Homecoming
K, so some more fanfiction for you guys. I have NejiHina chosen as a pairing for 2 challenge comms, 30_kisses and 50_shinobi. And like all challange-comms, they've got deadlines. So got my fic for 30_kisses in just in time, cuz it's due today. It's shorter then most of my one-shots, but that's alright. This one might actually qualify as a drabble. I didn't count words, but it's pretty short. Either way, got the deadline met, and that's taken care of. Got to finish my one for 50_shinobi by the end of the month, but that shouldn't be too hard. I just need to write out those couple of IchiRuki ones that are spinning around in my head and demanding to be written. XD. Anyway. Enjoy the NejiHina.
Title: Homecoming
Author/Artist: tasogaretaichou
Pairing: Hyuuga Neji X Hyuuga Hinata
Fandom: Naruto
Theme: #: Gardenia
Disclaimer: Naruto doesn't belong to me.
It is the coppery tang of blood in the air, the metallic and unmistakable scent that so characterizes the world he belongs to. That harsh, cold stench clung to him, weaving it’s way into hair and clothing and - it seems - his very pores themselves. As though he can never be clean, never be free of the sanguine taint that marks his everyday life as a shinobi.
Not like her. Never like her. And he doesn’t know how the crimson stains seem to wash away from her hands, leaving porcelain skin clean and pure, as though untouched by the things she has seen, things she has done. But she never smells of blood. Rather, she smells of sunlight and warmth and home. And that one specific scent that seems so uniquely her.
Stepping through the doorway, Neji brushes long hair from his face, ever-stoic countenance quirking faintly in the ghost of a smile as olfactory senses catch the faintest whiff of that smell that has become so synonymous with home. It is a simple scent, not too strong, not too weak. Faint, yet strong and nearly overpowering in it’s sweetness. Not the saccharine and sugary sweetness of other things, overbearing and forceful. This scent merely permeates, reaching gentle fingers into all the facets of his world and colouring it a warm sunlit hue.
The colour that she brought to his world, once he was able to humble his pride enough to see it. And though he’s smelled that same scent, that same perfume, on so many different occasions, it never seems to carry the same weight, the same sweetness and depth as it does when it’s clinging to her. The faint scent of gardenias takes on an entirely new level, curling around her and gaining it’s own flavour, it’s own traits.
Footsteps carry him down the hall, following that hint of fragrance that is somehow and inexplicably nearly intoxicating in it’s strength. He knows she’s here, not that she’d be anywhere else. But beyond that, he can sense it. The same way he knows she knows he’s home. Reaching the door, fingers calloused from years of throwing kunai curl themselves against the wood as the tall Hyuuga stands as though enthralled, myriad of emotions playing across his face, faintest of smiles curving lips that - though unused to the gesture - seem to have found it within them to bend in spite of their determination to remain level.
He watches her, leaning over the crib with soft voice and even softer hands as she carefully tucks the woven blanket around the small body that sleeps soundly beneath the twinkling lights of the mobile carefully strung overhead. It only takes a moment before he is moving, soft light footsteps carrying him across the room to stand behind her, arms reaching around her to rest on the wooden railing, staring down for a moment at the sleeping face of his infant son before he presses lips gently against the side of her face, inhaling that ever-present scent of gardenias. The scent of home.
“I’m home…”
Title: Homecoming
Author/Artist: tasogaretaichou
Pairing: Hyuuga Neji X Hyuuga Hinata
Fandom: Naruto
Theme: #: Gardenia
Disclaimer: Naruto doesn't belong to me.
It is the coppery tang of blood in the air, the metallic and unmistakable scent that so characterizes the world he belongs to. That harsh, cold stench clung to him, weaving it’s way into hair and clothing and - it seems - his very pores themselves. As though he can never be clean, never be free of the sanguine taint that marks his everyday life as a shinobi.
Not like her. Never like her. And he doesn’t know how the crimson stains seem to wash away from her hands, leaving porcelain skin clean and pure, as though untouched by the things she has seen, things she has done. But she never smells of blood. Rather, she smells of sunlight and warmth and home. And that one specific scent that seems so uniquely her.
Stepping through the doorway, Neji brushes long hair from his face, ever-stoic countenance quirking faintly in the ghost of a smile as olfactory senses catch the faintest whiff of that smell that has become so synonymous with home. It is a simple scent, not too strong, not too weak. Faint, yet strong and nearly overpowering in it’s sweetness. Not the saccharine and sugary sweetness of other things, overbearing and forceful. This scent merely permeates, reaching gentle fingers into all the facets of his world and colouring it a warm sunlit hue.
The colour that she brought to his world, once he was able to humble his pride enough to see it. And though he’s smelled that same scent, that same perfume, on so many different occasions, it never seems to carry the same weight, the same sweetness and depth as it does when it’s clinging to her. The faint scent of gardenias takes on an entirely new level, curling around her and gaining it’s own flavour, it’s own traits.
Footsteps carry him down the hall, following that hint of fragrance that is somehow and inexplicably nearly intoxicating in it’s strength. He knows she’s here, not that she’d be anywhere else. But beyond that, he can sense it. The same way he knows she knows he’s home. Reaching the door, fingers calloused from years of throwing kunai curl themselves against the wood as the tall Hyuuga stands as though enthralled, myriad of emotions playing across his face, faintest of smiles curving lips that - though unused to the gesture - seem to have found it within them to bend in spite of their determination to remain level.
He watches her, leaning over the crib with soft voice and even softer hands as she carefully tucks the woven blanket around the small body that sleeps soundly beneath the twinkling lights of the mobile carefully strung overhead. It only takes a moment before he is moving, soft light footsteps carrying him across the room to stand behind her, arms reaching around her to rest on the wooden railing, staring down for a moment at the sleeping face of his infant son before he presses lips gently against the side of her face, inhaling that ever-present scent of gardenias. The scent of home.
“I’m home…”