#TRACING THE SYMBOL IN HER PALM TO REMEMBER IT FOREVER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angrelysimpping · 1 year ago

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Shapes

Written June 9, 2024

Shout out to the talented, sweet, n hampsom 💜@inkyquince 💜 for the amazing vtm game and who made Tekli and Luka

Elda belongs to Tea

Emil belongs to @rotting-ink

Caz belongs to Merman

Matt belongs to Necro

Contents: mushy as hell; memory problems; memory loss; more nightmares, rip

Words: 879

He’s far too tired to open his eyes. Laying here was so nice, face pressed into soft pillows, torso bare with a cool breeze keeping him at just the right temperature. What were these sheets made out of? He can’t remember. He’s sure he’s been told before, but it wasn’t important information. He hadn’t even tried to hold onto the knowledge, letting it slip from his mind. It was just that this fabric held her scent so well, the heady, spice of patchouli mixed with soft lavender. Just a hint of the incense she burned. Intoxicating, truely. He could stay like that forever, pressed into her bed, drifting on the edge of consciousness. A blissful existence.

Yet, Andrzej should get up. The night has only just started, the moon cresting over the horizon. That’s his signal to get up, make sure his Tekli was taken care of.

He stays in bed. It helps that Tekli is right there in bed with him, curled up as she reads. He can hear the soft turn of a page every now and then, her low sigh as she skims the pages.

“Rzej?”

Andrzej groans, deep in the back of his throat as he shifts, pressing his face against her cool thigh. He still can’t bring himself to open his eyes, utterly content in this moment as she lets out a light laugh.

“Sleepy, my mousy?”

His lips twitch into a small smile, arms coming up to wrap around her leg and palms splayed against her skin.

Another laugh, melodic and bell like, soaking through his sink, his bones. Right into his blood, marrow, and soul.

The chill tips of thin fingers kiss the warm skin of his back, and he’s too at peace to even flinch as they skate down his spine. Instead, he presses a kiss into Tekli’s skin, pleased as another low laugh leaves her.

Her fingers loop across his skin, and he tries to keep pace. She’s tracing letters, shapes. His name, the word “sweet,” a star, a heart. Then, her nails dip into the scars along his back. Each one a testament to how he’d survived, how he’s kept the ones he loved safe. It’s not long before his brain can’t keep up anymore, though. Andrzej can’t tell if it’s how he’s teetering just on the edge of unconsciousness, or if the patterns she’s making are steadily becoming more and more complex.

And, he doesn’t really care which it is, as long as he can stay here like this.

Strange shapes and symbols against him, only marked by the contrast of their body heat. Her cool fingers against his warm back, the pleasant tingle where they met.

Then, she starts to speak. Her voice is low, as soft as always, but her words are muffled. Andrzej struggles to understand a single sound, strains his ears, yet everything remains unintelligible to him. Panic swells inside him as her voice seems to become fainter, chest constricting as the touch of her fingers becomes lighter. Even the leg he’s wrapped his arms around, nuzzled into, seems to be fading from his grasp.

Leaving him? Being taken away?

Where once he’d been relaxed, nearly a puddle in her bed, now his body feels leden. Everything in him screams for him to move, to open his eyes. Something, anything.

He can’t. His limbs remain heavy, unresponsive as Tekli seems to become more and more distant. A scream builds in his throat, bruins inside him.

Andrzej still feels as if he’s burning as he jerks awake, sudden action making the small life boat he was sharing rock dangerously. Luka is up next to him instantly, muttering in Italian as he tries to get his bearings.

They’re still in the boats, still rowing to shore. Andrzej and Luka had taken a break. Just a short one. It seemed that they’d both drifted off, but not for long. Elda was still fussing over Emil, tending to the necrotic wound across his torso, just as she had been before he’d stretched out, tugging Luka against him in the cramped quarters of their boat. He can still hear Cazamir explaining the difference between different canine species to Matt, the same thing he’d fallen asleep to while he’d pressed into Luka’s side.

No, not long at all. Such a short span of time, no one seems to notice that anything has changed in the middle lifeboat.

No one but Luka.

“Lupo?”

Andrzej shakes his head even as he pulls the smaller man close, a few stray tears escaping the corners of his eyes as he tries to hold onto the dream. Even as it starts to slip away, he knows it was about Tekli. She haunted his every moment, both waking and asleep. He was used to it by now, but there was something different, this time. There’s no bitterness curling at the back of his mouth, squeezing his heart.

For once, his tears upon waking from his Tekli infused dreams were also over her. About and for her. For what she was to him, for what she still could be.

“Sorry for waking you, Lukasha,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to the man’s temple.

Luka hums in return, smiling before pressing a quick kiss to Andrzej’s jaw.

#quiet ocs #andrzej the lost #vtm oc #vtm ghoul #tekli the wanderer #luka the dancer #the rot of witchwood #e rawlins

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un2-verse · 4 years ago

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BILLY — Kim Taehyung (3)

Synopsis: News of a Sadistic Serial Killer nicknamed “Jigsaw” is spreading around town like wildfire… the nickname stemming from the puzzle piece he cuts from every victim’s body. No one knows who he’ll trap next but in a town full of delinquents and criminals, it could never be you. Right?

Pairing: yandere!Taehyung x f!reader

genre: angst, horror, weirdly some fluff lol

Warnings: dark themes, yandere, stalking, manipulation, conditioning, mentions of abuse, suicidal ideations/attempts, self harm, murder, depictions of torture etc (basically its gorey and fucked up), angel trap, etc stabbing and guns. do not read if triggered!!!!

wordcount: 2.2k

taglist: @yes-sol-not-soul @yoongiofmine

a/n: pt 3 is here!! honestly i wasnt expecting this amount of support as i’ve never published my writing before so thank u sm ♡ i was inspired to write this one night and i had no idea where it’d go or anything but i’m happy with the way its turning out :D fun fact abt me, i’ve been obsessed w the franchise since i was little and i actually have 2 saw tattoos, one of billy and one above saying “cherish your life” since that’s pretty much the motto of saw :) and i have quite the collection of saw/billy items so why not turn my fav horror film into a fucked up love story! let me know if u would like to be added to the taglist and pls enjoy reading^^ feel free to send me asks abt the series or anything u want~ i love hearing from u guys!! :D ps— taehyung and the reader dont have much interaction in this part,, theyll definitely be more of them together in part 4 :) unedited so pls excuse any mistakes!! tysm <33 and remember these are fictional characters and do not represent bts personally in any way!!

series masterlist

part one part two

The headlines constantly named the Jigsaw Killer, Billy. The somewhat eerie little doll that had a face as white as a Calla Lily with spirals on it’s cheeks as red as the blood that was shed during the tests. Billy was always dressed in a little black suit with a red bowtie and he was (most of the time) situated on a squeaky battered tricycle. Attached was always a tape that read “play me” and when the subjects did, a chilling voice— one that could make even the world's worst predators shiver with terror— would echo around the room.

Everyone knew that a doll clearly wasn’t responsible, yet they gave it the name Billy in hopes to somewhat humanise the face that instilled panic— they did not want to live in fear.

It was the only face behind the killings.

But this time, there was a different subject stuck in the test and Billy had made sure there was no way for them to survive.

“How are you scared of heights? You’re practically a giant yourself!”

“Just because I’m tall doesn’t mean I can’t be scared of heights Y/Nie.”

You had no idea how long had passed since Taehyung had turned up at the garage, you were too busy chatting away squeezed into the kitchen while your Dad, Yoongi and Hobi worked on the cars in the shop. If anyone could hear you both, they would think you’d known eachother since childhood— the playful jokes and light touches exaggerated that.

You’d only known him for a few hours really, if you added the time spent with him on the first day and now. It hadn’t seemed like all those weeks ago that you first met, he had a familiar presence, as though you had known him for years compared to the hours.

“I just wouldn’t imagine you to be scared of anything Taehyung… you seem so confident and fearless.”

You saw the way Taehyung looked at you. His eyes flashed with understanding.

“I did have my fears back then, much like yours.”

“What do you mean?” you had a rough idea on what he meant but you needed him to voice it.

A deep inhale and the words flowed from his lips before he could stop it, “The fear of living. I had been through some stuff you know, growing up. My mum was working a lot and my dad was an alcoholic, he was so fucking possessive and wouldn’t let her go anywhere without kicking off. It was a fucking shitshow and so toxic. This one time though, I’d pretended that I’d gone to school and waited outside the front door. It didn’t take long before I heard shit getting smashed and my dad shouting.” Taehyung was telling the truth only, he left out the part where he was also as possessive, if not more, than his father. Well, let's say… obsessive. “I just ran in the house and saw my dad towering over my mum and I don’t remember what happened but, I do remember my mum crying and my dad disappeared.”

Now Taehyung was lying through his teeth. He remembered clearly, almost like it was yesterday. He smashed the nearest bottle, pulled his mother away from the monster that scared her and stabbed him. Not just once, not twice but thirty-seven times. Hence the thirty seven tattoo on the palm of his right hand (the one he’d actually killed his father with). There was only Taehyung who knew what it meant, he counted every single time the broken glass pierced his father’s body, he counted with a smile on his face and a chuckle in his throat.

You were at a loss for words. Your mouth gaped in shock, eyes wide and your brain scrambled for the right thing to say. You reached over and grabbed his hand, interlacing your fingers. His thumb running back and forth along your hand. “I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.” There was no way you could relate, your mother and father were happy and in love. They had the ideal relationship, one you wished for yourself. You could empathise though.

“You don’t need to be sorry baby, it’s in the past and I’ve moved on from it. I was like you though, poisoned by the roots that keep you on the ground even though you wanted nothing more than to break free and be no longer.” A silence fell over you both before Taehyung uttered, “I wasn’t successful with my attempt so now I’m here to help you.”

Warmth spread throughout your body, a smile graced your features as you no longer felt alone.

You had a completely different idea to what those words actually meant.

It was nearing the evening when Taehyung’s car had been fixed. Yoongi popped his head in the kitchen to tell him but stopped himself so as to not interrupt the scene before him. You were laughing along to whatever Taehyung was babbling about with your hand resting on his bicep, with that look in your eyes that he hadn’t seen for years. Yoongi felt himself smile as he saw you hanging onto Taehyung's every word.

For the first time in forever, you looked alive.

Yoongi cleared his throat which drew yours and Taehyung’s attention, “Sorry to interrupt guys. We’ve finished with your car so whenever you’re ready we’ll be outside.” The infamous gummy smile overtook his features, you felt yourself beam in return.

“Thanks man! I’ll be like, five minutes.”

Yoongi nodded his head in reply and swiftly left the room.

You’d taken Tae’s hand into yours, playing with the array of rings that occupied his fingers. Solemn thoughts overtook, am I not gonna see him again? Was this, whatever this is, over before it had even begun? Your eyes stayed on his hand as you turned it over and traced your finger over the inked ‘thirty seven’ on his palm. “What does this mean?”

Taehyung didn’t think twice before he practically beamed out, “It’s my lucky number.”

The difference was, it wasn’t really his lucky number… although he did see it that way. It was the number that had stayed with him. It was something he was proud of, whenever he looked at the hand that killed his father, his chest filled with pride and a joyous feeling overtook his senses. It was his first murder. Something he relished in and thus, created the onslaught of Jigsaw killings. He targeted a certain type— those whose sins would lock them up forever if they were ever found out. Racists, murderers, rapists, drug dealers, con-men. Authoritative figures who abused their power. He even went as far as subjecting suicidal people.

You see, things aren’t sequential. Good doesn’t lead to good, nor bad to bad. People who steal, don’t get caught, they live the good life. Others lie, cheat and get elected.

Some people would call it karma but Taehyung, he called it justice.

He’d started this with one thing on his mind— those that don’t appreciate life do not deserve it.

Whenever a serial killer was on the loose, the press did what they always did. They gave them a nickname. While the public had named the doll Billy. The actual killer was named ‘Jigsaw’.

This stemmed from the jigsaw piece that was cut from the victims skin, no one knew why he was doing it or what it even stood for.

It did have a meaning although unknown to the public.

The jigsaw piece that was cut from the subjects was only ever meant to be a symbol that that subject was missing something. A vital piece of the human puzzle. The survival instinct.

After all, until a person is faced with death, it’s impossible to tell whether they have what it takes to survive.

Across town an underground abandoned warehouse, was where the next subject had found themselves.

They were suspended in the air, their feet merely dangling above the ground. The putrid smell of death lingered in every crevice, the sound of rats scurrying along the concrete floor filled their ears just as they began to stir awake.

A pain in their ribs was the overwhelming factor to them finally coming around. When they groggily opened their eyes, they were paralised with fear due to the scene in front of them.

A doll sat a few feet ahead, perched upon a tricycle. Adorned with a black suit and a red bowtie. A slow red light flashed in his eyes.

Billy.

Before the subject could even register how, when or why they found themselves trapped in a test, footsteps echoed behind them. The subject called out, “Help! Please, somebody help! I shouldn’t be here!”

A tsk reached their ears, as a disembodied voice replied, “Trust me, no one can hear you. Scream all you like. You’d just be wasting your breath, you may as well cherish it before it's gone.”

With hairs stood on end, the subject stilled. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” The man's footsteps grew louder. “I’m here to serve justice, that’s all.”

The man rounded the subject, settling in their view with only his cloaked back visible while he tended to the little doll. He touched Billy delicately—like he was a little child that he loved dearly. He combed his gloved hand through the doll's black hair and eventually pulled his fingers from the tresses to pat his head gently.

“You fucking psycho! Let me go!”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that which only infuriated the subject more causing them to shake in anger, a movement they soon ceased when they realised something was penetrating their ribs.

“I’d be very careful if I was you, we wouldn’t want you hurting yourself now… would we?” The cloaked figure spun around. An angry glint to his eye.

“What the fuck, you’re fucking crazy. Let me out, this isn’t right!” The subject tried their hardest to swing their legs, to somehow kick the man who’d imprisoned them.

“I think you’ll find it is right. You’re unworthy of the body you possess.” He inched closer, “see, when someone purposely intends to harm others, they lose their right to life.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

The man arched a brow as he replied, “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He felt like it was a game of cat and mouse except, he was a tiger and his subject, was the tiniest prey to mankind. “But, let me remind you! Since you can’t get your thick fucking head to work. You’re a liar, a cheater and an abuser. That ring any bells?”

The subject's face dropped.

“Ah, I see by your expression you know exactly what I’m talking about! Glad to see we’re on the same page.” He shrugged his cloak off placing it to the side of the doll. “I want to play a game.”

“What game? This isn’t a fucking game! You’re sick in the head you fucking cunt!”

The atmosphere shifted, the man remained calm while the subject went ballistic.

“What is this? What fucking game?”

“You feel the machine that’s currently occupying your ribs? Well, in about ten minutes that’s going to rip you apart. I’m proud to say that trap is my baby. I’ve been working on it especially for you! How nice is that?” he reached out to tug at the subject’s legs, tormenting them like a cat would a mouse. “Anyway, as my beautiful angel trap will rip you apart, my darling little friend Billy over here,” the subject followed the direction the man's hand pointed, “is going to match your face with the ugliness of your soul.”

“Fuck, fuck this! How do I stop it? Tell me how I fucking stop it!”

A boxy grin overtook the man's face, laughter poured from his mouth as he leaned over and slapped the subject’s leg. “This is a special game.”

“Who are you? What do you mean by ‘special game’?”

He raised himself so he stood tall and grabbed a knife from his pocket, “I’m the man you call Jigsaw.” He traced the tip of the knife along the subject’s ankle, “and when I say a special game… I mean you can’t get out.” While the subject was screaming in realisation, Taehyung walked back for his cloak, hung it over his shoulder and stalked off back the way he came. He sent one last smile to the subject as he rounded them and within the blink of an eye, he gripped the knife and slashed the subject’s achilles.

A chilling scream pierced the eerie atmosphere, the subject couldn’t string words together. Abundances of anxiety, terror and pure panic took reign of their body. Taehyung grabbed the injured muscles and forced his gloved fingers in as he gripped and twisted them, “That’s for Y/N.”

Taehyung had pressed the timer before he cut the subject’s tendons. He grabbed the tape from his pocket and threw it on the ground and with a chuckle he shouted, “Game over!”

Before he reached the end of the hallway, he heard the gunshots pierce his subjects face followed by the sound of the angel trap, even this far away Taehyung heard every crack of the ribs and the noise of the body being tore apart.

Without looking back, Taehyung rounded the corner and slammed the door shut.

He’d chosen the Angel trap for the irony, the subject that was currently hanging from the ceiling was no angel. They were a fucked up, evil, waste of space. Taehyung had done the world a favour, he’d done you a favour.

That got him thinking, how much blood would you shed in order to stay alive?

[a/n: who do we think was in the trap???👀]

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coeurdastronaute · 5 years ago

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The Story, Ch. 1

I am going to tell a story.

It is not a marvelous story, nor is it very heroic, nor ghastly, nor mysterious, nor epic by any Ovidian means. It’s much more simply just a real story, perhaps a true story in that it could very much happen, but hasn’t, exactly, to the best of my knowledge.

I’d rather like to use the word true in the sense that it is universal, innate, honest to very idea that all humanity is capable of experiencing it. It’s true and honest and real, and that might not sound like magic, but if we’re being honest, as most storytellers are known to be, the most magic that can be found is in the moments we can’t tell about-- the moments stricken from pages for being mundane, superfluous from the plot, as if it’s possible to decide so easily what matters, and what doesn’t, as if memory and life are easy enough to foresee to know that a single moment won’t resonate indiscriminately through time and space, etching deep ridges and valleys and canyons into a person’s heart.

I am going to tell a story that is superfluous from the plot, that’s not very heroic nor ghastly nor mysterious nor epic, and yet one that is full of bravery and ghosts and fear and perseverance.

No one will tell you what I want to tell you, that it is impossible to truly understand that depth of the pain that life will haphazardly, and often lazily, often with abandon, toss upon you. I need you to understand this, because once you do, you can survive it, and if you survive it, you can fill in the spaces, the inbetween, the pauses and inhalations and dark, dark, deep and dangerous moments with perhaps a dash of love.

I am going to tell a story that is true and honest, I am going to trip over my words because I believe in being exact, and perhaps precision is muddled by searching for perfection. I will not tell you what I hope you take from it, for that would defeat the need to finish it, but rather I shall tell you the how. I hope you read this and forget the words, or at least think you have until one day when you understand them more than you do when you read it.

This tale has no more ghosts than the normal amount. It has no more pain, no more love, no more jealousy, nor anguish, nor magic than the average truth would. This is the warning.

I am going to tell a story, now.

XXXXXXXXXX

In the summer of her twelfth year, the fair came to town. She remembered it especially because it was not the same as the festivals that came with such regularity it was practically ingrained in her DNA, and much like sparrows, the town just went to work of returning to every year. No, the fair that came to town was different. It was not of them, but for them.

To be honest, she hadn’t thought of it much since it happened, as time wiped away the newness of it, replacing it with the present and the not-too-distant.

Later, she would come to remember that as the year before the end of it all. With the perfect hindsight she realized had she just listened, she might have heard it, as an adult she could practically hear the knowledge that something was indeed almost over, the knowledge that hummed, faint and lazy below the noises of the house and the town and the summer evening, the sound Jamie heard when she tossed and turned in the stale, sticky heat of her bed when the breeze was no where to be found.

Gawky and just becoming aware of her body, she remembered the look she gave herself in the fun house mirrors. The one that stretched her legs, all knees and knobby, the whole way up to her chin. The one that made her hips jut out and when she bent over, that made her chin and nose and ears disproportional, or more so than she already knew them to be. But her little brother didn’t mind at all, laughing at how ridiculous he looked, and then at her until she punched him in the arm, earning a wail of pain.

With change scrounged and stolen from pockets, she bought their first taste of cotton candy. They snuck onto the rides and rode until they threw up behind the animal tent. For hours and hours and hours, for what felt like days, they roamed the fair in a type of delirium, removed from the ordinary, escaping, as it were.

But that night was forever tinged a different hue than pink cotton candy and a burning sky where the sun refused to set. It wasn’t even stained black like her father’s hands, nor did it reek of gin or shine on her mother’s breath.

Alone and indignant, she wandered through the tents and shoddy booths after rinsing her mouth with water from a bucket hanging near the horses. Her brothers were done, tapped out of money and eager to hold onto anything left in their stomachs, but Jamie didn’t want to leave. She never wanted to go home again.

Forgotten was the looks she gave herself, unable to table the mess of frizz on her head, unable to comprehend the knobby knees and perpetual layer of dirt accumulated on her clothes and cheeks. Forgotten was the music of her brother’s laughter, shrieks, and crying accompanied by the splashing of guts against the compacted dirt mixed with the smell of the animals. Lost to time were those moments unless they were dug for, rooted up and yanked back into tangibility with a great deal of effort.

What remained of that night was the sheer terror of the tent with the black curtains. The tent on the edge of the fair, that Jamie stumbled upon, as young women stumbled out of, afraid and clutching different bundles of herbs or totems. The tent under the smooth-leafed elm near the broken fence, list solely by candles and a fire that never seemed to grow higher than flickering.

What Jamie remembered was the large velvet chair and the ancient lace that covered the tables. She could smell, from time to time, the old, moldy dried herbs and flowers that were packed and chopped right there.

And for some inexplicable reason, she slid across her last five pence piece and waited for the woman to take it. And when she presented her palm, dirty, with moon shaped divots where her fingernails had dug into to find some steel against the appraising eyes, she clenched her jaw, almost defiant, and waited.

Kindly, the woman smiled, prepared to believe in her own magic for a moment for this brave little girl. While she made her money selling potions to unhappy wives and bundles of herbs and totems for pregnancy and wealth, she refused to use her gifts unless called upon. As inexplicable as it was to Jamie, so too did this woman not understand what made her cradle the small palm in her hand for a tenth of her normal fee.

Occasionally, as if a slowly moving echo, Jamie would hear her words, or rather bursts of them, phrases really, bouncing back to her from that moment. The older she got, the less she listened enough to hear them, though they kept moving forward toward her at a steady pace.

With kind eyes, she remembered, a softening of features, the woman across the table tenderly traced the lines in her palm, something Jamie would do from time to time in the years to come, as if she, too, could see something important.

With a heavy heart, the palm-reader shook her head and kissed Jamie’s palm. I am so sorry, my love. It is not fair.

As much as she wanted to snatch her hand back, Jamie remained still and listened to the entirety of the woman’s words. She allowed her to rub an oil onto them, to write with burnt twigs, tiny symbols on her wrist, to hum a tune and press the coin back into her hand.

Only much later would Jamie realize it was a kindness, to understand someone’s future and be unable to do anything about it, but to try anyway.

But the great pain, the great sadness, the great joy, the great everything that the woman promised, Jamie refused to acknowledge ever again. She avoided those echoes and she didn’t stop running. That was how she was going to survive it.

And as the woman pulled out a knife and sliced a gash in Jamie’s palm, as she muttered the words, as Jamie recoiled in pain, pushing back the chair and frantically looking for the exit, she saw the flames growing higher, she felt the woman corner her as she scuttled across the floor, the dirt and the discarded stems of her herbs searing the cut, leaving a trail of blood there. She fled beneath the tent flap, crawling and tripping over herself until she was home, safely in her room behind a closed door.

She pressed the gash on her palm to her chest as blood warmed her shirt.

She never spoke of it again.

For some reason, the fair that came to town the summer she turned twelve came alive in her mind once again, the moment she walked into the kitchen and saw a new face at the table. It was instantaneous, the appearance of that memory. All-encompassing were the noises and smells and terror in her heart.

In a move that would look, to anyone else, as if she were merely wiping the dirt from her hands, fighting against a stubborn smudge, she ran her thumb along the perfectly straight but raised scar through the middle of her palm.

But she washed her hands and ignored the momentary echo before sitting down at the table, forgetting it all once again.

XXXXXXXXX

With a great start, the new au pair’s eyes burst open as she inhaled a shaky breath, as if she’d been holding it for hours and was finally able to defeat whatever had been sitting on her chest, choking her through the night.

It took a full minute for her sense to come back, for her to understand where she was, to chase away the remnants of the dream that seemed to repeat itself nightly despite her best efforts to escape it.

Slowly, and with great effort, Dani focused on the sound of the birds just outside her window in the copper beeches that towered alongside the manor. Outside, the waking of the manor and the grounds were becoming regular and soothing, reminding her in their foreignness that she was not home anymore.

It was still early as she climbed out of bed, the thin fabric of her sleeping gown clung to her skin as the heat and her dreams had won against the coolness of the lovely breeze during the night. She stood by the large window with the heavy, ancient glass and peered out onto the lawn as the haze did its best to burn itself away in the rising of the day.

Three weeks ago, she’d answered the ad that took her out of London and deep into the countryside so that even in an atlas, she was somewhat unsure of how to get back if she were have the need to escape, which was simultaneously terrifying and freeing.

Even after a full week of waking in a lovely English manor, Dani hadn’t grown too used to the feeling of peace she experienced despite the dreams, as if waking was a better time than sleeping, as if she was living a dream, even, and her dreams were the reality she resigned herself to at night, forever haunted.

Before the children could wake, Dani washed and dressed, taking a little bit of time every morning to explore the expansive house and grounds. The tragedy of the entire home softened slightly in the beauty it still had, and the hope the children still, despite all else, seemed to cling to against all odds.

Walking helped clear her head, helped to shed away the old skin, like a snake rubbing against rocks, wiggling out of old skin that it’d outgrown, though she felt it was more forced than that for her, that perhaps the skin she was in wasn’t ready to be shed, and despite her best clawing and scratching and wiggling and rubbing was struggling to pull it off. The past was a sweater that shrunk in the wash and now she couldn’t escape it despite contorting herself into all different positions and yanking.

So instead, Dani walked in the morning.

Sometimes she beat Owen, who arrived early with arms full of fresh things to cook for the day. Sometimes she would slip out through the back and he wouldn’t have arrived yet, or she would hear the sound of his tires on the gravel as she turned the corner away from the house.

A few times, she even beat Hannah, up before the housekeeper had made it to the kitchen, though Dani suspected Hannah rarely slept, and was instead simply elsewhere.

Only twice had Dani seen the gardener, and with grounds that she was still discovering, she doubted their orbits would often overlap. They’d never formally met, but it seemed only a matter of time with such few options for adult conversation in the manor.

On her walks, Dani didn’t let her mind wonder too far from the course of action for the day, plotting how to keep two active and unpredictable children busy taking up much of her energy and leaving her exhausted every night in a way that made her hopeful for rest. She thought slowly, taking her time, careful not to let those thoughts drift, steering the ship purposefully.

More and more, she was allowing herself to relax at the manor, to shirk off some of the guilt and the pain of her previous life that existed just a few months ago. There was a healing that could be found in a departure. There was a kind of reward in giving up. A ghost still followed her, still reminded her. How simple the act of forgetting seemed to be, except when it truly mattered. It baffled her, that she couldn’t remember what Eddie’s particular brand of toothpaste was called, but a random whiff of something close to his cologne strangled her entirely.

Memory was cruel in that way, stealing away anything good, and leaving the worst of it. Those dark thoughts stained the countertops of her mind, the ring of week-old coffee that refused to be wiped clean and seemed to dismiss all notions of fading.

The loss was too much to hold, sometimes. He followed her around everywhere despite her departure from the routine

Maybe if she stayed here, stayed at Bly and got used to it, the familiarity would wipe away the dust and dark. Dani was determined to start new, to begin again. That was the only thing to do after such a thing.

“Oi, watch where you’re walking!”

The voice startled the absent au pair as she jumped away from whatever she’d apparently been walking on.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-- I don’t see where I…”

“You almost went knee-deep into my fertilizer, and my Delphiniums have been quite eager for that. I’d hate to make them cross so early in the summer.”

The lilt of her tone bordered on teasing, but Dani was almost certain there was some honesty there, as if the gardener really did worry about the moods of her plants and of the garden as a whole.She quite liked the pleasing way the gardener’s mouth moved, cocked up at one corner in an oddly shy grin, and she quite liked the pleasing way the hardness of consonants were mulled over and softened.

In just that moment, Dani realized she was missing some gentleness, and how shocking it was to find it in the sticky heat of the countryside morning.

“I’m sorry,” Dani offered weakly, looking around and finally seeing the pile of compost and fertilizer waiting to be dispersed throughout the day. “I hadn’t-- I was a little lost there, I guess.”

“Try not to get too lost, Poppins. We need someone to wrangle those two heathens, and I have my hands full.”

“Delphiniums are notoriously ornery.”

They shared a smile and Dani looked over the gardener, mud already appearing on her bare shoulder while her overalls had pockets full and gloves hung near her hip and a patch sewed on one side of a thigh. The messy mop of curls was somewhat tamed in a bandana, and even without make up, her lips seemed impossibly red, like strawberries.

“If you think they’re bad, you should hear how my peonies have been acting out. Don’t even get me started on my deutzias, who are normally so well-behaved.”

As she rambled, Dani thought about how nice it was, to hear someone talk about something that they clearly loved. She couldn’t help but smile, which made the gardener slow down and end her explanation earlier than either would have liked.

“I should let you get back to your walk. You looked like you were going somewhere important, with purpose.”

“Oh, yeah, I was… not really. Just clearing my head.”

“That can be tricky,” Jamie nodded.

“Thank you for saving me.”

“It’s my pleasure. I kind of prowl about all day waiting to save beautiful damsels. It’s part of my charm.”

“I’d work on the delivery,” Dani teased, taking a few steps back as she realized it was late enough for the manor to be waking.

“Never been my strong suit,” Jamie shrugged it off. “How was the follow through?”

“I’d give it a solid B-.”

“Tough marker, you are. I feel for those little ones already.”

“Practice makes perfect, Ms. Hawthorne.Can’t disappoint those damsels.”

“I’d never want to do that.”

With a rakish grin, Jamie nodded a farewell to the au pair, and Dani returned it with a small wave over her shoulder.

The realization that the gardener had called the au pair beautiful was met simultaneously by both members of the previous conversation. Dani was nearly rounding the corner as she replayed it all in her head, stopping suddenly at that detail while Jamie was furrowed and pulling on her gloves, meeting at the same point. Both looked up at each other when it happened and from across the lawn, looked away quickly.

As swift as her legs would carry her, Dani retreated into the routine of the day, refusing to think of gardeners or Delphiniums.

#bly manor #dani x jamie

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lisinfleur · 5 years ago

Text

In your eyes

The request:

Author’s Notes | It took me so long, but I’m in love with this piece! It came out SO SWEET! I hope you like it as much as I did!

Universe | Vikings

Pairing | Harald x Reader

Info | Viking Age AU, requested by @honestsycrets

Words | 1806

⁑ Warnings: Mentions of heathenry and magic.

source: x

Galdrastafir.

You saw his fingers drawing it slowly, sliding the blood of some sacrificed animal that lost its life for his deeper and dearest dreams he was corrupting one rune at a time.

How deep did your king had descended into the dark to use such a low strike for what should be a noble conquer?

How painful was the emptiness into his heart to force him into such a devious path towards the fulfillment of his desires?

You knew him.

Harald wasn't like that.

But he wasn't himself anymore. He was lost. Maybe taken by the despair of his last queen's death - enough to ignore her obvious betrayal. Maybe lost by the failed conquest of the crown of Norway - that was now his, but still under Björn's influence once the son of Ragnar was still respected as a god, even thou he wasn't the king of kings after all.

You could count the numerous reasons for your eyes to be watching as your king was drawing the runes of that despicable spell on his palm, intending probably to bewitch the Dane princess his castle was about to receive along with her father and the other two kings of the trinity - one of them, the second son of Ragnar Lothbrok, Ubbe, who was converted into a king by the fight and victory against the one he was replacing now. Ragnar's blood was always around, spreading the insecurity that was the probable reason for your king to go this low.

You came closer. You could do it. You were the only one who could after years serving his castle.

You were his family servant since his father was still alive and you were nothing but a child, serving his table, cleaning his windows, preparing his room so he could sleep. You would do anything you were ordered to do for him and you wouldn't ask a single coin for your services as long as you were serving his needs, for since you placed your eyes over him for the first time, you fell in love with Harald and your heart never accepted another.

You passed the time to get yourself a husband dreaming about marrying him when he was nothing but a small man. Then he became a king, and your heart was broken when his promises were made to Elisif and not to you, but who were you after all? Sewing his clothes, cleaning his floor, making his food... A servant. Almost a slave, but a paid one. Nothing but a part of the furniture in his house, right?

Wrong.

You became a friend after Elisif's treason, serving his mead at his tent until he was drunk enough to speak his heart to you; listening to his sober words asking you to hold his secrets at the next morning.

You never exposed him.

He came to tell you more.

And you learned about his desire to become what he was now: the king of all Norway. You heard about his dreams of making Vestfold the capital of all Norway and all his hopes to discover new lands, bring treasures, make the people of that town rich and prosper. But his major and dearest dream was the one in your heart as well...

"A beautiful wife to receive me... Children to raise..."

He wanted to build his legacy as much as he wanted that crown and you saw his high hopes in his eyes when that bitch he brought from Kattegat was discovered pregnant.

You wanted to tell him it wasn't the truth. You wanted to tell him you saw her going to the docks, entering that fisherman's boat. But you had no courage to break his heart and you had no proof she was doing anything with that man, so you prayed the gods would bring the truth up or push away from your king all sort of serpent that could bite his hand.

The bitch was killed in battle. And you thought it was a sign from the gods she was the serpent you thought she was. But since then, your king wasn't the same anymore.

You served his table in York - he took you with him when he tried to take the kingdom from Ivar the Boneless and rule over the lands he didn't conquer. You were the one taking care of his wounds after that terrible loss Ubbe has caused him against the Christians. You saw his eyes glowing towards Gunnhild, his anger when Björn passed in front of him and gained her heart.

Your king was always rejected. Except by your forgotten heart.

He never knew about your love; you couldn't blame him. Or maybe you could blame his blindness for it was stamped on your face since the first day and he never saw.

But again... He was a king. The king of all Norway now.

Who were you to think you could be a queen by his side?

You never wanted that crown. You wouldn't mind having another to sit in his throne...

But you wanted his heart. You wanted him.

You wanted Harald's love and you couldn't hold yourself from speaking against that madness he was tracing upon his palm.

"Galdrastafir?" you spoke, causing him to miss a trace, looking at you with anger in his eyes.

"What?" he asked.

And you could feel the smell of mead... He wasn't sober.

It wasn't his self again.

"Galdrastafir! A spell, magic! Yes... I'm doing this. I reached the bottom. I'm tired of waiting..." he insisted. "I'm cursed, Y/N! I'm a cursed man, fated to be forever alone by the curse of the gods upon me! I begged. I promised them. I fulfilled my promise!" he said, messing with the now short braid you remembered crying a whole night when he allowed Astrid to cut for him. "But they cursed me... And I'm tired..."

What right did you have?

Who do you think you were?

A servant. A nobody.

A woman in love. For your whole life.

"Or maybe you're blind!"

Your heart spoke before your mouth and your lips followed it before listening to your brain's screams to keep yourself silent. And they kept speaking, even thou your thoughts were yelling you would end up arrested. Or even dead for that audacity.

"Maybe you just can't see the love you search for so long is around you, near you, walking towards you without your knowledge. Maybe this love was always here, waiting for a glare, a word, a chance! And you never saw it! Because it was so small... Too small for a king!"

Your brain finally took the reins once again and you covered your mouth, shutting it silent. Your eyes trembled on his: he was looking straight into them and you couldn't handle his heavy glare.

But when his face twisted in surprise and you could see the math being done in his thoughts, you couldn't handle.

"Excuse me," you begged before running away from his presence without waiting for his approval or his calculation to find its obvious end.

You were in love with him.

You were always in love with him.

You crossed seas to serve his table. You cried his losses and prayed for his return. You were always there to receive him even thou he wasn't coming back for you.

You...

The face he could remember always smiling at his most stupid asks; always solicitous to his smallest needs; always by his side, to listen, to serve, to hold his tears, his drunk self you so many times carried in your shoulders back to his room where he would wake up clean, dressed and sided by a cup of fresh water and herbs he could chew for his headache.

And it wasn't because he saved your life. Harald could remember you were solicitous to his needs since before he saved you from that bunch of raiders that tried to hurt you on the road. He could remember, if he thought enough, that you were there because of him! You went to the next town that day, just to find him some treated leather for the sheath of his new sword you made for him and that was needing to be fixed...

Hours of walking, risking yourself, just to get him a new sheath.

Harald's eyes landed on the unfinished Galdrastafir in his hand. Why was he doing such a thing?

Did he really need a princess so badly?

When did he become so blind?

Slowly, he washed his hand from the unfinished symbols in his palm, cleaning the blood on one of the clean towels you would always bring to his room every morning.

His eyes looking around... You were everywhere to be seen!

His fresh fruits always replaced by your hands; the fresh water in his amphoras; at the clean sheets of his bed or the sweet herbal bags that would spread that delicious and comfortable scent that would always make him feel home. Your dress was always smelling like those herbs. You always smelled like home for him.

How come that he could never see?

How a man so devoted to the gods was unable to see them screaming right on his face how wrong he was?

He wasn't cursed. Harald was never cursed.

King Harald was a blessed and dumb man. Dumb like the donkeys in his stable, blind like the old goat in his barn.

"I would let her cut my hair when I could find her."

His laugh echoed through his room as he was looking at the mirror, seeing his stupidity for the first time in years: you...

You were always the only servant he trusted to help him to trim his hair. To keep it strong and beautiful. You always trimmed his beard, helped him with the braid he allowed Astrid to cut.

But you had trimmed first.

Harald laughed again.

Even his promise was used by the gods to show him the obvious thing in front of his eyes now. And he was too blind to see.

And he was too dumb to understand.

His fingers got the little metallic box he had prepared for that princess. A beautiful box, sculpted by his smith with lots of blessing runes around a velvet interior that was holding a beautiful pair of alliances he settled to propose an alliance and marriage to her.

Harald's heart knew what he had to do now. And instead of the heavy weight that Galdrastafir was bringing to his chest, to look at those alliances and think what he was thinking brought him peace...

You were his peace.

You were always the one he would find when he wanted to soothe the pain in his heart.

It was time to soothe the loneliness into it.

Once and for all.

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Tagged ones:

|| @ivarswickedqueen || @directionlessbuthappy || @akamaiden || @bang-kim-bap || @cris101071 || @elysias-temple || @alicedopey || @captstefanbrandt || @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla || @lol-haha-joke || @readsalot73 || @rekdreams247 || @slutforasoldier || @naaladareia || @laketaj24 || @therealcalicali || @igetcarriedawaywithyou || @grungyblonde || @arses21434 || @honestsycrets || @rabeccablake || @2thequietone4 || @blackspiritshake || @vikingsbifrost || @x-valhalla || @lyanna-the-giantsbane || @isthat-tyra98 || @hissouthernprincess || @xinyourdreamsx || @medievalfangirl || @thiahilmarsdottir || @queenbeeta || @winchesterwife27 || @gold-dragon-slayer || @mzliterarydreamer || @alwaysbenhardysgirl || @marvelouuse || @tgrrose || @lif3snotouttogetyou || @lordsexmachine || @deathbyarabbit || @ietss || @alexisshoto

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#history vikings #imagine vikings #harald #harald finehair #harald x reader #harald imagine #king harald #sister wives #shot

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darth-salem-emperor-of-earth · 5 years ago

Text

Not to my surprise, I’m on the late side with my first entry for @naruto-fantasy-week but better late than never, as they say (let’s see if I can actually produce my six other planned fanfics for this event. XD). But I was dying to write a soulmate/soul bond AU and this prompt offered the chance to me on a silver platter. I had a lot of fun with this story and had to find a decent place to stop because my brain kept churning with ideas to make this oneshot even longer to the point I should save this concept for later and either explain on it with a sequel or a multi fic. I did a little editing but it was mainly looking out for typos, misspellings, or missing words. Hopefully, I got them all or most of the mistakes. Happy reading! <3

If anyone is curious, the title for this fanfic “Our Two Souls Destined to Be” are lyrics from the song “Until Eternity” by Blackbriar.

Summary: Soulmates, soul bonds, whatever you call them, they were deemed special. But not to Neji. It didn’t matter who he was bonded to, for the main family would never allow him to find his true soulmate. Naruto Fantasy Week, Day 1. Prompt: Soul Bonds. [Neji x Sakura]

Flashback

Thoughts

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He is half of my soul, as the poets say.”

― The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every shinobi village treated soul bonds with care but they all had their own ways to manage how these destined people found each other. In Konoha, soul bonds were celebrated and considered a thing of beauty but the village leaders, even the Hokage himself, left the clans alone in their decision regarding the treatment of soulmates, even if it meant the clan heads would tear the soulmates apart for their own agenda. The Uchiha and Hyuga clans were particularly known for this, especially in the branch Hyuga family.

Neji was no stranger to how little of a chance the branch family would have in being allowed to meet and marry their soulmate. Unless their bond directed them to a civilian or another branch member, they were demanded to ignore such signs and tether themselves to the person of the main family’s choosing. His father had no such choice in the matter and neither would Neji. And he already knew what color eyes his soulmate would have.

Neji's father, Hyuga Hizashi, regarded him curiously when the four-year-old asked him what color the grass and leaves on the tree was. He glanced at the twisted tree decorated with bright green leaves and budding, light pink blossoms. He knew what that meant if his son couldn't see the color green and there was no Hyuga in the entire clan that possessed such an eye color. Neji was bonded to an outsider, as the main family would see it.

"How long haven't you been able to behold the color green?" Hizashi queried gently, sitting down beside him as Neji stared at the blades of grass strewn across his palms.

"Since I turned four and before oji put the Caged Bird Seal on me." Neji tilted his hands to the side, watching several bits of grass immediately fall back down to the ground while a few still stuck to his warm palms. "I don't want anyone but you know about my soul bond. I don't want Hiashi-oji finding out and deciding he needs to uncover and lock up my soulmate."

His father remained silent at this admission, not even wasting his breath to assure Neji, his uncle–Hizashi's older twin brother–would never do something so horrendous to prevent Neji from being happy with someone destined for him. Hiashi rarely permitted the branch Hyugas be with their soulmates, especially when the union threatened the main family. That was one reason why he kept Hizashi's soulmate hidden and out of sight–that and the fact she was in love with Hizashi, even though Hisana was Hiashi's intended when the bond was initially revealed. The two of them tried to elope together but were eventually caught by a squad main Hyuga jonins and then were subsequently dragged back to the main family's manor. Hiashi never forgave his brother for ‘stealing’ his bride and her love, and punished them both by making sure they never saw each other ever again. Hisana's new home became her prison, living in exile in her own estates while Hizashi had to sneak around to smuggle in her gifts and letters to keep their spirits and hope alive.

As if remembering the painful memory, Neji's father gazed forlornly back at the tall, imposing stone walls that barred Hisana from her true freedom. His jaw locked in a tight grimace. "Not this time, Neji."

Neji jerked his head up in surprise. "Chichi?"

His father looked back at him, a grim yet resolute gleam in his light eyes. "You will find your soulmate, Neji. You deserve happiness with your soul bond and I'll fight with every fiber in my being to grant you that opportunity, even if it kills me."

Not too long after that private conversation between, his father was gone. Murdered by the main family, even though the official claim was he died at the hands of an assassin trying to kill Hiashi and abduct Hinata. Neji doubted the genuineness of that story, for that tale was a mere cover-up to shield their sordid crimes from the village. They didn't even announce which enemy village attempted to kidnap their precious clan heir, claiming they didn't want to start a political quagmire.

The main family were always crafty, elegant liars.

Neji's pale lavender eyes blankly stared at the trees of the village, their leaves vibrant to everyone else but him. To him, they were a lightly toned grey hue. And if his uncle had anything to say about it, the color green would remain elusive to him forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Sakura received her soul bond mark, she didn’t tell her parents.

The symbol was a family crest, no doubt, one she was not familiar with but it burned itself along her neck, right above her collarbone. She stuffed her mouth with a pillow to muffle her screaming, utterly relieved that her parents were outside, enjoying the warm weather, and couldn’t hear her agonized noises. Then the scalding throbbing stopped and she frantically looked in the mirror to see an upside triangle with a curve up top, encompassing a small, thick swirling cloud. Transfixed, Sakura hesitantly reached out to trace the emblem, the marking smooth like ink instead of an iron hot brand. She had never seen this sigil before but then again, she came from a civilian upbringing and was unaware of the many important shinobi clans Konoha boasted to have among their ranks. She needed to learn more about the other important, non-civilian families in her village, especially since she already joined the Academy to become a kunoichi.

Checking out a record scroll listing all the known shinobi clans, both existing and defunct, was an easy task at the local library. Sakura spent her afternoon reading every name and analyzing their emblems to see if they matched the sketched replica she made earlier of her soul bond mark. The clan names were listed alphabetically and she was rather shocked to see how many ninja houses, both great and lesser, there were in the world. By the time she reached the ‘F’ section, her stomach grumbled and she had to take a break for lunch, the scroll tucked securely underneath her armpit.

About an hour and a half later, Sakura stared in shock at the perfectly inked Hyuga family crest in the scroll’s documentation, the elaborate sigil identical to the soul bond mark on her neck. Instinctively, she reached out to touch the spot, wondering what this could mean for her. There were stories and known instances of people from differing clans, both ninja and civilian, being tethered together through the soul but this was the Hyuga clan, one of Konoha’s greatest and prominent shinobi family since the founding years. How could her, a budding kunoichi-in-training (and a civilian as well), be bonded to a Hyuga?

Setting the scroll aside, Sakura finished the remnants of her lunch in a melancholic mood, frantically debating if she should finally tell her parents about her finally being bonded to another soul or remain mum on the matter. Memories of her parents’ reluctance, almost near protest, to her decision to become a shinobi of the Leaf, crept back in her mind and she cringed. If her parents still hadn’t warmed up to the idea of her being kunoichi one day and kept waiting for her to quit, then how would they come to terms that her soul mate came from one of the most prodigious clans known to shinobi?

No, she was better off not telling them the truth about her soul bond. The less her parents knew, the better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Due to the shifting, tense conflicts with the other villages, the Hokage decided to pass a mandate that allowed certain classes of genin to graduate a year early. Neji and his fellow classmates were already on their way to gradate but the genin who were all year younger had the chance to pass the Academy and be allotted their own genin team and teacher.

Neji barely cared who they assigned as his teammates when he graduated.

All it mattered he was in the top of his class, his success and herald as a prodigy flying straight in the face of his uncle and the claim that branch members could never rise higher than the main family. He wished he was there to witness the look on Hiashi’s visage when he realized his nephew showed far more promise as a ninja than his precious heir.

Pale lavender eyes surveyed his classmates, observing their reactions rather than their eyes. He once searched for the color in their eyes, hoping to find that missing hue. There was one classmate who supposedly possessed such an eye color but nothing happened between them and the hue remained elusive to him. Of course finding his soul bond wouldn’t be so easy.

“Hello, Neji-san!” greeted one of his teammates, Lee, in a far too cheery tone. “I look forward to working with you on the many missions to come!” Neji’s other teammate, Tenten, sighed, shaking her head.

“Lee, don’t bother Neji-san.”

The said man blinked. “I wasn’t! I was simply introducing myself to him! We’re teammates, after all, so shouldn’t we get to know one another?”

I could care less.

Without saying anything, Neji stood from his desk and removed himself from the room, leaving behind a bewildered Lee and Tenten exclaiming, ‘See? I told you so!’

He didn’t know why the sight of Lee or his over-enthusism grated him so. Maybe he didn’t like overly friendly or cheerful people or maybe it was because it was well known his two teammates already found their soulmates and their bonds lead to each other. Regardless, he had to get out of this damned academy.

“Forehead Girl, I can’t believe you ended up on the same team as Sasuke-kun! I don’t know why you aren’t as excited as me about this!”

“Ino, please! Keep your voice down! I don’t think the entire village learned about who my new teammate is.” scolded a second voice. Soon enough, two girls rounded around the corner, one blonde, the other sporting brilliant pink hair. The second voice belonged to the pinkette.

Neji stopped, his eyebrows furrowing. He had heard about some other shinobi-in-trainees from other classes (like Uchiha Sasuke and other clan members) before but nothing as odd as a kunoichi with pink hair. She must be decent enough to be paired with Sasuke in their three man squad.

The blonde–Ino–shook her head, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “Well, Sakura, if you’re not going to take advantage of being teammates with Sasuke and cozying up to him, then maybe I should come around and visit you guys while you train.”

Sakura snickered. “Sure, but I can’t guarantee he’ll notice you, Ino Pig.” She looked away from her friend and in that instant, her gaze crossed with Neji’s.

And the color green, so brilliant and lustrous, exploded in his vision.

He gasped unwontedly, reeling from the shock of such a vivid arrival, and couldn’t take his eyes off the girl who the universe bonded himself too. She was staring at him too, one hand clutching her neck and shoulder. Their eye contact never broke, even if her face was locked in pain, like she was burning upside. Their bodies remained frozen, partially out of fear that this was all just a dream and the other would disappear the moment they moved. The other reason, Neji, suspected, as he adjusted to seeing green for the first time while his soulmate controlled her ragged breathing, was they didn’t know how to proceed next. Despite the common occurrences of soul bonds, there really wasn’t a textbook example in how to meet your intended soulmate. At least, one that wasn’t a mere marketing ploy to garner a quick yen or two.

Neji opened his mouth, but the girl–Sakura was her name, he recalled–beat him to it.

“It’s you,” she breathed out in wonder. She took a small step forward, those beautiful, dazzling jade eyes wide and curious. He couldn’t recall the last time someone looked at him that way–or at least, not with utter loathing or total indifference.

“I am Hyuga Neji,” he found himself replying, unsure what else to say to her. There was no need to confirm they were each other’s soulmates, the intense exchange between them upon their first encounter was enough proof.

He was still processing how he should now approach this matter when Sakura let out a victorious squeal and launched herself at him, catching him off guard long enough to trap him in a tight but warm, welcoming hug. He stiffened. Soulmate or no, she was a kunoichi and shouldn't resort to such childish behaviors—

“I found you. I finally found you.” Her face was pressed up against his chest, almost nuzzling his neck so he felt her breath tickle his skin. The sensation felt pleasing, much to his surprise. “After all these years of searching and waiting...you’re here. Just like that.” And then Sakura just had to tilt her head up and peer up at him with those beguiling eyes, their green depths pulling him in. Bonded adults who found their other soul always talked about the strength of that instant connection you experienced when you first meet your soulmate yet Neji never esteemed the soul bond would be this powerful, this intoxicating. Maybe that was why Sakura felt compelled to run up and embrace him full-heartedly.

Into those green irises he gazed on, finding his voice at last when she released him from the enfoldment. “Here I am. We are soulmates, Sakura.” He tested the words out. New as they were on his tongue they still seemed right. “And as my soulmate, I will protect you.”

His father once stormed and braved all the shinobi of the main family to set his soulmate, his beloved Hisana, free from her gilded cage and allow her to seize her own life by the reins. Even though their love story turned into a tragedy, Neji wanted to honor them and at least take the chance at life with his soulmate. It was what his father would have wanted.

Sakura blushed, no doubt thinking he was referring to enemy villages but in truth, his uncle was the main foe on his mind. Neji would have said more if it wasn’t for Sakura’s friend, the one nicknamed ‘Ino Pig’, had to barge and interrupt their precious moment quite boisterously to remind them of her presence.

“SAKURA, WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOUR SOULMATE WAS A HYUGA?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The minute people started poking their heads outside of classrooms or followed the sound of her friend’s voice, Sakura seized the opportunity to grab Neji by the hand and get them both out of the Academy and to one of the training grounds for more privacy. She felt bad for not giving him any warning as she tugged him along, her feet picking up a quick sprint to avoid their classmates’ prying eyes and nosy attention. For the first day with her soulmate, Sakura didn’t want anyone else butting in and spoiling their moment. Judging how willingly Neji allowed her to drag him away from the building without warning, he harbored similar sentiments. He didn’t complain once about her sudden actions and kept up with her pace with ease. Sakura had a sneaky suspicion Neji was faster than she was and like most Hyugas, excelled in taijutsu.

Maybe we could train together some time and he could teach me how to improve my taijutsu? Iruka-sensei keeps saying I’m doing fine but never tells me exactly which areas I can improve in.

“Finally, some peace and quiet, and more importantly, privacy!” she declared out loud, even though she glanced around them one more time to make sure Ino didn’t try to follow them. Then again, she probably was telling anyone who’d listened about the soulmate meeting she just witnessed between her best friend and Hyuga Neji. And knowing Ino, she’d probably over embellish certain parts for dramatic or romantic value. Sakura’s cheeks flushed at the mere thought of how...descriptive her childhood companion could be.

“For how long? Sooner or later, our teammates are going to catch wind of our disappearance and scour the Academy in search of us.” Neji pointed out, crossing his arms, his back against a tree trunk.

Sakura resisted the urge to chew her bottom lip, knowing while Sasuke wouldn’t care where she had gone but Naruto would heatedly clamor for her whereabouts and butt into her and Neji’s personal conversation, demanding to know what was going on. While Naruto wasn’t nosy like Ino, he definitely lacked tact and perception, especially in the more delicate or sensitive matters.

“Maybe ten minutes or so, if we’re lucky,” she estimated, silently praying to Kami that her teammates were far away and wouldn’t come along to muck up her very first meeting with her soulmate. “Not a lot of time to talk but we can still try to get to know each other a little bit before we have to go back to our teams.”

Neji nodded. That seemed reasonable enough. “What do you want to know? My skills as a shinobi?”

Heat flared up on Sakura’s cheeks and she wished that practical matter was her first thought. “Well, that too. I was thinking about asking questions more on the line on what we like or dislike, favorite foods, what’s your favorite color--you know, fun little facts to learn about each other.”

Neji couldn’t remember someone asking him such mundane queries or expressing an interest in him outside of the Academy or shinobi lifestyle. He wasn’t sure if he should find the whole point such discussions pointless or refreshing. Albeit he had to admit, he was curious to learn more about Sakura. Despite his grim resignation of the main family preventing him from ever discovering the end of his soul bond, he had often wondered late in the night before going to sleep what his soulmate would be like. Would they be a shinobi like him or a civilian? Were they from a clan or have no distinct, esteemed connections of their own? And would his soulmate even be a denizen of Konoha? At least now he will finally have some answers to the questions his younger self frequently contemplated about.

“Why do you go first, Sakura?” he offered politely. She seemed to know what questions she wanted to ask him anyway.

She nearly bounced in her feet. “Okay! Let’s start with your favorite food and color. Oh, and your least favorite food!”

That was straightforward enough. “Herring soba. I hate the flavor of pumpkin and any spicy foods. As for my favorite color…” He paused, realizing he never truly thought about it until now. Sakura’s brilliant verdant eyes snare his focus again, subtly offering him an option. Her eyes were a pretty shade after all. Perhaps fate had an answer for him after all. “Let’s go with green. Now that I can see it, I don’t think I can get enough of it.”

Sakura’s jaw dropped open. “You couldn’t see the color green for years?!” She had heard that each soul bond was different, that soulmates weren’t necessarily marked the same way but to never behold the color belonging to your soulmate’s eyes until you two finally met (if the union ever betided) seemed like such a huge sacrifice to endure and wait for its end.

Neji shrugged with indifference, knowing Sakura meant well but until today, he was used to not gleaning the color green and all its various shades. Now, he couldn’t unsee the hue and that was perfectly fine with him. “It doesn’t matter now. I fathomed if I had the chance to meet my soulmate, they’d be worth the wait.” His lavender pearl eyes leveled with her jade ones. “And I was right.”

Sakura sucked her breath in, trying her utmost best to remain calm and collected while inside, she was squealing with glee. While she had always been excited at the prospect of one day finding the match to her soul bond, deep down she was nervous, frightened even, that she would be rejected because she wasn’t good enough, that she didn’t come from a noble or prestigious ninja clan or carried a formidable bloodline in her veins. She was a simple civilian girl who aspired to be a strong kuniochi one day, regardless of all the taunts and abuse the younger girls heaped on her in the early days of the Academy. And Hyuga Neji, her soul bond, seemed to have no issue with her civilian-like background. It was enough to have her heart fluttering all over again.

“T-Thank you,” she managed to say without blushing as crimson as her cheongsam but was unable to stop a grin from overtaking her lips. Neji’s smirk at her reaction was hardly inscrutable now, even as she quickly changed the subject back to her earlier inquiries. “My favorite color is red, as you might have guessed, and I have several favorite foods: anko dumplings, umeboshi, and, oh, anmitsu! But I can’t stand spicy food either. I just don’t understand how people can enjoy burning their tastes buds.” Sakura made a contemptuous face, remembering the last time she tried an overly spicy and seasoned dish. She had to gulp down an entire glass of milk to stop the fire from spreading along her tongue. That was when she learned water didn’t alleviate the fiery discomfort at all.

“I don’t understand it either,” Neji agreed, granting her a sympathetic look. He had to admit, learning such trivial pieces of information about his soulmate was rather fun. These small talks helped him understand Sakura a little bit better, especially if they seemed to be so unalike in various ways. He was about to propose a question of his own when he sensed very faint but approaching chakra signatures heading towards his and Sakura’s covert location. Instinctively, he activated his Byakugan. He did not fail to notice the way Sakura’s eyes widened with surprise or the expression of awe and wonder flashing across her features as she witnessed his kekkei genkai in action for the very first time.

“What is it? Who’s trying to locate us?” She kept her tone hushed, preventing her voice from echoing over the tall, shrouded trees they used as refuge from curious onlookers.

“Two senseis,” Neji groused, thoroughly displeased with this interruption. If the intruders were fellow classmates, they could have easily been shooed away. “Looks like we’re found out.” His gaze returned to normal.

Sakura sighed exasperatedly, dejected by these turn of events and crossed her arms irately. She had hoped her and Neji would have more time together and no one would notice their absence until much later. “We already have graduated and yet, they still want to lecture us on something we won’t remember or care about now that we’re genin and can finally go on missions.”

“Just ignored them,” Neji advised, a shadow of a smirk gracing his lips. “It’s only for today. And after that, the Academy will be a thing of the past.”

Sakura brightened at his words, standing up tall. “That’s right! And we can have more time to see each other! Do you think you’ll be free tomorrow?”

“I should be, if my new sensei doesn’t keep us training for the whole day. I’ll come find you after practice. What’s the number they assigned your team?”

“Seven. What about you?”

“Thirteen.”

“There you two are!”

In a sudden swirl of smoke, stood two Academy teachers, both eyeing their respective student from their classroom. One of them was Neji’s teacher, who merely cut him a disapproved frown while the other teacher, who was tan and supported a long scar across his nose, smiled worriedly at Sakura.

“Iruka-sensei, you shouldn’t pop in on us like that! Neji and I were having a private conversation!” Sakura protested indignantly.

Iruka almost appeared apologetic the way he shot her an empathetic glance, his smile unwavering, before addressing them both. “I’m sorry to cut this moment short, but you two need to go with your genin team and meet your new sensei. I’m sure the two of you have plenty of time later talk to each other.” He then winked knowingly, now wearing an absurdly goofy grin while ushering both a stoic Neji and an irked Sakura out of the canopy of trees and back to the Academy. Before they parted to be formally introduced to their shinobi squad, Sakura gave him an eager wave, her eyes alight with the promise of them meeting up tomorrow. Even though he only knew her company for such a brief time, he did enjoy the way she beamed at him like that, rife with hope and supreme joy, as if they were the only two people in the world and nothing else mattered. Neji was beginning to understand the inexplicable bliss of having a soul bond much better now. And he had Sakura to thank for that.

Feeling lighthearted for the first time in years, Neji glanced hopefully at the doors to the Academy and the cherry blossoms trees that framed the grounds around the building. He wondered if Sakura liked cherry blossoms or she preferred other flora in Konoha.

Next time they talked, he’ll have to ask her what her favorite flowers were.

#narutofantasyweek #narutofantasyweek2020 #NejiSaku #Sakura x Neji #my writing #soul bounds #naruto fantasy week #naruto-fantasy-week #Naruto #Soulmates AU #Soulmates #Soul mates

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werewolfdays · 4 years ago

Note

Touch prompt 1 and 24 ???🥺🥺👉👈

here, have some Christmas time fluff!!!

1. With love:

I was in the middle of brushing my teeth when I felt a pair of familiar arms wrap around my torso. Nadya leaned heavily into me, resting her head on the back of my shoulder, and I knew without asking that she was still mostly asleep. I was kind of surprised she was awake at all right now. Even planned to let her sleep in for as long as she liked today.

I chuckled and spit out some toothpaste into the bathroom sink, “Didn’t think I would see you up and around for at least another few hours.”

“It’s Christmas.” She mumbled drowsily, “I always get up early for Christmas.”

“That’s good to know.” I mused and continued to brush my teeth while Nadya used my body to keep herself upright.

Her hands worked their way under my sweater and the heat of my skin made her melt into me further. If she wasn’t careful, Nadya would become a puddle against me, but she kept herself busy with tracing some of the scars across my abdomen. Each gentle touch laced with her silent love. She hummed calmly, pressing her forehead to the back of my neck. I had to admit that her presence was drawing me in even more after each passing heartbeat. It was getting increasingly harder to remember what I was doing.

“You’re so warm.” She murmured, swaying gently with me.

“So are you.” I said after I finished up and put my toothbrush aside.

I carefully twisted myself around in her arms so I could face her. Nadya’s perfect brown eyes met mine and I wanted nothing more than to drown in them. She continued to lean against me, her hands wandering up and down my back and sides in lazy caresses. Unable to hold back from touching her too, I reached up to brush some of her messy hair behind her ear and rest my palm against her cheek. I saw, as well as felt, her face flush and she tilted her head into my touch while she looked at me adoringly.

“Not as warm as you.”

“There’s more than one way to be warm, my love.”

We both leaned in at the same time, our lips meeting each other halfway. There wasn’t anything particularly deep about the way we were kissing right now, in fact, our cadence was more reserved than anything else, but the depth of passion I could always feel from her took me off guard every time. Our strokes were as soft as she was, as warm as our skin on skin contact underneath my sweater. Even if I was able to kiss her like this forever, it wouldn’t be enough. Nadya’s arms wrapping around me tighter made me think she felt the same way.

When we inevitably broke away from each other, I rested my lips on the spot between her eyebrows, holding her to me for just a few moments longer. I felt her breathless sigh against my neck and wondered how I ever went without loving her as much as I do.

No part of me wanted to, but I pulled away, “You want to go have some coffee by the fire in the Den?”

She nodded, her arms slowly disentangling from me, but not fully breaking contact yet. “Can I have this?” She asked while tugging at the bottom of my sweater.

I gave her an amused eye roll and nodded with a crooked grin, “Go on, take it.”

Nadya happily pulled the cozy sweater over my head and put it on with a grin that I never would have been able to refuse. After a grateful peck, she switched places with me at the sink and I went to retrieve something new to wear from the closet.

The Lodge itself was at its most barren during the holidays as the least desperate wolves tried to be with their own packs, but there were still some permanent residents lingering around the cozy corners of the Den with what little companionship they had. Fresh blankets of snow outside, with frost clinging to the edges of the tall windows, and a big Christmas tree standing next to the fireplace gave the common space that special festive feeling. Nadya lit up when she saw it, which made me smile.

Skye perked up from her spot on one of the couches when we approached, “Ugh, finally!”

I watched her jump to her feet and practically skip over to the Christmas tree while Nadya and I got comfortable on our usual couch. Toby brought us fresh cups of coffee and Skye handed out gifts like an excited kid. A huge part of me was glad to see that she still had the same amount of excitement for the holiday as she did when we were little.

Skye was immediately drawn to the fancy origami paper Nadya got for her and it didn’t take her long to start going wild with it on the coffee table. Soon it was like a mini paper zoo had taken over the table. All sorts of intricately folded animals surrounding her busy hands.

Nadya, on the other hand, was already several pages deep into a novel Toby had gifted her, one that they had talked about a couple weeks earlier. She was lying comfortably against me on the couch, her back resting on my chest, sitting in between my legs. I tried to track the words over her shoulder, but she read too fast for me. Still, I enjoyed her closeness more than anything, though I did eye the campfire cookbook she got for me. Ideas were already brewing in my brain for our next camping trip.

Toby went straight for the bar when he saw he had some new fancy equipment to work with when making drinks. It was kind of funny to see him handing out cocktails to anyone that would take them this early in the morning. He only took a break to serve us some tamales his family made and delivered to him as a Christmas gift. Another year had gone by and I still couldn’t get the family recipe from his mother, though I refused to give up trying my own spin on the dish with Toby’s help.

This was starting to be one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had. Definitely the best one I’ve had since before my parents died. I honestly didn’t think I would ever be able to achieve the kind of peace the holiday used to give me again, but having the love of my life happily in my arms, and my pack content, was more than I could have dreamed of.

My eyes did keep traveling to the last little gift hidden under the tree, wondering if Nadya would eventually notice it. It was small and thin enough to be missed by Skye and her enthusiasm for presents, so I knew that Nadya, being as engrossed in her book as she was, probably wouldn’t realize it was there any time soon.

I pressed a kiss to the side of her head to get her attention, “What’s that?” I asked into her hair while pointing to where the tiny present was waiting.

Nadya followed the line of my finger until she finally saw it. Then she glanced back at me over her shoulder, “Is that for me?”

“Mhm.” I confirmed.

She hesitated, chewing on her lip as she eyed the gift. I was wondering what she was contemplating when she spoke to my sister, who was the closest to the tree, “Skye?”

“What?” Skye asked, slowly looking up from her work. She turned to where Nadya was pointing and we both realized that Nadya was just too comfortable to get up for her present. I smirked when Skye’s shoulders slumped as she returned her exasperated gaze to my girlfriend, “Seriously?”

“Please?”

I fixed my little sister with a swift glare when her eyes met mine, urging her to do as Nadya requested. She sighed and stood up to retrieve what Nadya wanted before happily returning to her origami.

Nadya thanked her and examined the skinny box in her hands that was wrapped in festive paper with a neatly tied bow. I must have wrapped the damn thing half a dozen times to get it to look right. After she took a moment to admire the work I put into it, she carefully unwrapped the gift. Once the sleek box was free of the paper, she flipped it open to reveal the necklace inside.

A small gasp left her lips as she held the chain up to get a better look at the pendant. The casted seal stamp glimmered in the firelight as it lightly swung in the air back and forth. The design had a small wolf standing atop a mountain and howling at the moon, and a small banner curved at the top, showcasing a Latin phrase in letters barely big enough to read.

The pendant came to rest in her palm and I cradled her hand in mine, brushing my thumb over the words, “‘I Struggle and Emerge.’” I translated quietly, letting my thumb explore the rest of her palm, “This is a symbol of strength.”

“It’s beautiful.” Nadya marveled.

“I told you I would get you a necklace that wouldn’t burn me.”

“You did.” She said with amusement while thumbing the pendant like I had. Then she placed it in my hand, “Will you put it on me?”

I smiled and accepted the pendant, using my other hand to brush her hair out of the way. My arms came around her and then I brought the separated clasps together at the back of her neck, hooking them and letting my hands come to rest on her shoulders. Nadya looked down at the necklace resting on her chest and took a moment to hold it like it was her most prized possession. My heart sang even more when she looked back at me again in gratitude.

“Thank you, Jay.” She told me softly.

I let the back of my finger brush her cheek, knowing that there’s no way a single touch or a single gift could ever convey how much I loved her, but I hoped she could sense it anyway, “Merry Christmas, Nadya.”

“Merry Christmas.” She replied, resting back against me once more when I pressed a kiss to her temple.

24. To say hello:

My boots crunched into the fresh snow as it flurried all around me before coming to rest on the ground, culminating in mounds of pure white powder. All of the pines in sight looked like they had been dusted with sugar and my breath came out in visible puffs before me. There was something so magical about a forest during the winter time, something that even the biting cold couldn’t make me hate.

I paused too many times to count to take dozens of photographs with all of the new film I received yesterday for Christmas. This was such a peaceful and perfect day. All I missed was Jayde, but she had to go back to her patrol duties today, no matter how hard I tried to convince her to take another day off with me. I would see her later though and that was enough for me. Plus, I wouldn’t bore her by dragging her around to take all of these pictures.

A particularly cold breeze made me shiver. I adjusted the beanie on my head and wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck in an effort to conserve some body heat. While I was doing that, I heard a snap of a twig somewhere off to my right. My steps faltered as I listened for more, but the forest fell quiet, so my eyes searched for any movement that I couldn’t hear. There didn’t seem to be anything, even with me staring off into the misted woods for several long moments.

Unsure whether or not I should be nervous, I continued onwards. It was probably only a deer or some small critter. Other werewolves usually stayed far away from me when they were in their wolf forms, not wanting to make me feel unsafe or face Jayde’s over protectiveness. Of course, that didn’t mean I would never accidentally come across someone’s path eventually. I kept my eyes and ears peeled just in case.

My peaceful surroundings consumed me again, so many beautiful sights ranging from minute details on the side of the trail to grand landscape scenes that broke through some of the trees, showing miles and miles of snow-covered mountains. It made me think of the present Jayde gave me yesterday. I reached for the necklace, smiling when my fingers found it peeking through my scarf. The freezing air made the metal pendant cold to the touch, but I didn’t mind. I just wanted to be reminded of the best gift I’ve ever received.

Another rustle in the woods behind me made my head snap around. This time, I was positive that whatever or whoever it was had to know I was here, and they weren’t trying to avoid me. I backed away from the sound, trying not to be alarmed by the presence.

“I can hear you.” I called out, “Do you need something?”

There wasn’t an answer. And there wasn’t any movement out there.

I continued to back up while I searched my surroundings for any sign of someone. Just as I was starting to get uneasy, the back of my legs connected with something large and soft. I hopped forward with a startled yelp and flipped myself around to see Jayde in her wolf form standing there with her tail wagging and her tongue lolling out in a wolfish grin. She had been messing with me the whole time.

“Are you serious?” I yelled at her through a laugh.

Jayde sat on her haunches, looking proud of herself. The color of her fur blended so perfectly with the snow around her that she probably didn’t even have to try all that hard to be stealthy. There’s no way I would have been able to spot her from a distance.

“You scared me, you know.”

She gave me a teasing bark and leapt towards me. Her massive wolf body playfully tackled mine into the built up powder on the ground. I started laughing while her snout poked me in all of my ticklish spots, trying to wrestle her head away. A growl rumbled in her chest when I grabbed her muzzle and clamped it shut with my hands.

“What are you gonna do now?” I challenged.

I held on tighter when she tried to shake me off, forcing her to use one of her giant paws to pry my hands off of her. I took advantage of the fact that she had to be gentle with me, shrugging her claws away from my arms. Knowing that she was at a disadvantage, Jayde growled even more menacingly in my face, but I wasn’t deterred in the slightest. I simply raised one of my eyebrows and placed a quick kiss to her forehead. That shut her up fast.

Once she shook it off, she snorted indignantly and plopped herself down right on top of me, effectively pinning me to the ground and further into the pile of freezing snow. It reminded me of the way large dogs sometimes don’t understand that they aren’t lap dogs. I lied there groaning for a few seconds before her weight was too much.

“Alright, alright. Truce?” I suggested in a strained voice.

Jayde gave a single nod and stood up at the same time I released her muzzle. I sat up and shook my head at her with an exasperated grin. She stared right back at me with glowing amber eyes, her tail still wagging, and waited.

“Well, hello.” I giggled and held my arms out.

The white wolf immediately fell into my embrace, nuzzling against my head and knocking my beanie askew. I ran my hands through her fur, enjoying the softness and the insulated warmth of her wolf form. She was definitely built for this kind of weather. It made me want to find a spot and curl up with her because I could feel the melting snow begin to soak into my clothes. I shivered again, my teeth chattering, and pulled her closer, which resulted in a concerned grumble from her.

“Maybe we should head home soon. I think I’m in the mood for a hot bath.” I said.

Jayde leaned back to cock her head curiously at me. Then she stood up and gently bit my sleeve to pull me to my feet. I laughed at her sudden enthusiasm and gladly started to follow her back to the Lodge where we could get nice and cozy together for the rest of the day.

#asks #anon #ocs #my ocs #My writing #thanks for sending these in!!! and sorry it took forever for me to answer!#hope yall enjoy their first christmas together #Jayde #Nadya #Jayde pov #Nadya pov

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daffodeela · 5 years ago

Text

flounder through the feeling for you

Summary: Jean heard about the scarf that Mikasa always wear was given by Eren. Mikasa was in front of him. Her fingers traced the rest of her scarf that was dangling. He couldn't hold himself from asking, "If I give you something one day, will you keep it?"

Notes: Attack on Titan by Hajime Isayama. I don't take any material advantage by writing this story.

Warning: grammatical errors. I know this is badly translated but I don't know how to translate it better ... My English sucks.

Available on AO3 and FFN.

Jean heard Connie and Sasha chuckling right behind him and he knew he was the object of the comedy they shared. He rolled his eyes, feeling exasperated. He blew his hair that was already lengthened and often covered his face. The gestures were happening because he still tried to hold himself from snapping at them. But, when their laughs were getting louder, he couldn't swallow his irked state any longer.

"Can you all shut up?" Jean spat.

Connie was still laughing. Sasha puffed her cheeks to hold any giggle, but her face was still full of noisy amusement.

"So, you really like Mikasa?" Connie threw a rhetorical question. Whether Jean answered it or not, he already held the answer.

"Yeah, Jean. You couldn't stop looking at her," Sasha said. She bit her lips hard to resist her laugh again. Her hands held her stomach. "Did you always do that all this time? How could we don't realize that?"

Jean could feel his whole face was getting hotter. His blood was flowing to his face which was caused by shame and anger from being mocked like this.

"It's because you two are stupid," he said. The sharp tone hadn't been gone from his words at all.

Instead of being angry because they didn't accept to be claimed as stupid as usual, Connie and Sasha laughed harder. The tip of their eyes was wet. Connie pointed his index finger to Jean during his laugh. Jean was confused receiving their responses which were getting crazier until he played his last sentence inside his mind. He palmed his forehead. Damn it.

"Connie, he just admitted that he always looked at Mikasa since the old days!"

Connie nodded. He swiftly added, "No wonder you're always angry at Eren!"

Jean shook his head while rubbing his face harshly. He expelled a long breath. "That's enough," he sighed.

The echo of their laugh was gone little by little. Jean, who still covered his face using his hand, was shocked when suddenly his right and left shoulder were tapped by two hands in different sizes. He glanced to the right and found Sasha.

"Have you ever told her?" Sasha asked. This time, her face looked serious, there was no hint of amusement at all. Jean glanced at Connie and found the exact same expression.

"Why do we talk about my love life?" Jean wrinkled his nose. Uncomfortableness filled his throat.

"Come on, we are your close friends, right?" Connie said. "You always kept it to yourself all this time, didn't you? Why don't you just tell us?"

Jean was quiet. He remembered the days when he was still a cadet. Marco was aware of how different the way he looked at Mikasa. He had started a talk about that a little bit, but Jean didn't want to let him dig into it. After Marco was fallen, the secret was also fallen with him. Jean had never talked about that to anyone. After all, as a soldier amidst the critical situations, his feeling for Mikasa wasn't something that was important. But, now he realized that he was a human first before a soldier. Feelings were something natural that descended him and he couldn't just ignore them forever.

"After the first supper with all of the cadets, I told her she had beautiful black hair. That's it," he said. He anticipated another mock from them, but his anticipation got no aim.

Sasha moved her fingers as if she was counting. "That was … about six years ago?" The octave of her voice was rising up. "You have liked her that long?"

Jean didn't answer.

"Wow," Connie responded. "Sasha, are we really that stupid or it's just Jean who is really good at hiding his feeling for Mikasa?"

Sasha shook her head. She was suddenly quiet, just realizing something. "Wait. You said that her hair was beautiful?"

"Yeah."

"Before I got in here, I saw Mikasa just cut her hair again. It wasn't even an hour ago," Sasha said. Her hand made a cutting movement right under her ear. "This short."

Jean shrugged. "That's her right. She can do whatever she wants." His memories were played into the moment Eren warned Mikasa to cut her hair so it wouldn't stick to the 3DMG. It made him frown because she cut her hair not based on her own will. Eren was the one who influenced her.

"So, you'll keep liking her even if she's bald?" Connie asked. Sasha cringed and hit his head.

"Why don't you just tell her?" Sasha asked.

"It's okay. There are a lot of things that are more important than that," Jean answered. "And I don't want to burden her for anything. I'll just let it go."

"You can do it little by little, you know? You can give her … what is it called?" Sasha raised her hands and made quoting symbols using her fingers. "Hints. You can praise her. You can still protect her.

Jean smirked. "Protect her? You know exactly how strong Mikasa is, don't you? She doesn't need that." Gleams of admiration and proudness were forming in his eyes.

Sasha looked astonished. "Wow. You do really like her," she mumbled softly. But, Jean could still hear her. "But you'll definitely do it when she needs one, right?"

"Of course."

"Wow. You do really like her," Connie repeated. Jean rolled his eyes.

"You can stay with her when she is sad," Sasha suggested. "But you have to do it sincerely, don't expect anything."

"I know," Jean responded. He stared at Sasha seriously. "By the way, it's weird to hear you talk like that."

Sasha released an exasperated breath. "Jean, I'm a girl too."

"That's Mikasa!" Connie shouted out of the blue. Jean swiftly moved his gaze to the direction Connie stared at. He was right, Mikasa was there. He didn't know why his heart was beating so loud immediately—louder than when he saw Mikasa usually. He could feel his face was getting hot again.

"Oi, Mikasa! Mikasa!" Connie yelled, sneered, and waved his hand at the same time. Sasha slapped her forehead and shook her head. That fool.

Mikasa turned her head without walking closer to them. She said nothing and only waited until Connie stated his purpose.

"Jean wants to talk to you!"

Jean tried so hard to not hit the back of Connie's head. When he uplifted his face, Mikasa was already staring at him. The girl was still as quiet as she was before. Her gaze made her seem like waiting for something from him. Jean, who really didn't know what to say, just waved his hand. His mouth was opened slightly. "H-hi?" he said, stammering.

Mikasa frowned. "Hi," she said stiffly. She was quiet for a while, still waiting for something, until deciding to continue her walk and leaving the three of them.

Sasha stared at Jean in disbelief. "What the hell was that?"

Jean palmed his face. "I have no idea either."

Jean was done checking the supply and condition of the ammunition that was placed inside the room. He discussed with Commander Hange regarding the number of weapons the military needed. There was too much dust that was inhaled from the room until his throat felt itchy. He walked to the back of the room, a place that straightly faced a field, to take some fresh air. A bottle of water was already on his hand.

Cough attacked him. He opened the bottle and drank the water from there while walking. He was aghast when he realized Mikasa was there too. The water was spilled and wetting his clothes. His palm supported his wobbly body to the wooden wall. A splinter from the wall stabbed his finger deeply. He immediately pulled his hand.

Mikasa approached him. "Are you okay?"

Jean patted on his wet chest. He whimpered quietly when he felt the splinter was being pushed further through his skin. He wanted to answer that he was okay, but Mikasa herself could see that he wasn't. But, he still answered, "I'm fi—"

His words were cut by the sudden movement of Mikasa pulling his right hand. The girl took a look at his palm and her breath hitched when she saw his index finger. "A splinter," she said.

In the middle of his stuttered state, he could only nod.

"You got it just now, right?"

Once again, he could only nod.

"This can cause an infection." Mikasa reached the bottle from his left hand. She shed the rest of the water to his right hand. "Do you have a needle?"

"No," he answered. He finally found his voice. "It's okay! It's just a small wound. I had been stabbed by a bigger wood, you know? You were," heat was filling his face, "... you were the one who treated it too."

Mikasa ignored his words. She tried to pull the splinter from his hand harshly, but it was still stuck. Jean whimpered. Blood was flowing from the cut of his wound.

"Sorry."

Mikasa bowed. She tucked her hair to the back of her ear. When he realized how close the distance between her face and his palm, Jean swiftly pulled his hand from her hold.

"Wait. What are you trying to do?"

"I'll bite the splinter."

"What?!" Jean felt like his neck was throttled. He was having a hard time swallowing his saliva.

"My fingers are too big to pull it."

Jean shook his head. "I can do it by myself." He immediately bit the tip of the splinter that was still showing on the surface of his skin and pulled it slowly. The splinter was released and he spit it to the ground. Nevertheless, his mind couldn't be held from imagining if Mikasa was the one who did it. The daydream felt too much for him. He could feel a throttled sensation around his neck again. He closed his eyes tightly.

"Thank you," Jean said when he was finally enabled to control himself.

Mikasa shrugged. "I didn't do anything." She rested his back to the wall again. Not knowing what he would do although the place was his destination from the start, he also did the same.

Her hand was stretched to him to give him the bottle back silently. Jean spilled the last drop of the water inside the bottle onto his wound. When he finished, he closed the bottle. His focus was on Mikasa.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Mikasa held her head. She closed her eyes tightly, looking like someone in pain. She pressed her back harder to the wall. Jean held her arm in reflex so she wouldn't fall.

"Are you okay?"

When the pain was done attacking her, Mikasa straightened her body. She nodded. "I'm okay." She grasped the scarf around her neck. "Just a common headache. It's over."

Jean moved his gaze when he was sure Mikasa didn't show any pain in her face. She was already back to the posture of the strongest woman that he had ever met. His throat was burned since he ever heard about the scarf that Mikasa always used was given by Eren. He wanted to confirm it, but just thinking about hearing her answer "yes" annoyed him. He couldn't imagine if it was true.

Silence surrounded them. Jean felt that his throat was finally free from the dust, but he didn't want to go from here yet. Mikasa seemed the same as he was. He recalled that his question about what she was doing here was left hung. He wanted to ask her again, but awkwardness stopped him.

"What did you want to say?" Mikasa asked suddenly.

Jean wanted to slap his forehead once again. His chest was full of shame. He felt irritated. "It was nothing. Connie just wanted to make fun of me."

"Oh."

Silence accompanied them again. It made him remember Sasha's words. About Mikasa's hair. About praising Mikasa. He turned his head to her with no doubt. He knew she would be aware of his gaze on her soon. His assumption was proven as Mikasa turned her head towards him too and threw a question from her eyes.

"You cut your hair again," Jean said.

"Yes."

Jean stared at her face without blinking. He knew red was already tinted his face again, but he kept smiling. "It looks good on you "

Her facial expression showed no significant difference, but her eyes were widened. She touched the tip of her hair and glanced at her hand. "Thank you."

Jean was astonished. Her response wasn't as cold as when the very first time he praised her beautiful hair. Of course , he thought, we didn't know each other that day. Maybe she thought it was creepy. Meanwhile, right now we are … friends? Right. Friends.

Mikasa grasped her scarf again. Her fingers traced the long material until the edge of it before her hand was back to the side of her body. Uncomfortableness stung Jean's chest.

"Mikasa," Jean called.

"Hm?" she mumbled without turning her head.

"If I give you something one day, will you really keep it?"

She turned her head too fast until he was worried it would hurt her. No, he thought, Mikasa is so much stronger than that. His focus was on her surprised face.

Jean shook his head and rubbed his hair. There was a suspense that made him want to hear her answer, but he remembered his words to Sasha about he didn't want to burden her regarding this. Take it little by little. He grinned and waved his hand.

"Just forget it, okay?" he said lightly. He shoved his free hand to the pocket of his pants. His foot kicked a pebble before he straightened his body and walked away from Mikasa. Before he turned to the other side of the building, he dimly heard, "I'll keep it."

He didn't know whether it was his daydream or not. He left the question there without digging any confirmation at all. For now, it was better to be stuck in between reality and reverie. Because being biased to one of it would break something inside him right now or one day.

#jeankasa #jeanmika #Jean Kirschtein #jean kirstein #Mikasa Ackerman #fanfiction #AoT #snk #my fic

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friendlyneighborhooddolan · 5 years ago

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Mind the moon: epilogue

warnings: This story is very descriptive. Other trigger warnings are: sexual and graphic scenes, death, religion talk, descriptions of murder, alcoholism, and binge food eating.

pairing: Grayson Dolan x reader

summary: in the first two years after his girlfriend died, Grayson became a wreck, and maybe he will get himself fixed up, and maybe he won’t. Two years later, he meets Y/N.

Masterlist

EPILOGUE

And the place on his neck The place where my hands Fall when I hug him.

Details, I fell in love with details.

“Tell me something,” he spoke out, and she held her phone somewhat tighter, the white of her fingers showing.

“Tell you what?”

“Something you were always afraid of saying, Y/N,” he whispered out.

“If I could describe fear, it would be my mother smelling weed on my breath when I was sixteen,” she answered, knowing very well that wasn’t the answer to his question.

“Now you’re just dodging my question, petal.” She heard shuffling coming from his side.

“I- What?” she pretended.

She could hear his smile. His million-dollar grin and she could hear his short breath being blown out and at that moment she thought she wanted to see him.

“Hey, Gray?”

“Yes, love?”

“Tell me yours.”

He kept quiet for a moment.

(He almost said, “My past is an armor I cannot take off, no matter how many times you tell me the war is over.”

And she’d say: “Unclench your fingers, my lover, the war is over now.”

“I’ve forgotten how to uncurl my fingers from the trigger,” he’d say and shift to lie on his back.

“Be gentle my lover, the war is over now,” she’d answer, her hand unclenching from her own thigh.

“I don’t remember what’s it like to not have gunsteel in my bones.”

“Sleep, my lover, war is over now,” she’d try again.

“The war follows me into sleep, I’m afraid I’ll never leave it behind.”

She’d give up, and she’d tell him about her parents’ ways of coping with pain, and that would calm him enough to put him to sleep.)

“I’m afraid of losing people I really care for,” he sighed out, a little yawn creeping up on him.

“That’s nice. Look, Gray, it’s getting late and we should probably sleep before we both end up saying things we don’t mean,” Y/N spoke out, and by things we don’t mean, she’d say that she loves him, even if she knew it was the truth.

“What’s your fear, bub?” He asked.

“I’m afraid of the dark. Goodnight, Gray.” She almost said those three words, because, honestly – she was afraid of loving him.

He promised he won’t fall in love and yet, it was 4 in the morning and he was smiling because at least he could protect her from her fear. He’d command the moon to protect Y/N while he wasn’t there. He’d make the sun to always show himself. He’d ask the whole starry heavens not to stop shining until the last supernova burns out.

And she won’t be afraid of his fears. He’d tell her about the time he howled at love like a wolf howls at the moon. He warns her at the darkness of his heart and she stays.

She stays, and she swallows his shadows whole.

Scientists are still looking for perfect stillness. They haven’t heard of silence of his demons when she’s with him. This is love our mothers talked about: She’s listening to his steady heartbeat. Birds in her blood stop mid-flight when they hear his breaths. When she thinks about him, a war ends.

“Good night, Y/N.”

STARS ARE BORN FROM CHAOS, a simple note she stuck on his windshield. He smiled, turning around, and a soft yell: “Ethan!”

His brother came running, thinking something happened, and when Grayson showed him the note, he shrugged. “Dunno. I think that’s Y/N’s handwriting, though.”

When Grayson smiled, staring at the note and his face reddening up by the second, Ethan shook his head.

“Whipped. You’re so whipped.” He smacked the back of his head.

“Dude! What was that for?” Grayson ran after his screaming brother, wanting revenge, and for the first time in years, he felt as if the old him was back. As if he was back to his old ways, before everything bad happened. He was just a kid.

But honestly, when you ask Grayson to describe fear, he would say his mother smelling vodka and cigarettes on his breath at 17. He says loss is trauma stealing an entire month from his memories. Superheroes always have tragic backstories and broken hearts, so maybe he’s doing okay. In his dreams people are brave enough not to leap from tall buildings (but they are brave enough to live), to see through walls and also never lie to each other.

“Are you happy?” he asks her through a cup of warm coffee, wrapped up in his hands like a dying star.

“I hope so,” she answers, exhaling herself in his shoulder. She’s pressing against him the way he pressed flowers against the pages of his book when he was gone. It feels like the start of forever. He wants to touch her until his palms burn.

“What do you want in life, G?” She’s tracing constellations in his palms, softly looking at the movie that’s playing on the TV.

“I want – nevermind what I want. What do you want, petal?”

“You,” the answer will always be him. She’ll always love and want and have him.

“You want me?”

She laughed at his bewildered expression.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

He paused for a moment, and stuttered, his lips parted.

“But what did I do?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “I just think we’d be a good us.”

He smiled widely, “We’d be a wonderful us.”

A kiss placed itself on her forehead.

It’s somewhat early and he’s asleep. It doesn’t bother her because she knows there’s been times he’s laid awake at night unable to find sleep, no longer familiar with what it means to find rest. The moment he pressed up against her, his head against her shoulders. She ran her fingers through his hair and his body loosened, symbolic for how lax he’d become. Even when he feels so chaotic, he comes to her and she helps him find peace. This is love.

She wasn’t the first person he ever loved, and he wasn’t the first person she saw and told a mouthful of forevers. Both of them knew of loss that hurt like a sharpened knife. Both of them are still living with lips that have more scars than skin. Their love came, uninvited, in the middle of nothing. It came when they gave up on searching for it, and it’s all part of a miracle.

This is how they heal: She kisses him like he’s forgiveness. He holds her like she’s hope. Their wounds are healing and there are pressed promises between them, looking like flowers in a book. She’s going to write sonnets of his salty skin. She’s going to be writing stories about a scar on his chin. She’d write dictionaries of words she used to describe the feeling of having him.

And when Grayson wakes, it’s late, and Y/N isn’t there, but a note is, a thing they do now.

And he felt as if Y/N was happiness, and as if happiness turned to him and said, “It’s time. It’s time to forgive yourself for all of the things you didn’t become. It is time, love, to accept that you do not have to be who you were a year ago, that you don’t want same things. Above all else, it is time – time to believe with reckless abandon that you are worthy of me, for I have been waiting for years.”

#grayson dolan #grayson x reader #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan kiss #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan love #ethan dolan #ethan x reader #ethan dolan fluff #ethan dolan fanfic #ethan dolan fic #ethan dolan cute #dolan twins #dolan twins fluff #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins angst

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nozomijoestar · 6 years ago

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Wrote NaraTrish having fun, confessing, and comforting each other bc they’re so great as either friends or a couple

*This isn’t for nasty pedo thotties or prudish infantilizing thotties, both sides of the discourse shut up 1-2 year gap max is fine and no one should ever sexualize minors with or without adults, this is for well adjusted people who recognize teens can explore sexuality and romance without showing sex or being disgusting fetish ty

Anyway I made like 3 Aerosmith song references if you can find them cool keep on rockin (extra bonus if you know what the allusion is at the final paragraph and line) also bisexual hc for both

"Your hands are a lot bigger than mine. That's friggin unfair. I'm a guy!" Trish giggled yet the only irritation he felt aimed at himself. He knew why that was. How he once scrounged a year eating trash; no home or bed and the eyes of wolves reflected in anyone else. When he would tell her however remained uncertain. It brought only shame. "Narancia there's nothing wrong with that. Look, you're covered with callouses. I'd never get one in a million years." She smiled and separated their hands to trace along his. Her finger ran along his lifeline; a patch of skin on his left palm mangled by scars. He didn't know what quick thing he should say. His boyish eyes were too dazzled by how smooth she was by comparison. How nice she smelled. The way he carried himself just didn't cut it. But now wasn't the time to think, Trish was speaking. "If you're worried about looking manly I think you're already there. Halfway at least." Narancia groaned and hung his head. The bravado he clung to deflated. She touched their foreheads. Their hands returned to their laps. No hesitation bothered Trish when she stroked his cheek. He moved to rest his head against her shoulder. "You really think I'm doing a good job Trish? This whole thing, this fuckin mess...Your life in danger...Your asshole dad-" "I said before to all of you. Even if I have to die by the end; I won't meet it without knowing who I came from. I'll see this through never running away." She felt him sigh and lean against her. She'd flooded confidence into what she said. It was conviction. Not just because she believed it, or because facing one's problems defined responsibility. Courage propelled Narancia forward; eased past his turbulent indecisiveness whenever he wasn't under threat. Buccellati breathed such a thing as if it were life energy. Without her full awareness that will had a hand in shaping her, when exactly she couldn't say. To think the same man she might regard as a true father often disregarded Narancia being wounded short of death- that gnawed at her. To Trish, risking his life being part of the job didn't justify some callousness. Whether she loved Narancia as a man or a comrade he mattered beyond being ordered. When she realized he'd gone awfully quiet she embraced him. He was so small despite being an inch taller. A minute passed before anything came from him. "I was so scared. Following everyone- I was so so scared. Buccellati's never been wrong; but when I had to make up my own mind I froze. That's awful...I owe him everything but I froze. Why couldn't I just be ready to die for him and come along to begin with?" She pet his hair and leaned against him closing her eyes. He felt coarse, even a bit sweaty. No one could remember the last time they'd taken consistent showers. Yet the longer she felt his heart in silence the more she didn't care. Only he could do that. Of the talkative bunch Mista was a friend; but his fault lay in the ways he bore himself down. Asserted himself a bit too intensely. Narancia had been different from the start. Thus by her book he got away with less. Most importantly he was the easiest to talk to. He could be loud and quick tempered at insults- then soft spoken the moment he grew unsure in himself, or unsure at saying the right thing on his mind. Even if he didn't always understand, he knew how to consider what others suffered. Not once could Trish remember him speaking to her knowingly with ill intent. So she held him thinking, grasping in her mind for any smart sounding solutions. Anything Buccellati might say as much as it annoyed her to admit it. Ultimately that proved fruitless. No one else but Buccellati could be him after all. Instead she said, "No one is glad to die Narancia." He tensed up. Trish pulled back and looked him in the eyes; spoke directly to his heart. "No one's glad to die even if they say they are. They'll hate it right to the moment it happens. I think you were right to hesitate. That's not an easy choice." "Hmm...if you say so. Giorno gave me hope what I chose was right y'know; he's that kinda guy. I gotta figure out how to do that for me. And I guess also...the stuff you said about not giving up on finding things out..." Narancia fiddled with his hands. Mussed his hair. Buying this much time to think in conversation set off Trish's suspicions. She raised an eyebrow; that was her tell. "I thought you were a lot like me. But you don't just do things on whims, so I guess not. Sorry." The room inside the turtle grew quiet only for a pause. Trish broke it with a laugh light as air. Immediately Narancia's grim mood was wiped away by a panic. He spoke as she kept laughing. "Did I say something dumb?" Trish wiped a tear from her eye and fell calm. She had such control of her emotions sometimes he could always tell where one had stopped and the other began. Emotion through his mind took on the unguided frenzy of a storm. The idea of control, like obeying authority he didn't choose, slid off him no better than oil on water. "No no Narancia just silly. You can empathize with someone without being them." "Empathize? What's that mean?" "Means you can understand what someone feels. You understand it and share it. Usually if you've gone through similar things." "My mom died when I was younger and my dad could care less about me too. That's why I emp...empi-" "Em-pa-thigh-ze." "Yeah that. Empathize." "That's alright Narancia I get it." She wouldn't press him for more. That would come in his own time on his own terms. Not knowing everything didn't make the pang in her heart less real. "Dads suck huh?" They laughed. They didn't know if it was to mask hurt or dry humor or both. Though it felt sudden but certainly wasn't, now Trish wanted anything to change the mood. She stood up and Narancia's eyes followed in constant interest. No one needed to say anything for him to mimic her. "I never showed you my Stand did I? You were injured." In an instant every feature of Narancia's face glowed excitement. He made exaggerated gestures and talked almost twice as fast. The others could find it annoying or immature but she saw endearing. "You didn't you have to show me! What's its name? Lemme see lemme see!" "Settle down Narancia I'm not going anywhere." Trish stood still and shut her eyes. She breathed a deep breath. Her concentration would've faltered if it weren't his eyes watching. A trick she's formed was to focus on an idea of her father. How she'd hit him back. The rest came easy. "Spice Girl." A feeling on her skin like a buzz when you come close to an electric current swept over her. Behind her, from her a shimmering humanoid figure emerged. Despite all the attention it took to summon Spice Girl appeared in an instant. It matched her height and build; that was where the similarities ended. It's skin was pinks and reds and rare whites. The eyes were catty and yellow; all emotion reserved to observe the world. Symbols marked its head, kneecaps, and shoulders. Though he never finished elementary school Narancia thanked Fugo for learning to recognize them. They were equation markers. Addition and division. Something akin to a tunic with narrow rectangular gaps covered its chest. A tiny skirt resembling a Centurion's at the end of that hid the groin. It said nothing yet stared at him; peered into him as if seeing not his body but Aerosmith. Trish opened her eyes; shifted from looking lovingly up at her Stand to enthralled Narancia. His naturally big eyes gave him the wonder of a child. That she always found cute. What hitched her breath came seeing the gentle fascination, the pride for someone else, the way he stared as though it were the only thing he'd find tender. She moved to walk closer toward him and found him doing the same. He remained entranced until they gently collided. Finally his eyes fell on her again; their sweet emotion unchanged. In one of those rare contemplative moments he spoke soft but genuine. Forever genuine. He didn't know any other way to be. "It's really nice Trish. Way cooler than Aerosmith. It looks like it always knows what to do; that's you all the way. Looks strong." Suddenly her face grew red hot; her first blush not from embarrassment. If Narancia noticed he didn't say it, but he probably had. "What can it do?" "It makes anything softer. Like rubber. And that-" She rose her hand and clenched it the way Spice Girl had done at its awakening. "Makes them stronger than diamonds." Spice Girl punched the floor in a blink. The rug beneath them stretched like gum. Narancia stares down trembling ever so slightly. The fabric had appeared to melt into a reflective puddle. Shifting his feet produced a rubbery squish. It consumed him faster than quicksand. Before they could sink knee deep as the ground gave way, it was undone. He sighed and caught his breath. Little by little his composure returned. Though he would never be endangered at her hand such strength made anyone nervous. Spice Girl returned within Trish. They were within arms length. "Pretty crazy huh? I'd never have believed it till it appeared." Narancia nodded dumbly. When she took his hands again he swallowed hard; looked her head on. He had a knack for reading into anything if he applied himself. Right now it washed away under the racing of his heart. There was an energy to her expression he'd never seen on anyone. A look he once imagined Fugo might wear. His body tingled. Trish spoke uncharacteristically sheepish. Paused in places where he thought she'd be firm. Her thumbs brushed along his and it gave him a chill. He didn't want to pull back. The last bits of his rationale struggled to give answers. Was she sick? Did she need to lie down? More importantly how much longer did they have alone? What would he tell the guys? Buccellati? "Narancia I...uh well...this might be weird but- have you ever kissed someone?" A pause. His memory skipped in disbelief. "W-What?" "Kissed someone. Anyone. On the mouth." "Like how my parents used to?" Trish laughed into a sigh. "Yeah like that." Narancia scrambled to undo the burned out engine his thoughts became. He was growing way too hot. Hot the way he sometimes did dreaming of Fugo, or some magazine model, or...Trish. Those nights he'd wake up covered in sweat and dazed. The feeling crashed its way into the present faster than a plane. He couldn't meet her eyes. "No. You'll probably say it's weird but I used to...imagine that with Fugo. N-Not all the time! It would just happen and I couldn't do anything about it." "Oh? Really?" "Yeah. It's stupid cuz guys are supposed to think about girls. And that kind of stuff with them..." If he were looking he'd see some of Trish's fire dampen. She didn't let it reach her voice. "Do you still think of him that way?" "No! N-No...not since he left. I mean I can get why but, he abandoned us when we needed him." His eyes flit to her again. "When you needed him. It's made me real confused; angry too I guess." "Well it's not weird. Not to me. Don't tell anyone but sometimes I've thought of girls too and-" Trish grew fully red in the face again. Even she couldn't finish that sentence. Narancia gasped; his expression lit up with something not painful. "So you get it then! I thought I was the only one. Boys and girls...I don't think I care which." "Right? I don't think I could choose either. But my real question is-" She leaned closer letting him hear her heart through her pulse. He didn't need Aerosmith to tell her breathing went fluttery. It made him want to lean in. "Have you ever wanted to kiss me?" Wordlessly he held her. The spinning indecisiveness that had him tail diving righted itself. He stared at her with his mind made. The tiny gasp she gave at the move solidified his resolve. This wasn't a dream. "You should've just asked me that in the first place." "Eh? So you-" "To be honest I thought you'd never ask or do anything. I'm not the brightest guy at this stuff." "Sorry..." "It's alright." "Really?" "Yeah." Their faces were a hairsbreadth apart. "Ah-" Their eyes shut at the brush of their lips. Neither needed direction or would've taken any from anyone but themselves. He felt Trish wrap her arms around his neck; pressed all of herself against him the way he did her. Slowly she pulled him down with her fingers in his hair. Kissed him stronger when they knelt in sync. The feel of his touch along her jaw electrified them both. Affectionately he brushed her hair behind her ear. No longer than seconds passed each time they separated into another kiss; shallow or meaningful. One after another. The thought of being caught with one look into the turtle from above meant nothing to their roaring hearts. How long it'd been before they separated they didn't know. They sighed against each other. Trish was the first to smile; to giggle in that mystical way Narancia couldn't explain but felt. He kissed her forehead; hated to let go. "Trish I lov-" She put a finger to his lips. "You've already said it for now. Just hold me. I wanna know you're really here." "Ok...ok." They laid on the rug embracing all the while. When she leaned against his chest and tickled his neck at each breath- that was a home. A place only they had. She tilted his chin and he gave it gladly; blushed at the kiss on his nose. At this distance he felt her heart through his. He rested his cheek atop Trish's hair. "Are people always this warm so close?" She asked. "I dunno. Never checked." "I guess we found out anyway." He heard the sleepiness in her voice. She grew heavier against him; relaxed into his shape. He looked down to find her eyes closed. Trish wrapped her arm tighter around his waist. He returned the favor as she slept. Narancia felt himself tire. Trish was the warmest heat he'd ever known. It could rage for him like a furnace one moment, then be gentler than sunlight. He blinked hard and fast. Never took his gaze off Trish. To hell if he was tired. He didn't want to miss a moment. Never one to deny his impulses he kissed her eyes. She made a soft noise against him. Like dusk to dawn the present became the past. The need to rest his body weighed upon him began to win. Before he could drift away his mind showed him a fleeting image. He was alone again. Damp and dirty and his bandaged eye burning. Two years ago that kind of night blended into the next without end. He'd clutch his only blanket tight; his only comfort against death or cold or despair. Narancia glanced at Trish a final time. The helpless boy of then rested into the arms of his blanket, his safety. He'd never slept so soundly.

#naratrish #hoes dont interact those who like it leave a like or rb i appreciate it #narancia ghirga #trish una #jojo's bizarre adventure #my writing

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darkpoisonouslove · 5 years ago

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“Do You Want to Melt in My Flames?”

Summary: More and more news are arriving of a potential magical war breaking out thanks to the Ancestral Witches' hunger for power and Marion is so tired of having to be composed and calm with all that burden on her shoulders because that's the proper behavior of a queen. She just wants to fall into Oritel and the inner world the two of them share where her fiery nature is appreciated and not frowned upon. Very unsafe for work. Part 1 of “Creatures of Fire and Crowns”.

I have zero idea where this idea came from but it really insisted to be written so here you have it. First time writing a Marion/Oritel-centric story so I will really appreciate the feedback.

The door opened and the sound of his steps had a smile crawling on her face even with all the raging thoughts in her head that slowed down and retreated a little as his presence washed over her, pulling her feelings for him forward instead. And she could focus on that because the night was theirs and she didn’t have to be queen until the morning. She could be his.

Her fingers finally stilled, stopping their torture of her vanity. “Took you long enough,” she said–not blaming him since she knew that being king left him unable to control some things–as she got up from her chair, the nightgown she was wearing so much lighter than her royal attire and allowing her to move faster and easier.

She got to him in no time and wrapped her arms around his neck to feel his coming to rest on her hips and it was heavenly after being deprived of his touch all day. Even if they weren’t drowned in the problems peeking on the horizon, they were always surrounded by people and couldn’t fall into each other so she appreciated the feeling of him leaning into her now that they were alone at last.

“I’m here,” he said now that he was free of the royal duties that had kept him away from her, his voice gentle and reassuring. He gave her a smile that was a very much appreciated reminder of how profoundly hers he was since no one else ever got to see it and raised a hand to cup her cheek.

Normally, she would let herself enjoy the contact but today it just wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted all he would give and, luckily for her, that was everything.

She pulled him into a kiss, her hands sliding over his arms to feel the muscles underneath and her tongue teasing over his lips before he opened them for her and let his breath fill her lungs. She melted in his embrace as he pulled her closer, his hand on her back and pressing her into him while the other one slid off her face and down her neck, looking to spark her desire. The teasing touch of his warm skin sent a shiver through her that shook her whole body like the roar of a dragon and awoke every part of her being, setting free her love and hunger for him.

She pulled away to breathe, the need so consuming that she had to do something, had to feed it or it would eat her whole. And those moments left her feeling more like a dragon rather than a human being, powerful, unhinged and fiery, with passion exploding from her and sweeping away everything in its way, but he was never afraid. He just held on to her and left himself in her hands, trusting that her spark would keep him warm instead of destroying him, and she needed to touch every part of his body, leave traces of her heat all over him and make him hers even though he already was. She wanted him to lose control along with her.

She grasped at his crown and got it off of him–it was always the first to go, making the corners of his lips twitch up at the sign of possessiveness as he was now hers and not the kingdom’s ruler–tossing it in the direction opposite of the bed. She didn’t want either one of them stepping on it when they were too consumed with each other and getting hurt as they had to pull away to deal with a wound left by it. It was torturous enough as it was with its weight and the small sigh that left Oritel made her crave to hear it shatter but she knew not to hold her breath. The plush carpet that covered the entire floor and was just as heavy would absorb the impact and make the landing soft like it was a cloud she’d placed the crown on instead of throwing it carelessly to the ground.

She moved to take off the golden belt as well, making quick work of it to free Oritel from the role of the king he’d been stuffed into. It yielded instantly under her deft touch, allowing her to move on to the white cloth underneath and get rid of it and the royal family crest framed in gold at the top of it. Next was the metal headpiece which she had to move out of his grasp to set aside but she was quickly in front of him again, the fur cape falling off his shoulders as she unfastened it, Oritel keeping still and making the process of undressing him easier and quicker.

She’d hated all the parts of his outfit, for it’d used to take her forever to get rid of them and she hadn’t wanted to use magic and make him feel like he was just there to be stripped and used. But she’d learned to deal with each piece of clothing and the specific order in which they had to come off to leave his body naked for her appreciation. She could undress him swiftly and without any fumbling now, with nothing to stand a chance against her passion for him – not any royal symbols or the specific sequence in which his outfit was put together and, therefore, taken apart.

She pulled at the last layer of clothing that was covering him, reveling at the feeling of his skin under her palms as more of it was revealed with the fabric falling away.

Oritel joined her, his own hands tugging at his bodysuit and pulling it down now that his own impatience had been awoken. He had to pull away from her to get off the boots and the suit and kick them aside where they wouldn't get in their way which left him only in his underwear for her eyes to drink in the sight of his body and he let her enjoy it.

She stepped closer again since she didn’t want to just watch and pressed a palm against the muscles of his abdomen as she used her other hand to draw him into a kiss that he was quick to respond to. He lost his initiative, though when her hand slid down and over his already hardening erection. She drew a moan from him when she let her fingers grasp at it and he broke the kiss, his concentration lost as he tangled his fingers in her hair slowly, as if he was too distracted to remember how the action was done.

It was good then that she’d gotten rid of all the pins and pearls in her hair which he usually took his time taking out–to both their enjoyment–as he didn’t look like he was in the state to do that right now. It seemed like the negative atmosphere was getting to him as well and he, too, just wanted to sink into her if the way he was holding on to her was any indication. And her impatience had prompted her to release her hair from the rigid hairdo she wore it in to allow them both to bask into the feeling of him threading his fingers through the long strands.

She opened her eyes to find that his were still closed as he was enjoying the contact, the blissful expression on his face pulling her lips into a smile before she leaned in to kiss his neck. She pressed her whole palm against his length and rubbed it torturously slowly, keeping him in place with her other hand on his neck so that it was her who controlled the pace. All he could do was hold on to her waist and sigh and moan quietly as she moved her hand just barely and covered his neck in kisses.

She moved down his chest where she allowed herself to bite and mark him since no one but him and her would see because he was only hers and she was the only one who knew all of him. And she was the only one who knew the way his breathing quickened and his muscles relaxed under her lips as she kissed all the tension of the day away, tension that she knew too well herself.

His hand fell out of her hair–allowing her more freedom of movement–and to her shoulder as her actions remained the only thing on his mind, chasing away everything that was making his muscles stiff and tense. There was no fight left in him, only surrender to her caresses now that he was safely tucked away in her embrace. And he could be as soft as he wanted, as soft as she made him.

She kissed her way down his torso, feeling him melting into her more and more every time her lips met his skin, reacting naturally to her love and making her feel like a living, breathing woman and not just a porcelain soulless doll with a smile painted on her face to stay there forever. Her hand was squeezing his length slightly, feeling him throb in anticipation and want, while the other was traveling down his back as she raked her nails over his skin to peel away the stiffness and drag him into the world of her being where it was just the two of them surrounded by the flames of her desire that burned everything else away. She felt every little ripple of movement in his muscles as she made her way lower and lower until she was on her knees in front of him and her access to his skin was being obstructed by his underwear.

She let go of his length, sensing the disappointment he exhaled, and didn’t wait to get her fingers under the waistband of his underwear, letting her nails scrape against his lower abdomen which had him gasp and fill his lungs with air right on her whim. She pulled down the fabric, letting it drop around his ankles, but her hands were instantly on his thighs, trapping him in place and not allowing him to step out of his underwear. He didn’t need to. All he needed to do was be hers. Stop thinking, give up control and sink into her feelings for him.

She dipped even lower and kissed his inner thigh, above his knee, and moved upwards, barely taking her lips off his skin as she did so, letting her teeth graze at the sensitive flesh occasionally. She controlled her pace closely and kept it slow while his breathing turned shallower and more rapid. He was losing his control over himself and she wasn’t going to stop until she got him to cross over and join her on the side of wildness.

She kissed her way to the top of his thigh before pulling away for a moment and leaning in to place a kiss right next to the base of his penis. The quiet moan tangled in the air that left him had her smile against his skin before she moved to his other thigh to repeat the whole process. She’d get his voice out to caress her when his eyes couldn’t stay open for his gaze to do so. They were still on her now, though, giving her the opportunity to pass her desire into him.

She licked the underside of his erection, dragging her tongue from the base to the tip as she made sure his eyes were looking directly into hers, into the depths of her soul where all her want was gathered and his gaze was enough to set it off and she took him into her mouth, his lips parting to let out a groan.

She felt the arousal dripping from her as the wetness of her mouth engulfed him and his voice couldn't resist the pull of her heat. She moved her lips up and down his length, alternating slow and fast, letting her tongue caress his skin and make him throb as his harsh breaths filled her ears, calling to the wild passion inside her, and his hands grabbed on to her shoulders to ground him in her world where her desire was the only force of nature he had to worship. She should have probably gotten him to sit to let him relax fully but it thrilled her to see him like that – towering over her as she was on her knees pleasuring him, and yet, completely in her mercy. He was hers and her muscles tensed as if she was a predator waiting to strike and drag him to her lair to feast on him. And he held on to her and moaned in satisfaction even when she was like that – hungry and untamed. She didn’t have to be pure and innocent, and proper. She could be the fiery beast she was in her essence and he would only pull her closer and beg for her touch, looking entranced by her flames.

“Marion, please,” Oritel whimpered, his hand sliding off her shoulder and pulling the strap of her nightgown with it as his control was slipping through his fingers. His hips were bucking slightly and he would come in her mouth if she didn’t stop.

The thought was tempting but she wanted him inside her so she granted his plea, placing one last kiss on the head of his penis before pulling away. She still dragged a hand up his leg, touching as much skin as she could as she got up, giving him only so much of a chance to gather himself.

He pulled her into a kiss, not trying to lead, his lips just barely brushing hers as he held on to her, breathing her in. As if he was trying to fill himself up with the amounts of passion pouring out of her and she kept still, allowing him to soak up as much as he wanted.

His hand found the strap of her nightgown that was still in place and slid it off her shoulder as well. He made sure to hold on to the garment, though, so that it wouldn't just fall off her body and would give him the opportunity to feel her up as he dragged the fabric down slowly.

She felt his palms brushing against the sides of her breasts and then over her abdomen as he was pulling the nightgown off of her. She’d considered not putting it on at all since it would just get in the way but the thought of him undressing her had been too good. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have somebody putting clothes on you–or taking them off–since she’d gotten rid of the maids long ago and just used her magic for tasks she couldn't accomplish on her own. It made for much less of a fuss and was more effective while also deviating from what was the proper way things had to be done and allowing her to be alone for a little longer, not wearing the mask that was the first thing she needed to put on when there were other people around. She’d missed Oritel’s touch, though, as he was the one that made the mask crumble and the memories of it turn into ashes.

The nightgown dropped at her feet, dragging the thoughts out of her mind with it as well, when he let go of it, his hands on her waist and his eyes taking in the inches of exposed skin as she stood in front of him naked and natural. And he looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world even when her breathing was loud like a storm and her movements were fervent like a wildfire swallowing a forest. He could make her weep with all the love his gaze wrapped her in, knowing that that was the one thing she would never use her claws to tear apart.

He pulled her closer again, pressing against her fully and making her gasp at the tenderness of his skin on hers, tenderness she’d thought she’d never feel as she’d had to cover herself in dragon scales to withstand the attacks coming their way. And he pulled her into a kiss, unafraid that she could breathe out fire because she was so full of love for him that it was spilling out of her in the air as she exhaled into his lungs but those were flames that wouldn't burn him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed, walking him towards the bed. She didn’t need to look to get him where he would melt into her and repeat her name consumed by pleasure that would stain the sound and make it sacred to both of them and offensive to the rest of the world that demanded all of her life from her.

She broke the kiss and pushed him on the bed, watching him let himself fall back with complete trust in her actions. She crawled on top of him, the golden chains her heart had been born into melting under the awe in his gaze as she conquered him, not like a queen, but like a force of nature nothing could stand up to. She could be graceful or clumsy, rough or tender, pleading or having no mercy, and he would still love her. Because she was the queen of his heart and that was a crown that gave her freedom instead of forcing her to pretend.

Marion found his erection and guided it inside her, and it slid in so easily as she was all ready for him. He could take all of her and she wanted to give it when she knew it would be accepted and cherished.

Oritel sat up so that he could kiss at her skin and touch all of her. His hands slid over her thighs to caress them and not to intervene with the pace she’d set and he leaned in to let his lips pay attention to her breasts. The kisses and licks were occasionally interrupted by a moan or a gasp to accompany her own, and his hands moved to touch the skin his mouth couldn't reach. He never touched her clit, though, letting her control both his and her pleasure and that only made her want him more, the desire gripping at her muscles and making them tense.

Oritel’s hands made their way up her back and into her hair, gently closing into fists in it as his ragged breaths remained the only thing caressing her skin while his penis throbbed inside her and he came, the sounds spilling from his lips like a tidal wave crashing into her. It only fed her flames as his pleasure coated her being, luring the desire inside her out.

She gave him a minute to recover as she slowed down and kissed his shoulder, nipping slightly at the skin once or twice. She slid a hand down his arm when his own lips started moving over the skin of her throat and pulled it out of her hair, guiding it between her legs, admitting her need loudly.

He got the message and obeyed quickly, leaning backwards a little, his eyes on her and watching closely to help her along in her search of pleasure, not to judge her. His fingers moved over her clit, driving her crazy as she bounced on top of him and he drank in the sight of the pleasure building inside her and just waiting to come out and take her down as he pushed her over the edge. And the anticipation she could feel in him coupled with the encouraging and seductive touch of his hand over her back and settling on her hip made her thighs quiver.

“Oritel,” she cried out as the ecstasy reached its peak and started spilling out of her, making her shake uncontrollably, Oritel’s arm wrapping around her waist as he fed the pleasure running wild through her. And when she fell on top of his chest, he swallowed her in his embrace, shielding her and her inner flames from the reality of the outside world that threatened to rain in on them.

#winx club #winx marion #winx oritel #marion x oritel #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #smut #creatures of fire and crowns

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inspired-by-the-music · 5 years ago

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Chapter 19: A New Beginning

Kyuhyun’s POV

Without her sitting across from me, the restaurant wasn’t the same place. It was darker now, colder. I think I knew it wasn’t the restaurant that changed; it was me, and it was the entire world that would be forever changed by this experience of falling in love with her. It was me, and it was the entire world that would forever drown in rain for having let her go.

When will it comfort me, I wondered, the knowledge that I did what was right? Of course, it wasn’t the first time I suffered for doing what had to be done, and I hadn’t expected to be healed overnight, but this— when will it end? Does it end only when I stop loving her?

I frowned at the thought. Then it will never end.

Having expected that the figure standing at my table was the waitress returning with my meal, my heart simultaneously sank and soared at the sight of Ae-Young. I stared, disbelieving, as if she were a figment of a dream.

No, I hadn’t expected to see her so soon after the end, and I certainly hadn’t expected that she would be so angry at me. Hearing her summarize our story, it didn’t seem quite as long as it felt. Something was missing; I realized, she was excluding all of those moments in between the beginning and the end— the moments I couldn’t quite recall because they were infinity expressed in time, the moments that made me fall in love.

Why should she be angry, I wondered, when I broke myself to set her free?

I listened intently to her monologue, hoping to hear something that would help me understand, but nothing did. Not even her declaration of love pulled the pieces together in my mind.

She loved me? Since when? When was the moment she fell? She has loved me her entire life? This should have made me happy, right? So why did I sink? She called her love for me obvious, and I opened my mouth to argue that my surprise was not an act—

But when I looked back on every moment we shared, she must have loved me. She must have been in love with me. So how could I have missed it? How could I have been so inconsiderate of her feelings?

There I had been mourning my own broken heart, unaware that I had been hurting her for years. I wanted to apologize, but before I could, she disappeared, and I stared after her, disbelieving still.

I must have gone deaf to the elderly customers’ urgings for me to follow her. It was impossible to hear over the thundering of my heart which echoed even in the sky. Petrified, I sat on the edge of my seat.

Her ring still sat on that far corner of the table, a permanent fixture on her hand until today. I reached for it and held it in my palm for the first time since the day I bought it. This symbol— it was unchanged to the eye— so why was it so heavy in my hand?

No, my throat tightened as I traced over the diamond, I never would have asked for this back. Even if it had crossed my mind when trying to end the engagement, it was hers the moment I saw it. And she will never wear it again.

That was the realization that sent me chasing after her into the mist. I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t justify having hurt her, even if it had been a misunderstanding, an honest attempt to do what was right. Had I known— had she told me that she was. . . Had I believed for a moment that her heart beat for me, I never would have let her go. Even if that had been the right thing— if I knew the right thing would hurt her, I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.

She sat hugging herself on the small bench just outside the restaurant. It wasn’t until I stepped closer that I realized the water streaking down her face wasn’t the rain— it was her tears.

Faced with the sight of her jaw clenched— the sight of her learning to become her own strength as her heart broke further— I couldn’t delay another moment. I dropped to my knees in front of her, of course splashing into a puddle, and took her face into my hands.

She drew a surprised breath, but I wouldn’t let her look away. “Do you not know?”

She shook her head, and dimples etched into her chin to warn that she was on the brink of heavier tears.

I admitted aloud what I thought was evident. “I love you— and not just in the way I always have. I never could have let go of the dream of forever with you if I didn’t believe you wanted and needed me to.”

Her eyebrows knit together, and she frowned. “You thought I wanted you to go?”

It seemed foolish now that our feelings were expressed, but I nodded. “You have to understand: I can’t imagine what would make you want me. You can charm the entire world, so why would I think that you wanted to settle with a weird lawyer who lives life on the same dull compulsive schedule?”

Her thoughts were stirred by the word ‘weird.’ “Where’s your umbrella?” She pressed her lips into a pout.

At that, I realized I left it in the restaurant, but I didn’t care enough to tell her. I wouldn’t leave her side to retrieve a silly umbrella. Unable to restrain my thoughts any longer, I confessed, “Even when I thought you needed me to let go, it was too hard. I woke up today unsure of the date, so I went to work only to learn it’s Saturday, and I came here for coffee because that’s what you always order, and I was coming to accept that it would rain every day without you when you stood at my table.”

Trembling, but probably not because of the cold, she swore, “I didn’t need you to go, and I definitely didn’t want it either. I love you—”

I couldn’t help but smile at the declaration, and I wanted to answer I love you too immediately, but I wouldn’t interrupt her again.

“ — I like you and your schedule, and I like that you carry your umbrella even when its sunny, and how you always do the right thing, and how you don’t get frustrated with me—”

What is there to be frustrated with? You’re perfect, precious, undeserving of criticism.

“ — and how you don’t lash out against Heechul even when he deserves it, and my father—” she grinned at the thought of her father. “He was right to choose you because there’s nobody else.” And then, with a radiant smile, she promised, “There’s nobody else, Kyuhyun.”

It was as if the pain I inflicted on both of us never existed. I could only beam at her as I asked, “So it was real for you, too?”

“It is real.” Her smile didn’t falter while sobs shook her body as she told me, “All this time, I doubted whether you—”

Her voice broke, but the words didn’t need to be spoken. I understood, and I wiped her tears. “It’s okay now,” I vowed and pressed my lips against her forehead. “I know it was painful, and I’m sorry, but think of it this way: now you can remember all this time we spent together, and the memories will seem new because now you know that I loved you the whole time— every minute of every day.”

She laughed through her tears. “The whole time?”

“The whole time,” I promised, nodding and beaming at her laughter. Then, slowly I explained as I fished her ring out of my pocket, “I didn’t break off our engagement because I didn’t want to marry you. Everything I said to your father about your maturity— I said it only so he would believe I was serious about ending things for your sake.”

“I know,” she said. “I understand now.”

“I don’t think your father expects that I will ever mention you to him again, so this time, the answer is yours. And if you say no—”

It wasn’t until an old man who sounded suspiciously like Heechul yelled, “Just ask her already!” that I realized the staff and customers from the restaurant had followed me outside.

Not because of the order from that man, not because her father asked me, but because I loved her, I held the ring out to her and asked, “Will you marry me, please?”

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ragdollrory · 6 years ago

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Smoothed by water

It was not Azula’s usual place, to be standing on the room’s side, doing her best to blend in with the background, and avoid stares. At least it hadn’t been, before. Now, with a lot of people still unsure of whether or not she should be free- with her own doubts about it- and particularly now, at the south, she was better off avoiding those who probably wanted her anywhere but in their land.

She was aware of the imposition she was to her brother, having come to this trip with him, because her fire could be blocked by lovely platinum cuffs at her wrists, but her title was very much intact. Azula was still the nation’s Princess, and as such, protocol asked she be here tonight, about to dine with the tribe’s Chief and his son, in the man’s own home. Agni had been merciful enough though, to spare her from having to share the evening with the waterbender as well. Now that would’ve ended poorly, most likely than not.

“Most of them are from hunting trips.” Chief Hakoda's voice startled Azula from her inspection of a bookcase, and the many things crammed in there. It was mostly scrolls and books, but there were also a lot of small trinkets she couldn’t tell what they stood for, although they looked important, traditional. She figured that was what the man was referring to.

“Others are gifts from other nations and towns. This one-” He picked up a small gold piece she was familiar with, running a thumb over its smooth surface. “This one was from your brother.” Azula nodded, but didn’t dare open her mouth to respond, as the man stood next to her. He was tall, broad, and his eyes were intimidating, so hers moved back to the bookcase.

“You can pick any of them up.” Hakoda offered, and his deep voice sounded gentle enough. Her hands pushed deeper into her coat’s pockets, lest she took it upon his offer and touched anything. She was unwanted guest after all.

Azula felt his presence still by her side. His eyes were on her, and shifted on her feet, unsure on what to do. This had not been her first choice, by any means. If it were by her wishes, then she’d be in her room with a book, and Zuko would be here alone. But he’d been having many long trips as of late, and the palace was growing emptier each time her brother left. Its walls tall and overwhelming, and the darkness lurking behind the heavy curtains unbearable. She’d barely managed to sleep at all, last time he left to one of the temples.

“This one's from the northern tribe.” The Chief’s voice cut through the silence once more, and this time she turned to look up at him.

“Why are you talking to me?” Azula’s voice was low, cautious, but tinged with curiosity. “If this is about protocol, then it’s okay, I don’t mind about it. You can go with them-” Her eyes moved to the opposite end of the room where Zuko and the Councilman were entertained with some papers on a table. “I’ll be fine.”

For a moment, the man seemed to be considering her words, evaluating her seriousness maybe, the tension in her jaw, and the way she couldn’t stop blinking under his blue gaze. And then he smiled, and Azula frowned, not bothering in hiding her confusion anymore.

“I don’t want your pity either.” She hurried to clarify, nails digging on her palms within the coat, shoulders tense. Hakoda’s eyes dropped briefly with a breathy chuckle, and when he looked up, there was a softness in them she’d not anticipated. It was alien, and disarming, and she looked back to the bookcase.

“You know, Katara used to look at me like that a lot when she was little. Confused, sulking. Way before I left to fight-” And still the man kept on talking, it seemed he’d gotten sentimental now. Azula looked at him on the side, unsure of what to do with being compared with his daughter, surely the girl wouldn’t like it. But this was his home, so there was not much she could do about it. “She’d ask questions I couldn’t answer, things that weren’t for a kid to know, and she’d hate it when I changed the conversation on her.”

“You’re doing it now.” Azula stated, flatly. “And I’m not a child.” Even if she sounded a bit like one right now.

“No, you’re not, you’re right. Twenty-four makes you very much an adult in any nation, Princess.” She thought kindness sounded in his voice, making her lips tighten into a fine line. “But I’m sure my answer would still not be all that pleasant for you. Although I can say it’s not pity, and it’s definitely not protocol either.”

She nodded once more, having nothing much to add to his vague answer. Her eyes moved to a decorated arrowhead. “What about this one?” She asked, voice small, hesitant, and thought she saw him smile.

“That one is something Sokka brought home one day, found it in the snow. He added the symbols himself, said one day it would be a family relic.”

“That is old water tribe language. I’m not sure I know them all though.” Azula analyzed the inscriptions for a moment, cocking her head to the side to catch a spiralled one she didn’t recognize.

Hakoda laughed softly. “Some. Others are just invented by him, I think he was maybe four when he designed them, let me see…” A finger went on pointing to the different figures. “This one is Tui, and here is La.

“Then there’s the wolf, and the seal, this one I can’t remember what he said it was. Oh, here- this little one is water, and this is the sun. Agni to you.” He finished with a smile to her, and Azula found herself answering to it with a twitch at the corner of her lips.

“I imagine you know the old Fire Nation’s language, yes?” Hakoda asked, hands working through a mess of scrolls piled in no apparent order, at the bottomost shelf. He came back up with a very old looking one, a faded red thread kept it closed. “This- was brought to the tribe many years ago, and it has been in the power of every tribe Chief ever since. The issue is, no-one knows how to read it.” He handed it over, an encouraging nod for her to take it.

Azula was careful to pull the knot, and roll it out, eyes scanning the old writing, and a full smile finally breaking through her face. She laughed before she was able to stop it, and could see Zuko’s head perking up in attention from the corner of her eye. Looking back up, she found the Chief’s expectant face.

“This is a recipe.” She handed the parchment over, shaking her head in amusement. His heavy brows knitted together over the writing, surprise evident in his expression. “It seems some Chieftess asked for the current Fire Lady’s fruit tarts recipe. I’m sorry it’s not some ancient secret, but those are actually very good, I’m sure you’ve had them when you visited the palace.”

Hakoda seemed completely bewildered, as if he’d been lied to about the existence of snow, or the moon, and then warm laughter poured from his lips, and he wiped a few tears from the corner of his eyes. Azula found she didn’t mind talking to him that much after all.

“I can’t believe it, all these years and it was a fruit tart.” The scroll was left forgotten on a random shelf. She shrugged, a smile still playing on her lips at the absurdity of it all. At how nice it had felt to make him laugh.

“What about this one?” Azula pointed to a small stone carved to imitate a leaf.

“That one is from the Swamp people. They use the water to shape the stone, much like nature does.”

“It’s beautiful.” Azula traced the leaf’s nerve before she realised her hand moving, and was quick to remove it.

“It is. You can take it.” He said, as if it were nothing, as if she wasn’t who she was. And when she turned to him once again, his eyes were so damned blue and sad, sitting on her hesitant hand.

And she couldn’t ask, because now she understood why he told her that about his daughter’s questions. Because the way he was looking at her was much like the way Zuko did, and she could barely handle her brother’s answers as it was.

And before she could retreat to the coat, he took the leaf and put it on her hand, and Azula just stood there, petrified, with her hand between the Chief’s.

“It smells like the food is almost done.” He gave her hand a little squeeze before releasing it with a reassuring smile. “You can keep the coat on, okay? It’s always a bit chilly for you firebenders here.”

“Thank you.” It was all she could manage, and even then, the last word left her lips broken. He only shook his head, as if nothing where the matter, as if this were a common occurrence for him. And just like that he left to check on the food he’d been preparing.

After what felt like forever, Azula could tear her eyes from the stone leaf, and put it in her pocket to go sit down next to Zuko.

“Everything alright?” He turned to her offering a glass of something, his voice was low, but his concern terribly loud. She felt like crying for the second time in just a minute.

“Yeah, I just-” She glanced over to the fire. I just met a father, were what her lips refused to form. That she’d seen a tiny glimpse of what she’d never had, and now wanted to go drown herself in alcohol, and self-pity, and the cold sea. “Yes.” She repeated, managing a smile to quiet down Zuko’s worried eyes. “The Chief gave me a present, that’s all.”

“That sounds nice of him.” Her brother commented with an all too knowing smile, leaning to brush lips on her forehead. Azula nodded, fingers playing with the rock through the fabric of the coat. Dinner sounded a little bit better now.

#azula #atla #azulaweek2019 #azula week 2019 #post canon azula

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icarus-imagines · 6 years ago

Text

Draco Malfoy X Male!Reader

Word Count: 1,904

Category: Harry Potter

~Scars~

"It's pretty."

"W-what?"

A smile makes its way to your (Pale/Tan/White/etc) face as you scoot closer, both your legs, under the black satin blankets covering you both, touching. The thick sheet acting as a protective barrier though it is nothing but mere fabric laid upon your bodies.

"It's pretty," you repeat staring down at his arm that had its black sleeve rolled up to his elbow.

Your fingers dancing along his left forearm that held the Dark Mark. A tattoo displaying that of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. A sign of/from the one and only Lord Voldemort that was given to only his loyal circle of Death Eaters.

"How could something like this ever be considered pretty?" he asked, confusion clouding his mind. He wondered what made you think such a thing.

"I guess...," you started, raising your (E/c) eyes to gaze into his own gray eyes, that you knew even though they were a sort of a dull color, hid thousands of emotions waiting to break through the seams and be unleashed. "It's simply the color."

He tilted his head, making his cute white blonde hair fall in front of his eyes a bit, possibly obscuring his sight of vision. "The color? I see nothing special about the color black. Does everyone else not have the same color?"

"It's not that simple," you quietly giggle at his reluctance to accept the fact this horrid symbol was anything but a constant reminder of his wrongdoings and previous failures.

Taking your right hand you began to lightly trace the black lines sharply etched into his skin. Skin that was almost impossibly pale. Like black against white. Pencil against a blank paper. You found that beautiful. His skin made something so cruel a wonderful work of art.

You watched carefully as his body shivered from your light caresses upon his skin. Giggling you brought his palm to cup your cheek. Nuzzling it affectionately with your eyes closed in pure bliss.

Being with him brought out your cuddly side. Behind closed doors, Draco was the same way. How you loved unexpected kisses on your forehead when walking down rarely used hallways. Holding hands under the desks when sitting together during class.

Despite the fact your relationship was hush, even from both of your parents, you didn't resent him one bit for not wanting to be open about it. In reality, you were grateful. Grateful that you didn't have to flaunt your loyalty in front of others. You didn't have to prove day in and day out that you were worthy of the silent Slytherin Prince known as Draco Malfoy. Because deep down you knew that Draco didn't care about who you appeared to be in front of peers. He ignored whatever bloodline you held and whatever Hogwarts house you presented. Even what gender you possessed.

All he cared about was you.

Snapping back to reality from your deep thoughts you remembered you were in the Room of Requirement, cuddling with your beloved boyfriend.

Slowly opening your eyes you blushed noticing Draco had been staring at you the whole time with a whimsical expression. Embarrassed you cuddled his arm, holding it a bit tighter so his hand cupped your cheek so you could rest it in his palm as he brought himself closer to you, wrapping his right arm around your waist.

"You're quite adorable," he said absentmindedly, burying his face in your soft (H/c) locks.

This made your mind go suddenly crazy with questions about your secret relationship. The most important of these making your brain pound painfully.

Why had he chosen you?

You had yet to discover the single reason why he had started to pursue a romantic, maybe even a sexual, relationship with you. Not only that fact but the fact you are a boy. A male. Out of all the beautiful girls and handsome boys residing at this magical school he had chosen you. To become your one and only partner.

You pondered this for a few minutes of silence. Gathering courage until you realized you had to voice your question before you popped unexpectedly like a balloon at a birthday party. So that's exactly what you did.

"Draco..," you started, softly massaging the skin that contained the dark tattoo slowly.

"Yes?"

You took a few calming breaths before talking once more. "Why...Why did you choose me?"

Your question must have caught him completely by surprise, evident in the way he hugged you closer and lead you to lie on the bed with him. You listened to his soft breathing until he finally explained his reasoning behind his precise actions.

"I don't know," he said simply. This made your heart start to crack ever so slowly from the nonchalant response, but it was quickly mended with his next choice of words that explained his reason. "Though it is cliche, I must say you're different."

"Different?" You ask tangling your legs with his, wondering what he could mean. "How so?"

He hummed, making you giggle for the third time that night, as you felt him vibrate in your own body. "The others that attend this school, not many acts like you do," he began saying, thinking deeply about the complex question. He hoped not to displease you and make you disappointed. "You are like a little ball of sunshine, really you are. Not at all sullen and saddened by the events these past few years have brought upon all of us. You manage to keep a bright smile on your handsome face even in the darkest of times. This may have been one of the many reasons I began to dangerously fall in love with you. This is also the first reason why I had ever begun to truly notice you. To notice you as something more than just another Hogwarts student not worthy of my time."

Your bright (E/c) eyes began to prickle with tiny gleaming tears at his heartfelt speech. You hadn't realized just how much you meant to him. How much he truly cared about you. How naive of you to think you were unimportant to him. You opened your mouth to speak up on your own thoughts, but he beat you to it.

"Another would be you simply do not care," he said, but quickly fixed himself realizing that he must have made it sound like you didn't care for him. "Not that you don't care for me-I mean you do-It's's just..."

You quickly shushed him for a second with your left pointer finger placed lightly on his lips, before he became a blushing mess. "Go slow, no need to rush Draco," you soothed lovingly.

He simply nodded at your kind gesture, taking a calming breath before starting again, this time not as flustered.

"You...you do not care about who I am. That I am the Malfoy heir, a long line of Purebloods. You push aside the fact that at times I can be rude, callous, and worst of all quite hurtful when I want to be," he said, his eyes moving to look at his arm which was still being held on by you. "The most important of these is you...You didn't laugh at me or anything of the like."

"Laugh at you," you asked curiously confused. "Why would I ever laugh at you?"

His eyes cast downward a bit till he looked back up at you, bringing you close so he could rest his face in the crook of your left neck. He breathed in your dazzling and oh so alluring natural scent along with the scent of your Hogwarts house (H/h) that somehow seemed to always calm him.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes just simply enjoying each others company in a world that was quickly crumbling down to the ground. He hums again, the feeling from his vocal cords soothing you as he pressed every closer to your soft chest. Then he finally began to speak:

"For who I am," he said talking slower than usual. "When I confessed to you I showed a side that if I told my Father I know I would be disowned. But you...you not only accepted this part of me you felt the same way."

You held him tight understanding what he was trying to say. The fact he was gay. The fact he put his whole reputation on the line to confess his love to you. Knowing that it could crash down on him if you confessed. Surely you would have told people that the Draco Malfoy confessed to you. But instead, you didn't. You accepted his love with a heart full of joy and hope.

He did the same and for the first time since meeting this lonely boy saw him genuinely smile after you also confessed.

A smile grew on your face fingers soothing still running over his tattoo. He pulled away a bit so he was able to look you in the eyes, but still very close. Glancing at your hand over his tattoo he looked up at you his face grew puzzled.

"Why do you always do that," he asked.

"This?" you said gesturing to massaging his mark. He nodded making you hum like he did. "Well, you call it a scar. And it reminds me of when my mother would massage my own in comfort. Telling the stories behind her own. I guess it just grew on me."

He nodded a smile on the edge of his lips now knowing you did so because you felt it helped him.

"We all have scars," you murmured laying you both back down on the soft bed as he curled against you with his head back in the crook of your neck. "Some you can see and some that are hidden deep down inside of a person. I can't start to imagine what kind lay inside of you Draco, but as a start, I will soothe the ones on your body until you realize it's okay to make mistakes and have things to remind us of them. For I love you no matter what you've done in the past and what you may do in the future. Just know that I love you and will always continue to love you."

"I love you too, (Y/n)" he whispered kissing your collarbone as softly as he could manage.

It was at that moment you realized scars were not something to ashamed of. They told the secret stories of a person's life. The hardships they have gone through, which they had obviously conquered and gotten past.

You knew he may never be able to accept the tattoo forever displayed on his arm, but with time he would accept the fact it was there. And it would forever stay imprinted upon his delicate pale white skin as a reminder of his past decisions.

Draco was just lucky you were always there to show him scars were blessings in disguise. For they reminded you of things you had gotten past. And every day until the day both of you died, due to old age and the curse of nonstop time, you constantly worshipped his fragile body that was littered full of scars.

~The End~

#oneshot #imagine #drabble #x reader #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco malfoy x reader #drack malfoy x male reader #male reader #death eaters #dark mark

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