Sleepless streets were toured by a lonesome rider. Behind 'his' heavy steps, the echo of grunts scattered like flower petals the tribute for a passing tyrant. Neon lights blinked, rats escaped the scene of bodies falling onto their own waste; the victory fanfare for the standing—
He truly is a guardian angel in spirit. It's truly a shame that he might be misdirecting such valor. She'll take advantage of that as he wishes, however.
That she shall. His assumption may rest as he will in the moment, even if it's far from the truth. Not unlike the essence in which he indulges so readily.
It wouldn't be the gaze allowed its due in that elegant quiet. Her caressing touch fell to his lashes, brushing those piercing eyes to an impromptu close had he allowed her warmth its path down the bridge of his adorable nose.
In that moment, under the oddity of Kasumi feeling graceful enough to dote on him, he is. His gaze, both grateful and awed, was nowhere but upon her face.
As Akira's 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, Kasumi was treated with both tenderness and firmness. Her grip was tight, her press constraining, yet her glare retained softness only her apparent curse would be allowed to see in their lifetime as women of joyful sin– the violent Black Rider—
Adoration could only be known by the truly 'mad'. Perhaps they were one in the same with regard to that concept. Every second of their way had they been scoffing at nature, for there'd been no 'man' between them. Yet remained the tension of attraction. >
could be demure only for the orchidean threat he adored. "I gave up on my life as someone who can't protect you." His free hand rose, wanting to perpetuate this illusory stillness by way of cupping the chin of the woman of unparalleled beauty, making her auburn eyes remain onto—