☆ H I N O T O M I K O ☆
• OC (Most Fandoms)
• Ancient/Modern
• Fashion Designer/Model
• Mature/Adventure/Romance
• Selective SLs/Banter welcome
• Crossover most verses
• Always open to plots!
• Penned by #Ozuenndo
Like/RT appreciated!
I know I often feel like I should tell Julian I love him more, but he never says anything about it, and so I try to tell him in other ways than words. The way I curl up against him when we sleep, the way I come up behind him and hug him when he’s concentrating on something.
Beside the watch was the pearl bracelet she always wore. She never took it off. Will had given it to her when they had been married thirty years, smiling as he’d fastened it on. He had had gray in his hair then, she knew, though she had never really seen it.
One day she and Julian would both be married, to other people. There would be no crawling into e/oʼs beds. There would be no exchanging of secrets at midnight. Their closeness would bend and stretch into a new shape. She would have to learn to live with that.
“No one has ever written me anything so beautiful,” she said, her face pressed against his chest, the soft beat of his heart steady beneath his shirt and jacket. “Not ever.”
He had held her like this only once before, in the attic, the night they had burned de Quincey’s town house. The memory of it had come to him, unbidden, often enough since. Now it was torture.
“William Owen Herondale.” Charlotte turned to Will. “Hast thou gone among the watchmen, and in the cities of the world? Hast thou found the one thy soul loves?”
“I have found her,” Will said. “And I will never let her go.”
When Will died, Tessa had known there could be no place for her among the Shadowhunters. For a time it had seemed as if there was no place for her in all the world, with so much of her heart in the cold ground.
He had the most beautiful face she had ever seen. Tangled black hair and eyes like blue glass. Elegant cheekbones, a full mouth, and long, thick lashes. Even the curve of his throat was perfect.
She looked at Will; they were very close together, facing each other. His profile in the gray light was cold and clean; only his mouth had any softness.
“Say anything I don’t mean,” she finished for him. “I know. I am not. I mean it, Will. And I know it is entirely beyond the bounds of propriety to ask it. I know I must seem a bit mad.”
“I do not despise you, Will. You have been nothing but honorable—more honorable than ever I could have asked you to be—”
“No,” he said bitterly. “You expected nothing of me, I think.”
“I have expected everything of you, Will,” she whispered.
It was dark in the corridor, dark enough that though Tessa thought that Will was smiling, she wasn’t sure. “Concerned about my safety, are you? Or had you planned to gift me with a favor so I could wear it into battle like Wilfred of Ivanhoe?”
He had dreamed he was lying on a hill in Wales with the sky high and blue overhead, and that Tessa had come walking up the hill to him and had sat down beside him. I love you, he had said to her, and kissed her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
You are not the last dream of my soul.
You are the first dream, the only dream I ever was unable to stop myself from dreaming. You are the first dream of my soul, and from that dream I hope will come all other dreams, a lifetime’s worth.
Tessa just stared at him. When he had come into her room at the Dark House, she had thought he was the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen, but just now, looking at him—she had never looked at a boy like that, not in this way that brought blood hot to her face.
She laid her hand over it, and he wondered if she could feel the hammering of his heart. “‘Many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods drown it.’ I will never stop loving you, Will—”