“Lucrative is quite an interesting choice of words in such context,” he teases, a ghost of proper smile playing upon his lips, eliciting a predictably vexed huffed of breath from the woman, paired with a dismissive eye-roll that precedes his reaction – a subdued chuckle, nevertheless considered unashamed and straightforward, although the latter is still yet to come. “Wanna tell me about it?”

“I would rather forget it,” she laughs this time – enlightenment, end of the never-ending sulking era, considered as the least beneficial possibility, not for only today.

“Yeah, I know how it is,” he nods, leaning down on the sill for support, seemingly fed up with standing in the middle of the room, “all those settled dates rarely line up with the expectations.”

“Not only the settled ones,” she sighs – pensive, distant, invaded with bygone memories – as her eyes settle on his silhouette, illuminated by the city lights – echoes of the past, moonage daydream. “You remind me of my grandfather right now. Maybe it’s an odd thing to say, but I remember he used to spend quite a decent amount of time leaning by the sill, claiming he had his share of sitting, which I suspect might have been linked with joints condition that he didn’t wanna share, but still… he was the only person, excluding my father, who truly supported my cause, I mean moving out from home, going to college etc. etc.”

“Is he-”

“No, he’s alive,” she interrupts with an outrunning clarification, “although I might have made it sound like this.”

“I’m glad to hear that then,” he concludes, with a fleeting smile passing his features “Mine was quite… quite different, which I believe is a considerable understatement, but still…”

“How considerable?”

“Well, my Grandfather was a war hero, at least according to his claims, but also a man of dubious mental condition,” he begins, gaze glued to the cityscape spreading outside the window. “When it turned out my father deserted in Vietnam, he disinherited him, which is probably the main reason why I’m doing what I’m doing, but that’s by the by.”

“Which war did he fight in?” She inquires, ready to join him by the sill in a few languid steps, back supported by the wall.

“Oh, which didn’t he fight in,” he chuckles bitterly, rolling his eyes in the most dismissive manner she has ever seen on him. “His stories make for a saga alone, shoving such absurd concepts as historical accuracy aside, although in reality only the Great War.”

“Sounds fantastic,” she remarks – teaser of a hearsay nothing short of phenomenal.

“Anyway,” he cuts her off with a single hand slashing through the air, immediate to get back on the track with said tale, “he used to tell me a story, a bedtime one, always the same. If I remember correctly, which I most certainly do, it went something like this,” he halts, as if on purpose – suspense playing its part as an ever present speech manner.

“There was a cold, cold night, dark, all stars obscured by the clouds, moon long gone, shying away from the primeval force – Grim Reaper coming to take his toll,” he allows the name to linger in the air for a brief moment, a tribute to the transcendent persona. “With everyone fast asleep, as if believing to find the solitude in the trenches, he had the battlefield all for himself, every soul that still hadn’t left its body, clear as day, granting them a passage to afterlife, a safer one, not coming up to what earthy life granted. He never uttered a single word while he extracted them, soon to be taken by the wind, somewhere far, far away, his silhouette acting as their only guide. It was easy to doubt his existence with rime as the only evidence, but whoever was touched even once, even if for a split second, was marked for eternity – Death’s Protégé.”

“And what’s the twist?” She asks, most certain the story itself requires one as much as he need her query to accomplish the telling process, considering the silence that has settled above them after the statement – a prompt to contribute.

“Well,” he interrupts himself with a brief chuckle – a signature of incredulity, “he would claim I was marked, that I was the reaper’s child, which was before he got sent to asylum, nevertheless it still makes for an interesting story to tell, I think.”

“And that’s the only purpose?” She carries on with the queries, as if meant to extract the very essence of said issue.

“Not entirely,” he counters, soon to rectify. “He used to claim there was a link between this and my artwork.”

“What kind of link?”

“He never explained his motives,” he shrugs, a statement considered offensively obvious, “but I think he was just afraid of aspects he couldn’t comprehend, and so opted for a more straightforward solution, a claim that they foreshadowed some ungodly disaster.”

“No wonder he acted like that,” she remarks, as if to continue the pass of plain conclusions. “I mean pairing it with the background story.”

“No need to state the obvious,” he chides, a considerably calm manner, almost able to omit a lingering hint of irritation that the action evokes, “although I would be lying if I denied his diversity, or rather the diversity brought by his stories, which actually reminds me of something that I was supposed to mention before.”

“It’s incomprehensible how you maneuver through topics,” she chuckles, shaking her head in a display of disbelieving amusement.

“I’ve been told that before,” he agrees –necessity of decent conversation, at least according to his mother’s words. “Anyway, cutting to the chase here – I’ve got two tickets for the drive-in, since my friend has gotten ill and decided to spare me the place.”

“Seems like a merciful man to me,” she remarks, with a jeering hint of sarcasm on the tip of her tongue – wonderful pairing for the biblical word. “But I’m not sure if I’m gonna accept the offering.”

“Well, the title is Reservoir Dogs,” he continues, as if pretending to miss out on the snide comment, determined to elicit the desired reaction, “quite a success in Cannes according to what I’ve heard.”

“In Cannes you say…” she hums, as if pondering the variety of options to spend the evening, “not a guarantee we’ll like it.”

“Then how about you give it a try and then you can tell me if it’s worth it or not?” He proposes, posture indicating his readiness to leave, more than aware what her answer will be at this point, not that he has ever doubted his abilities to predict the inevitable.

“You’re truly the brightest mind of our age,” she rolls her eyes, accompanied by the ever-present sarcastic outline – a scaffolding for all the world’s components.

“Glad we agree on this one.”

A prelude for all mutualities, meant to unravel in due course.

Always the one to lurk in shadows – a promise of what is yet to come, a coalescence of twain factors:

Sinister sensuality?

A surmise shamefully salient.

* * *

Drive-in – a place where the movie screening is supposed to take place, at least according to the tenets, undoubtedly omitting another, quite distinctive, aspect to all of these – an ultimate truth that no component carries one purpose only, a statement renown by all, yet acknowledged by few.

Theirs appears to be invaded by an offbeat amount of people, seemingly not caring about the crisp air and cold weather, as if looking forward to the so-called ‘grand reveal’, cars lined in a couple of rows, more or less equidistant, while the screen remains blank, enhancing the anticipation of those who are meant to actually pay attention to the soon-to-be-presented piece of cinematography. Without a doubt, she considers herself as a relative of the latter group, eyes glued to the outstretched fabric in the central point, glad to see it unravel in front of her as the process is initiated – illumination of said canvas, inauguration of the gathering.

“But ‘Like a Virgin’ was a metaphor for big dicks.”

Delightful.

“Really?” She frowns, glancing towards him, as if searching for a confirmation.

“Do I look like a Madonna fan to you?” He retorts, eyebrows raised in a display of euphemistic irritation.

“Well,” she begins, as if pretending to ponder upon the subject, all for the never-ending purpose of riling him up, “again, not really.”

“So just sit back and watch,” he huffs, accusation evident in his tone, as if genuinely interested in the so-called Cannes successful movie, not that he is the only one.

Hence, she complies to the request, head lulling sideways to rest on his shoulder, leather of the coat chilly against her equally cool cheek, sending an unpleasant shiver down her spine, soon to be followed by another one, much sultrier this time, evoked by his arm encircling her frame. In search for the needful warmth, she leans in to him, the heavy weight draped over her figure elevating said experience to an entirely different dimension: a higher one, encrusted with chaste intentions, although built upon impure thoughts, leading to the simplest of conclusions, a statement reverberating underneath her skull in repetitive cycles.

Certain aspects are easy to deny, without even bothering to acknowledge their existence, nameless components of equally anonymous world, run on secrets. Take for instance the blossoming attraction, one is capable of ignoring it all the way, forget it ever influenced the perception, cross it out and pretend said spot has ever been occupied, or present an alternative approach – bite the bullet – ability craved by all, yet possessed by few.

The latter.

As an ever-present goal.

Any time her gaze lands on him, she cannot help but ponder upon his true intentions – an intelligent individual with whom she enjoys to converse with, and yet unfairly unreadable in some situations, leaving decent amount of room for speculations, doubts blossoming within her mind, invading it akin to a disease, deadly one to be specific. So-called fascination, an inkling that it might lead her to places that should to remain undiscovered, at least for her own sake – a simple analogy to the secluded areas of forests along with all the habitants.

(Keep in mind that hunters do not bother with such absurd concepts.)

“Isn’t he supposed to put pressure on the wound?” She frowns, gaze glued to the scene currently playing on the screen, with criticizing scrutiny, albeit interested in the events altogether. Despite the vanity of using a comb in such circumstances, nevertheless understandable if paired with both personality and relationship traits, she gets an impression that Cannes has opted for quite a judicious mark, especially if focusing on the dialog aspects – astonishing, magnificent.

Exquisite.

“If we’re discussing practical matters, then yes,” he replies, voice laced with an edge of irritation, evoked by her daring interruption.

“And if not?” She carries on with the queries, as if altogether aware of the effect that they have on him, and yet pretending not to acknowledge it.

“Then we oppose,” he enlightens with a dismissive eye-roll, audible in his speech manners.

“Mmm… astute,” she retorts, purring sound that reverberates in his ear, invading his senses like a disease that spreads far too quickly, and yet is oddly anticipated, akin to purposeful cold before school.

“So is your question,” he concludes, a dry exclamation of a long-term deceiver.

“That was my very intention,” she admits, voice deprived of proper hesitance, indicating the visionary tendencies – playing a major part in

(spoiling)

her master plan.

A query of ‘could it?’

Oddly so, it has taken him a relatively long expanse of time to get used to having her by his side with the floral smell of her hair wafting under his nose, lily of the valley he believes, nothing more than a reminiscence of his past now. Nevertheless, it stirs something within him, a distinctive hue applied in the perfect amount, oscillating between omitted and overwhelming, hands itching to reach underneath her clothes, check whether the rest is as cold as her palms are, clutching at the cotton of his tee in response to the scene playing in front of them. And yet, even in the face of all these notions, no matter how pleasant, another one is evoked – contradicting polarity – jealousy, bitter possessiveness, referring to who she has gotten all dolled up for – silly idea of a long-retired teenage boy, enhanced by the fact that his contestant failed oh so spectacularly.

Ignorant piece of shit.

Aside from her bygone partner, the current song appears to be a perfect match for his thoughts, father’s favorite, remembrance of grandpa’s tales, tales of a successful man, but only if he opts for reading selective verses, a twain of them in this case, chosen in advance – lie so blatant that it should be considered offensive, personification of his ancestor’s lives. Although seemingly different at first glance, the second, more discerning one, reveals another aspect – veracity, indicating their lack of professionalism, prattling tendencies, and poor life constructs that seem to work only if the rest is omitted, wiped away from the piece of paper in hopes it will be left unconsidered – definition of their compatibilities, denied with such ardor.

Alex

ander.

When you started off with nothing

And you're proud that you’re a self-made man.

“Fucking hell,” she mutters under her breath, unintentionally digging her nails in the firm plane of his chest, “I thought he ain’t gonna do this.”

“Well, you can always look away,” he shrugs, eyes remaining glued to the screen – a nonverbal denial.

“That’s not necessarily the case,” she counters, fingers releasing the hold on his tee, quick to smooth out the material – a manner he would never attempt to associate with her, marking his forehead with a frown of confusion, even if for a brief moment.

“Yeah, I know,” he affirms, emphasized with a refined nod. “It’s captivating.”

“So-called pornography of pain,” she adds, a term he has been all too familiar with for quite a while now, “and by that I mean the phenomenon of violence perception in culture, or even in real life, not sadomasochism.”

“Yeah, sure, everyone would say so,” he mutters, purring sound that catches her off guard for a brief moment, allowing the words to reverberate in the air for a longer while, as if in perfect awareness of said effect. “Anyway, I must agree on this one, although some might be eager to deny it, ‘I’m not a fucking psycho’, they would say, but to be honest I think morality is overrated in this case, unable to outrun the primal thirst for brutality. Since how else would you explain all those bloodbaths in art, cinematic for instance?”

“Time is too precious for such absurdities.”

Terminal conclusion followed by peaceful silence – an expanse ranging from the first, and unfortunately last, appearance of some German Shepherd all the way to the thirst-satiating finale, and her genuine content with the entirety, a relatively rare occurrence to be honest. Whatever has just betided in front of their eyes, appears to be the preface of a very promising phase in the movie industry, a phase she is eager to step into and thus familiarize with its offerings.

“It might have been the worthiest investment of those twenty five dollars that Daryl could ever think of,” he murmurs, stretching the limbs behind his head, fingers skimming the rooftop in a fleeting motion – a contrary to less-than-subtle deprivation of his supportive frame.

“Daryl?” She rubs her eyes – a substitute for proper refreshment. “You mean that nameless friend, right?”

“I do indeed,” he affirms, throwing a glance towards the door – a prelude for the subsequent proposition, “but I think we should drive away now, unless we want to get stuck with all those homespun drivers.”

“We don’t,” she agrees with a fleeting smile passing her features, much to his delight, even though the situation itself required no such approval, considering a man

(Alexander)

will do exactly as he pleases.

“Wonderful,” he concludes, soon to slam the back door and stake out the driver’s seat, while she follows his steps but to the passenger’s spot. With a flick of his wrist, the engine is ignited, and thus he is able to navigate their way through the more or less troubling labyrinth – a composition of cars in various states of decay: some fairly new, while others tend to oppose, their glory days undoubtedly classifying as bygone.

“So what now?” A trite of words that slices through the partial silence, accompanied only by the monotonous hum of engines. “You’re gonna drive me home like a decent man would?”

(No, I’m gonna fuck you like a decent man would.)

“I’ve never taken you for a person with such low expectations,” he remarks with a teasing timbre lacing his voice, glancing at her briefly, albeit long enough to catch the confused expression upon her face.

“Excuse me?” She frowns, their eyes meeting halfway – an occasion for her to get acquainted with the evidence of his self-content, oh so unexpected.

“You’ve heard me,” he shrugs, a brisk response of perennial philanderer – a verbalization of who he has always appeared to her as.

A womanizer.

Possibly a libertine too, which is at least what the more promiscuous part of her counts for, even though she is more than certain that contributing will lead to a bitter aftermath, the one when a man asks more or less kindly to leave, and yet considered worthwhile, which might as well be the reason why her mother used to label Serena with traits such as ‘occasionally self-destructive’. And yet, what would life be if deprived of any risks, decisions made in the heat of passion, meant to be rethought in due course, most likely after the milk will have already been spilled but still… distant future is what grants the vacancies.

(Isn’t it what they say?)

* * *

Her mother is a person of many claims, each more straightforward than the precedent, a person who belongs to the realm of appearances, where anything obvious requires to be verbalized – an unwritten purpose. Said manner never fails to amuse her in some sort of way, assuming the word itself is descriptive enough in such circumstances, and yet she has the tendency to retreat them from the depths of her mind in times of trial, considering the current situation is supposed to be perceived as a relative.

Cutting to the chase, that godforsaken woman would say: ‘he who lurks in the shadows, must be a sinister creature’ – a triviality in its purest form, and yet an appropriate summary for all her maladies oscillating around one person – star of her own planet system.

(Is it possible to dethrone the solar?)

(A question vain to consider.)

“What have I gotten myself into?” She mutters under her breath, seizing an opportunity that he is standing by the counter, pouring himself a drink, the reminiscence of amber waves evoked from seemingly great distance, soon to wash the shore of her lips.

“I’ve allowed myself to fix you one too,” he turns around to face her, both glasses snug in his hands, shiny brown liquor skimming the transparent surface as he approaches her figure, settled on the window sill, “and that’s actually a fairly expensive brandy.”

“You mean the real reason why you live in such a shithole?” She retorts, nevertheless accepts the offering, bringing it to her nose for a sniff, as if pretending to be a seasoned expert in alcoholic field, the one who is able to differ which wine was opened earlier with barely no effort.

“Partly yes,” he laughs – a lighthearted chuckle meant to loosen the tension, evident in her posture and the stagnant air, “but give it a try, it’ll do no harm.”

Without further ado, she complies, tilting the glass to her lips in order to take a final swig of amber liquor, shivering at the newfound wave of heat blossoming within her throat. Whilst the feeling itself is gradually subsiding into a sweet, fruity aftertaste, she even dares to consider admitting the accuracy of his claims oscillating around the liquor’s quality, but in the end opts against it, settling on a refined nod of approval, as per usual.

Over the years, she has gotten a chance to discovered one distinctive aspect that comes with the activity of pondering, more specifically the prompts of polar opposites that exist within each one of us. To set the record straight, she means no mental disorders, but the complex nature of any decision making process, hopelessly linked with all these constant whispers, both subduing and encouraging. Taking a leap of honesty, not faith in this case, since integrating with such ‘virtue’ is not included in her List of Matters Beyond Important, she is capable of admitting that opting for certain choice is rarely so intricate, while keeping in mind that they all appear to be fairly simple – negative for what she is attempting to sort out now.

“Serena,” he calls from seemingly great distance, grabbing her by the hand – a gesture so unexpected that she almost tears it from his grasp, although in the end manages to take a steady inhale and focus on the runic pattern marking his fingers, while he continues, voice ringing within the empty room, “are you afraid of me?”

“No,” she utters a nervous chuckle, squeezing his palm as if to reaffirm the veracity of her statement, “it’s just- I’m thinking too much, that’s all, and sometimes I wish I’d stop. Knowledge is a burden.”

“I must agree with the former, although the latter…” an exclamation laced with a hint of disapproval, emphasized by the tsk-noise, deprecating click of his tongue over the palate. “It’s nonsensical.”

“Well-”

“When I was younger, I used to play chess with my grandpa, and to clarify – that was before he got crazy, at least crazy enough to qualify for any asylum,” he interrupts, finally letting go of her hand, and siting on the cold sill for a change. “Anyway, there’re various kinds of openings in this game, some of them referred to as ‘gambits’. You know what a gambit is?”

“Yes,” she nods, always brisk to prove the point. “You sacrifice a pawn in order to achieve something significant.”

“Yeah, more or less,” he agrees, frowning as he takes a swig from the previously abandoned glass, soon to settle it down once empty, accompanied by a telling clink. “So tell me, can you see a parallel now?”

“You’re such a narcissistic asshole,” she shakes her head in disbelief, eliciting a throaty chuckle from her partner, the one meant to set her nerves on fire.

“That’s why you’re attracted to me,” he shrugs as the laughter gradually dies out, leaving only the remains of so-called smug smirk behind.

“Is this the time when I’m supposed to confess my never-ending love and admiration towards you so that our relationship can be consummated?” She spats bitterly, unhinged with exasperation.

“Nah,” he brushes her off with a dismissive flick of his wrist, more nerve-wrecking than ever. “Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?”

“I don’t get it,” she frowns, shaking her head in irony-laced disbelief, “the story about gambits; is this your pick up line? Your big move?”

“Wanna know what my big move is?” He taunts, serious at the first glance, if not for the twitch of his upper lip, meant to betray any actual intentions.

“Yeah,” she nods – a refined one, as per usual, aiming to cover up any possible traces of excitement, “tell me your big move.”

“I paint the girls that I wanna fuck.”

(And tonight’s guest is…)

The greatest, most magnificent, unexpected surprise ever imagined.

A sentence allowed to reverberate in the air for a brief expanse of time, so cruelly interrupted by her pearly laugh, enhanced by the dismissive eye-roll of her partner.

“I know, unbelievable.”

“Well, I gotta say I’ve expected that, and either way I feel honored,” she speaks, clearing her throat as soon as the breathless chuckle dies out, intent to her rid of any unpleasant coarseness, “but why am I your pick, like specifically?”

“You intrigue me,” he bestows her with the merest of explanations as if for the simple sake of getting on her nerves. “That’s why you’re my ‘pick’.”

“And that’s all?” She cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at him, wanting, willing to hear out more details. “You know, ‘it's the details that sell your story’.”

“I can’t believe you’ve just said that,” he huffs, shaking his head in disbelief, soon to rise from the previous seat – an indication of movement, of change, creeping closer and closer until in reach to brush her ankle, swallowed by the dimness of his flat. “But what more can you wish for? You intrigue me, and I’ve wanted to have you since our little encounter on the roof,” he states, without a hint of hesitation scaring his voice, instead some distinctive at-ease carelessness that she has found both exasperating and enticing since the very beginning. “Even though I don’t believe in the qualities such as uniqueness, meeting you was an interesting experience, downright repeatable. Is this specifying enough?”

“Well yes,” she agrees, a hint of uncertainty lacing her voice, most likely linked with the matters yet to be revealed, “but don’t you thinks it’s degrading: ‘wanted to have you’, another term for expressing male domination, claiming a woman like you claim a prize.”

“If you’re so keen on sorting this out,” he begins – an offer she cannot refuse, “we can have a chat about ‘male domination’ as soon as… how did you put it… as soon as… our relationship will be consummated.”

“By that, it appears to me you’re in some sort of a hurry,” another jeering remark, the one he has no intentions in letting slide for a change, “is that correct?”

“Claiming that I’m the only one is an obtuse lie, don’t you think?” He purrs, all of sudden turning around to face her, hands on either sides of her thighs, resting on the cold sill. “And that’s truly degrading, not your whole ‘male domination’ shit.”

She cannot help but let out a reedy squeal at the abrupt turn of events, now trapped between his body and the freezing glass, not literally cornered and yet feeling like so, even more as he leans in towards the woman, breath stuck in her throat. With the cooper waves tickling her cheek, and heated blows on her neck, he begins to speak, words impossible to be distinguished for a split second, molding into a monotonous tone, dark and rich, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. She relishes in the teasing flutter, fighting the innate urge to arch in his direction, until he grabs her by the face, cradling the side of it in his left hand, fingers biting into the cheek, even if for the slightest bit, eyes meeting halfway with reflection of city lights encrusted on the green background.

“… and I want you to lay on the bed now,” he finishes – a garnish that leaves her confused and frowning, both due to lack of concentration – a trait she loathes oh so deeply and has never dared to label herself with before.

“Gonna fuck me already?” She asks in attempt of clarification, eliciting a short-lived laughter from her partner, a coarse chuckle that prickles her skin with goosebumps.

“Why the rush?” He teases, both hands shifting to curl around her thighs as if bracing for the final lift, but instead pulls her body towards the edge, legs wrapping around his hips in order to regain the substantial balance. “Delayed gratification is what does the trick.��

“Well, I thought that saying so is a determinant,” she huffs, eyes glued to the godforsaken furniture as if evading his gaze would help her focus, “but apparently not.”

He only chuckles in response, vibrations palpable in her chest, resonating all the way through, enough to redirect her attention to more carnal aspect, beginning with the plainest closeness, with how her breasts mash against his firm flesh, for instance. It has her wondering why they have not even kissed yet, despite the intimate proximity, just an inch to the left and their lips will brush, all in vain, considering his plans obviously differ, evident in the abrupt hoist up that tears a feminine squeal from the caught-off-guard woman. In a manner beyond desperate, her hands clutch onto the cotton of his t-shirt – yet another reason to laugh for the unfavorable male – although rather quick to drop her onto the more sturdy ground, if mattress can be referred to as such.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this if that’s how little trust you have for me,” he mutters, outwardly on own benefits, while she believes it is also meant to reach her ears, gaze fixated on his towering silhouette, helplessly braced on the elbows.

“Sure,” she retorts, an inseparable hint of sarcasm lacing her voice – a phrasal of personality traces, “like you could stand it.”

“Mhm,” he hums, imitating her tone just to witness Serena huff in exasperation, “tell me about it.”

To that she has no answer, just an awaiting stare following his movements to the kitchenette, confused when it comes to what he is actually looking for there, an assumption about his libertine tendencies rushing through her mind in a frenzied display of nervousness, soon to be mitigated by the following object – a chair fished out from its spot behind the island.

“Who would have thought your flat is full of such useless possessions,” she remarks, rising up to a sitting position, weight braced on the open palms.

“Unbelievable, huh?” He teases with a banter not quite considered as lighthearted, emphasized by the rough scrape on the wooden panels, sound utterly terminal in its fiendish form, skin erupting with goosebumps – titillation and trepidation mingling into a fairly undistinguished integrity. “But I think you owe me a show. So strip.”

Unrepeatable opportunity to observe the medley of emotions manifesting themselves on her face, so calm and straight most of the times – long-awaited variety from the common, day-to-day occurrence. Beginning with the wide-eyed surprise – nonverbal statement, albeit still notably refined – then progressing to the thought-indicating frown – violation of the smooth palette of her forehead – to finalize with mouth-agape attempt to transfer the bizarre concoction into proper words. For a brief moment, he considers teasing her about it – cat’s-got-your-tongue cliché – but opts against it in the end, exchanging it for a less foreseen phrase.

Sure.

“C’mon, I ain’t got all day,” he urges her to comply, taking a seat on the aforementioned chair, backwards, arms rested on the top rail, soon to fish out a cigarette from leftover pack hidden in the inner pocket of his coat, draped over the frame, then toss what is redundant on the table top. He lights it up with a precise flick of his zippo, eyes glued to the billowing smoke for a split second, until he slips it in between his lips, sucking up a nicotine drag.

Downfall of all hedonists.

Guarantee of premature death.

Damnation – opt out from salvation.

Godsend?

Simply obsolete.

“And you want me to do what precisely?” She asks with some odd precaution that almost elicits a direct laugh from him, open-mouthed and blissfully mocking, resembling a skittish animal, dangerously close to leap of the ground and escape for good.

“Strip,” he reiterates, voice seemingly deprived of all emotional layers, if not for the lingering huskiness, a smoky tune that reminds Serena what evoked her perplexing attraction in the first place. “And don’t force me to repeat my request.”

“Request?” She huffs in disbelief – a mocking show-off, meant to taunt him, push his button even now – an everlasting purpose, menacingly deathless. “Now that’s funny.”

Either way, she begins to strip, sitting up straight to get rid of the first layer – a chequered shirt, tied at the waist – clearly taking her sweet time with the knot and those few buttons, while his hands itch to rip it, shred the unimportant piece of cloth in two – a situation he will not allow to happen at current rate, ever-present penchant for delays. With smug, although definitely short-lived, satisfaction, she notices his eyes shift to her chest, breasts still clad in the black bralette – the-best-way-possible definition of classic elegance, underlined by a subtle hint of lace.

The jeans are what follows, paired with the requirement to stand up and bathe her body in the city lights, luminous on her pale complexion, vision glued to the buildings tearing up the horizon, almost undisrupted by the scratchy sensation of denim slipping down her legs. What makes her shiver though is the intensity of his gaze, almost palpable on her back, as if his fingers were right there, skimming over the heated skin – an inkling that prompts her to turn around and flop back onto the bed, searching for any support in the cold headboard – iron railing that bites into her soft flesh.

“Do go on,” he requests, or rather enjoins, calm at the first glance, if not for the smoldering zeal shadowing his eyes – a parallel for the ember at the tip of his cig.

“Why?” She bothers to ask – presumably mistaken about the evoked concept, fool’s pursuit, leading to nothing else but bitter disappointment.

“’Cause I like to play God,” he clarifies – plain instance of an unexpected answer, “at least from time to time.”

“Then c’mere and do it yourself,” she rolls her eyes – deliberate taunt – in hopes to break his resolve, and so impose him to approach her, an unfamiliar thirst for his touch seemingly insatiable.

“That’s not how it works,” he shakes his head, an exclamation laced with a hint of mock disapproval, as if genuinely displeased with the outcome, “first you gotta earn it, and then I’ll reciprocate. Maybe.”

(Maybe?)

Intent to make as quick work of it as possible, elongated only by a fretful huff, her hands reach the hem of said bralette, and pull it over her head in a relatively graceful movement, adding it up to the stack of clothes piling at the foot of his bed. In attempt to ignore the heat of his gaze upon the newly exposed skin, she focusses on the last step dividing her from accomplishment – sliding the matching panties down her legs, the ones that almost land on his face as in a display of blatant irritation, evoked by his shameless gawping. As in response, her limbs close on their own accord, interfering with his nettled countenance: bitter and relentless, prompting the woman to rearrange them, to which she counters, locking their gazes together once again.

“Very well,” he hums with yet another cigarette stuck in between his lips, soon to be ignited, as his gaze skims her figure, expression softer than he has ever witnessed on Serena, as if afraid of what is just about to be uttered, “now touch yourself.”

“Excuse me?” She chokes out in disbelief, brows furrowed in confusion, arms encircling her frame, meant to deprive him of any explicit view, sending a shiver down her spine as the cold digits brush the side of her breast.

“You’ve heard me,” he retorts, blunt and seemingly careless, tapping out the excess ash onto the dusty floor, while his gaze remains focused solely on her, or rather on the heaving chest, its intensity settling a smoldering zeal in the pit of her stomach, and so prompts Serena to enlace the pressing knot. Both the towering position and the distance put between them enhances the subdual, and for the first time in her life she is ready to admit that whatever is going on between them appears to stir something within her too, whatever that ‘something’ is.

Uncertainty?

Trepidation?

No?

(Not all feelings are possible to be classified.)

And with that, she resumes, or rather initiates the whole process, hands lifting to cup her breast, filling the palm quite snugly, while she can only imagine the comparison with his, cradling her ribs just a few hours ago. The thought itself sends a delicious shiver down her spine and before she knows it, the right arm follows its path to the cleft between her legs – movement fueled by the burning impatience, by the hope that it will manage to convince him to finally touch her, to soothe the pulsing ache – when all of sudden he breaks the silence – a lingering denial that infuriates her more than she could have imagined.

“Not so fast darling,” a single exclamation that slices through the smoky lull, meant to halt her pursuit, undermine the control she appears to possess over own body, and to his partial surprise, the woman complies, lying her palm slack on the inner thigh, fingers biting into the flesh – undisputable evidence of all frustrations.

“But-”

“How long has it been?” He interrupts, a puff of smoke obscuring his face, careless and vexingly at ease, as per usual. “Days? Weeks?”

She nods to both of them, which elicits a throaty chuckle from her partner – an exclamation of some sadistic amusement, prickling her skin with goosebumps, but at the same time having the brunette wish he was right there next to her, stroking the heated flesh as in indication of some leisured worship.

(Only two can play this game.)

“Then you can wait a few minutes longer,” he concludes, almost forcing a chocked cry from Serena, disappointment evident on her face, and hell, she even pouts at him – a mannerism he would have never linked with her before.

“So what do I do now?” She sasses, aggravations outrunning any possible consequences. “Sit here and watch you smoke?”

“Of course not,” he laughs, presumably to spur her even further, “I’m not much of a sadist, even though it might seem so right now.”

“Mhm, sure,” she hums in mock agreement, a lingering hint of sarcasm that betrays her every single time – a matter meant to be rectified in the near future.

“So from this point, run your fingers along the inner thighs,” he mutters, sending another intense, rather disturbing, tremor down her spine, nipples pebbling with arousal, and she instinctively reaches to squeeze them, wishing to replace the smooth substitute with harsher texture of his fingertips. Either way, she complies to his request, stroking the tender skin with the very tips of her fingers – teasing replacement for proper touch, lingering breeze that might as well be yet another result of delirious mind-prompting. She sighs, arms itching to reach just an inch to the side, impatience bottling up and ready to explode any second now, akin to a can of coke after decent shaking, and so, to release some of the tension, she shifts her legs helplessly, wanting, willing him to end the decadent suffering.

“Now touch yourself,” he directs, failing to cover up the hint of arousal underlining his voice, as his gaze alternates between her face, eyes shadowed by a lustful fog, and both hands, now occupied with more pressing matters, “but keep it light. And slow.”

(About fucking time.)

With one brisk movement, betraying the eagerness, her fingers shift to the spot in between her legs, forcing a surprised gasp out of her throat, as if genuinely shocked with the amount of wetness coating her fingertips. The act itself, no matter how simple, almost forces a loud moan from her constricted throat, relieved with the slightest bit of pressure, even if more to enhance than to actually soothe the pulsing ache, tickling sensation on her folds. For a split second, she forgets about the male company, a real person just a few mere feet in front of her, until he speaks again, rich and husky tune that elicits a faint moan from her, all to his delight.

“Enjoying yourself, darling?” He queries, to which she nods, maybe a little too feverishly, although her lacking response is certainly not pleasing enough for him, with the subsequent demand to ensure the veracity of said assumption. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” she gasps almost at the spot, hand twitching in attempt to contain the needful rub, light and slow as per his request.

“Very well then,” he purrs, a gravelly sound that has her insides coiling in anticipation for the following words. “I want you to slide your fingers in, one at a time. Good girl. Now crook them and rub.”

The intrusion itself, in consideration of a relatively long expanse of time, draws a pained whimper from the woman, loud enough to reach his ears, lips lacing in a smug smirk, as if on their own. However, the generous amount of slick allows her to smooth out the thrusts, and keep the pace slow but steady, although eager for things to speed up, yet certain that Alexander will interfere in response to her arbitrariness.

Such a fucking hypocrite.

“Eyes on me,” he demands all of sudden, in spite of the fact she has barely registered them falling shut, an abrupt sound that causes her to jerk in surprise. Nevertheless, she is immediate to open them, meeting the jade green of his own irises, visibly darker in the dim light, overlapped with the conspicuous lust shadowing his gaze, luring her to take those few leaps towards him and perch atop his lap, but then again, he will not allow it – a standstill in the worst variant possible.

Therefore, in a final attempt to focus on the carnalities, her attention shifts toward more pressing issue – long nails mercilessly scratching her walls – one of main reasons why she prefers male’s touch, excluding a bunch of few, equally important, aspects. Obliged to work with what she has got, in hopes it will get her off sooner than later, she moves the other hand to her clit, and circles it – an action that sends a promising shiver down her spine, but also prompts him to break the silence again.

“You’re close,” a question (?), either way followed by an approving nod and desirous look thrown in his direction. “Then stop.”

“No- but I’m…mmm… please,” she whines, while her own body seems to betray Serena once more, following his request before her mind registers what is actually going on. Fighting the innate urge to carry on with what has been so cruelly interrupted, she adds another query, full of misery, her lip quivering as she speaks. “Why?”

“It��ll feel much better this way, trust me,” he reassures, voice meant to soothe all maladies, retreating the wish to have him beside her once again, feel the warmth radiating from his body, the skillful caresses of his lips dancing over her skin. “You can go on now.”

Uttering a defeated huff, she resumes the whole process, circling her clit until she is shivering in delight, legs shifting in obvious impatience, until he tells her to stop once again, and again, and again, the amount of disposed cigarettes working as the only time-measuring factor. She is close to bursting into tears by now, needy and frustrated, although unable to deny that every single stroke, even if barely present, feels electrifying, has her wishing to be replaced by another and another one, and yet he denies the climax every single time, drawing all kinds of desperate whines from the woman.

“I know,” he soothes, and she might have even believed him if not for the sadistic inclination hiding behind his gaze – primal pride of possession. “But it’ll feel so good, I promise. Doesn’t it now?”

“It does,” she manages to utter, voice breaking pitifully at the end as another shudder passes down her spine, silently begging him to end the misery. “Can I… please…”

“Yes,” he affirms, smirking as she sobs in relief, her hips jerking in time with each and every movement by now, following the inevitable release, “but keep your eyes on me.”

And so she does, her vision nearly blacking out from the intensity of newfound experience, wave after wave crushing through her body, fingers almost cramping as she clenches around them, back arching in a catlike manner. Trembling with aftershocks, she is only capable of lying slack on the mattress, both hands mindlessly sliding onto the mattress, wiping any evidences of whatever has just taken place on the sheets, not quite bothering whether he minds it or not.

Dazed with the fervency of said experience, her eyes close on their own accord, barely able to register him getting up from the chair and flopping down on the bed, until he brushes the tender side of her breast, nipples still tingling with arousal. Drowsy as ever, she somehow manages to meet his gaze, pupils dilated in evidence of lust, frenzied and unhinged, yet partly subdued, as if in attempt to stop himself from completely devouring the lush partner, at least according to what she likes to tell herself on such occasions.

While lying on the mattress, boneless and spent, he traces the lines of her cleavage, smirking as she twitches in some unconditioned reflex, still a little dizzy and so unable to contain herself, body arching towards him, presumably enough to take a note of. There is something helplessly embarrassing about being so responsive – confirmation of the potent influence, the fact that he is capable of eliciting even the most absurd reactions from her with nothing else than just a mere stroke of his fingertips.

Pathetic.

(Is it?)

She looks – no – is absolutely fucked, he thinks as his palm follows a path down her body, teasing touch that tickles her flat stomach, sends a repetitive shiver down her spine, legs opening to give him the essential access – a shapely female in his bed, all to himself, which paired with the knowledge of how much she will let him do to her now, has his member throb in impatience, with the variety of scenarios running through his head. The whole experience allows him to see Serena in a different light, more as a self-conscious woman than a sarcastic lass, which in turn makes him wonder whether he was even supposed to offer her that brandy for a loosen-up – doubt definitely short-lived on the benefit of more pressing matters running through his mind. It appears to him that he has managed to dig out all the carnal-oriented parts of her, thirst never to be satiated, which in turn fills him with the so-called male pride, desire to push her limits on every occasion possible, such as now, full at his mercy with legs drawn apart.

“Mmm… fuck,” he mutters to himself, failing to notice the corners of her lips twitching in a sly smirk, too preoccupied with the carnival of thoughts rushing through his head. Nevertheless, such momentary satisfaction is not enough to soothe the blossoming ache, sheer desperation for the long-craved attention that has her squirming on the mattress, helpless and miserable, hips shifting to get him where she needs it the most. Unfortunately and much to her lust-laced despair, the cruel hand only hovers over the mound, barely brushing her skin, which elicits a frustrated huff from the woman and prompts her to roll over to the side, ignoring all protests of the weakened body.

Draping a single leg over his hip, she leans in to steal a kiss, the nicotine aftertaste lingering on his tongue, far too intense to be considered as pleasant under any other circumstances, and in spite of said assumption some wicked part of her still longs for more, pressed flush to his body. He allows her to do so, hands grasping her by the hips to prevent Serena from grinding against his thigh, or whatever stunt she is attempting to pull, which elicits a frustrated huff from the woman, one of those that has him chuckling against her lips.

“Can you like… take off your clothes?” She mutters, still less than an inch from him, unfortunately putting their kiss to a premature end. “It makes me feel awkward that I’m the only one naked.”

“I thought you would prefer to receive some attention first, but if that’s what you want…” he cocks an eyebrow at her, even though she is unable to see it at such close proximity, taking special pleasure in the way her hands fall down with a slap– illusion of pining him to the mattress.

“No- I mean-”

“No?” He interrupts, teasing manner that lights her eyes with newfound doze of frustration, clutching at the cotton of his tee.

“Can you touch me first?” She almost whines, the sheer desperation within her voice makes him twitch inside the constricting denim, wish to remove the barrier between their bodies, then, of course, fuck her into the mattress until she is babbling nonsense. “Please.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he smirks, as if genuinely pleased with how the situation has played out, for his own benefits obviously, flipping them sooner than expected, which elicits a surprised giggle from his female partner. She props herself on the elbows, watching him with anticipation written across her features, curious about his actual intents, chest heaving in time with each uneven breath, skin practically glowing in the city lights – a reach-through to the most carnal parts of his brain.

(So, so ready for him.)

Hence, he decides to take some pity on her

(him),

since she has been quite cooperative throughout their whole encounter, yet to reach the end, and so rewarding her for such is certainly fair enough, if only to see the misty eyes light up once more, stormy pools of sensuous lust, luring him to lean in – one step closer to his inevitable damnation. Therefore, he rolls the t-shirt over his head, jeans soon to follow – an action that draws an excited gasp from the female – although the underwear stays on, considering it might be a little hard to contain himself if elsewise, paired with the longing look she flashes him as in response to the unexpected turn of events.

Before she gets a grasp on what is happening, he tugs her by the arm, directing her onto his lap once again, breasts snug against his chest, and a single hand unceremoniously being pushed in between her legs, cupping the whole expanse in one rough palm, which elicits a vocal moan from the woman. Her hips rock against it, seemingly on their own, craving for more blissful friction, as she literally throbs in relief, opening up like a flower underneath his touch – silent plead for more, encouragement to pursue, to reward her for how compliant she has been to him.

“Just like that…” she moans, obviously content with the situation itself, eyes falling shut on their own, as she settles into the position, or rather gets used to the pressure applied by his hand, with a ghost of breath on her neck.

“Like this?” He teases, pressing down on her clit hard enough to draw a pitiful squeal from the woman, hips bucking in response to the rough caress – such an absurd concoction of words – as her hands raise to take a steady grip on his shoulders. His breath is palpable on her skin, tickling akin to the reddish strands, having her wish his tongue would run over the heated flesh, suck at the soft spot just below her ear, in need for any sort of relief, since all he has been performing for quite a while now qualifies as merely teasing, no less no more.

“You’re relentless,” she sighs, as if to spur him with the helpless act, thighs quivering with effort of containing the innate thrusts of her hips, pad of his finger circling the swollen nub with almost inhuman deftness, drifting her thoughts back the drive-in, and the following doubt: which one is she? The thirty-ninth? That low? Maybe fifty-first? This, paired with the ability of turning her mind into a shapeless mush, so clear and brisk at most times, capable of fluent concentration, freaks her out more than she cares to admit, along with the lust-laced submission, the fact that she is past the point of common self-respect, goaded by the primal urge to hit the climax once again – unhinged desire that breaks down far too many barriers, that forces her to…

“Mmm…fuck,” she moans as soon as his fingers reach further south, prodding at the spasming entrance, so close to sliding inside and yet elongating the blissful torture. “Please, I need this so much.”

“Who would’ve thought you were such a greedy, little girl,” he teases, oh so harmlessly, fighting the pressing need to grind against the moist heat, almost dizzy with his own lust, practically bursting as if caught on some high school fling.

(Self-control.)

“Tell me now, what have you done to earn this?”

Now that is humiliating, she thinks, while in consideration how regrettable would be to disobey him, even if for a mere moment, hands twitching with effort of containing the immature idea of pushing him away, then expressing her immense displeasure by twisting his dick off. Possibly the worst case scenario, and yet the only one left when cornered, hesitating between twain of opposite solutions, unable to fit anywhere in between, and accordingly so, she chooses to speak – weak insubordination, mindless babbling of sheer desperation.

“Each and every thing you wanted me to do,” she argues, one of her hand reaching his, pressed in between the tensed thighs, wordlessly prompting him to pursue, “so I think I deserve a reward.”

“A reward you say?” he retorts – a query almost lost in the space-time as soon as he presses down onto the swollen folds, drawing another feminine whimper from her. “Fine, so let’s make it worthwhile.”

And with that he resumes, quick to slide a pair of his fingers inside, which forces a choked cry from the woman, hands once again flying up to grasp his shoulders, long nails biting into the firm flesh. He hisses at the mingling stab of pain and pleasure, unable to contain the subtle shiver running down his spine, especially when paired with the reedy moan she utters as soon as he brushes the g-spot, dizzy because of the long-craved fullness, based on those male preference aspects, squirming upon his lap as the caress grows on intensity. This, or the self-named leakage, calls back to involuntary disclosure of one’s true intentions, hidden desires, cravings never qualified for direct verbalization, popping out to the surface when uncontained, least expected, or simply unfortunate.

“Hear that?” He rasps into her ear, causing the tiny hairs on female’s neck to stand up as the tickling heat begins to spread through her body, skin almost itching to be touched. “Hear how wet you are?”

“Yes,” she gasps, now actually paying attention to the squelching sounds, cheeks burning hot red, as she buries her face in his neck, lips brushing the sensitive flesh as she speaks.

“Look at me,” he demands, fingers grasping her chin, as he tilts it upwards, eyes adverting to the side, prompted by the silly need to hide away from the intensity of such contact, “and I want you to hold it.”

“Okay,” she gulps as her walls clench around his fingers – involuntary response that elicits an amused chuckle from the male, all to her exasperation, not so mild anymore, sweeping away the prior embarrassment. Even so, she considers the smug composure itself in terms of an aspect beyond enticing, exciting maybe, the one that drags her towards the end faster than expected in comparison to what she is used to. Furthermore, she cannot deny him the skills, but at this point also qualifies it as the less meaningful factor, with its lack of extent towards the mental dimension, towards the emotional bond that blossoms into trust as a parallel to relationship development.

Exquisite but eerie.

Verdict of veracity to validate.

Deep in her thoughts, at least as much as the current situation allows her to, she appears as genuinely caught off guard by the pulsing wave of bliss, pre-orgasmic but potent enough to tear a surprised gasp from her throat, meant to shatter the pitiful remains of so-called concentration. With the eye-contact aspect long forgotten, she throws her head back, exposing the slim column of her neck, luring him to finally suck at the creamy skin, glistening in the city lights, itching for extra touch. Despite the pair of fingers, shoved knuckles deep inside her, along with the ragging hard-on, he manages to get the hint, quick to dip down and attach his lips to the tender flesh – an act that elicits a relieved moan from the female – hands tangling in the velvety mass of hair.

At this point she can barely sit still, squirming in his grips as he lavishes her skin with open-mouthed kisses, nibbling and licking until she becomes a quivering mess, longing for the second climax – honeyed tang upon her tongue, as if possible to be tasted. Chasing the inevitable release, she rocks against the heal of his palm, desperate for more friction, frenzied and unhinged, torn between tethering on the cusp forever and tilting forward to the thirst-satiating finale – doubt definitely short-lived, minuscule expanse of time carved from the eternity.

With a final spasm, she arches towards him, lips colliding in a messy kiss, clenching around his fingers, so tightly that his thrusts are forced to a halt, labored breaths exchanged between the lovers – his in carnal desperation, hers as a result of mind-numbing bliss. In attempt to steady her trembling body, one of his arms snakes behind her back, holding the partner upright as she rides out her orgasm, bucking against his hand in languid manner that indicates the gradual ebbing of prior pleasure.

When their eyes meet, glassy and high on post-orgasmic delight, something snaps within him, and despite the discontented whine she utters, he pushes her away to the side, then in one brisk movement gets rid of his underwear, almost ripping the fabric in process. Having discarded it to the side, he climbs back on top of her, prying her legs open with a rushed knee jolt, but she halts him by laying a single hand on his chest, his face now marked with a frown of confusion.

“The protection,” she reminds drily, causing him to roll his eyes, but at the same time reach to the lonesome box chilling by the bed, soon to fish out a single foil package and rip it with one precise flick of his wrist.

“You’re such a mood killer,” he huffs, albeit quick to put the (un)necessary interval to an end by rolling the latex piece onto his throbbing hard-on, groaning when treated by the meager pressure, applied in the cruelest way possible.

Impatient as ever, she watches him jerk off a few times, before he kneels in front of her again, and without wasting any more time, lines with her entrance, the rapid slide that forces a chocked cry from her throat. With dark spots marking her vision, she lifts the gaze to meet his eyes – pools of pitch black with a barely present rim of jade, captivating, almost to the point of hypnosis, burning with unhinged lust – chest heaving with labored breaths.

“Shit…” he groans, delirious, voice laced with newfound desperation, selfish need to get off as soon as possible, especially when she is pulsing around him, once again anticipating the approaching wave of bliss. With his clean hand, he laces their fingers – a gesture she would consider romantic if not for the following exclamation, mindless babbling of incoherent man, lacking in the usual finesse. “Makes me wanna fuck you so hard.”

“Then do it,” she spurs, wriggling her hips as if to signalize that she is more than ready, wanting, willing to find out what he has to offer, but instead of transferring the words into proper actions, he speaks again, rough and husky – gravelly driveway to the dream estate.

“Say that again,” he practically growls – a sound that throws her off the current train of thoughts, even if for a brief moment, primal in the way that sends a chilling shiver down her spine.

“Do it, please,” she repeats, more determined than before, legs wrapping around his hips as if in attempt to drag him closer, heels digging into the tensed muscle. Having him inside her calls back to the long-forgotten sensation – peculiar fullness, linked with the most pristine connection – intended to be relished, but at the same time aiming for a further pursuit, walls spasming around him as if to prove a point. “Please.”

To that, he has no answer, at least not the one she wants to gain, instead keeps staring at her for what seems like forever, but in reality must oscillate around less-than-a-minute interval, with her squirming impatience failing to affect him. Seemingly deprived of the desired ability to make him comply,

(Come closer and see)

she focuses on the distinctive melody playing in the background, coming from the adjoining flat,

(See into the dark)

the one she used to consider as a fit to hear out while you get high, but that was before she has learned the meaning beyond lyrics, beyond the goth-rock tune that she enjoys to replay in her head, so brutally interrupted in the middle by an unknown hand.

(Just follow your eyes)

he says and for a split second she cannot focus on anything else but the lingering tone, leaning to one inevitable conclusion, and all of sudden there comes a time when ‘male’ is preceded by ‘fe’.

“Please?” He croaks at some point, barely acknowledging enough to pierce through the metaphorical barrier, one of his hands squeezing her hip, blunt nails digging into the fleshy part of her side, until she squeals in discomfort, eyes now shifting to meet his – pools of shady lust.

“Yes,” she gulps, struggling to get the words out of her parched throat, one slim leg hooking over his midsection as if to cover up the prior absence, “please.”

In what must take just mere seconds, he releases her hand – a hook to reality – both of his switching to her shoulders in search for a more convenient position, sure to leave bruises as they bite into her skin. She finds it unsettling, the swiftness of his movements, the barely present grasp on changeable turn of events – concern soon to evaporate in the chilly night in time with the first push, hitting her heftier than expected, evident in the stunned cry she utters.

His lips are parted, letting out heavy breaths, tongue flicking over the parched flesh – an action that enhances her want, no – her need, to taste him – while all he contributes in, minus the thrusting part, is holding her down, lost in the mind-numbing desire to feel her clenching around him each time he rubs against her cervix. He keeps the pace slow, allowing him to reach deeper inside his restless lover, her hands now tightening around his wrists, eyes falling shut, as she attempts to grind against him, clit throbbing for attention. She almost sobs in relief when he gets the hint, one of his hands dipping in between their bodies to circle the swollen nub with a pair of long fingers, not quite meaning to grant her the relief yet, instead teases the edges with ticklish touches, parallel to the fluttering of butterfly’s wings. Nonetheless, she is clenching around him, throbbing and squirming, almond-shaped nails biting into the tendons crossing his wrists, as if to stay connected with the runaway reality.

Noting more than a pointless pursuit…

According to Alexander, there is a fair amount of adjectives to label a woman with, selection almost mind-numbing during the initial recon, ranging from the less favorable traits to the absolute heaven of compliments, quite difficult to choose from in such circumstances. Either way, enticing is what he opts for at the moment, skin glistening with sweat, presumably as much as his, breasts swaying in time with each thrust, and the variety of sounds slipping past her lips, now bleeding from excess biting. The crimson mark prompts him to dip down, sweep his tongue across the cut, if only for a taste – a craving impossible to ignore – and finally lean in, kissing the split flesh – an action that elicits a relived mewl from the woman, along with the carnal groan he utters – shaping up a need to verbalize what is on his mind, a bunch of half-coherent words.

“Always so fucking stubborn, such a tough bitch out there, and look at you now,” he groans, breath tickling her chin, a single hand now tightening around her throat, which forces a chocked whine from the female. “You’d do anything I say, anything to cum, am I right?”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” she chants as if in some unspoken desperation, rewarded by the profuse pressure on her clit that draws a content sigh from her, soon replaced by a deep moan, back arching off the mattress as both contraries mingle – inside and outside, downright blissful. She shivers as her breasts brush his chest, hands reaching to squeeze the pert globes, eyes closing on their own as the pleasure begins to build up, not so gradually anymore, rather in comparison with the waves crushing to the shore – rhythmical intensifications that parallel with the involuntarily clenching walls.

“I know, I- fuck,” he groans, spurred by the sight below to increase the pace, even thrusts long forgotten on the benefit of something more feral, pleasure-chasing, nerves tingling, as if to brace for the approaching surge of bliss. Torn between the polar opposites, on one hand willing to reach the thirst-satiating finale sooner than later, while on the other force her to beg once again, if only to maintain the ‘authoritarian’ figure, which at this point also appears as nonsensible, futile, with trembling muscles, tightening sac, and shut-off brain.

Although he can tell that she is tethering right on the edge too, he needs to speed up the process, lips attaching to the sweet spot below her ear – an action that elicits a broken moan from the woman – hand around her neck involuntarily tightening, as he holds himself up. Struggling to breathe properly, her nails rake down his shoulder blades, leaving a bloody trail below, his own teeth biting a sangria-colored bruise on the tender skin until she squeals, akin to some high school girl.

“C’mon, darling,” he purrs against the sore spot, flicking his tongue over the soon-to-form mark, rough stubble scratching her delicate flesh, hips grinding against his hand, caught in some frenzied state of lust. With a final scrape of his palm, or beard maybe, she clenches around him, spine bending as if to form a late triumphal arch – the most anticipated conquest – immediate to drag him with her, bodies spasming in each other’s arms, as their breath mingle, lips trace the flushed skin, and with both eyes closed, they attempt to ignore the black spots making their vision. Unable to keep himself upright, he collapses on top of her, drawing a pitiful mewl from the confused woman, cutting her airflow once again, which forces yet another choked whine from her throat. “’M sorry,” he mutters, although apparently struggling to roll over, muscles not working on his account for a change, but in the end somehow manages to rest on his back, leaving her cold and empty on the side.

In search for the essential warmth, she reaches out to him, half-climbing, half-snuggling to his side, body trembling as the sweat begins to evaporate from the cease of her spine, loose strands of hair ticking his cheek, lips joining in a leisure kiss. While neither of them dares to break the silence, still hazy with the post-orgasmic delight, his thoughts drift back to the events of seemingly distant past, the unspoken whim that has been lingering in the air for quite a while now, satiated by the least expected person.

It all seems so absurd now…

How close she brings him to God.

* * *

“Aren’t you gonna be jealous?” She frowns, her gaze glued to the enormous portrait decorating the snow white wall – a color almost too perfect to be true.

“No, why?” He glances at her, scratching his chin with the inked fingers, freckles manifesting on his skin more than usual in the blinding gallery lights.

“I don’t know,” she retorts, sarcastic as usual. “’Cause all of them will see me naked?”

“That’s only half of a story,” he replies, ever at ease, if not for the possessive squeeze of her shoulder, betraying what is lurking underneath the surface, probably deep enough to remain unacknowledged by the direct ‘stakeholder’ – a mere tincture of so-called jealousy, “only a poor substitute of what we are beyond that, I mean as people.”

“Well, that’d make a lot of sense,” she agrees, hand reaching out to fix the collar of his shirt, purposely scratching the now fading bruise with her nails, “if you weren’t lying, of course.”

“Me? Lying?” He counters with feigned astonishment – an actor in his own theatre of absurd. “In what world?”

“Think about this now,” she begins, hand floating through the air gracefully, indicating the unlimited possibilities. “Someone buys these portraits, every single one of them, to do what exactly? Appreciate art with his family on Thanksgiving?”

“Let him have them then,” he shrugs, calm to the point it drives her nuts.

“What?”

“Think about this now,” he explains, mimicking the prior manners, much to her exasperation. “Family gathering, licentious orgy – a dream come true.”

“I can’t believe you said that,” she huffs, attempting to conceal the giggle, treating to sip through the neatly polished façade – a signature of professionalism.

“Why not kill two birds with one stone?” He continues, almost laughing at the expression upon her face, flawless features marked by the frown of rebuke.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” She glares at him, chewing at the corner of his lip – an indication of surprised chuckle.

“Does it even matter?” He shrugs, with a smug smirk crossing his visage, eyes glistening with the so-called male pride that somehow reminds her of the cinematic philanders with dashing smiles and thick hair. “If you’d want me to fuck you either way?”

“Shut up,” she shakes her head, tormented by the mixture of amusement and annoyance that she has somehow learned to enjoy with him – a turnabout of least expectance. “Just shut up.”

“See that guy over there?” He alludes, motioning towards some poor man, obviously not in terms of money, furthermore lacking in the aforementioned qualities.

“Yeah,” she nods, partly expecting to hear the following answer, and yet it manages to irk her up even this time.

“He’ll totally buy it.”

“Oh fuck off,” she swats him on the chest, gasping when he catches her wrist, fingers digging into the slender arm – a nonverbal warning.

“C’mon, there’s no need to sulk,” he purrs into her ear, lips barely brushing the tender flesh just below, smirking at the feminine gasp she utters in response to the well-accustomed-with caress, “I’ve wanted to show you something anyway.”

“Well… I don’t know,” she drags the words on purpose, gaze following his to the corridor at the end of the hall, “I thought you were supposed to stay here.”

“Agreements are contractual.”

“Mhm… astute.”

Verdict of his virtuosity.

Created: 11/02/20

Completed: 12/28/20

Edited: 12/29/20

3 notes · View notes

what-big-teeth · 5 years ago

Text

Spark (Male Fire Elemental, pt. 2)

There are two sides to every story. And for many, both are worth hearing. To help her father heal and to better understand Ignis, Simone knows she must learn of the fire elemental’s past. That is, if he chooses to tell her.

Female Human (POV) x Male Monster [Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4]

TW: self-harm

As a child, I used to scream myself awake at night.

Sweat soaked my pajamas every time and my muscles ached from thrashing around. The only thing that brought me to my senses was the gentle touch of Nana’s hands.

My lungs always struggled to take in air and there were times when I threw up. But Nana would just draw a warm bath then gently wash my body with lavender soap. And she never let me feel ashamed.

But during the worst nights, I couldn’t look at her. Even after she’d dress me, change my bedsheets, and tuck me back in. I wanted nothing more than for her to leave so I could stay angry at myself. She never did.

“Simone?”

“Mm.”

“Are you too old to be my grandbaby?”

Every time she’d ask that question with a playful tone, I’d meet her eyes and shake my head.

“Then you aren’t too old to hear me tell your favorite story. Are you comfy?”

I’d nod, only after snuggling further into bed. The act would bring a smile to her face every time.

“Ready, Nana.”

And without fail, she’d spin her tale. Once upon a time, there was a brave, Black girl who lived in a quiet town. It was so quiet that the girl decided she wanted to go on an adventure in the woods. So, she did.

As she explored the forest, the girl found something amazing: fire trapped in an unbreakable glass sphere. But neither were ordinary fire or ordinary glass. The flame was a tricksy spirit and the sphere was its prison, etched with strange symbols. At first, the spirit didn’t want anything to do with the girl and told her to leave. But the girl refused and told the spirit that having company was better than being alone. To the girl’s surprise, the spirit agreed.

Years passed, and with time, the girl and the spirit grew close. The girl eventually found a way to shatter the glass sphere and released the spirit. But once he was freed, the spirit didn’t leave. Instead, he declared his love for the girl. But the girl couldn’t accept because her heart belonged to another. This angered the spirit and he vowed to destroy the quiet town where the girl lived. To save the boy and the town she loved, the girl tricked the spirit and trapped him again using her own blood.

“The girl later married the boy and lived a happy life, but she still thought about the spirit from time to time.”

“But he turned bad. So why Nana?”

“Because before he became the girl’s worst enemy, he was her dearest friend.”

________________________________________

I can feel Mica’s gaze trail after me as I unload my large, rolling suitcases and from Mason’s pickup. He slams the tailgate home with more force than usual and the bang drowns out her sigh.

“Are you sure about this, Simone?”

Going from “tidying up Nana’s house” in November to “living there for a week as a test-run” the next month didn’t sit well with her. More so when we found evidence of forced entry in Grandpa’s old den. Just about everything was turned over and rummaged through. And the back-door handle laid mangled in the backyard. The discovery spurred Mason to buy two, top-of-the-line locks and install them while we were still there. I offered to repay him for the locks and new keys, but he refused.

When Dad learned about our discovery, all the color drained from his face. Not surprisingly, he lost his composure when I told him my idea. Mason immediately offered to come along for additional safety as did Mica. Mainly to keep Mason in line and to help ease Dad’s growing worry. Thankfully, after I promised to put his number on speed dial and check in with him daily, he agreed.

I haul the heavier of my suitcases up the front steps and lean it against the door. Once I’m sure it won’t topple over from its own weight, I grab the second one and give Mica a reassuring smile.

“Positive. I don’t want my inheritance to go to waste.”

Mason frowns in return, but Mica quickly intercedes before he can speak.

“If you need anything, give us a call, okay? The motel’s only ten minutes away.”

“I will,” I say.

But neither twin moves. Or says anything. A long silence follows, one that’s filled with unvoiced concern.

“I’m serious, you guys. If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know. Promise.”

The tension in Mica’s shoulders subsides, but Mason just shakes his head and heads towards the driver side of his truck without saying goodbye. As he closes the door, Mica pinches the bridge of her nose with a gloved hand and lets out a deep breath.

“Don’t worry about him,” she says. “His bad mood will blow over and he’ll be back to his normal grumpy self soon.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Mica’s hand falls away from her face and she stares at me with narrowed eyes.

“Wait, he hasn’t told you yet?”

“If you mean the reason he’s been acting weird lately, then no. He hasn’t.”

My guess goes unanswered until she stomps her foot against the cold, hard ground.

“That dumbass!”

“Uh, Mica—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” She waves off my question and gives me a horribly forced smile. “I’ll take care of it and text you later!”

Before I can say anything, Mica jogs over to the pickup’s passenger side and climbs inside. She starts tearing into Mason the moment she’s settled in. But Mason’s stony expression doesn’t crack. He just focuses on reversing the truck and driving away.

I shake off the feeling of forced ignorance and head inside. No use in getting frustrated over what I can’t change. Not when there’s something I can. And it’s past the foyer and down the main hallway, disguised as a normal fireplace piled with ash.

I stare at the dark hearth, thinking of how to best announce my presence. I’m tempted to let my noisy air mattress pump do the job for me, but any sort of pettiness will hinder my goal. So, I pick up a nearby fire iron and knock it against the brick mantle.

A tiny burst of sparks emerges from the ash slowly followed by bright flames that curl upward until they fill the iron hearth. Unlike the sharp grin Ignis first wore when he first appeared, his features are stretched wide into a yawn.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I say.

Ignis takes his time coming around, his mouth closing with a sharp crackle. When his gaze lifts to meet mine, I give him a smile. His eyes narrow.

“You’re back.”

“Considering how I’m the rightful owner of this house, yes. I am.”

The bit of flame acting as his mouth stretches into a joyless sneer.

“Does your newfound ownership extend to me?”

I back away from the fireplace and plop down in the middle of the clean area rug.

“No, it doesn’t. And it never will.”

Ignis falls silent and his mocking smile melts into an unreadable expression. I keep going, not wanting to lose his attention.

“All I want is to know the truth. Nana told her side of the story as best she could to a young child. And Dad won’t say anything about what he knows. That just leaves your perspective, if you’ll let me hear it.”

The outline of his humanoid face wavers then vanishes. Ignis retreats altogether, leaving unlit ash in his wake. That was…unexpected. As much I want to learn what happened between him and Nana, I know it’ll take time. Hopefully before Christmas week rolls around. Interfering with my friends’ holiday break isn’t an option and neither is causing Dad further distress. But for now, there’s plenty to do pass the time.

It doesn’t take long to inflate the air mattress and unpack the bedding. Or plug in Nana’s old portable heater. My clothes stay put inside my suitcase, but I drop off my nighttime essentials in the nearby guest bathroom. Mason’s suspicions about rotten wood weakening the second floor were dead on, so the upstairs is off-limits for now.

With all of that taken care of, I kick off my boots, grab my laptop and the mobile wi-fi hotspot, then settle on the loveseat across from the sofa. The lumpy cushioning keeps me alert while doing some early job searching.

I break for lunch after bookmarking a few promising offers and call up Mica. The twins soon arrive and we head into town for food and groceries. Ignoring the suspicious stares from the other shoppers would be easier if Mason and Mica weren’t giving each other the silent treatment. Even the drive back to Nana’s house is awkward with the air charged with an undercurrent of anger.

It’s sad to say, but I’m happier once I’m left alone again. As the day slowly dwindles into night, I make dinner then tuck myself into bed. The dark fireplace is the last thing I see before drifting away. It soon becomes a common sight.

Ignis remains unseen the next day. And he doesn’t appear during following day, either. Worry starts to gnaw at my mind, but I keep busy as best I can.

Clearing Nana’s garden of weeds and wild plants takes an old pair of gloves, lots of elbow grease, and the better part of the day. But it’s worth the sharp aches and stiff fingers once I’m able to see usable soil. With careful planning and the right fertilizer, it’ll be green again. That is, if I can remember what Nana used to grow.

I drop onto the couch and take a much-needed sip from my bottled water. Glancing at the dark fireplace, my curiosity gets the better of me.

“Any ideas about what plants would grow best in the backyard?” I ask.

Nothing. Not even a hint of cinders. Sighing, I flick some dirt from my cheek and get up.

“Abigail was fond of daylilies.”

I freeze in my tracks. Ignis looks at me with that same unreadable expression.

“At least,” he says, “that’s what I heard during the times I was aware.”

My chill-bitten lips stretch into a grin. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

“Thanks! I’ll give them a try.”

Progress is slow but steady after that. Ignis becomes more open to talking, and even though I’m left leading our conversations, he still provides his own opinions and ideas. He tells me that he likes the sunrise, since the sight reminds him a growing flame. But he prefers the darkest of night as that’s when he used to shine brightest. When I ask him about any powers he may have, he tells me to be patient. The next day, to curb my excitement, I decide to tackle re-painting Nana’s front door.

“You may want to come inside,” he calls out a few hours later through the open front door.

I wipe the back of my hand against my cheek, smearing more burgundy paint onto my skin. My old overalls and sweater are completely wrecked, still stained with streaks of dirt from Nana’s garden. And a break sounds wonderful, to be honest.

The moment I step inside with the paint can and brush, rain starts pouring down in a steady torrent. My mouth drops open as lightning streaks across the sky.

“But how did you know?” The forecast didn’t predict any showers.”

Ignis snorts, the light of his flame brightening temporarily.

“Nature is as unpredictable as she wishes to be, regardless of the instruments humans use to try and quantify her.

“Oh?” I say teasingly. “Is that right?”

“Yes. And the cool air blowing in told me all I needed to know.”

This is all just another small part about him, but it still leaves me wanting more.

“Think I can learn how to do that?” I ask “Or is it a special elemental thing?”

“Perhaps,” he says. “You’ve shown an aptitude for many things. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did the same with this.”

His warm reply sends a pleasant shiver down my spine and it takes all my willpower to keep a straight face. Deciding I’m done with chores for the day, I give Ignis a quick ‘thanks’ and head to the bathroom to clean up.

Friday night rolls around with Ignis and I having grown more comfortable with one another. We converse a lot more and he keeps me company as I continue to job search, asking questions about the process. I answer him as best I can, but some of my explanations fall short. He tells me doesn’t mind at all and his words send a rush of happiness through my body.

“Are all humans required to sit through an ‘interview’?”

I hum and close my laptop.

“Honestly, I think it depends on the job—”

Glass shatters. A heavy weight hits the floor; a rock. It settles against the rug just as a black-sleeved arm shoots through the broken windowpane. It bends up and starts struggling with the window latch. I jump to my feet and back away.

“G-go away! I’ll call the cops!”

More glass shatters and my stomach drops.

We took care of the doors, but overlooked the windows’ old locks. If the intruder gets in, they’ll see me and then I’ll be—

“Stay calm, Simone.”

A calming heat washes over my shaking body and I remember how to nod my head.

“Close your eyes and trust me.”

Biting back a sob, I huddle against the couch and screw my eyes shut. A blinding, white light pierces through the darkness of my eyelids for a few brief moments. Against the brilliance, there’s a scream. Then, nothing. Only silence.

“They’re gone,” Ignis says in a weak voice. “You can look now.”

I do. The only sign of the intruder that remains are the shredded tatters of their black sleeve clinging to the broken glass. Ignis is still present, but not as a brightly burning fire. He’s nothing more than the cinders and sparking in the glowing red fireplace.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice straining.

I jump over my fallen laptop and scramble towards him.

“Me? What about you?”

“It seems…I expended a greater deal of energy than originally planned. Strained too much against my restraints. If the intruder comes again, I won’t be of much help.”

Restraints? My eyes dart around the fireplace and find two identical marks, both glowing a molten red. Two triangles enclosed by two perfect circles. But the marks aren’t etchings. In fact, they look just like…

“Bloodstains. That’s how Nana sealed you.”

Ignis doesn’t reply. And the light from the cinders is growing dim.

“You wanted to hear my side of things, didn’t you? Call for help, and I will tell you.”

“But I—”

“Please, Simone.”

The heavy fear his plea urges me to locate my phone. My thumbs tap against the touch screen and hit the dial button. A low ring fills the living room three times until—

“Hello? Simone?”

Relief floods by body at the sound of Mason’s groggy voice and I let out a hitched sob. I tell him about the attempted break-in and he immediately comes around. In just a few minutes, he and Mica are inside of his truck, the engine roaring to life in the background. Mason’s voice sound stronger when he speaks again.

“Stay on the line. We’ll be there soon, alright?”

I rub at my eyes with the heels of my palms and promise to do so. Then, I turn back to Ignis. The cinders’ light pulses for a moment, then dims.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Please don’t.” More hot tears scald my cheeks. “You’re dying. You’re…”

“As promised, let me tell you my story.”

The usual steadfast bravado in his voice isn’t present. And the cinders are growing dimmer. But I agree all the same.

“My first memory of humanity is of my captor, binding me to an engraved, glass flask. I had no one but my younger, cocky self to blame. My captor soon sold me for a hefty sum of gold and from there I was exchanged by many hands: philosophers, merchants, nobles, kings. Even Paracelsus possessed me for a moment in time. Each and every one of them never attempted to free me.

“Soon enough, I arrived here in the New World by way of ship. It was a miserable journey crossing the ocean, almost torture. Back on land, my last handler hoarded me, wanting to use my knowledge to become wealthy. But he was discovered conversing with me and deemed a heretic. He ran and unknowingly dropped me in a dense, forested area. I could do nothing but wait and observe. Until one day, a ray of light found me: Abigail.”

He’s still slowly fading. I swallow down the painful lump building in my throat and dig my nails into my palms.

“You loved her,” I croak out.

“Yes. But before then, I only saw her as a means to an end. I tried to trick her into releasing me, but she was too clever. Instead, she sincerely offered me her friendship. After everything I went through, all the years of powerlessness, I was stunned. A mere slip of a girl offering me something so simple? Out of curiosity, I agreed. I soon forgot about wanting to be set free, but Abigail didn’t. Somehow, she found a way to release me from the flask. From that moment on, I already knew my heart belonged to her. But the love she felt for me was only friendship.

“When I learned she had fallen in love with your grandfather, my jealousy consumed me. And in my rage, I threatened to burn down the town with him in it. In return, Abigail asked me to meet her inside her home in three days’ time. I’m ashamed to say I thought she would come to her senses by then and renounce her love for your grandfather. But instead, she bound me using her own blood. And here I stayed, partially aware of the passing time. Of her husband and her only son…and later, you.”

He’s only a few glowing cinders at this point. Almost gone. I ignore the sharp pain of my nails cutting through my skin and bite back a sob.

“It’s strange,” he says weakly. “But I just remembered something from that day.”

“What?”

“Abigail was crying as she sealed me away. My anger back then blinded me to that. And now, I’ve made you cry. Please forgive me, Simone.”

It’s funny. Even as an utter wreck kneeling on the ground, I can’t help but wonder. Could Ignis and Nana have reconciled if Ignis had let go of his anger earlier? Would Nana have released him? Would we have met under different circumstances? I’ll never know. But as I unclench my hands, I realize I still have an option left to use.

“Simone?”

This is a huge risk I’m taking. I don’t even know if this will help or make things worse. But his voice is so weak and it’s the only thing I can think of.

“Trust me, okay Ignis?”

“What are you—”

I slam my bleeding palms against the sides of the fireplace. Right on top of Nana’s original seals. A scream pierces my ears and echoes in my blood. A brutal heat engulfs my body, growing in intensity. I shut my eyes to it all, and soon feel myself falling.

_____________________________________________

When my eyes open, I’m not in pain. Even though I should be. Instead, my body is blanketed by a gentle warmth.

“There you are,” a familiar voice whispers.

The well-built man cradling me in his lap looks down at me with ruby-red eyes. His long, thick black curls stand out against his deep russet skin. He smiles down at me, a kind gesture that highlights the slight bump in the bridge of his wide nose. A soothing heat seeps into my hands and sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. Slowly, the blisters covering my palms flatten into normal, healthy skin.

“But how…?”

“You did mention wanting to learn more about my powers, didn’t you? Although that was a rather careless way of doing so.”

It can’t be.

“Ignis?”

His smile widens into a mischievous grin.

“In the flesh,” he says.

My mind can’t connect the living flame in the fireplace to the man holding me. Because something is missing. As he examines my hands for more injuries, I slowly lift them and place them against his cheeks. He leans into my touch and I bite my bottom lip to steady myself.

“This isn’t what you really look like, is it?”

He stiffens. I keep holding his gaze and eventually feel the tension in his body seep away. He shakes his head.

“Show me. Please?”

Ignis closes his eyes. And slowly, his human appearance evaporates away. The russet tone of his body gives way to black skin, fissured with what looks like molten lava. But the cracks are organic and follow the natural lines of his large, humanoid body. His real form has no mouth or ears, but two white, hot eyes lacking pupils. And his hands are tipped with sharp claws that lightly ghost across my arms.

“This,” he says, “is the true me.”

He starts to pull away from my hands, but I coax him down and press a kiss to the smooth, surface of his cheek. Ignis looks at me stunned and I grin.

“What? I’m just saying thank you for taking care of me.”

Ignis’ expression softens into something that makes my heart race. He chuckles then nuzzles against the side of my head.

“I think I should be the one thanking you.”

I’m content to stay in Ignis’ arms until I fall asleep. But I know that won’t be possible. The familiar hum of an approaching engine is proof of that.

But as long as we have each, we’ll face and overcome whatever comes next. Together.

#monster boyfriend #monster/human #monster romance #fire elemental boyfriend #exophilia #once I get over this illness #I'll start on part three #my writing #female reader #fem reader

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years ago

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Love me, love me not ~ pt.4

04: When Grayson meets an old flame

Summary: Finally in Paris, Grayson tries to woo Y/N, but fate had different plans.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of sex

Word count: 2.2 k

Love me, love me not ~ Series Masterlist

Silence surrounded them like a stars in a freckled night sky. She had her headphones in, her lips pursed, her eyes focused on the small screen before her. She figured he’d understand her desire to speak to him is non-existent, all of it acting as a shield since the pair have barely exchanged more than a few words since the red carpet and those were only pleasantries.

Grayson knew she wasn’t really watching Finding Dory, reading her intentions well. However, he was itching to make amends and have her smile at him again…but what would he apologize for? Having a heart? Caring about her? Wanting to explore their connection? Wanting to genuinely date her?

Those weren’t reasons for him to step on his words and pride and give into her childish behavior of pushing people away. Sure, she might not be interested in a relationship with him and he wouldn’t push her, but a friendship wouldn’t kill her.

“Either talk to her or stop staring. People are whispering about the creep in 40C and the naive girl two seats away.” Ethan nudged Grayson to move to his seat, closer to Y/N. He wasn’t foolish, seeing that Y/N has probably had zero sleep as they have and planned to sleep on the flight so she’d wake up in the right timezone. That’s why it’s crucial Grayson gets to her before her eyes close, because Ethan refused to have his trip ruined by the awkward tension and sexual frustration the two brought.

“She’s got headphones! I can’t just pull them from her head.” Grayson whisper shouted, sending his brother a glare before glancing at a seemingly cartoon-immersed Y/N.

Annoyed, Ethan outstretched his arm across Grayson’s lap, tapping Y/N’s shoulder carelessly and fast enough not to let his brother stop him nor react negatively for Y/N had turned her head just as quickly as he hoped.

“Everything okay?” She hummed, looking at the twins who nearly pointed a finger at each other as if to blame one another, like children who had gotten into trouble.

“Grayson wants to talk to you!” Ethan pipes up, stopping his younger brother before he has a chance to mutter something stupid and lose this chance.

“Umm, okay.” She takes her headphones off entirely, shifting in her seat so she faces him.

“I just wanted to ask you if you’d go out on a walk with me?” Grayson spoke fast, his eyes clinging to hers as his hands trembled lightly at his sides. He can’t remember the last time a girl made him so nervous he’d shake like he does now.

“Pretty sure we’d die if we tried to get out now.” She teased, her playful tone making a comeback and it dropped the weight off his chest. He was terrified he gambled away his chance with her, but the devilish smirk on her pink lips had his heart fluttering.

“Perhaps in Paris, then?” Grayson cocked an eyebrow, slapping a smirk of his own on his face, unaware how it forced her heart on a wild chase where every beat felt like a drum-roll.

“Sure. But, I need some beauty sleep now Dolan. Let me be.” She lowered her seat, her pillow already fluffed and prepped, her eyes closing as she pushed the blanket over her body.

“Not likely. You can’t get prettier than you are now, trust me.” Grayson added, chuckling when she pulled up the divider between them, catching a glimpse of her rosy cheeks, knowing he had made her blush. It was a nearly impossible feat, but he conquered the temper tantrum she threw the last time they had an actual talk.

Falling asleep, the three woke up just as they were landing, rushing to the hotel in time. They had a whole day to themselves, while the next day was reserved for Luis Vuitton.

“Get dressed and meet me out here at six.” Grayson instructed, winking her way before he disappeared behind his hotel room door, leaving her a flustered mess of anxiety and heart vs brain wars.

She wished she could get them both on the same page and either give into the bubbling feeling inside her or just forget about him and move on. But no…her heart was adamant in winning this fight, while her brain pulled out the big stops – Henry and how she had trusted him in the past only to have that trust thrown back to her face and her life turned around so heartlessly.

How could she let herself go down the same road again?

She felt like a china-doll, glued together, but barely holding on. Grayson seemed like the type to shatter a person and not on purpose; never on purpose. He’d be so oblivious when she starts chipping away and that’s the scary part – he wouldn’t even know how her glue is failing and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He’d ruin her. That much she was certain of. But she wanted to try, dip her toes into the water and wait until it’s warm enough she feels safe to move forward into deeper parts.

“So, where are we going?” She smiled widely, her look casual yet appealing. Something she seems to nail every damn time as it never fails to make Grayson’s heart skip a beat.

“Just a little stroll.” He tilted his head to the right ever so slightly, his wing shaped earring moving along with him like a dazzling trinket she couldn’t stop herself from looking at.

He came closer, his big brown eyes so soft as his smile grew, startling her when she felt his warm fingertips brush her wrist.

“But you’re going to have to let me hold your hand. We’re supposed to be in love, remember?” He raised an eyebrow, sliding his fingers into the icy palm of hers, spreading her fingers himself before linking them together only to pulls her along – gently, but in a commanding way. This was his show to run and she found herself caught up in it.

Walking the streets at near sunset had painted them a beautiful orange shade she quite adored. The pink streaks across the sky were a delight as well, but none compared to his bright smile as he pointed at his favorite spots to visit when he’s in France, nor the comforting warmth of his hand in hers. She noticed some people taking photos, fans mostly, but some professional cameras as well, but she could care less. She was actually out and on a date with this beautiful man and her brain was quiet for the first time in a long time.

Y/N stopped, hearing the romantic music coming from the street, forcing Grayson to stop as well, looking down at her already formed blush.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are? Like, they’re the perfect blend of the earthly protection with just enough of green tones to make it seem like a forest ground – untouched beauty with so much more to find.” She truly found herself mesmerized and in the moment, her eyes on his as relentless as a storm he felt brewing within. But Grayson refused to question this moment of tenderness between them, rather embrace it – embrace her.

“Dance with me.” He wasn’t asking, rather demanding, his tone leaving no room for mistakes. She was clear on his intent, but couldn’t help the giggle escaping her nor the quick glance around them that showcased her nerves.

“We’re in the middle of the street.” She reasoned, finding him with a cocked eyebrow and an unapologetic smirk as he used the hand he still held to twirl her, knowing she’d lose her balance and fall into him after.

He reeled in the tiny gasp of surprise passing her lips as she spun into his chest, both her palms pressed against him as his hands came to rest on the small of her back, already moving rhythmically, nudging her to do the same.

Fighting a smile, her lips twitched as she raised her hands and closed them behind his neck, her arms a bit short to entirely wrap around him and he nearly cackled at the adorable little pout she made once she realized it. She may be small, but she’s fierce and he loved that about her. She’s not just a woman, not just a contract to him – she’s a force of nature and he wanted to be the one to reckon with it.

“You’re quite the partner.” She complimented, earning a small chuckle as he firmed his hands on her hips, lifting her up until her body pressed against him and her face was at face level.

“Let me kiss you.” He urged, licking his lips as a hungry lion who found a willing victim. “Just once. I feel like an addict who is dying for his next fix.” Grayson didn’t care about the fact he’s openly spilling his feelings out, nor about who might see or hear him. He just wanted her.

“How about we return to the hotel and I’ll give you a little more than just a peck?” She quirked an eyebrow, giving him a mysterious smile as her thigh pressed against his member, forcing him to stop breathing – just for a moment.

“Can you run or should I carry you back?” He laughed, already walking back, her feet still not firmly on the ground.

“I can run just fine. Let me down!” She insisted, but she didn’t expect him to grab her hands the moment he did so, running down the street like horny teenagers, bumping unsuspecting strangers.

Finally seeing the hotel, they’ve nearly made it inside when Grayson stopped.

“Ethan said you’d be out.” The girl’s voice had drawn Y/N’s attention, her breathless attempts to speak up failing as Grayson stared at the gorgeous woman in question.

“I’m all ready to go, baby. This coat is literally all I have on and I’m in a need of a big strong man who can take it off.” She purred, coming closer to him. It’s as if Y/N didn’t even exist. It’s as if he wasn’t still holding her hand. It’s as if this woman could care less about any of it, her lust for Grayson fully on display. Grayson who seemed too quiet, his hold on Y//N’s hand loosening as he gulped loud enough for Y/N to hear and she immediately stepped back, hurt written on her beautiful face as the fire of doom returned to her eyes.

“Yeah…baby. She seems awfully hot and bothered.” Y/N spat, ripping her hand out of his as she walked into the hotel – furious, but never more certain she should have went with her head instead of her heart. Who has ever gotten any good from trusting their heart?

“Y/N?” Grayson gasped, walking by the woman he clearly knew in order to get to his girl, aware the progress made is lost now.

“Please, let me explain.” He pleads, but her brain is back and it’s ready to rule her with an iron fist once more.

“No need. I’m certain you can get your dick wet with her tonight, because it sure as hell won’t be with me.” She nearly growled at him, especially when she saw the confused bimbo following him.

“You nearly had me fooled, Dolan. The whole romance charade was fun while it lasted, but I’m done. I’m just done being second string and I’m done having men dictate my life. So, here’s the hack: when you’re in there for the audition, just make sure you learn your lines and try to play the scene out in your head as if it’s a real interaction. Imagination is key.” She let out a deep, heavy, pained sigh as she raised her hand, tapping his chest lightly.

He wanted to stop her nonsense and kiss her. He wanted to open his dry mouth and tell her she’s all he cares about. Fuck the audition, he wanted her. He needed her and he didn’t even understand why or how she had become so much more to him in only a few weeks. A single night with her were worth more than hundreds with any other. She was the flame who lit his life on fire and while he was burning, he wanted to thank her for it and still ask her to stay a while longer.

Grayson nearly chuckled at the thought of calling her fire when she’s the coldest person he’s ever met. But she’s fire and ice – he fears the cold and craves the burn, both driving him insane, but he couldn’t stay away.

Yet he couldn’t move at all when the time came.

“Now you know my secret. Your audition is next month anyway. No need to pretend to care any longer.” She let her arm fall as the deafening ding of the elevator sounded, cutting Grayson off as he was left speechless, barely hearing anything but her somber goodbye. “Have a good night.” She forced a small smile before the door closed, leaving them both alone and with so many things left unsaid.

Tags: @xalayx @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @anything-dolan @peacedolantwins @maybgrayson @nowheredolan @graydolan12 @beautorigin @justordinaryjen @starrydolan @pitreshawn @grays-laugh

#grayson dolan #dolan twins #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan series #grayson dolan fluff #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan au #grayson dolan x y/n #grayson dolan x you #ethan dolan

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lets-break-free-from-our-chains · 5 years ago

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Dawn of A New Age in Ice-Roan x Wife!reader

Requested: I would like a king roan x reader were the reader is pregnant with roans child and tells him. after the conclave he survived because he hold his breath and stopped moving and later a little bit after 6 years, there child or children what you want have a different special blood called: Azblida ( ice blood) and the story is up to you if you want. from the 100 I would like that :)

A/N: Hi guys! I promised you all a Roan x Reader and I finally was able to find the time to sit down and write. It ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be, but that's okay because the more Roan the better! Let me know if you guys want me to go into more detail on the whole Azblida story and do another imagine that’s a spin off of this one but focuses more on the twins, Malia and Tobias. I don’t own the any of the gifs and pictures I used, they all belong to there rightful own. Also the picture is not what the twins look like in the story; you can decide what your kids would look like with Roan, lol. Anyways I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think; I always love hearing from you all -xoxoxo

Word Count: 5.5k

You can barely remember what the sun felt like on your face, and how fresh the air smelled. It was radiation-soaked air, but never-the-less your sentiments were the same. It was beautiful and now it was gone. Azgeda, your beloved home was gone; forever. Though you always remind yourself that you have more, from the old world, than most. You have your husband, your twins, and your life. You have far more than most do and so you always remember to humble yourself when you find yourself becoming to melancholy about the Red Dawn Bunker.

“Your lips are pursed and your making that all too familiar face, again.” a strong voice, chuckled from behind you. There was no need for you to look; you knew that heavenly voice anywhere.

You turned in the chair at your writing desk to face Roan and found him leaning on the side of your bookcase. You sighed as you spoke,

“And your leaning on my bookcase. Again.”

Roan’s eyes widened slightly, and he had the decency to look sheepish as he quickly straightened his stance away from his notorious spot against my bookcase. The bookcase would start to become loose and wobble back and forth from the pressure of his gigantic frame leaning against it. Very rarely, did you let small things bother you, but that was one of the few things that could always irk you. However, you knew Roan didn’t do it on purpose and that’s why you were always gentle in your reprimands towards him for the absent-minded tendency.

“Forgive me, my love.” he says, as he approaches your chair; to place an intimate kiss behind your right ear. “I always seem to forget, despite my best efforts to remember.”

“I know, darling. It’s why I remain forever patient in my regards to that specifically vexing habit.” You slyly caught his eyes, with a playful smirk. He laughed at the good-natured slight, as he caressed the sides of your upper arms and dropped a light kiss to your left temple.

“Well thank you for being so patience with me, my queen. Perhaps, the day may yet come when I remember to refrain myself from such a vexing habit.”

You threw him a humorous hum with a ‘We shall see’ look on your face, as he playfully shakes his head at you with a highly amused chuckle. Something was missing though, and it was then that you realized the twins weren’t with him; as they normally would have added their own funny sarcasm by now.

“Where’s Tobias and Malia at? It’s not safe for them to be without guards.” You mused out loud.

“No need to worry, (Y/N/N). The twins are training with Gaia and Indra. With plenty of guards to watch over them while they train.” Roan hastened the words out into the air, as if sensing and quickly, seeking to placate your slightly distressed stated; to which you sighed in relief.

Only to have the distress flood your body once more and turn your blood ice cold. You stood, so quickly, that your chair scraped against the floor as it was pushed away. You moved to sit next to Roan on your shared bed, where you leaned into his enormous figure for much needed comfort and security. You whispered so soft, it almost wasn’t there, “Blodreina won’t be there, will she?”

“I don’t want her filling our babies’ heads with insanities and atrocities.” You managed to choke out, distressingly harsh whisper, before Roan wrapped you in his arms and gently hushed you. Roan knew you were forever worrying about what Blodreina was up too.

While the both of you gave your support to her leadership, you were far from comfortable with her power. Especially since she was given her well-earned title; Blodreina. When Roan informed you that people were calling her by that title, you nearly fell out into the floor. Roan didn’t see the big deal in the name until you told him about the eternal and infamous story behind The Red Queen. He’d never heard about the story of the red queen, and while Roan was very intelligent and educated; he hasn’t ever been the kind of person to sit down and read fairytales, and you’d never been able to imagine a dimension where Nia read him fairytales.

He began to share your same worries after you told him about The Red Queen in the fairytale and historical women like Queen Mary I of England who was later named Bloody Mary for killing hundreds of people, in a five year reign, who didn’t believe in what she believed in. Then, there was Countess Elizabeth Báthory who was given the title, The Blood Countess for killing over an estimated 650 people and most likely more just to satisfy her base pleasure for blood sport.

You told Roan that those women had plenty in common, but their self-destruction was marked by one particular poison. They had power and eventually they began to like that power. Finally, along the way they developed an obsessive love for that power that inhibited their senses and left them without the ability to see that there are limits and there are lines and we cross them, it builds a wall where those lines used to be. It’s nearly impossible to break those walls down, let alone climb them, to get back to the other side.

“The twins are two of the few fortunate souls in nightmarish bunker. They were only babies when the Dark Year happened; they don’t have to know the turmoil of trying to find a way to live with the horrific crimes they committed against humanity. They are two of the only ones that are truly pure and innocent.”

The desperation and fear in your soft voice was loud and clear to Roan and it pulled at his heart in ways most couldn’t understand. You’re his wife and the mother of his children, to see you in despair of any level hurt him more than words could describe. You were right though; the twins were lucky when it came to all the things everyone in the bunker had to do to survive.

It’s times like that when you want more than anything to be above ground where you and Roan where rulers and could properly protect your children. Though you are protecting the twins by making a deal with Blodreina, you both knew that at any moment she could decide to break off the deal and her cult followers would only continue to follow. There no sense of true honor in the bunker anymore. No, that moral luxury died in the fighting pit years ago; the Dark Year to be exact. However, you and Roan were both aware that no matter how much protection you give the twins, there would always be danger to close for peace of mind. they were the luckiest and also the most unfortunate, at least when it comes to power, that is. Azblidas.

Nearly invincible creatures it seemed like. When you were pregnant with the twins it felt like you were always freezing, and they were active and strong from the very first kick that appeared to never cease it seemed. Not that you minded, it felt like you were bonding with them and that’s one of the reasons you’d read aloud to them even when you still carried them in your womb.

|Flashback; Waiting for Roan’s Victory|

You waited behind the flame that told you, your husband, the king was still alive and fighting. Echo waiting anxiously with you, and what would have been consider your Lady’s maid in a time before Primfiya, Cordelia, forever by your side, offered you the support and comfort you desperately needed. Cordelia was a woman in her early thirties; she had smooth olive skin with heart shaped lips, big brown honey-hued eyes and framed by thick dark brown hair. You tried to decide whether it was wavy or curly before settling with the decision that it was both; Delia’s hair was gorgeous either way. She was a strong and wise woman, and she was just as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. She stepped towards you from behind you, to whisper in your left ear;

“Did you tell him?”

There was nothing you hid from Delia and there was nothing she hid from you. She took care of you every day, ran errands for you, helped you with your responsibilities as Queen, offered you wisdom and comfort, and generally just made your busy and chaotic life easier for you. She with you every day, all day even if you hadn’t told her you were pregnant, she was more than smart enough to figure it out all by herself.

You turned your head to the left, though your eye lingered on the flame representing Roan’s life; “No, I didn’t want to distract him from the conclave. I wanted him to have a level head and his guard up. He has enough to carry on his shoulders, I will not knowingly add to those burdens.”

You could see she was about to say more but stopped and thought about it a few seconds longer before she looked at you with understanding eyes and soft smile, followed with a gentle nod.

Your attention was directed back to the room around you as Indra’s daughter, Gaia came from the balcony. It was down to Octavia, Luna, and Roan; you held your breath as the scout approach remaining flames with a candle snuff. Gaia voice sound like it was far away and somewhere underwater; “Roan kom Azgeda, yu gonplei ste odon.”

You swear your heart stopped as the nameless scout destroyed Roan’s flame. It felt like you could breathe, as if someone had cut you open and ripped your heart and lungs from your chest. The pain was…unbearable. You manage to let out one long mournful wail, that chilled the blood of everyone in the room, before that became to painful and physically impossible for you it seemed.

You suddenly felt faint and reached out for something to steady yourself with. Cordelia was shaken out of her shock when she saw you stumble backwards in a slight sway. She rushed up behind you and settled a strong right hand on your hip before clasping your left hand with hers. “My Queen?! Your Grace, can you hear?! (Y/N), it’s me, Cordelia!” Delia waited for a response, but only received a soft breathless gasp that sounded faintly like ‘help’. Cordelia didn’t have any time to ask again before she felt your body give out. She caught your body and gently lowered the both of you to the ground.

“HELP! GET HELP! Find a healer, the Queen’s fainted!” Delia cried out, in desperate panic. You could see Delia and Echo’s faces above you and their mouths were moving, but you couldn’t hear anything as darkness invaded and conquered your vision.

|Flashback; prior to The Final Conclave|

The happiness and relief you felt, when you had woken to Roan’s handsome face, was unlike any kind of happiness you ever felt before. You first thought that you were dead and that you had actually died of a broken heart, but you soon realized that you were in fact alive when you saw Cordelia; perched on the edge of her chair, to right side of the bed, in anticipation.

Roan was so elated to see that you had awoken and pounced forward to press a passionate kiss to your lips. You’d frozen in surprise and slight shocked till you relaxed into the welcomed kiss and poured your love and longing into the greatly needed moment. Cordelia smiled; quietly backing away and turning in the other direction to give her king and queen privacy. You felt him gently place his large hand over your womb where your child rested. You would later come to find out that it was two babes not just one.

When he reluctantly pulled away, you could see the questions in his eyes, but he decided it was best not to overwhelm you in your delicate condition. Normally you would have bristled at the someone deeming you delicate, however, at that moment you were grateful because no matter how much you refused to admit it you really didn’t have the energy to talk about something so serious.

Even if you did have the energy you still had bigger problems. Roan informed you that Octavia had won the Final Conclave and decided to give one hundred spots to each of the 12 clans to show that we were equals and were destined to unite as Wonkru. You were surprised to hear he accepted the notion. He was so adamant when it came to winning the Red Dawn solely for their clan’s survival.

When he saw your unbridled surprise and questioning gaze as you studied him, he merely chuckled fondly; “The only reason I’m alive is because I didn’t give up, I held onto my last breath until that psychotic Natblida released her hold on me. If I’m going to give up my last breath to anyone, it’ll be to my queen. Preferably in my beloved queen’s arms, in our old age after living a long and meaningful life.”

You being who you were, had replied with a forever-loving and playful taunt; “Oh Roan, you’re secretly a hopeless romantic! Good thing I find that an attractive trait in my king, huh?”

He had given you an amused smirk and eyeroll, but the look in his eyes soften considerably when he heard you whisper a heartfelt ‘Ai hod in yu, Ai Hairein…’

“Ai hod in yu too, Ai Haireina”

|Flashback; Birth of the Bluebloods|

The pain was unimaginable and overbearing, as it crashed over you in relentless waves; only getting strong and more painful as time dragged on. Cordelia was to the left of you trying to make you as comfortable as possible, while Roan sat behind, in between you and the metal headboard, as he spoke words of encouragement into your ear.

You were sweating ice chips; how you could sweat and still be cold was beyond your comprehension. Perhaps its better that you were cold and not hot because there was no “wasting water” of any amount in the bunker; not even to cool off a pregnant woman in labor.

You screamed and growled in pain, only to spat insults at Roan; while attempting to break every bone in his hand, for compensation. He was a good, but slightly terrified, sport about it and continued encouraging you with the occasional apology. One final push and your shrieking baby was born. Abby looked at the squirming irritated babe in her hands with slight panic.

“What? What’s the matter?” You asked in confusion, before the unbridled panic set in; “Is something wrong with my child?! Give me my baby!”

You held your arms out, expectantly, only to become furious when Abby handed the babe off to Jackson; who took her to a different part of the room.

“NOW! GIVE ME MY BABY, NOW!” You wailed, your angry and agony, over your baby’s wellbeing, beginning to enter twine. Roan began to become angry to, as he saw the state you’d quickly been reduced too.

“Give us our baby, now; or I’ll have your heads” He snarled but was interrupted by a different and sharper cry of pain, leaving your lips.

Y our hand quickly cupped your swollen belly to soothe the pain in your lower abdomen.

“There’s another!” Abby whispered; “I had to have Jackson check your daughter; she was ice cold and had a blueish tint to her skin, but you need to concentrate on the birthday of your second baby.”

“Daughter? Roan and I have a daughter?” You whispered, with hitched breaths induced in pain. To which Abby confirmed with a firm nod and soft yes.

“Malia.” Roan said.

Your smile, at hearing her name, left your face as another pain hit you and you focused on delivering your second child. It took 4 more pushes before your second baby was brought into the world. Abby looked at the child and told you and Roan had a son, before she hears Jackson perplexed voice.

“Huh, Abby? Do you have any idea why this baby was born with blue blood?”

Everyone’s held shot to Jackson as he held up a tube of blood with a blueish silver to show Abby.

“Azblidas!” Gaia exclaimed, with an awe-struck face; “Queen (Y/N) was given birth to a god and goddess among men. Far more sacred and rare than Natblidas and a lot stronger and faster than them too. They’re nearly invincible, its incredibility hard to mortally injure an Azblida. They hold the highest positions in grounder society and each one is as legendary as the next one. An Azblida hasn’t been born in over a century and now there are two.

Gaia had come to the delivery in the hopes of your child being a Natblida but was graced with not one, but two children destined to be the most powerful beings in your world.

“This is a sign that the old ways of the faith are not dead. We must show our loyalty to the faith; protect them at all cost and train the Azblidas in the sacred ways, when they’re old enough.” Indra spoke, as she stepped up next to her daughter side. Indra had thought the days of the faith were dead, but she had been proven wrong; in more ways than one.

“Well now that we’ve decide my babes are strong and healthy; can I have my babies now?” You tiredly asked.

Abby and Jackson gave you and Roan your children and everyone left to give you privacy. “We have a beautiful son and daughter, my king”

He contently hummed in agreement; “Malia and Tobias, the strongest of the strong; you did an amazing job, my queen. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

|Flashback; The Dark Year|

A famine had stormed the bunker and threatened to take everyone to the shores of the afterlife. No environmental calamity on earth had ever scared you as much as this famine and you lived through the Second Pramfiya. You were born in Azgeda and lived through the deadliest winters know to man, deep within the territory of Azegda, at the royal dwelling built in a region named; The Land of Eternal Winter. Those winters in perpetual ice glaciers and snow was easier to deal with than this famine.

You had been sick to your stomach ever since you and Roan’s meeting with Octavia and the other advisors. Cooper had told you the extent of the damage to the hydro farm and the only response to Octavia question on how to feed 1200 people, was Abby’s. You could live with throwing real criminals, that truly threatened the people surviving, into the pit. However, throwing people in there to fight to the death so we had a protein source was horrifying barbaric; even for Azgeda.

“This is wrong. It dangerous.” You stated, and everyone turned to you; “All of you know as well as I do that what your considering is a pandora box waiting to be open. That’s always what happens…It. Never. End. Well. For any of us!”

“Then give me another option.” Octavia’s eyes pleaded you. “Please!” she begged, in whisper to you. She didn’t want to consider what Abby suggested, you knew that, but it seemed to be the only option if she wanted her people to survive the six years.

You and Roan shared a worried look before Octavia ended the meeting.

______________

You and Roan sat side by side at the same table with Octavia and the other advisors; where your gaze lingered down at the big red cube. Roan’s face gave a slight grimace at the sight of his cube and when Octavia gave her speech and took a bite, you knew it would end badly. You and Roan remained unmoved, and locked gazes with one another, before Abby called your name.

“(Y/N). If you don’t get the nutrients your body needs, eventually it becomes a very high outcome that your body will stop producing milk and you’d no longer be able to feed Malia and Tobias.”

Your eyes widened at the very likely possibly. It hadn’t crossed your mind that the affect to the rest of your body would also affect your babies only food source. Still you needed to know from someone you could completely trust, so you call out Marcus’ name to which he responded.

“Is it true, Marcus? It that a very likely possibility?” He hesitated before sighing with a nod. You looked in Roan’s direction to see his heavily burdened and troubled eyes; he to hadn’t consider the possibility.

You couldn’t endanger your children any more than they already were. Roan grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers as he whispered;

“Together. We do it together like we always do.”

You gave a slight nod, “Together. To ensure Malia and Tobias survive.” You gazed at the cube in exasperation and dread.

This will end badly. For everyone.

|Flashback; training the twins|

Tobias and Malia were growing fast and would be nearing their 6th birthday soon enough. The older and stronger they grew, the more Blodreina showed interest in them. Whether the attention extended from what they and their blood could give her or take from her, was unknown. That notion alone was an unsettling and endless haunting, that antagonized the forever-watchful parents.

To you, Blodreina was a red serpent, hidden and patience, waiting to strike and take all you held dear and sacred. You never imagined you’d see Octavia as your enemy, but now Octavia wasn’t just an enemy. She was your greatest enemy, and the most dangerous of all the enemies you’d ever faced. One thing you were 100% sure of; Blodreina was a threat, that you and Roan couldn’t afford when it came to your Azblida children.

She wouldn’t do anything questionable, as of right now, though. Your children had acquired quite the following from both former Trikru and Azgeda alike. Not only people of the old faith, but also people who turn away in disgust of the way people live in Wonkru and believe Blodreina has truly crossed some of the most important limits and lines.

There was a little over 400 faith followers; leaving it an even fight after hundreds died in the fighting pits for sport among other reasons. Despite what Octavia may think about Wonkru’s strength, it wasn’t enough to overthrow 300 years of faith. Especially after the wonders you delivered into the world when you bared your ice-blooded children to your husband.

Gaia and Indra were finishing up the twins’ lessons for the day when suddenly everyone in the room was silenced by a loud roar coming from down the hallway. Malia abruptly turned to the sudden noise only to get whacked in the arm with a practice staff, by her slightly younger brother, Tobias. Mal sharply turned back to look at Tobi out of the corner of her eyes, with a dangerous glint in her gaze. She needn’t say anything for her glare said more than her words ever could; as if to say, ‘Back off! Or you’re gonna get it, Tobi.’

“Mal’s got her mother’s glare, for sure.” Roan guffawed, when he saw Mal’s reaction. Tobi gave his sister a sheepish look and a soft apology.

“Tobi’s got his father’s guilty stare, for sure.” You softly snarked, with a whisper of a smile; letting Roan know you were only joking. He heartily chuckled at the tongue lash as he pulled you into him to give you a deep kiss; to which you gave back. Malia stormed over a question she asked many times, but never got an answer too.

“Momma, what’s that noise we always hear from the end of the hallway? Behind the red doors with the strange symbol on it.”

Gaia and Indra halted as they shared a look with each other before sharing a similar one with you and Roan. The guards and the two women wait for your response to the inquisitive girl’s question. You sigh before you decide to tell them.

You leave Roan’s arms and walk to the young boy and girl; “A faithless and immoral world lays beyond those doors. A world bathed in red- “

“Why red, Ma?” The soft voice of Tobias spoke, as his head cocked to the side.

“Because it is a place where blood flows and never stops. It will forever be painted in blood and living in that world are monstrous creatures declaring themselves human; who never cease in their howls for carnage. Many people have died in that place for simple pleasure. The monsters in disguise made those people fight in a lonely and terrifying place, known as the pit. Similar to the Gladiators of Ancient Rome and all the while they only roar in hunger for more. You must never find yourself in that position. It is the one place in the world where you will truly be alone. You’ll have no friends, no support, not even each other.”

Malia and Tobias hang onto her every word; “Why couldn’t we just fight our way to each other and our freedom, Momma?”

“You can try, my darlings. However, even if you were to kill all of your opponents, there will be a Great Red Serpent, coiled on a throne of chrome, waiting hidden and patience. Even if you’re the last one standing, she still gets to decide whether you live or die. Promise me you will never find yourself in such a place that lacks all honor and humanity. Even if you do find yourself unfortunate enough to be in such a place, promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to free yourselves.”

They both immediately swore it to you, and you gave a firm nod in acknowledgment. Once they returned to finishing up their training you looked to Roan and you both shared a look of understanding as you sought the comfort of his arms. It was only a matter of time.

It was all just a big waiting game.

|Flashback; Bellamy saves your family|

You slowly approached Bellamy from your place at Roan side; sliding through the space between Tobias and Malia, who were hugged, protectively, to you and Roan’s bodies. A defense mechanism developed early on in the time since your twins were born, and rightfully so.

Several emotions seemed to flow over Bellamy’s face at the sight of you; Shock, happiness, love, and a look you knew only too well. Fear. You and Bellamy were best friends, practically brother and sister, ever since you first met in Polis. It was an unlikely bond formed between two people from two different worlds, but somehow you both were able to look past that particular difference.

When you saw the fear pass over him, all you wanted to do was show him you weren’t mad at him for not being able to keep his promise. In a way he did come back and that’s exactly what you told him. You looked at him in awe as you reached him and quickly pulled him into a tight hug, “You came back…you kept your promise to me.”

You’ve felt and seen enough fear to last a lifetime, but that is no more, now that Bellamy had freed you all from the serpent cloaked in red death. You knew the words registered in his mind after a few seconds because his arms immediately tightened around you, in a comforting strength. You placed your lips near his right ear to whisper, “Thank you, Bells. You saved us all from the Red Serpent.”

As you pulled away and watched his reaction, he looked at you in a questioning worry. “(Y/N/N) …” he whispered, before his concerned eyes connected with Octavia’s soulless irises.

His gaze dropped back to you and what appeared to be a sad but edged anxiety shrouding your tired features. Your eyes and words told him everything and nothing about what he needed to know. Then, his attention was captured by two, inhumanly beautiful and young, twins nestled safely against Roan’s sides.

‘You and Roan had children…’ He mused, in mild wonder.

Realization struck Bellamy, when he realized it was a well-guarded and deeply apprehensive fear; heavily veiling your face.

|Present time; Ascension to a Hollow Kingdom|

You assured the twins, after they began to fuss in worry, that you would be waiting for them to ascend, at the top. Poor Tobias looked sick with stress as he watched you like a hawk. He was almost always worrying over something, no matter how big or small, and the fact that he was a Momma’s boy didn’t help his fretting. Roan would fondly say their Tobias takes after his mother; when it came to worrying and pondering.

Tobias was as cautious as he was dangerous, which said a lot to people if they knew him. Malia and Tobias may have been young and not have extensive training, but their mere existence was dangerous; because their blood marked them with a promise of what they could be.

Malia’s blue eyes squinted, at Bellamy, with an edgy distrust. You could help but chuckle when you saw his slight gawk at a 6-year-old glaring at him with a no-bullshit seriousness. He even looked around the area to see if it was really him, she was staring down. It was a glare so familiar that Bellamy couldn’t decide whether the girl inherited the expression from you or Roan.

You and Roan shared a brief but passionate kiss before you made your way to Bellamy, and the rope that would lift you and your family to your freedom. Bellamy wrapped his arm around your waist with a quick side glance to Malia and her relentless hawk eyes.

“Bells, you’re not afraid of my 6-year-old, are you?” You teased, as you were both lifted up. Bellamy’s head slightly jerked back as he spoke;

“What? Of course not, she’s just a kid.” He said, quietly as if he were almost afraid Mal would hear.

“Uh huh, yeah whatever gets you through the day.” You taunted, “By the way, I like the scruff. Very sexy.”

He laughed at the playful comment, as he slyly looked at you, and jokingly says; “I thought you might. You always had a thing for men with scruffs”

“No, I always had a thing for Roan with a scruff.” You giggled with mirth. The two of you, soon enough, reached the beautiful and blinding light that glowed around you. Two foreign men helped you to ground level and you froze in awe as you take in the sight laid before you. It was a wasteland, but it was Earth, your home. You vaguely felt Bellamy’s eyes, hovering on you, but you were more focused with all the open space as far as the eyes could see.

Something you had forgotten while cramped into that hellish bunker with 1999 other people. “all go down to get your kids and then Roan.” He said, to which you nodded.

This is what’s left of Polis, a place where all the clans could unite in peace. You didn’t have time to ponder anymore on the thought as you heard the voices of your children.

“Move your hand, rockhead!” Mal snapped at Tobi; only for Tobi to glare at her with pursed lips, “Move your face, halfwit!”

Bellamy appeared to be making great effort to not laugh and looked to you for help. You took mercy on him and called your twins attention to you, “Alright, that’s enough. Can’t you two go 5 mins without making attempts to rip each other a new one?”

They both mumbled an apology before looking around with a new wonder in their eyes you haven’t had the pleasure of seeing until now. “This is where you come from Momma?”

You smile and nod, “It’s different from when your dad and I lived up here though. Before the Second Pramfiya, it used to be covered in fields of grass and trees and bushes as far as the eyes can see, but never-the-less I’m glad to be home and I’m happy that I get to show you our world.”

They smile and cheer before venturing the foreign area, while still remaining close to your side. You turn as you hear Roan’s voice; “I think this is the happiest we’ve ever seen them.”

You turned and hugged him as you watch them explore. “I think you right, but hopefully we’ll be able to give them happiness now that we’re free.” Roan nodded in agreement.

“They look so beautiful and sweet together.” You said before Roan leaned down to place a kiss on your lips. You both pulled away when you heard the twins bickering;

“Shut up, Mouthbreather!” Mal practically spits out, and Tobi turns back to his twin to give her a good tongue lash;

“Oh, that great coming from you, Colonel Flap-jaw!”

Bellamy couldn’t contain himself any longer and starting howling in laughter at the twins’ insults; he continued to laughter as he looks at you and Roan, “Yeah, those are your kids, alright!”

You and Roan sharing an amused glance before chuckling at your kids.

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