#he hides so many scars beneath his fluff and beneath his sparkling eyes....

[rfaromance]

A Warrior Cat Saeyoung in this trying time.

#submission #LOOK AT THIS FLUFFY BABY #with bright golden eyes and a glasses ring... or i guess a monocle now kjsjf #he hides so many scars beneath his fluff and beneath his sparkling eyes.... #but BIG STRETCHY #my wuv #saeyoung choi #luciel choi #707 #thank you for sending!

[littlefreya]

Bark at the Moon

Summary: Walter always comes to you when he needs a hard release. Tonight he seems to need it more than ever.

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Female Reader 

Word count: 2K (WTF it was supposed to be a drabble)

Warnings: 18+, sex, lycanthropy, supernatural themes, no strings attached, vaginal fingering, oral performed on female, primal play (slight biting and scratching), cockwarming, slight denial, angst, fluff and romance.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

A/N: Not me naming my AUs after Ozzy Osbourne songs/albums. Following my post from October I am trying to follow up. This one-shot is also inspired by A Company of Wolves and @fishcustardandclintbarton​ moodboard. Many thanks to my beta and muse and dear friend @agniavateira​ for all the help. 

Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed 🖤

Title: Bark at the Moon

Muddy Timberlands dragged across the worn doormat as the large detective sought to rid himself of the dirt caking his soles. Black and soft, the dark mane of curls hung loosely above his forehead, a pale blue sheen cascading over each ringlet that concealed his face while he kicked his feet like an unruly child.

An instinct within pressed you to reach a wandering hand and entwine your fingers between those healthy locks. But ironically, touching Walter screamed ‘taboo,’ as if he wasn't going to finish wet and messy inside you anyway. 

Otherwise, he wouldn't have been here. 

"Rough evening?" you murmured, taking a long whiff of air. Traces of coffee drifted from his breath, mingling with the brisk November chill that wafted over your face.  

It's not that you didn't enjoy his company; it's just that Walter left you with nothing but bitemarks, bruises, and dirty sheets. A foreigner to this country even after all these years, Walter was much like the salty rocks from the islands that bred him: hardened and crude, yet smooth at the edge where the water licked the stone. Some evenings he wouldn't even speak; the moment his boots made it past the doorway, all civilised manners flew out the window, luring the beast to wander. Shredding your outfit, he’d fuck you to tears, shaking you the way a canine carnivore stuns its prey and then unload himself into you until you ached and begged him to stop.

Once stripped off his uniform, the sullen cop was no different than the deviants he shoved behind iron bars. Little did it matter, you loved him enough for the two of you, and though you knew you were a toy to pass the time, he always crawled back to you with that deprived agonised sparkle staining his gaze. 

After what seemed like an endless battle between his shoes and the bristly rug, he finally paused and slowly lifted his chin. Marine-blue irises peered below thick brows, and a red rim of weariness perfected his customary scowl. 

"Yeah," he drawled with indifference, "got any beer?"  

Observing him for a moment, you studied the sharp ridges of his furrowed brow and nodded, turning to let him in. Despite his heavy frame, he followed with lithe stillness, stepping into your house without making a sound while you advanced to the kitchen. 

Whatever happened tonight must have left another dent in the coarse material that made this man. You often mused on the things he must have seen and found out it’s better not to ask. 

You reached for the fridge when his arm wrapped around your waist by surprise and snatched you back, hauling you flushed against his broad chest. Briefly, he nuzzled your nape, his parted lips huffing hot against your skin. His breath carried the pained melody of a sad longing animal, an ache so great it seeped through the pores of your skin and infected you with his grief. 

You weren’t afraid of the beast but felt sorry for it.

“I need to feel you,” Walter rasped, a timbre of plea in his baritone. Palm swiping greedily at your breast and his cock hard and hungry, he ground his hips at the cleft of your ass. Like the black, shaggy dog that he was, he sniffed the air and then rubbed himself further against your jeans, seducing the wanton animal within you to come out of its hiding. 

“You want me too, I can smell it, I can smell your cunt.” 

Where was the lie?

With a guttural growl, he turned you to face him, skilful hands already making tatters of your clothes and his fangs nipping your throat. Caged in his grasp, you hissed and shuddered out of fear and lust. A part of you was always frightened that one night Walter will pierce an artery by mistake at the heat of the moment whilst another, more archaic urge, called for the sweet passion that was your Thanatos.

Succumbing to both urges, you forced his cable-knit sweater off, exposing his muscular, beefy torso and splaying your hands down his flexing pecs to feel the soft, dark fur that covered his chest and belly. Everything about Walter was large and charged with virility, twisting your moral compass and making any argument weak in his presence. Staring at the bulge in his trousers, you gnawed your bottom lip, giving to the pang of hunger that shot through your clenching core while your wicked fingers began to fumble with the clasp of his belt. 

With a low roar rumbling in his chest, he scrutinised you as if this was a trial, his eyes flashing, anticipating you to reach and grab his large cock. 

“Fuck…” his sonorous voice caressed your ears. He quickly slid his hand down your trousers, grabbing a handful of your ass before gliding his fingers to feel between your engorged petals. 

A tempest of moans unfurled from your clenching throats once you squeezed his shaft in your palm, choking around the veins adorning the meaty girth.

“You are always so wet for me, always so ready,” he uttered and licked your cheek. 

“Walter, please!” 

At your plea, his fingers slipped deep inside your burning cavern. Back and forth, he probed your little slit, spreading thick wetness across your mound and further up your virginal ass to taunt you. 

Before you met Walter you vowed that you’ll never be into that kind of debauchery. But whenever the bulbous crown of his cock accidentally teased your puckered hole, the only thing you could muster to think of was how much you wanted him to fill every empty inch within you.  

Long, nimble fingers dug deep, parting your sealed walls asunder in an endeavour to find the small heap of pleasure that regressed you to savagery. You were nothing but an instrument of pleasure, gyrating to the melody he composed by the rhythm of his thrusts, following every note. He made you shudder, made the earth below split in half and all the while, he held back and watched. A sick mist of curiosity hovered over the frigid ocean that was his glance, mindful of how logic and reason drained from your face, leaving you utterly incoherent and primal. 

Just as he was.

He crooned at your whimpers and nodded at the desperation dripping from your gaze. Hips swaying, you wriggled against his hand in a frustrated attempt to reach for the tendrils of ecstasy that loomed inches from your grasp.

“You want to come, love?” he asked, almost patronising. His brow lifted, and his eyes flared with what you could only describe as pity.

“Yes! Please! Please make me come!” 

His fingers tore from your sleek with a sudden haul, leaving you a trembling, outraged mess. Yet you had no time to curse him for denying your pleasure. Moving faster than your thoughts, Walter stripped your trousers and slammed you rear onto the counter. Kneeling between your spread legs, his strong hands gripped your thighs and dragged your cunt into his bearded jaw.

“Fuck!” 

His mouth wrapped around you in a lover’s embrace, his silky tongue plunging between your lips to savour the honeyed nectar that dripped from your tightening core. Thoroughly devouring your cunt, Walter hummed. Raw, unfiltered, and unbound, he laved every inch within as if he was dining at Olympus and feasting on ambrosia for the first time. Arching back, you dared to entangle your fingers in his curls and ride his bristly face until you succumbed to the furious, quaking bliss that spasmed within your womb and consumed you into rapturous euphoria. 

Engulfed in a veil of blissful darkness, you continued wailing, heaving, and slumping on the counter. Puny jitters of aftershock trod upon your throbbing flesh while Walter finished his feast with languid laps of his tongue.

Once you blinked your eyes open, Walter stood straight between your legs, now fully naked, peering at you quietly. His eyes were aglow with all the conundrums he could never speak. Still hazy from your ecstasy, you stared back with awe, drinking each taut bulging muscle and worshipping the feral, beastlike entity that he was. Not even the scars on his body could steal away his unspoken pride. 

Reaching a hand for his imposing cock, he crept closer and glared straight into your soul as he pressed himself into your tight little entrance. A loud groan thundered through your kitchen as he pushed in, erupting into the most melodic war cry which never failed to astound you once he penetrated you. Still clenched from your orgasm, you gritted your teeth and whimpered in pain, not quite ready to have all of him at once. Yet Walter wasn’t keen on stopping and continued delving deeper and deeper, despite your nails tearing fresh new trails of blood down his shoulders.

“Wait!” you pleaded, yelping when he suddenly bottomed out inside you.

An arduous gasp tore from his lips, and his forehead dropped on your shoulder. Stilling inside you, he breathed in the mien of a wild creature, trying to regain his composure for a brief moment as he timed his assault. Fingers etched below your thighs, he pulled you up with ease and carried you through the apartment whilst still buried inside you.

Confused by his actions, you hung your arms around his thick neck and clung to his body, welcoming the soft brush of his hide against your naked breasts. 

Soon, you found yourself on your bed with him seated beneath you while your legs enveloped his wide waist. Nestled between your cinching walls, his cock throbbed full of rage, desperate for the unbridled friction that Walter forbade as he refused to move. Milking every drop of his self-control, he vigorously fought to dominate his desire. 

With his shaft pulsating hot and buried completely within your womb, your previous orgasm felt like a distant dream and a fresh new need soon awoke, begging your body to writhe on top of him and take what you were promised by force. But Walter was in no rush to unmake any part of you just yet. Securing one arm around the small of your back while the other held your jaw, he made you stare directly into his eyes. 

Bare more than ever, he allowed you to glimpse through the cracks that creased his beautiful blue eyes, showing you the pure terror harbouring the heart of darkness that lived within him. 

Perhaps, a part of him desired you to break and cast him away from you, to say ‘nevermore.’

Mercy softened your face instead. 

Enamoured and embroiled with curiosity, you allowed yourself to roam freely, gliding both your eyes and fingertips to descend the delectable plains of his body. Tender and careful, you stroked a soothing touch over the elevated scar tissue the way one pets a wounded creature, your gentle caress painting over the large claw mark that marked him years ago and left him cursed.

Walter followed the movement of your hand. His chest sinking with a low roar, his cock twitched and swelled inside your protesting canal while he remained immobilised and kept himself sheltered in the warmth of your sanctuary.

“Last night,” he finally spoke, his voice soft yet drenched with hesitation while his eyes dropped to stare into nothing for a shy moment. “Last night, when I turned... I… killed someone…” 

Your heart clenched in anguish along with the seams of your cunt. All the hurt that flowed in Walter’s blood now mingled into yours, ascending your body from the spot where you were coupled. 

What you wanted most of all was not to run. No. You desired to suck the poison tainting his veins and swallow it instead, unable to bring yourself to do anything but love him more than you did earlier. 

Spreading your legs further to each side of his hips, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around him. Nails biting into his muscular back you clutched him tightly, making a firm statement of your unwillingness to spite him for his actions. 

Because, even a beast needs to be protected and cared for. 

* Disclaimer: I don’t own Night Hunter/Nomis or Walter Marshall * Dividers by @firefly-graphics​​

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #walter marshall #Werewolf!Henry Cavill #night hunter #walter marshall x reader

[wri0thesley]

Hello Nat! It's me! The same anon who sent the Househusband Risotto asks a few weeks ago. Could I request a fic of Risotto with no.21(a Househusband au) and some pregnancy fluff? Congrats on 5k (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

brand new - risotto x reader

you have something to tell your husband. 

warnings: soft fluff, sfw. afab reader, no pronouns. pregnancy, talk of children, brief allusions to risotto’s past life. 

You’re surprised by just how easily Risotto falls into a domestic life.

You’d thought that his past would haunt him more; the fallen comrades, the Mafia business, the blood on his hands – but he’s surprisingly pragmatic about it, when you hesitantly bring it up.

“It happened,” he says. “I miss them. But I’ve been given a chance that they didn’t get, and I intend to take it.”

It’s more than your stoic, quiet husband usually says at once, and you feel it pierce your heart like an arrow. Your hand brushes over his broad shoulder in as much comfort as you can give him, and Risotto looks at you with the lightest smile on his lips that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the whole universe.

Risotto becomes the house-husband as if he’s been waiting to be able to do it for his whole life.

Oh, he makes some mistakes – some little things, like washing a pair of your red underwear in with some shirts that you wear for work. Planting the wrong kind of seedlings at the wrong time of year – trying to fix the plumbing himself instead of calling a plumber.

You two muddle along, but as a whole Risotto seems to be thriving, and that makes your heart leap in your chest like a prima ballerina.

Your heart thumps double when you come home after a long day of work and he already has dinner simmering on the stove, an apron wrapped around his broad frame – it’s emblazoned with the legend; “Hot Stuff Coming Through (and I don’t mean the food)”. You breathe in the scent of his cooking; something deep and rich.

You come up behind him and wrap your arms about him, resting your cheek on the centre of his back.

His muscle has gone a little soft now that he’s not working out so often or in as many life-or-death situations, but he’s still broad and amazing and perfect for holding onto.

“Smells great,” you say, sighing, kicking off your heels in kitchen to be put away later. Risotto’s eyes stray to them all higgledy-piggledy on the floor, and he frowns;

“Nonna’s recipe,” he says. “Aren’t you going to put those in the shoe rack?”

“I’ve only just gotten home,” you pout at him, but your pout quickly breaks into a smile as you see the exhaustedly fond expression on his face.

Now that he’s not an assassin – now that he doesn’t need to hide everything he’s feeling under the guise of being cool and cold and collected – Risotto’s face seems to move more. He finds it easier to express his emotions. It’s still little things; twitches and furrows, instead of his entire face transforming – but it’s more than before.

He’s comfortable. He’s happy.

You, and him, and the little world that you’ve build all around you two.

You bend over to pick up your heels, opening your mouth to say something over-dramatic about his newfound house pride – but you’re stopped by an ache that shoots down to the centre of your back, a noise of pain escaping you before Risotto can turn lightning quick and wrap a strong arm around you.

“Are you alright?” He’s asking, brow creasing slightly in concern. Panic flares in your stomach – you don’t want to tell him like this.

“Y-yeah,” you laugh it off, straightening up with your shoes in your hand, the other going to massage your back where you can reach. “Guess I was just sat in the wrong position at work for too long, huh?”

Risotto looks sceptical, but he can’t leave his boiling pots for too long. With a searching look at you, he returns to the stove, murmuring low;

“I’ll give you a massage later.”

You smile at his back as you walk towards the shoe rack in the hallway. You know that saying that will have made him blush; despite how long the two of you have been married now, he’s still nervous about things like that. His hands still shake a little when he goes to hold you. He still licks his lips before he kisses you, murmuring in a deep voice;

“Is it really alright?”

You always wind your arms around his neck and pull him in as your way of reassuring him that it’s perfectly fine. It’s hard, you think, for him to accept that he deserves all of this – but you’re eternally glad that the two of you get to share it together.

Little reminders of your shared home and life are scattered all about your home. A picture of you and Risotto at your wedding, framed and hung in the hallway; his suit is a little too tight, because he left it too long and it couldn’t be tailored properly to address the fact that he’s built like a superhero.

A bookshelf that has your romantic novels next to his own gothic horrors; a skull candle that burns red from its eyes as it melts perched on top. Also perched on top is a trinket dish that he made and painted for you at a pottery class he attended to try and get him out of the house whilst you were at work – you use it to dump your keys in.

It’s supposed to be a heart shape, but it’s more of a very uneven kidney.

The carpet you two had chosen together; you’d wanted something cheaper, but Risotto had insisted you could afford this one – he’d been right, and it’s soft beneath your stockinged feet.

You love him so much.

Your hand cups your stomach protectively now that you’re out of Risotto’s sight. You think of the tiny life inside of you; half Risotto, half you, already loved more than they’ll ever know even without Risotto knowing that it’s there. You can’t wait to tell him.

His hands are gentle on your shoulders, big and warm and softer than they once were. They’re still a little calloused from the garden work he enjoys doing, but he no longer handles weapons and you buy him sandalwood-scented hand cream instead.

They feel so good as they slide down your shoulder blades, brushing the notches of your spine, soothing circles pressed into your skin with his thumb. You sigh, relaxing into him. The feel of the palm flat against the small of your back – where the ache is the most pronounced – makes you relax even further into him, toes curling, a sigh escaping your mouth of relief.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks you, his voice measured. Your eyes flicker open from where they’ve closed in comfort.

“W-what’s wrong?” You ask him, nervously, and Risotto makes an ‘mm’ noise in the back of his throat. His hands do not stop the massage as he goes.

“You’ve been out of it for days,” he tells you.

(He’s right. You’ve been out of it since Monday, and it’s now Thursday; Monday is the day you’d woken up with your stomach heaving, remembered how long it had been since your last period, and bought a pregnancy test on your way to work. You’ve done three more since then, and all of them have showed the exact same result.)

“Have I?”

His hands move to your shoulders, gently twisting you around.

“You have,” he says, his red-and-dark eyes fixed firmly on you. “If there’s something wrong, I’d like to fix it.”

“It’s nothing you’ve done!” You say, all in a rush, but Risotto has successfully caught you nonetheless; his eyes narrow.

“So it is something?”

Heat rushes to your face. You forget, sometimes, because he cooks dinner and does the gardening and goes to his pottery class, that he was a battle-hardened mafia assassin who has done more interrogations than you will probably ever know (you never bring up his former employ unless he brings it up first). He’s an expert at gently needling the truth out of people.

“It’s not something that’s wrong,” you say, weakly, but his eyes are still pinning you in place.

“Tell me,” is all he says.

You think, in the back of your head, you’d had some kind of grand plans to reveal your secret – maybe involving balloons, and a cake, and a little party hat perched on top of Risotto’s silvery pale hair. You think you wanted to make a big deal out of it; one more reminder that the world he left behind is well and truly in his past now. But now you’re on the bed with him and he’s looking at you so tenderly in a soft grey shirt for sleeping and a pair of loose boxer shorts, all ruffled and sleepy and domestic . . . Now feels like a good time too.

“I’m pregnant,” you tell him.

You swear that you could hear a pin drop.

He blinks at you, as if he can’t properly process the statement.

“You’re—”

“We’re having a baby.”

“Oh my God.” His voice is very small. He reaches out, hesitantly, eyes wide – big hand hovering over your stomach. “Can I . . .?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless as his hand rests on it. It’s not curving, yet; the fancy test you’d bought today and done in the bathroom at work had said it thought you were well past three weeks, but that’s still early days. Your eyes stare down at Risotto’s scarred, huge fingers – so careful with you, despite what he’s had to do to survive.

“I can’t believe it,” he tells you, and your throat feels tight.

“Me neither,” you admit. “But . . . I’m happy.”

He meets your eyes. There are tears brimming in his – you have never seen Risotto Nero cry. You’ve seen him sad, of course (a sad downturn to his mouth when a dog dies in a movie, or when the rosebush he’d been carefully cultivating had failed to achieve a single bloom) – but there’s an actual tear rolling down his cheek, sparkling in the bedroom light.

“Me too,” he says, and it seems entirely natural. Entirely true. Your heart aches with how much you love him.

You two don’t say anything for a few minutes, content to just look at each other, the warm knowledge of what you’re sharing making the air seem hazy and unreal.

You think about the pitter patter of little feet. The spare room you can turn into a nursery. Going to pre-natal classes with Risotto, choosing baby clothes, seeing him out and about pushing a fancy perambulator (you’ve always wanted one of those tacky, over the top ones that look like a Victorian nanny’s contraption, and you know that Risotto will agree to it--).

You think about him in the delivery room, your nails making crescent moon cuts in his palm. You think about his encouraging tone; you think about the hand-grown flowers he’ll no doubt bring you.

You imagine him cradling a little bundle of joy; tiny in his huge arms. His lips leaving gentle kisses on tiny foreheads. Him reading to your baby, him tending to scrapes, him and you and your child and the life that neither of you ever thought you’d get to live together.

His face is shining, fully transformed. He sees you looking at him with droplets shimmering in your tear ducts and he wipes them away with one big, warm thumb.

“I know,” he says. “It’s not just for me. It’s for all of them, too.”

“Yes,” you say to him. Your voice breaks, pitches, as you manage to get out: “I’m so happy we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

He looks at you, so tender you feel like you’ll come apart under his gaze.

This moment is going to shimmer in your memory forever, you think. You’re glad that this was how the reveal went. This is much more like the two of you than any fancy reveal or ribbon or cake (you might still get a cake, anyway – Risotto has a sweet tooth).

“I love you,” he says, like warmth that wraps about your heart. And then; “What about naming it Formaggio?”

There’s a beat. You stare at him.

Both of your mouths stretch into a smile, a soft huff of laughter escaping his lips that makes you feel like you’re listening to a symphony.

“Maybe we should workshop names a bit more,” you tell him.

He agrees.

#risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #risotto fluff #jjba fluff #sfw #writing #jjba x reader #risotto nero #jojo postin #afab reader #neutral pronouns #5555 event fic

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

Cardigan | Jon Snow

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

Genre: Angst with fluff at the end

Warnings: —

Words: ~3k

Prompt: Based on Cardigan by Taylor Swift. I’m not sure if that translates, but it’s all I listened to when writing this so there’s that. 

Note:  Want to be tagged in my future works when I post?? Link is in my Bio! ♡ Also, I like -- love Jon a lot...?? And I want more content, so feel free to request more Jon content. 

Winterfell was always unbearably cold, something you never got used to, despite living in the North your whole life. But despite the biting cold that left you feeling like you were seconds away from frostbite and minutes away from turning in a statue of ice, you loved it. You were enraptured by snowflakes that lazily glided down the sky, nearly iridescent when the faint rays of the sun would hit them. They’d land in your hands, melting within an instant, turning to small water droplets that would slip through your fingers. Your dark hair was a startling contrast to the white blanket surrounding you, your pale skin glowing in the light, making you look otherworldly.

  As a child you’d run through it, as wild as the direwolves north of The Wall, running through fields covered in ice, no rhyme or reason. A ferocious yell leaving your mouth just because you felt like it, not restrained by the obsession of being civil and proper. But you were older now, no longer that wide eyed naive girl, instead of running freely, you kept it hidden deep inside you, only visible in a glint in your eyes.

  You still often find yourself as far from Winter Town as you could, hiding away in the depths of the Godswood. However, instead of chasing imaginary battles against dragons, you chased shadows that were just as distant as your dreams. Their hair so dark it could be mistaken for black, but you’ve seen the sunlight hit it just right, exposing the soft and wild curls as a dark brown. Deep brown eyes bore into your soul, seeing right through every layer that surrounded you and hid your true feelings and ambitions. And his voice was deep, the Northern brogue only enhancing how hoarse it could sound, and sometimes when he spoke, you swore your whole body would tremble. He’d deny it over and over again, but standing in the Godswood, the crimson red leaves dancing around him and crowned by snowflakes, he looked beautiful.

  Some days you danced around each other, mimicking the movements of the Lords and Ladies in lavish balls neither of you would ever be let into. You moved towards him and he took two steps back, making declarations about how unhappy you’d be with him, how he’d never give you what you needed. But by the end of the night, when the sun was completely gone, the woods around you plunged into darkness, he’d crack. He’d stop fighting, if only for a moment, and allow himself to drown in you. He’d pull you so close to him that two blended into one. Your lips would meet in soft and slow kisses, stars clouding your eyes. And when you burned from the cold, ice numbing your whole body, he’d pull you even closer, if that was possible, lighting you on fire with a single smile.

  And it was nice, sneaking away from your parents and all the noise that surrounded you. Every stolen moment with Jon was built under a delusion that the outside world wasn’t real, an illusion that one day you could be more than an illicit affair. And each time you met, you told yourself that it was the last time, but you lied. Despite knowing everything the two of you built; every quiet moment under the stars, each second tucked away in the Godswood, and every secret glance would crumble until it was nothing but a ruin.

  Even with that knowledge, the day you watched Jon leave for The Night’s Watch stung more than ice ever could, burnt you more than dragon fire would have. And as you stood hidden away, watching him with tears threatening to pour down your face, you swore your chest was hollow. He gave you one last look, filled with longing, sorrow, and all sorts of other emotions. You wanted to be furious at him, scream and yell until everyone knew that he was leaving you behind. But you couldn’t. You’d seen the sad look in his eyes, the scars covering his body from the mental and emotional lashing Lady Catelyn gave him with just a glance. How beat down he really was, truly believing he couldn’t be anything more than a bastard. And despite how many times you drew stars around his scars, no matter how permanent the ink was, nor how many you drew, they would bleed again the second you two departed.

  So instead of making a scene, you just smiled sadly, wiping away any stray tears as you waved him farewell. To this day, your mother still doesn’t know why you cried so much that day.

  Shortly after Jon left, Lord Stark was imprisoned in King’s Landing, accused of committing treason against Joffrey Baratheon. And before you could register what happened, Robb Stark became King of the North and marched off to war. Then Theon came back, declaring that Winterfell belonged to the Iron Islands, forcing Bran and Rickon out of Winterfell. And you wanted to go with if only to keep them safe for Jon, but they didn’t even know who you were. And each day, you regret your decision to stay when the news that Theon killed the Stark boys reached you. Your parents were horrified, your brothers and sisters mortified, and you soaked your pillow in tears that night, knowing the news would reach Castle Black and Jon would be devastated.

  But then worst of all was when the Bolton’s came to Winterfell after murdering Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, and any remaining Stark soldiers at The Red Wedding. They swept into the hold as if it was always House Bolton’s, quickly getting rid of any signs the wolves ever lived there. Statues were torn down, flags burned, and anything with a wolf destroyed. Then came Little Finger with Sansa Stark, marrying her off to Ramsey Bolton, who proved to be worse than his father in every way possible. And every time you saw the fear and desolation in her once sparkling blue eyes, you died a little on the inside. You wanted to help, but what could you do. So you just watched, millions of words caught in your throat.

  But then the dark storm that drenched you in heavy rains that nearly swept you away, bringing lightning that nearly stuck you and thunder that frightened away all your sanity suddenly cleared. Warm and bright daylight washed over you, as bright and powerful as a Dornish sun. The sun burned out any signs of rain every being there, the intense heat drying out the water left behind. Suddenly the leaves grew back, more vibrant than ever, and wildflowers in every shade possible blossomed overnight.

Jon came back.

He came back with an army to reclaim Winterfell and the North for House Stark. And he won. Miraculously beating back Ramsay Bolton’s army with the help of the Knights of the Vale brought by Sansa after she escapes from Winterfell. After the battle was won and the dead collected to be buried or burned, the Lords and Ladies of the North gathered with the Wildlings that fought for Jon in the Main Hall. You’re not sure what happened, you weren’t allowed in, too busy trying to return to your old normal before you lived every day in fear.

But what you do know is Jon walked in that hall as a bastard and walked out a King.

You should’ve been elated, beaming so brightly you could’ve been mistaken for the sun. But you were petrified, petrified that you’d spent all these years missing Jon, only for him to have moved on. Scared that all those nights you flipped between crying, reminiscing, and cursing his name would’ve been wasted.

So you hid like a coward. You buried yourself in anything you possibly could, taking on any task no matter how big or small. And it worked for a while, the pain in your chest every time you saw his wild hair and deep brown eyes in your mind wasn’t as raw when you were elbow deep in dishes. But late at night, when you had nothing but your thoughts, he was there. Every second you’d lie awake because whenever you’d close your eyes, he was there, haunting you like a phantom.

So here you are now, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots as you approached the clearing in the Godswood. You moved towards the place you avoided for years, looking for the one person you wanted more than anything but could never have. Except maybe now you could. And maybe you were just sleep deprived, delirious in the brain from the lack of sleep, but you wanted nothing more than to see the face that’s haunted you for years, at least one more time. Because even if he sent you away, you could have a new image to see in your dreams.

Standing in the center of the clearing-- your clearing, it brought a twinge of hope, a warm feeling washing over your body as your heart raced, possibilities and what-ifs running through your head. He isn’t the shadow he was all those years ago, both there and not at the same time, no, he’s too real for that now. Standing in the center of the snow filled clearing, surrounded by barren trees and crunchy leaves that are scattered on the ground, he looks too regal to be compared to a shadow. The heavy fur cloak, similar to the one Lord Stark had worn, and Robb after him, looked good on him, framing his broad shoulders and strong posture. And maybe you were biased, but he wore it the best out of all the previous Lords and Kings of Winterfell.

You're at the edge now, unable to move any closer in fear of breaking the spell he cast on you. But then he turned and your eyes met, his gaze like flint, catching you on fire in an instant. His skin was paler than ever, cheeks flushed and rosy from the cold. Long unruly curls have been cut shorter than it had been all those years ago, contained by a small bun near the nape of his neck. He was older, more scars marring his visible flesh, but it was him and he was real.

You stare at him and he looks back, neither of you doing anything else.

And you swear the world paused, time standing still has you tried to comprehend that he was really here, and not a figment of your imagination. He wasn’t a delusion you created to cope with the lowest points of your life.

He was real.

You were running. And so was he. Within a second, you met in the middle, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into him, lifting your smaller form off the ground as he spun you in circles. The heavy cloak was warmer than you’d initially thought, the expensive furs immediately warming up your frozen skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on so tightly because you were afraid he'd slip through your fingers as he did all those years ago. The very tips of your fingers bury themselves into his hair, pulling it free from the leather cord that kept it back. And this moment was better than anything you could’ve envisioned, his smell: leather, sword polish, and something woody, more enthralling than you remembered.

He sets you back on the ground but doesn’t release you from his embrace and you didn’t pull away. A laugh bubbled out of your mouth, it was light and airy and happy, something you hadn’t been for years now. There was a glimmer in your eyes, the same one you’d seen reflected in Jon’s eyes so many times before. Your face hurt from the grin that was on your face the second you met in an embrace and he mirrored you, leaning his head down, resting his forehead against your own.

“You came back to me,” you whispered, moving your hands from his neck to hold his face in yours. As if to further convince yourself that he was here, with you at this moment. Thumbs trace his cheekbones, running over the scar that followed his right cheekbone.

“How could I not?” he replied, his raspy voice low and husky, much older than the boy of seventeen you said goodbye to.

“I hoped you would everyday, but I-- I couldn’t--” your voice trailed off, the words getting caught in your throat.

“But now I’m back.”

“And now you’re back,” you replied, looking up at him with a soft smile. The seconds tick by, silence swallowing you whole as you just bask in his presence, memorizing each new mark on his face. 

“I missed you.” Your voice cut through the silence as your eyes grew wet, glistening tears that shined like ice in the sun falling down your face. Jon catches them as they fall, wiping them away with a single swipe of his thumb. And then the small distance that was left between the two of you closed as your lips met. And it was warm and soft and gentle and happy. Everything you missed from your life, returned in a single instant. And it’s like all the sleepless nights, the tear stained pillows, and the fear and horror you’d endured through the years that was muffled by the coming of daylight was completely washed away. The only thing on your mind was Jon and his lips on yours.

He pulled away, but only just enough that the tips of your lips would brush against each other’s and his breath fanned across your face. You kept your eyes closed, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“You were always there with me, gods I could never get you out of my head,” he whispered, brushing his lips lightly against yours. A shiver overcame your body, starting from the very top of your head until it hit down to your toes. A good tingly sensation that disappeared with him, but also returned with him.

“Glad to know it wasn’t just me, Snow.” You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his in a sweet kiss. It was like drinking a sweet berry wine the Southerners were so fond of or having a sweet tart that you stole from the kitchen. The sensation was addicting. The world could crumble around you; Cersei Lannister could march her whole army on Winterfell and Daenerys Targaryen could swoop down with her dragons and burn everything to the ground. But it wouldn’t matter, it would never matter to you. Not if you had Jon.

“Marry me,” the words left his mouth nonchalantly like he hadn’t just proposed marriage. Your eyes snapped open, looking at him, shock and excitement mingling in your wide eyes.

“What?” Your voice was shaky and unsure, hiding the pounding of your heart and the nerves in your body.

“Marry me, be my wife, and rule the North with me!” he exclaimed, much more confident in his words as they echoed around you, forever imprinted in the trees in the Godswood. And you couldn’t help but compare him to the old Jon you knew, the one who would never dare utter those words to you. Not that you didn’t want him to.

“You're crazy,” you breathed out, laughter and disbelief lacing each word. And he laughed, it was loud and warm and made your stomach twist in the best ways possible.

“Maybe, but I’m crazy for you. Why should I wait when I’ve loved you since I was a boy who didn’t even know what love was,” he said, weaving his arms around your waist and pulling you as close as physically possible. And the scene was similar to all the previous times you stood in this spot, too intertwined in each other to care about the world. Except this time tragedy didn’t hang over you like a storm, this time there was nothing but bright skies and sunlight.

“Okay,” you whispered against his lips. “I’ll marry you.” A beaming smile overtook your face, banishing any negative emotion that lingered on your face. At that moment, Jon wore if anyone ever asked, he’d say he has been to the South. And it wouldn’t be a lie, because the smile on your face and the vibrancy in your gleaming eyes was brighter than the sun could ever be, warming him to the very core. You leaned forward, sealing your promise with a kiss as you got lost in him, over and over again.

And when I felt like an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite.

                                                   o0o0o0o

Tags: 

@stuckupstucky​ 

#jon snow imagine #jon snow one shot #jon snow x reader #jon snow #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones oneshot #a song of ice and feels

[scarletaire]

flowerfall

A/N: Not my usual Jurdan fare, I know, but after reading A Sky Beyond the Storm, this fic poured out of me and I was helpless to stop it. Canon-divergent for Chapter LX, but mostly follows canon for everything after.

WARNING: Spoilers for A Sky Beyond The Storm!

Fandom: An Ember in the Ashes by Sabaa Tahir

Ship: Helene Aquilla x Avitas Harper

Genre/s: Fluff

Rating: T

Links: Masterlist | Read on AO3 

[Summary and tags under the cut because spoilers!] 

Description: 

When Avitas Harper falls, the Blood Shrike makes a deal with Death.  Snapshots of their life together after the war.

Tags: Harper Lives, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Helvitas Living Their Best Lives, We Stan One (1) Power Couple

_______

When Avitas Harper falls, the Blood Shrike makes a deal with Death.

It happens as Mirra of Serra takes her knife to Keris Veturia’s neck. The blood and the life leave her body, but the Shrike cannot revel in it, for her love is dead and cold in her arms.

How is it possible that she still had anything left to lose?

But of course, to love someone is both to gain and to lose a thousand pieces of the world all at once.

She roars in the face of it.

In the face of Death.

And this time, with the bridge between worlds on the brink of evisceration, Death answers.

I need power, says Mauth to anyone who will listen, weakened, and scrambling for any strength to beat back the storm. Power to fight.

The Blood Shrike has never heard the voice of Mauth before, but what he asks for is familiar. She knows all too well the pursuit of power, the search for anything to keep fighting. It is what she searches desperately for now.

Give him back, she orders Death with the voice of a girl who has still too much to lose, give him back, and I will give you the strength you need.

The power of the Star. The power of song and healing. The power of Rehmat, reborn again through the centuries and a thousand times in her blood.

Whatever it is, it will be enough.

It has to be.

The maw opens its jaws. The Nightbringer succumbs to the maelstrom. The Sea of Suffering overtakes the sky.

And Helene Aquilla sings her last song.

____

For a moment, there is only the storm. It surges through the escarpment, it rages across the cliffs, it consumes everything in its path.

For a moment, all is lost.

For a moment, she thinks that at least she didn’t have to wait long before following him.

And then, between one breath and the next, the maelstrom disappears.

Beneath her hand, Avitas Harper stirs.

____

In the end, her deal hadn’t mattered. It wasn’t Mauth that saved them all. It was Laia of Serra, because of course, of course, who else could have done it but her. Helene is full of a strange mix of pride and awe when she pulls Laia into a hug. The girl she once tried to kill, the girl who pieced together the broken world.

The once Beloved, the once Forsaken now rests in chains of mercy, and so the world continues on.

Mauth never speaks to her again.

Maybe because there is nothing she could possibly offer anymore. Maybe because the next time Mauth speaks to her, it will be at the end, when his words will be the last thing she will ever hear.

Briefly, she wonders what Death will do with the power she gave him. Then she thinks that it doesn’t really matter much to her, anymore.

____

She stands with Elias as they take in the bodies of their dead. They are spread out in lines across the forest floor. There are too many of them, Martial, Scholar, Tribal – it isn’t important anymore. They were divided in life. Today, they are united in the loss of it.

Above her, around her, the forest blooms alive, like a panacea for the death and destruction spilt upon the soil, blossoms of apricot and cherry and Tala filling the air with their sweetness, falling to the ground like colored snow.

It is a good thing, then, that Harper is alive. If she had lost him, truly lost him, then she would not have been able to bear the sight of flowers ever again.

____

It turns out dying and being brought back to life takes a toll on a human body.

“When will he wake?” she whispers into the quiet of the healer’s tent. “It’s been days.”

She knows the body lying still before her is merely asleep, but she remembers the way he had looked with all the life drained out of him, and it is a sight she will never forget.

“Give him some time,” Elias says. “Being resurrected by Death itself is no easy thing.”

She raises her eyebrow at him askance.

“I know a thing or two about being resurrected by Mauth.” He shrugs, and the movement is so familiar, so genuinely Elias that she feels the corner of her lips tilt. “Guess it runs in the family now.”

Avitas Harper wakes two days after.

She doesn’t give him a chance to get his bearings. The words are out of her lips before he can even try to sit up, like a song she can’t keep silent any longer. “I love you.”

He raises his fingers to her face, tracing the scars there like a benediction. “I got my wish.”

Emifal Firdaant.

She presses her palm against his hand, trapping it against her cheek. “With all due respect, Captain Harper, it was a bleeding stupid wish. So I did you the courtesy of vetoing it.”

When she kisses him, she feels like she can breathe again after a millennium of holding her breath.

____

When Mirra of Serra takes up the mantle of Soul Catcher, Helene watches the life return to Elias’s eyes, and the hope return to Laia’s.

The Bani al-Mauth turns to Harper. “I suppose I should thank you. For offering me shelter and safety in the bowels of Antium.”

“It was an honor, Lioness. You repaid me in kind when you helped the Blood Shrike through the tunnels.”

“And when you aided in the battle with Keris,” Helene adds.

Mirra scoffs, white hair dancing in the wind. “I worried that the Shrike wouldn’t be able to keep the secret to herself. Not like you. A mind like a steel trap, you have.” She slaps Harper once across the chest. He does a fine job of hiding his grimace as she knocks his healing wounds. “Think you’ll be a fine brother-in-law for my daughter.”

Elias splutters, Laia flushes, and Helene feels a laugh bubbling up in her chest for the first time in ages.

____

As their troops begin to file out of the Forest of Dusk, she sees the figures of two men talking under the shade of a tree. Elias is taller, but Avitas is older. And so it is he who holds out his hand for his brother to shake.

And it is Elias who takes it, but uses it to pull him into a hug instead. She sees Avitas’s back stiffen in surprise, but he doesn’t push him away.

“It shouldn’t have taken so long for this to happen,” Elias says. “I’m glad you’re alive, brother. I’m glad I wasn’t the one to have to pass you on.”

____

When Quin Veturius proclaims her Empress in front of the conclave of their people, her eyes immediately seek Harper.

Help me, she tries to convey. Knock the old man out before he actually convinces them.

“Stand strong,” he says aloud, instead, love and pride sparkling in his green eyes, “Empress.”

____

Later that night, when she sings Zacharias to sleep with a soft lullaby, her blood doesn’t sing with her. It’s silent, dormant. The air is empty with the ghost of her magic.

Leaning against the door a few feet away, Avitas has closed his eyes to listen, his lips curled up at the edges.

And it should feel like something has been stolen from her, but really, it feels more like a blessing than anything else.

____

She dances with Avitas at the Moon Festival in Nur, and the night is warm and they’re both still in armor, and neither of them really know how to dance properly anyway, but it is enough.

It is more than enough.

Skies, it’s more than she could have ever asked for.

He lifts his arm and she twirls under it, catching the twinkle in his eye, and suddenly, she wishes they weren’t in such a crowded place full of other people. Suddenly, she wishes they were alone, in a room, flushed and pressed up against each other just like this. Dancing a dance they both know the steps of far too well.

On her next twirl, she catches Musa’s eye, where he leans against a table, flirting with a pretty Scholar girl. He winks at her, as if he knows exactly where her thoughts have strayed.

She’s far too happy to be annoyed in any way, and so she almost sends him a wink of her own before Harper pulls her close against him again and the thought is forgotten.

____

It occurs to her later in the night, as the festivities draw to a close and she glimpses Musa walking back to his tent alone, that she had come far, far too close to understanding his loneliness in a way she hates to imagine.

____

At night, the Empress walks her city.

Avitas Harper walks with her.

The blue irises native to Antium are in full bloom, littering the ground.

One year, she thinks, as she cups her hand around a petal that floats down to her through the air. It’s been one year since the last flowerfall.

The one in which the world was broken. The one in which the world was remade.

____

Sometimes, she wakes thinking of her family. Of Livia, bleeding out in front of her son. Of her mother, father, Hannah. All of them, their throats cut, their lives lost, gone.

Sometimes, she wonders if they will hate her for bringing back her lover instead of one of them, any of them.

Sometimes, she wonders if she will ever forgive herself for any of it.

____

Avitas Harper, as it turns out, is a shockingly good babysitter.

The first time he gets Zacharias to sleep in under ten minutes, she chalks it up to dumb luck and good timing.

The second time it happens she almost kisses him despite the baby in his arms, too grateful for the peace and quiet after a long hour of listening to her nephew scream.

The third time it happens, she stares at him in disbelief.

“Did you bring back anything from the afterlife, maybe? Does Mauth have supernatural baby-charming magic that we don’t know about?”

He flashes her that half-smile that she feels underneath her skin.

Her next decree, she decides, will be outlawing all attractive men in armor from holding adorable, sleeping babies. It should be absolutely illegal by now, the sheer power of the sight before her.

____

She may be the Empress, but she is a soldier first and foremost.

When the Karkauans hold hostage the Martial ambassador she had sent over to confer the peace treaty, she is first in line for the mission to take him back.

“It’s not over yet,” she tells her men, when all efforts at neutral negotiation fall through. “I’m most dangerous when I’m cornered.”

Harper stands strong at her side. Her Blood Shrike, always watching. “That makes two of us.”

They march together into the fray.

____

The next Moon Festival, Mamie Rila finally succeeds in shoving her into a dress.

She puts up a good fight, doesn’t go down easy. In the end, it takes the combined forces of Laia, Afya, and an exasperated Mamie Rila to wrangle the Empress into the thin, strappy excuse for a gown.

“What is this supposed to be, a slip? Where’s the rest of it?”

Laia furrows her brows. “What are you talking about? That is the rest of it.”

Helene gapes. “I can’t wear this. I’m the Empress. I can’t walk around looking like I’m one stiff breeze away from a public scandal!”

“If you ask me,” says Afya, “a public scandal might do you some good. Just the thing you need to convince some of those troublesome, barbaric Karkauans to ally with you like you’ve been planning.”

“Burning, bleeding hells.” Elias’s eyes go wide when he walks in. “Who are you and what have you done with the real –”

He chokes off as Laia elbows him in the gut. “Don’t listen to him. Or Afya. You look great. Harper will love it. Shall we get on with your hair?”

Helene rears back, because her hair is the last bastion of normalcy she has.

Harper looks like he's been stabbed in the heart a second time when he catches sight of her, and Helene vows to never wear a dress again.

But when his fingers find the hem of her skirt under the table, tugging first, testing the stretch of the fabric against the skin of her thigh, and then slowly inching under, and then up and up and up — well. Maybe dresses aren’t so bad after all.

____

Sometimes, when she walks, Laia is there beside her. There are some nights when the ghosts of the past seem to walk with them, too. This night, in Serra, is one of those nights. Spring has come, and the flowers here are different, cushioning the road on which they walk with bright yellow petals.

“I can’t forget their faces.”

Laia has never been a killer. But she has dealt her fair share of death during their war, and that leaves a mark on the soul that can never be burned away. The difference now lies in how one goes about dealing with those marks. No, Laia has never been a killer, even when she had to be.

Helene, on the other hand, has spent too much of her life wearing the skin of one, and so she speaks as much to herself as she does to her friend when she replies.

“And you won’t. Just don’t forget the ones you saved.”

____

The first time Zacharias speaks a full word, it’s in the middle of supply negotiations with Tribe Nasur. She has just been reunited with her nephew after months in the capital and so is making up for it by carrying and snuggling him everywhere she goes, even if it is to a highly political trade meeting.

Fortunately, Tribe Saif is in close relations with Tribe Nasur, and so no one throws dirty looks when the baby babbles nonsense right when someone tries to speak. The Fakira even smiles encouragingly when Helene begins to bounce him on her knee.

That’s when Harper enters behind her with a missive from Blackcliff.

“Empress.” His voice is warm, and she realizes that it’s because Zacharias has noticed him, and is dimpling up at him with his head tilted back in that way that only babies can do. “We have positive turnout for the new recruits at –”

“Hapa!”

The whole room stills, as if everyone understands the gravity of this moment. Helene feels a grin break across her face, and she realizes that this is a first for her, too. Her first real grin in so, so long, after so much pain. Harper’s large, brown hand comes over her shoulder to pat Zacharias’s downy head in gentle praise, and she forces herself to get it together in front of all these important Tribespeople.

The meeting goes on. But then, one little detail niggles at her, like a tiny pebble in her boot.

Later, when she’s pushing him against the side of an empty caravan, her lips maybe a little too punishing against the skin behind his ear, he has the gall to chuckle at her.

“Are you jealous? Because his first word was my name and not yours?”

And so Helene sinks to her knees and shuts him up the best way she knows how.

____

Once, and only once, Mirra of Serra, Bani al-Mauth, visits her on a balmy night. The snow is almost over, and the Empress stands at her balcony overlooking the grounds, singing a lullaby to a sleeping Zacharias. He is getting too big now, and so she relishes any moment with him while she can still carry him in her arms.

It is on a dying winter wind that the Soul Catcher comes to her, the white locks of her hair stark against the night. “So it was you. I should have known.”

Helene glances at her out of the corner of her eye. “Known what?”

Mirra casts her gaze out into the city, and beyond, seeing something that only the Chosen of Death can see.

“There is a song across the river,” she says. “In the Waiting Place. All the ghosts ready to pass on hear it. It gives them peace.”

Ah, Helene thinks to Mauth, even though she knows he isn’t listening, so you used my voice after all.

____

When flowerfall comes again, and she has lost count at this point, how many it’s been, Helene Aquilla does not need to walk outside to know.

The blue petals of her beloved city, so familiar now, drift across her window like rain. The air is sweet with the smell of it, and with all that the two of them had done during the night, tangled together in the sheets of her bed.

She lifts a hand to trace the outlines of the silver Mask on his face. He pulls himself out of his doze just enough to smile at her.

“I know I said I would never marry and have children and all,” she begins, and the words are slow like honey in her mouth, “and I stand by my vow as Empress. But the adjoining room to my chambers is empty and I was wondering if –”

“Yes.”

She blinks at the swiftness of his answer. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. How else will I keep you out of trouble, my love?”

And so their lives go on.

_____

End Notes: 

Thank you for reading!

I did not foresee ever writing for this fandom, but after that ending, writing this was the catharsis I needed. Now back to regularly scheduled programming! 😂

* Didn’t tag anyone for fear of spoilers, and also because I wasn’t sure if they’d be interested in non-Jurdan fic 🙈But if you’d like to be tagged in any future stuff, I’d be honored to do so! ❤️

#helene aquilla #avitas harper #helvitas #helene x avitas #helene x harper #an ember in the ashes #a torch against the night #a reaper at the gates #a sky beyond the storm #a sky beyond the storm spoilers #aeita #atatn #aratg #asbts #asbts spoilers #sabaa tahir #zita writes

[vannahfanfics]

Our Scars

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

Characters: Takeshi Yamamoto, Kyoko Sasagawa

Hi, guys! I’ve been obsessed with Hitman Reborn! as of late, so I’ve decided to participate in Katekyo Hitman Reborn! RarePair Week (because we all know how much I love rarepairs). I’ve decided to start with the Day 2 prompt, “Scars”! Hope you all enjoy it :)

The pattering of the rain against Kyoko’s umbrella was soothing as she strolled along the wet sidewalk, her rainboots squeaking with every step. A plastic bag swung below her bent elbow, containing a selection of decadent cakes from her favorite bakery. She had delivered most of them to Tsuna and her friends, and now had only one last stop- Takeshi Yamamoto’s house. Kyoko still didn’t understand much of their world- the dangerous situations and such- but she understood well enough that she was invaluable to them as support. Kyoko could fill the role of supporter perfectly fine, and so here she was, delivering some treats as a reward for their hard work with… whatever they were doing in their spare time.

The iron latch shrieked in protest as she lifted it, and the wooden gate agreed with its partner, sounding an earthy groan. The rain was cascading something fierce now, throwing up splashes against the rubber material of her rain boots with every walloping raindrop. Ripples in the two-inch-deep water distorted the yard into a sea of green and brown and gray. Kyoko carefully picked her way over the slick stones that marked the path to Takeshi’s house. She cried out when the sole of her boot slipped over the smooth surface and caused her ankle to roll inward. Tears sprung to her eyes and a whine to her throat as the fiery pain rocketed up her leg. She remained there a while, hunched over with her hand buried down in the boot to rub tenderly at the screaming flesh, but she protectively held the bag of boxed cakes to her chest.

They had Yamamoto’s favorite today… I said I would hike through the weather, and I shall hike through this pain, too! Huffing in resolve, she straightened back up and limped up to the porch. She rapped loudly on the doorframe before opening the door, which was always unlocked, and announced her presence. She heard Takeshi’s father chime a greeting from within the bowels of the home. While she awaited his arrival, she stepped onto the welcome mat and removed her rainboots and folded up her umbrella, setting both neatly aside. The smiling man came round the corner and embraced her with a polite hug and kiss on the cheek. Kyoko had made many calls to Takeshi’s house, and she was regarded more as family than a guest at this point.

“My dear Kyoko! I sure hope you haven’t come tromping through this horrendous rain just to call on my boy,” the kind man scolded her as she rifled through the plastic bag.

“Not just him!” she laughed and procured a sweet confection, holding it out to him. His eyebrow raised above a twinkling eye, and a wide grin split his weathered features.

“You truly are an angel,” he tutted dramatically and took the box. He gestured loosely towards the back of the house, too absorbed with opening the container to be descriptive. “Takeshi is training in the dojo. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you,” he said with a pat to her head before strolling off to enjoy Kyoko’s generous gift.

She ignored the stinging pain in her ankle as she trekked through the house she now knew by memory. At the rear of the abode was a spacious room, where Takeshi often trained hard with the sword. She came to the door and found it closed.

“Yamamoto?” she called as she knocked lightly on the dojo’s sliding door. His grunts floated through the wood and cloth. So did the ring of the katana as he cleaved the air over and over in practiced, precise movements. Kyoko shifted her weight from foot to foot for a few seconds, but a wry smile soon began poking at her expression. He’s so in the zone he can’t hear me, she thought amusedly. “Yamamoto, I brought cake!” she called louder and opened the sliding door. “Yama- oh.” Her voice died in her throat, and she stopped opening the door halfway, too stunned by the visceral image of shirtless Takeshi in the middle of the dojo.

Sweat rolled over the rugged contours of his body, pooling in the waistband of the sweatpants that were slung loosely over his hips. His arm muscles flexed as he brought the katana down in a long arc, and Kyoko’s eyes sparkled with the light that refracted over its hyper-sharp edge. His black hair slicked to his forehead, and every few seconds, he would jerk his head to flick the dampened strands out of his eyes. His eyebrows were narrow slopes furrowing his brow in the most impressive display of raw concentration Kyoko had ever witnessed.

Kyoko liked Takeshi, a lot. How could she not? He was so friendly and easygoing. His smile lit up even the darkest room, and his laugh never failed to send joy bubbling up in her body. She liked him, sure, but she had never considered the fact that she may like him… But she sure considered it as she lingered in the threshold of the door, silent, watching him bring that sword down in empty air again and again. All words were lumps in her throat; thus, she could only gawk open-mouthed at him until he finally noticed her.

“Oh, hello, Kyoko!” he grinned jovially and swept a hand through his hair. The way the sweat-soaked strands parted beneath his fingertips made Kyoko’s mouth run painfully dry. Her eyes wanted to focus on every inch of him- his pectorals heaving as he panted, those crimped hairs still sticking together awkwardly from his hand parting them, his bright eyes and beaming smile- but that was horribly improper of her, so she looked at the floor instead. Shuffling her feet shyly, she retrieved the cake box and held it out. “Cake?” The evident elation in his voice made her heart flutter, although she could have brought him a neat rock, and he’d get just as excited about it.

She heard the click of the sword sliding into its sheath, followed by the patter of his bare feet over the wooden floor. A red haze drifted to her cheeks when his large hands enveloped her own for a brief moment as he retrieved the box. He whistled when he flipped it open, admiring the cake within. “It looks delicious! Thanks, Kyoko!”

“You’re welcome.” It was impolite not to look directly at him when she addressed him, so she forced her eyes upward. Her cheeks darkened incredibly as she did. Yamamoto has such a lovely smile… she thought dreamily. Cheerfully, he swiped a finger across the mountain of cake icing and then popped it in his mouth. He hummed appreciatively and popped the finger out. She wasn’t sure why, but the action made her body flush with heat, she tore her gaze away from his face. Her eyes landed on his arm, and she inhaled sharply. Yamamoto blinked in confusion, followed her intense gaze, and then smiled wanly.

“Oh… You’ve never seen them, have you?”

Thin white scars sliced through the tan skin of his arms. Some of them were many centimeters thick, indicative of a blade biting deep into the flesh. Possessed by some force, Kyoko allowed the bag of cakes to drop to the floor and reached out with both her hands to trace the crisscrossing marks. Takeshi watched her with lidded eyes, his irises swimming with a deep emotion for which she had not the name.

“So many,” she murmured under her breath. Her small, thin fingers tracked the map of healed wounds up to his thick bicep. Her eyes were wide when she looked to him again, expecting to find his smile sad or regretful. Instead, she saw the unmistakable glint of pride hiding within his curled lips. “I don’t… Didn’t they hurt?”

“Of course they did,” he laughed nonchalantly, as if a teenager bearing such marks were utterly typical. “But I don’t regret them. I earned them protecting my friends. I’ll gladly scar this entire body of mine if it means I can keep them safe.” As he stared at the pattern of thin white lines over his arm, Kyoko did not doubt that he was envisioning the faces of his dear comrades there. Kyoko couldn’t understand their world at all, even now, but she could appreciate Takeshi’s overwhelming desire to protect those closest to him.

Yet…

Her eyelashes were beaded with tears as she gripped his upper arm with two quivering hands. His fingernails bit into the flesh, pressing small crescent moons into his skin, but he did not complain. He only looked at her in bewilderment as she stood in front of him, shaking.

“Yamamoto, I… I would much rather you be careful,” she sniffed miserably. Her thumbs pressed into a half-an-inch thick bulge of scar tissue, making the skin around it glare white as the blood flooded out of the capillaries. “One day… It may be too bad a wound to heal.” She swallowed the thick lump that was beginning to form in her throat, but it just bobbed right back, making it laborious to breathe. The tears dripped from her lashes to splash down onto his arm. “I-I don’t know much about what it is you and Tsuna and everyone else do, but… I do see that it’s dangerous, and… I just want you to be safe. Please be safe, Yamamoto.”

His hand slid underneath her chin, soft fingers cradling her tear-stained cheeks. She offered no resistance as he tilted her head up. This time, his smile was sad, incredibly so.

“Ahhh, now this is no good. Kyoko is kind enough to bring me cake, and I’ve made her cry? How shameful of me,” he whined self-deprecatingly, with only the faintest hint of amusement. His thumb stroked over her cheek to catch the fresh rolling tears. His teasing tone tugged a small smile onto her lips, making him smile softly in answer. “Ah, that’s much better. Kyoko’s smile is the most beautiful in the world.” She laughed airily and flushed, hitting him lightly in the chest. He still dripped with sweat, so the slap was especially loud.

“You kid too much!”

“Kidding? Does that sound like me?” he joked, drawing another bubbly giggle out of her. His thumb continued to caress her cheek, though her tears had dried thanks to his comforting. His eyes searched her face eagerly, like he was committing it to memory. “No, I don’t joke. Not about this.”

“Yamamoto…” His name left her mouth in a whisper. His eyes ceased roaming her face to settle upon her lips. That rosy tint rose to her cheeks again, but she did nothing as his face encroached upon her own, save for purse her lips and close her eyes in preparation.

The kiss was soft and sweet. Kyoko inhaled deeply when his lips molded over hers, otherwise he would have stolen all the breath from her lungs. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but Kyoko savored those few precious moments, savored the feeling of joy rushing from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. As Takeshi pulled away, she subconsciously chased him, desperate for just a few seconds longer. Her eyes fluttered open as a chuckle rumbled in his throat.

“Kyoko, you’re so cute!” he praised and patted her on the head. “It’s no wonder I adore you.” Kyoko’s entire face turned the color of a tomato.

“Y-Yamamoto! You can’t just say things like that!” she sputtered, slapping her hands to her cheeks and finding them unbearably hot.

“Takeshi!” he corrected with a wave of his hand. “I just kissed you, so please call me Takeshi!” She crouched down with a squeal, drowning in second-hand embarrassment with how casual and relaxed he was. Her bangs hung in her eyes as she hung her head, unable to look at him. She was so mortified that she couldn’t even focus on the burning pain in her ankle as she heaved all her weight upon her feet. Takeshi laughed lightheartedly like he always did, then crouched down to pat her head more. “Kyoko, Kyoko, don’t be embarrassed! It was a compliment!” She responded with a high-pitched whine. “Come on, let’s get out of here and eat some cake, yeah?” The plastic bag crinkled as he raised it, and when she finally pried her eyes open, she was staring at his baggy sweatpants. She looked up to find him offering a hand to her.

His fingers were rough and calloused. The wrapped tightly around her smaller ones, holding them tight as he eased her back into a standing position. She expected him to drop her hand after that, but he just kept right on holding it, swinging their arms between them as he headed through the door. “Ow, ow!” she yelped as the one step forward send brutalizing pain rocketing up her leg.

“Kyoko, what’s wrong?” He was on his knees immediately, taking her swollen foot in tender hands to inspect it. Both embarrassed and flattered, she nibbled on the skin of her knuckle.

“Well… I slipped and rolled my ankle in your yard.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly.

“Clumsy Kyoko. What am I to do with you?” he sighed and straightened back up. In one sudden, swift movement, he had scooped her up off the floor. Kyoko squeaked and buried her pink face into the palm of her hands, beating on the thick muscle of his shoulders.

“Yama- Takeshi! No! Your father will see!”

“And? He’s been nagging at me to confess my feelings for a while. ‘Kyoko is such a nice girl! She would be so good for you! Better hurry up or someone will snatch her up!’” His mockery of his father’s tone, complete with waggling his finger, was too amusing for her to focus on the sheer mortification that she was a regular topic of conversation in the household. Her hands continued to shield her apple-red face as Takeshi escorted her down the hallway, but she did find the way she so perfectly muscles into his muscular arms quite nice. Her fingers twitched before curling around Takeshi’s the meat of those muscles, and she did not miss the smile that alit his face.

On that rainy day, Kyoko certainly didn’t think her cake delivery would turn out such a way, but unexpected happenings make life worth living, do they not? Smiling as Takeshi carried her through the house, she traced the complicated map of those scars again, nestling her head into the crook of his neck.

They all lived such dangerous lives, Takeshi and the others. It worried Kyoko sometimes, but at the end of every day, she would be there to support them through thick and thin. It was a taxing job, a job that left deep scars on her heart… but then again, earning scars for those you loved could be quite rewarding in the end too.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @khrrarepairweek​ @deliathedork​

#khrrarepairweek2020 #khrrarepairweek #yamakyoko #yamamoto x kyoko #kyoko x yamamoto #takeshi yamamoto #kyoko sasagawa #sasagawa kyoko #yamamoto takeshi #khr #katekyo hitman reborn #katekyoshi hitman reborn #hitman reborn #khr fanfic #khr fanfiction

[17cafe]

Ocean Eyes

↠ Asked: ❝Hi sweetie can you do a scenario about joshua being a mermaid i love you (…)❞ hehe I love you toooooo

↠ Members: Joshua x reader

↠ Genre: fluff, mermaid au

↠ Word count: 3800+

↠ Warnings: small mentions of drowning and scars

Going to your grandmother’s house in the summer has been an annual thing since you were a child. It was a nice, small house. The only thing dividing it and the sand was her front yard before a lightened cement road. 

Being there was enjoyable. You always looked forward to going, and always looked forward to the stories she would tell. She talks about her childhood and the adventures in the ocean she had growing up. She tells you about recent adventures, like the times she still goes paddle boarding with the next-door neighbours. And, she tells you about mermaids.

Every time you go to visit, she seems to have hundreds of new stories about them. Since she was a child, she believed in them. She saw them. Became friends with them, and learned about them. Of course, you grew up believing in them too, hearing all the stories from such a young age. Your belief and eagerness to see one yourself only grew stronger when she had first shown you the gifts.

She brought you on walks along the beach when you were small. Sometimes you would see the flick of a tail of an unusual colour, and you would point. But before anything else would happen, it would only disappear. Mermaids never approached people that were not alone. But once alone, they gave people gifts if they wanted to become friends. Or, at least acquainted. Your grandmother told you that depending on the quality of the gift, you could tell. The rarer or more special of an item, the more special of an interest they have in you.

Little did you know that you would receive a gift with a meaning more special than you imagined.

This particular summer, you were greeted differently. Rather than your grandmother being there to embrace you as you arrived, the only thing from her was a note. It was resting inside on the kitchen counter. It read:

“Y/N, if you happen to arrive before I get back, my apologies for not being here! You can unpack in the guest room as usual, I will be back soon~”

You did as the note suggested and went to unpack your suitcase and backpack. You carefully folded the clothes you put in drawers; she would scold you if anything ended up wrinkly. It didn’t take much time to get settled afterwards, as this was already like home to you. Your grandmother still wasn’t back though, so you thought of something to do. You decided on taking a walk on the beach. You always missed it even just the day after leaving.

You never know whether you would end up wanting to swim or not, so you changed into your bathing suit and had a big shirt over top. You wrote a note saying where you were and put it beside where your grandmother left hers. After leaving your shoes in the house and leaving, you locked the door and started on your way.

It was a tranquil day. It was late afternoon, and the sunlight cascaded onto the ground in such a soft manner. Your shoulders were warmed by it, it was comforting. The only sound audible was the water running onto the sand. There were no waves, only little upwards curves of the water right before it hit the land.

Despite the neighbours living right on the edge of the beach, none were outside. Their version of a vacation was going somewhere else, somewhere they don’t go every day. It was as if you had the ocean all to yourself.

After a few minutes of walking, you reached the log you always rested on. When you were smaller, your feet would be tired from walking to it, so you would need a break. It seemed like a mountain before. You would reach up and climb it, struggling to get on top. Now, it was much easier to just hop and be seated on it.

You stared out off into the distant ocean and into the blur of far away trees. You had your hands laying on the surface of the log to your sides, and your feet were swinging below you, your heels brushing against the wood whenever they swung back. The breeze came over to push your hair back so it could better see the subconscious smile spread across your face.

You were so caught up in the beauty of all that you saw, but the disturbance in the water still caught your eye. There were ripples coming from different ways. You were looking around at all of them before seeing the one thing that was staying still. You thought it may have been a plant of some sort, but when you saw eyes, you knew for a fact that it was not.

You were maybe ten feet away, but you could tell the eyes were staring right back into yours. Instinctively, you leaned forward a little out of curiosity. He looked angry. His expression was as if there were flares in his eyes. But for some reason, you were not frightened at all.

“Are- Are you okay?” you ask quietly, after it has seemed to be silent for a moment too long. You see a shimmer in the water behind him and only now notice the tail attached. He flicked it a little and hid his face a bit more. The small sparkles of orange glisten right onto your eyes, and you now know that this must be one of the mermaids - or mermen - that your grandmother has told you about.

Inside, your heart was beating faster and your head was spinning with questions. But, you knew you had to stay calm. You wondered what he was here to do. Some mermaids were evil like the common fairytales and only tried to lure people in the water to drown them. But if they offered you a gift, you knew that was not the case. You were hoping he had something for you. Although, his irate expression seemed as though it would be otherwise.

“Are you going to hurt me?” you whisper. He shakes his head. Inside, he was confused too. Really, he was scared of you, but his fearful expression made it look as if he was intimidating to you rather than by you. Something caused that thought to come into your head. Hesitantly, you shuffled off of the log and sat down on the sand. Despite only being a small distance closer, you could read his eyes better. You could sense his fear and you knew. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

Staying still in order not to scare him, he soon moved closer to you. He pushed himself forward with his hands on the sand beneath him. You saw an unusual shape seemingly right on his hand, but as you looked at it, a small cloud of sand blocked any view of it that you had. You stretch your back out straight and lean forward to try and see. “What is it?”

He pushes himself closer, coming out of the water slowly. Bit by bit he emerges until his shoulders and the top of his chest is visible, and holds the item out to you. Your breath is completely taken away. He may as well have drowned you because it felt as if your lungs were full of water.

He was holding a bracelet. One that you knew. It was from the time when your grandmother was teaching you to swim many years ago. You just had to keep your lucky bracelet on, and it so happened to fall into the water as you were swimming. When you noticed, it was too late. Your grandmother took you back inside to calm you as you cried. As you took a walk during the evening of the same day, you were hoping to find it. Of course, you had no luck. Ever since it was lost, you felt as if a part of you was lost with it.

For a while you just stared at it in complete disbelief. It was only when he gestured it closer to you that you reached out to take it. You crawled forward and did, and oh so carefully. You needed to be gentle with this. It was your bracelet, but it was also from a merman. It was your very first gift from one. As you took it, your hand briefly brushed against his. At the feeling of it, his face reddened and he flicked his tail, splashing the water a bit.

Once the bracelet has completely transferred from his hand to yours, you look down at it, how it still is as smooth as it was the long time ago. Being too distracted to notice, you didn’t see when he backed up into the water again to hide. He was just as you found him before; only his eyes were showing. Rather than it being out of fear, this time he did it to hide the blush spreading over his face. 

As you inspect every small detail of the bracelet to see if it was the same, he watches. He is fascinated by the way your face changes as you discover it hasn’t changed a bit. You whisper the thoughts that come to your head.

“It- It’s really pretty, how did you keep it the same? This-” you look at his eyes once again, taking a second to stop and think. “Wait a second, I have something for you too.”

You turn your back to him and dig under the log a bit, expecting to find, perhaps, a special rock or something similar. Something that definitely would not mean as much as your bracelet does to you. But, you just so happen to find a keychain made of a stained glass, the colours making an obvious picture of a red rose. You knew it still was not equally as meaningful, but the colours were beautiful.

When you turn back around to face him, he’s out of the water again, his shoulders exposed. He was leaning to the side and you could tell he was trying to see what it was before you showed it to him. He was still a small distance away, but noticed the shine of different colours in your hands and flicked the end of his tail again in excitement. You hold the keychain up to show before handing it to him. 

“It shimmers just like you.”

He eagerly reaches out and snatches it from your hand before holding it so close to his face that his eyes cross. He studies it intensely and lets out a quiet “wow,” almost too quiet to hear. You wanted to be closer to him, so you shuffled forward on the sand. As soon as you did so, he shot his head up and moved back twice the distance that you moved. You looked at him, sighed, and went back to your original spot.

“I’m sorry-” you realize you didn’t know his name. “I promise, I’ll hold on to my bracelet with both hands and stay put. I won’t move at all. Promise. Would you come closer? Please..?”

He only looks at you with an expression showing a fraction of the fear he had before, but there was definitely still some level of fear present. You sighed once more before just looking down to inspect the bracelet again, truthfully not so concerned about the decision he made. If he wanted to stay put, you were okay with that.

You were wondering how he must have gotten his hands on the item, how he knew it was yours. 

“How did you know this belongs to me?”

He smiles a closed-mouth smile. The sound of the water is the only thing that you hear once again. No words came out of his mouth. He was embarrassed to tell you. But when he sensed you growing afraid, he knew it was the right thing to do.

“I’ve checked on you every summer. Every summer for the past few years. Once I became old enough to explore the water myself, I did, every day. I saw you once. We looked about the same age, and we were still young, so I watched you. Made sure you were safe. I wouldn’t want such a careful creature falling into the water. Especially one who only has… legs.” He giggles.

He has come so much closer to you. He was now leaning on the sand on his elbows, his tail halfway out of the water. You can see it reflecting the bright sunlight and are completely entranced.

He tilts his head as he feels your gaze and looks up at you, moving his tail farther away into the water as he sees you looking. You smile slightly at him, a smile warm like the sun, and you speak with a voice to match.

“Why are you so scared? I won’t even touch you if you don’t want, just please come out.” He looks down as he listens to you. As you finish, he whispers.

“Not all humans are good-hearted like you.”

Soft as his voice was, you could still hear him clearly. It warmed you inside like the sunshine warmed you out, and you wanted to nearly lash out at how happy the comment made you feel, but you kept calm.

“Thank you, I promise I won’t go back on my words,” you manage to let out. He looks in your eyes as if he is causing trust to be built between you, and pulls himself out of the water. Slowly, he comes out to lay on the sand. You stay seated cross-legged as you have been, and he comes forward until his nose is nearly against your knee. You pull your hands back, still holding on to the bracelet as you said.

He is staring at you so fascinated. Not at your face, at your feet, and legs. His eyes were large and full of wonder. With the keychain dangling from his finger, he reaches a hand out to touch you. You grin at how undeniably cute he looks as he reaches out - but then he pulls his hand back.

“Oh- Oh, I shouldn’t,” you hear him mumble to himself. He rests his hand on the sand and continues nearly inspecting you.

“Have you never been this close to a human before?” you ask him. He merely shakes his head, hovering his hand over your leg, wanting to be close but not wanting to touch. You don’t mind though. “Go ahead.”

He looks at your eyes for reassurance and you nod. He hesitates once more, and you grow slightly impatient. You move slowly, grabbing his hand so lightly it feels as if a ghost was touching him. You take his hand and guide his fingers to your skin. He lowers his head again, looking at his fingers as they glide over you. You still wondered what it was that made him willing to come up to you. 

Suddenly, you jump. His fingers brushed against the bottom of your feet, and it tickled.

“Hey!” you exclaim with a laugh. He leans back and looks at you worried, looks at you as if he did something wrong. You giggle a little more.

“Did I break them? Did I-” You cut him off with an even louder laugh. You shake your head as a way to tell him “no.” He can’t help but smile at your continuous laughter, letting out a small giggle himself.

Once you calmed back down, he kept doing what he was doing before the interruption. He pulled your leg out straight, and rolled your foot in circles, and tried bending your knee too.  He bent your legs back in to place for you to sit cross-legged. And after, he started guiding his hands up your arms. Slowly, too slowly for you to even notice. You were still too caught up in his shining tail.

You only noticed his hands come higher when they were near your elbows. Of course, he tried to bend those too. You halted his movements. “You have arms too, you know…”

“Oh right, I’m sorry.” He pauses and looks at you with wide eyes before pulling his hands away swiftly. The familiar redness on his cheeks crept back up. It was hiding for quite a long while until now. His shy expression stays for now as he shuffles over, resting on the sand next to you.

You had not even noticed slight rise of the tide, but you did not need to worry. The water didn’t even touch him, it kept away a small distance around him. He was a man of the water. Maybe people of the water had a way to control it.

“What’s your name, b- by the way? My name is Y/N,” you ask. He doesn’t speak for a moment. Truthfully, he was never given a name. But he knew what names were. He remembered hearing one that stuck in his head when he came to the surface one time.

“Joshua.”  

You repeat it. You had no idea it was one he just chose himself. But you liked it. It suited him. It was a pleasant name.

“Joshua…” You look over at him with a questioning expression. He only looks at you, waiting for you to continue. You ask if you can touch his tail. He did touch your legs, so it was only fair, you thought. After a moment of contemplation, he says it would be okay.

He bends his tail slightly and moves it closer. The blush that was nearly fading from his face came back again. You break your promise slightly, moving from your spot to shuffle forward. You slide your bracelet back on to your wrist so your hands become free. He watches carefully.

Just as your hand was about to touch the sparkling surface, you feel him grab your wrist. It was a bit harsher of a touch than you would expect from him, and he noticed. He lightened his grip on you, and moved his hand down to hold on to yours. Like you did with him, he guides your hand down slowly until you come in contact with his tail.

You catch yourself copying an action of his from earlier, letting out the smallest “wow” under your breath. You were utterly fascinated. A smile wider than any one from before was spreading across his face.

He holds on to your hand still and guides your fingers along his scales. They were rougher than you had imagined. As you keep moving along, you start noticing some scratches and scars. Not too deep, but enough to make you feel sympathetic. You look at his face, asking how he got the one you were currently touching. He only shrugs, giving an answer you didn’t believe. But you didn’t ask any more questions after.

“When you swim through coral, you kind of take chances.”

You nod in response and turn your attention back to his scales. You stopped moving your hand, not wanting to risk moving so far that his hand would come off of yours. You gaze at the parts that would be too far to reach. Noticing your dazed state, he takes the chance to lock his fingers with yours.

When he squeezes your hand in his, it’s like a small wake up call. Your head snaps to look at him, and he gives you a small smile which you return. He doesn’t move though. So neither do you. You stay holding his hand and staring in his doe eyes.

“Tell me about your world, Joshua. Is it beautiful down there?”

He chuckles and nods. “Is it beautiful up here?”

You understand what he implies; he returns the question to help you realize that if you live in an area your whole life, you get used to it. Someone else may be curious of how it looks. Someone else may be so amazed by all the things they haven’t seen, but the one that sees it every day thinks nothing of it.

You take a minute to think about that.

“I can tell things about people,” he begins. “I know you. You’re kind. Thank you.”

“Thank you for what?”

He pauses. He didn’t know what to say. He was thankful for you just being you. That is what he will say.

“For being so nice. You’re a great human.” He lets go of your hand and uses his to push himself up, to lay more comfortably. Your pulse quickens. “Are you going already?”

“You wanted to see my world, didn’t you?” You pull back and nod eagerly. “Let me take you.”

You tilt your head in confusion. He tucks the keychain under his thumb securely before pushing himself backwards and into the water again. Once it was up to his shoulders, he motioned for you to come over. You clasped the necklace on, removed the shirt you had over your bathing suit, and walked over to him. You both kept going deeper in the water until it was up to your waist. Then, he came in front of you and took your hands in his. “Ready?”

Before you even had any time to reply, he pulled you forward and started swimming. He went faster and faster, going at a speed that would keep your mind off of being over growing depths, and was sure to keep your head above the water. You were shouting in joy, and he was laughing loudly along with you.

After what felt like mere seconds of swimming, he slowed down and perched you on top of a lonely rock in the water. The first thing you did was turn to see how far you were from your grandmother’s house, which was now so far that you couldn’t even see the shape of it.

“That bracelet really suits you. Better than I imagined.” Joshua was quick to grab your attention again. He seemed to be good at doing that.

“What do you mean you imagined it?”

“Don’t act surprised, you know I always thought about you.”

Truthfully, ever since your bracelet was dropped in the water, you had a thought lingering in your mind that someone was out there, looking for it. Looking for it to bring back to you. You were glad to know that it was the truth and not just some little thought.

After spending so much time telling stories, laughing, and fooling around, it was time for you to go back to your home. Somehow, you could hear your grandmother call your name even from such a long distance. Not wanting to worry her, you got back as soon as possible.

Joshua dropped you off a small ways away to avoid being seen, and you rushed to your grandmother to tell her all about your adventure. It wasn’t over though. You know you would see those ocean eyes again.

#seventeen #joshua #jisoo #joshua scenarios #joshua imagines #joshua fluff #jisoo scenarios #jisoo imagines #jisoo fluff #seventeen ships #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen fluff #seventeen mermaid au #joshua mermaid au #p.scenarios