Posted in Headcanon

Evanescent Lull

It was a quiet day. A rare day where for once the universe seems content on letting them catch their breath.

It was a lazy day. One where she allowed herself the luxury of waking up late and relented when he hooked his arms around her waist, rained kisses on her nape and cheek so he can coaxed her to go back to bed.

She couldn’t help it, not after the fight they had the day before and how they finally reconciled. And that night, he tried to made it up to her through a romantic gesture of blasting and singing, of all song, Muse’s Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You. And she, well, she can’t hide the faint smile lighting up her face, nor how her eyes soften. Elsa Bloodstone is just a human, after all.

“It’s apt,” he told her later on once they’ve finished their candle light dinner (in the manor’s backyard. The git pulled some favor and somehow managed to arranged everything without setting the garden on fire). “That first line, I mean. Like, you fulfilled at least 3/4 of my ideals. And this– us, we have almost everything I wanted in a relationship. What’s that if not “too good to be true”?”

And she had scoffed then, mocking him as a “cheeky bastard” and “sappy hopeless romantic”. But she also reached for his collar and kissed him full on the lips, faintly whispering, “Well same here, you git.
Then she turned on her heels and disappeared on the hallway before he could even react.

It was a good night, and the day afterwards was the most peaceful they’ve ever had.

 

She should have known it was their last calm before the storm.

 

If she had known, she swore she would have appreciate every seconds and worship each of their moments, making them last forever. Even if only on her brain.

Because right now, there arguably is nothing she wants more than to be able to link her fingers with his so she can kiss each of his knuckles with all the tenderness in the world. So she can indulge in the pleasure of stealing a long overdue sweet kiss.

 

And whisper, to him, the words that had been haunting her these past few weeks:

 

“I love you too, Johnny Boy. You and all your idiocy.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

À la mort,

Prompt: We The Kings’ Queen of Hearts.
When the world fall into pieces, you’ll be the one voice of reason. When I can’t face all my demons, you are the one I believe in.”

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Author:

An emotionally invested enthusiast of pop culture. Apathetic by design. Aesthetically offensive and eloquently candid. A sentimental heathen.

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