A/n: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. However, I, under the penname listed above, do own this story, plot and its variations. I prefer it not to be plagiarized and thank you in advance.
This chapter is very short just to set the stage, but ones following will be longer,
A Volvo XC-90 full of adoration and Edward for quothme, who turns my kal-el into superman.
Chapter One
James Dean leather jacket? Check.
Long-legged, tight-assed strut? Check.
Cock-sure, wicked glint in his eye? Check.
Around these parts—meaning Forks, Port Angeles and even up near Hoquiam— Edward Cullen had become a legend, a supernatural phenomenon, an unstoppable force.
High school boys had pimples, body odor and no control over their own bodies. Despite attending Forks High, Edward Cullen was not a high school boy. His skin was smooth and clean. He smelt like midnight and bed sheets. And he had utter control over every female who met him.
He would turn his smile on his prey of choice and that was it. Girls and women alike would follow him into his house or his car or the hall closet next to the office. They would emerge after an hour, sometimes two, sometimes (for the lucky ones) even an entire night and look at the world through new eyes. Edward Cullen was kryptonite, Godiva truffles and the perfect little black dress personified. There was no one's type he wasn't, no heart he couldn't flutter with a look, no panty he couldn't drop with a smile.
There were Casanovas before him. Don Juans after him. But nobody could match Edward Cullen.
There was something about him… something different.
When Edward Cullen first moved back to Forks at the start of his sophomore year, there was nothing special about him. Nothing to separate him from his peers or to indicate the panjandrum of infamy he would soon command. His unique amber-gold eyes shone bright but went unnoticed under the heavy black frames he wore. His sharp cheekbones and angular jaw were preternatural and premature in someone his age, but couldn't be seen due to the curtain of thick, auburn hair he hid his face under. That thick, auburn hair was overlong and stringy. He hadn't reached his full height yet, a fact further coupled by his slight hunch. He was as invisible as his never-present parents and barely mattered to anyone.
He went away for the following summer.
And he came back.
[-]
Ray Ban wayfarers.
All black ensemble.
Quirked left eyebrow.
On the first day of school that September, he slid out of his shiny, silver Volvo and shut the door, aiming the remote over his shoulder to lock the car. It was as though the next thirty seconds occurred in slow motion. With every confident, swaggering step he took, the clustered cliques he passed fell silent, mid-sentence. All attention was directed towards this… being.
By the middle of first period, it had been confirmed the bronze Adonis from the morning was also the creature formerly known as "Edward? Who?" Surprise swirled through the student body. The few who had known him in his previous incarnation could not reconcile the information with the masterpiece they had seen earlier in the morning.
Where was the quiet, stooped loner from the previous year? The lackluster, bowl cut hair? The ill-fitting, unfashionable clothing? Instead, the new and improved Edward Cullen spoke in a deep, rich drawl. He met gazes with a smirk and a lift of his brow. He raised his pale, sinewy forearms and answered questions correctly. His golden eyes twinkled and his smile blinded.
When women looked at him now, they didn't just see Edward Cullen. In French, they saw his tongue roll smoothly around his 'r's. They imagined how that tongue would feel in their mouth, teasing and rolling and tasting. In gym, they saw the hard slates of his stomach rippling seismically as he tugged the hem of his t-shirt up to wipe sweat of his forehead and the protruding 'v' of his pelvic bone as his shorts rode low. They imagined how that hard stomach would feel against their hand and imagined the simultaneous pleasure and pain of those hipbones sliding against their own. At lunch, they saw that he never sat with the same people two days in a row but never was for want of company. They imagined how they could be the girl whose shoulders he had his arm around, whose thigh his hand was slowly inching up.
No one knew anything about him. He was a blank slate for them to draw their fantasies upon. They saw what they wanted to see and he let them.
There was so much more that they didn't see.
[-]
Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams,
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before.
A/N: thanks for reading!