✝ Just think happy thoughts

And we'll fly home. ✝

--- *** ---
--- A Several Hours Later or So ---

Once the Christmas Eve's episode slowly but surely became a victim of the commonly frigid, nevertheless, gracefully esthetic night looking the small city of Massachusetts' sky like a floating tiny leaf pelting down once the fashionably light autumn breeze waltzed, thereafter the dining table in the kitchen was cozily equipped with a couple of authentically unique bowls and plates full of scrumptious meatless meals. The dining table's uniquely meaningful ornament wasn't solely interpreted in the troop of bowls, dishes and a bottle of creamy wine remarkably deposited, besides the very dances of the fiendishly jovial, tiny flares of the ignited candlesticks, but also the efficiently authentic notion of coziness and familiarity imbuing the kitchen's ambience and high spirits in general.

Just an hour before midnight and having a handful of glasses of white wine, consequently the absolute convenience inculcated the couch that was occupied by your and Timothy's frail skeletons curling up in a promisingly inviting, doting snuggle binding your almost immobile muscles. The genuinely sultry sensation of the warm, luscuously afflictive wine-stained breaths faintly fanning the nape of your neck and a luxurious batch of electrifying horripilation spiking your delicate epidermis momentarily. The incessant contraction of your eyelids while trading magnificently bewitching ogles kindling the very flares of the fierce passion, murderous desire and savage love formatting its outstanding medley.

The indubitably stable firmness of the affectionate snuggle on the couch bonded you in every single way your one of a kind, potent chemistry's potential. The spirituality and the mentality of sensing two of kind nobodies truly made for each other not mewling any single word except solemnly dedicating themselves to the brilliantly crystal doldrum asphyxiating the Christmas Eve's nocturnal episode accompanied by the hallowed symphony of hitched breaths and meekly quiet moans scorching banefully your berry-coloured tongues.

"It's so cozy there, Y/N!" At the moment, the heavenly intoxicating nuzzle against your button nose channelized to chime you molting one another into an angelically breathtaking Eskimo kiss, meagerly inching your youthful façades from one another. In the meantime, your femininely velvet, seamless arms braced the older gentleman's muscly upper back, whereas the heart pulses' vehemently megawatt accelerated due to the preternaturally intoxicating intimacy syncing the meager distance.

"Yeah especially with the exact company to keep you letting you hair down," A quarter a minute after molting solemnly into the starkly bewitching Eskimo kiss, throughout you manifested your naturally roseate, insatiable cherub lips to press a forceful peck to the older gentleman's nose, shepherding categorically its piercingly jovial, noxious snickers purring seamlessly beneath its wee scale of proximity you traded with each other eventually. Broadly angelic grins enchased meaningfully precious across your nude, cherub lips and rippling your lower eyelids that endured stoical the ethereally ominous mirth ornamenting its luxurious luster on your façades. "However, it's such a humongous honor to share Christmas with you, Tim!" Honeyed purr expelled villainously baneful from your mouth whilst dawdling your pools of abysmally vibrant E/C pronging Timothy's cinnamon brown, bearing a semblance of satelites' thin elasticity preternaturally stealthy retroacting to the adequate stabilization kindling its very flares in the bewitchingly spellbind eye contact. Or it could be interpreted also as the uniquely authentic art of eye contact and its twain of moons plowing into each other inevitably apocalyptic as if the Judgdmental's day loomed on the horizon, besides staining deleteriously the invisibly unstoppable clock of the unnerving tick of the progressing time.

"It's rather a huge honor for me to share it with the person that truly supports and respects every ounce of my character even decisions." The suddenness of the emboldeningly honeyed coo bubbling up from Timothy's strawberry-coloured, wet tongue, throughout you registered to worry your pearly-white front teeth to nip the amenably tender raw spot of your bottom lip. The stark altruism profusely simmered its efficiently epidemic angelic anthems' hammer into your amenable ears escorting docilely its British lilt's breathtakingly deep inevitable chroma. The crude emphatic motion of your process to straighten your petite-frame shortly after readjusting obdurately categorical your posture and writhing sinisterly iron-willed from the British aristocrat's kindly tight wreath. "Where are you going, my rare bird?" Dawdling its wide grin tattooed on his parchment, freshly young-looking profile, the British aristocrat sprawled to alter his reclining posture categorically shortly after you dumped its sufficient scale of space to him on the sofa at last, the desperately inquisitiveness seethed its soar lump coating his Adam's apple at posing the question. The perkily tipsy tones darkened each etched vowel and syllable that once deftly conjugated his sentence's formation.

Even the inexorably sore tipsiness was a desperate medley of sheer ecstasy, invincible vibrance and subtle despondency draining every pure ounce of soberness and aptitude composing its own ode agitatedly refining its timbre. His cinnamon brown moons's luminously crystalline glint danced boldly and hardly shrouding even modicum of his inebriety that extraordinarily took a toll on him and efficiently headstrong let its opulent stream of its unhallowed blood to surge through his veins. The wide grins streamed its thousand patterns of mirth prominently inscribed its outstanding curves of your facial features.

"To the kitchen!" Then you channelized to muffle with the palm of your petite, creamy hand its dryly gruff cough faintly fanning its tender fleshy skin seconds before scampering out of the living room on your imminent brief destination to the kitchen since your strawberry-coloured tongue sinfully blood-curdling yearned for its liquor to grind forward on its mission to be slogged rabidly rapid. "Do you need something?"

"Not at all!"

"Alright! I'll be back in a half a minute, sweetie!" The friendly nickname conveyed its outstandingly heartwarming reminder to the British compatriot to melt into your mischievously sardonic jape almost dying on your tongue whilst you darted a deftly playful wink at him.

Little did the British compatriot know what kind of a brief destination you would organize to the kitchen and barbarically curt adjourning its authentically marvelous snuggle you exchanged with each other. Abundance of hazy speculations balefully enshrouded his hurricane of thoughts and suffused its ferociously aggressive howl of its whiff of short-lived exemplars that may cease from his rich imagination.

In the interval, the former ambitious Monsignor readjusted his posture and supporting the back of his skull with his mammoth, masculinely potent hand as its crispy softness of his chestnut strands beneath his virginally gentle digits of his fingers and fingertips. His gaze fixated on its untouchably timeless target as if a mindless corpse's bijous lingered its contraction of its everlasting widening process spearing unimaginably hair-rising its surroundings' vista, boring his smoky quartz bijous into the ethereal tiresomeness somehow encouraging to asphyxiate its unnerving tick of the elapsing seconds. The artistically artificial light dimly suffused its altruistic mantle to seek its shelter even the darkest corners of the site as well. It was rather the genuine notion of a celestially unthinkable paradise. Poetically untouchable non-verbally except the art of poured short poems and words into a handful of verses articulating fluently its creator's luxurious waterfall of creativity, medley of metaphors, epithets and hyperboles depicting every discreet detail peculiarly.

The words flourishing its profoundly superlative rendition of poems that spoke volumes and showed its true colors of every decanted emotion and sentiment inside its vigorously simmering cauldron of crystal liquid along with the clump of diversity of translucent bubbles effervescing saturated every verse's enigmatic aura.

The spate of footsteps drumming blood-curdlingly bashful against the floor once you scuttled out of the site and marched to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of vanilla liquor motionlessly cozy ensconcing on the countertop, whereas your E/C rotund depths landed on the entity and your fingers maneuvered to work on removing the wooden tap, thereafter pouring its seamlessly luscious alcoholic beverage in the emptied, already used goblets that exchanged a couple of inches distance with the bottle.

In a half a minute after grappling the goblets as your pristinely dainty fingers crooked around the flimsy material while wobbling warily to the living room, consequently the abruptness of the former holy priest as he stood from the sofa on his mission to gentlemanly obtain the glasses of white wine in his promisingly welcoming grasp of his long, slim fingers when the proximity of you and the coffee table was no more than a couple of inches.

"You don't need to torture yourself with that kind of a task!" The insatiably scrumptious wine's fragrance rapidly mirthful wafted into your tiny, flexible nostrils as soon as the former aspiring Monsignor settled the glasses on top of the coffee table eventually, whereas you emitted a vaguely girlish, flabbergasted chuckle at the exceedingly meaningful aid you obtained even if it was for a petty task. "I got this, Y/N!" The inescapably shrewd smirk broadly lolling in the corner of the older man's baby-pinkish, deliciously brim lip glimmered up its vibrantly morbid canvas of blight and seating alongside one another on the couch once again after the cursory terminus to the kitchen for less than a minute that was hardly malignaly exhausting.

"How sweet of you, Tim!" When you managed to roost your rears on the convenient furniture, thereafter you inclined quirkly your eyebrow at the vast amicability of Timothy as you pursued for each other's ogles immediately, offering each other childishly gullible, pixilated grins even when the sudden flourish of his smirk into a grin significantly tranced. "What a good turn!"

"Why you have to be thankful so much even when there are times you aren't forced to do anything constantly?"

"Well," Thickness spine-chillingly vindictive coated his throat once your pristinely gentle fingers manifested to snatch in its stubbornly stable grasp the entities and raising a toast jovially with barking teasingly giggles which the living room's walls witnessed its mellifluously down-to-earth twilight stealthily sneaking down to resuscitate the two-story mansion reckoning every room sunk in its relentless jet-black darkness. "Is it too much needed to explain myself again?" The pure undertones of satire vindictively baleful punctured your rhetorical inquiery shortly after the sharp clink of the glasses and subsequently wrapping your lips circa the rim of the goblet to meekly slug a handful of tiny, vulnerable sips from the light alcoholic beverage.

"You have been through plenty of tribulations and I think it's high time for you to take a break from everything that just drains every healthily functioning muscle," The honey-mouthedly mellifluous purr blatantly jingled its angelic hymns into your ears as soon as you left aside the goblets on top of the coffee table, while the former devotional member of the church manipulated his virginally dexterous, feather-soft fingers to reach for a fistful of your lion mane and tucking its ferociously obdurate strands behind your ear gracefully. The altruistic benevolence thickly cocooned demandingly his murmur speaking volumes. What it could tear your frail heart off is exactly the current caution of the former devotional member of the church gracefully keeping your wits about and opting to lovingly soothe you, whereas you dropped your head otiosely atop his broadly muscular, comfortable shoulder resembling an urgently soft cloud swaddling you during the entire night and the very wee hours of the morning. "What do you think, Y/N?"

"I have mustered up enough to deal with my own shit and so forth."

"Sometimes a helping hand is enough to grant you what you exactly need without even asking for it."

"Fair enough!"

"Look what, my rare bird!" The unsacredly razor-edged emphasis of his British lilt in his persistent attempts to absorb your attention incessantly assertively manipulated your heart to skip a beat at the exceeding news he would break momentarily even with husking a handful of words that were sufficient to reimburse a pearly precious time and great deal of efforts for a sheerly straightforward revelation polishing severely the protagonist's very intentions. "Asking or not asking for help by earning it doesn't make you weak and pathetic at all! I truly comprehend you that you have always dealt with any kind of an ordeal on your own, nevertheless, believe me there were a few times when you couldn't do on your own all alone." Inexorable glacial lake coursed through your very veins and struggling to moderate your temperature at the silver-tongued timbre waltzing majestically the British compatriot's mew dripping from his mouth, whilst boring his smoky quartz gemstones into yours recklessly enticing. "You can even admit it, sweetheart!"

"Y-Yes!" The haphazardness of docilely elaborating to bob your head in solemn agreement followed by a sheepish stammer foaming your wine-stained oral slit teasingly ticklish twitched your fleshy muscles of your throat to bob once swigging its bitter lump. "Darling, I have thought of playing Truth or Dare! Would you mind?"

"Of course not! Who's starting first?"

"Your turn!" Swatting amiably sympathetic his upper back with the flat of your elvish, femininely smooth hand, consequently you bleated a blatantly emboldening hiss venomously serpentine wobbling to its ultimate release, while a jadedly heavy sigh snorted severely through Timothy's nose.

"No, no!" Shaking his head in solemn disagreement to reaffirm his emphatic position, meantime, you knitted elegantly your brows to the bridge of your nose while struggling to sort your mind and sensing its hypodermically sweltering, unpreventably indomitable canvas of cherry hues darkened your well-sculptured, chubby cheeks with its healthy colour articulating your severe modesty spotlighting your majestic facial features. "The ladies first!"

"Okay so," A brief pause stung the fat of your berry-coloured, wet tongue seconds before utterly adequate formatting your enquiry during the headstrongly bloodthirsty clash of vowels and syllables for indubitably hedonistic domination, whereas the refreshingly uneasy process of sorting your blizzard of thoughts absorbed the former pious man of the cloth's ultimate focus drifted to you eventually. Meanwhile, the promising dangle of your fingers circa the goblet to lug its light-heavy entity to take a humble, mouth-wateringly hedonistic sip hydrating your oral caverns, afterwards, you left it aloof on top of the furniture. "What is the most stupid thing you have done in front of a crowd?"

"Hmm! Once I was ten years old, there was one of my closest friends who weren't even pious at all and his parents were rather pure atheists that solemnly believing in Satan and the vile in general."

"Mhm!" Managing a merely diligent nod of your head, you honed your ears razor-edgedly to the monologue of the British compatriot.

"One day we were hanging out like crazy buns running wildly around in his sufficiently expansive yard while his parents were setting the barbeque. Mostly grilled fish, you know!" Suddenly you ushered to readjust your seating posture promptly due to the exuberant accommodation while thickly stealthy clamminess plated your digits and fingertips, stilling your passionately intoxicated grin adorning your profile. "It was a mid-summer day as well which makes great sense, in spite of the ordinary London's lukewarm summer we are being through due to the regular rain and severe ocean of clouds outnumbering the sun. It was amidst the weirdest days I have ever been in my whole life."

"Oh!"

"That's not at all! Even Caleb's parents once attracted my attention by suggesting me to read the Satan's Bible, although my tremendous piousness. I thought they have completely lost their mind. I thought they were planning some kind of a joke to plant on me."

"Go ahead!"

"Once they gave me the Satan's Bible, I remember so far that once I got at home, my parents' mortified widened eyes landed on the unhallowed exemplar which wasn't presumed to be in my hands. It was like against all norms, according to them." All of a sudden, lingering to coil a fistful of your glossy H/C locks, admiring its crispy softness of your hair, yet the former ambitious Monsignor registered to slug instantaneously his whole glass of vanilla wine. "They begun questioning me if those neighbours' nuclear family had given me that cursed Literature even if they deeply know I have been pious since young age and I would be more excited than my siblings to attend the church once a week." The haphazardness of wedging nimbly your nude wine-stained lips into a pensive purse during the intensifyingly bone-chilling monologue urged you to focus entirely on each shed word. "I was a little boy then. I was far cry from headstrong enough to say no to the unholy Literature which was actually set on fire by me since my parents forced me in front of my neighbours and siblings. It happened actually just a few days after everything was staged."

"That's doubtlessly bizarre!"

"I know right!" The frigidly bare embarrassment heavily pelted down the older gentleman's short response whilst maneuvering his solely free hand's neatly trimmed small fingernails to scratch his scalp, whilst pensively licking his upper and lower plumpish lips, savoring its sinfully scrumptious alcoholic beverage's brilliantly crystal layer lubricating his fleshy oral slit. "It's your turn, Y/N!"

"If you were marooned on an island with one person whom you know personally," Shortly before elaborating strong-willedly its rationally logical enquiry that was absorbed in its outstanding capacity, a heavy snort surged through your nostrils at last. "Who would like it to be that person?"

Author's Final Note: Hi my dear fans, followers and friends! I'd like to thank you for your tremendous patience for slowburns that have their own moments with dramas and so forth, besides your tremendous support and appreciation you are bestowing this book! I know it's really in the middle of the book like 35th chapter is one of the most unique exemplars for certain scale of the audience mass, anyway there is more to expect as sequel and tribulations. 

What are your thoughts on the cliffhanger? 

What do you think we're looking forward to the female reader within a couple of chapters at least?

Do you genuinely enjoy stories with a fictional character/ celebrity x the reader? If yes or no, why? 

I almost forgot to mention that if you are having some kind of fanarts of my books like Wings of Light, Possible Second Chance and Hypodermic Transgression, feel free to DM me! I'd genuinely appreciate it. 

I'd like to hear your thoughts and don't forget that if you candidly enjoyed this chapter to leave a feedback! I hope you liked and enjoyed everything from the prologue up to this chapter. :))