Handkerchief In Head Novels & Stories

I ordered her. She touched the handkerchief on her head then smiled at me. “You want my headband?” “Will you give it to me or I’ll tie it around your neck?” Her eyes widened as soon as I said that. “W-WHAT?!” I quickly grabbed the handkerchief on her head which made her bow down and touch her hair. “H-Hey! That’s my headband!” I turned around to look at retard but she’s not beside me anymore.

He removed it and brought it over Cynthia's back. “Don't walk around in the cold like that,” he said calmly and draped it on her shoulders. She scoffed quietly and looked away from his face which was just a few inches away from hers. She however pushed her hands into the sleeves and he zipped it up. She was about to wear the hood but he stopped her with his hands. “Wait, you didn't think you would go around with that scar on your face, did you?” He straightened the black handkerchief he brought out earlier then folded it into a triangular half.

Without a second thought, I undid the handkerchief from my hand and retied it around my neck, tugging it like a scarf, twisting the ends to make it look like an accessory or some fashion statement. Because I didn’t need drama or questions. But one thing was certain—they would ask. And I had to be ready to lie.

John sighed and reached into his pocket. The mother fucker pulls out a crisp white handkerchief with the initials JAH embroidered in blood red at the corner. “Seriously? How fucking old are you, man?” I couldn’t help but ask. John growled at me while his mate rolled her eyes and took the handkerchief using it to carefully take the necklace from Silvercloud. “There.” Sarael nodded, folding the handkerchief securely around the necklace so it couldn’t touch anyone. Silvercloud wiggled his nose then his jaw before doing a full-body shake. “Mother fucker. I didn't like that.” he shuddered.

A sharp sting came from my chest, and I raised my hand slowly to check what was wrong, only to register three shocking things. Firstly, I was stark naked. I checked multiple times just to be sure. What the fuck had he done this time.? Secondly, I was badly injured and I had no idea how. Thirdly, I found a handkerchief on me. It had probably been used to clean my wound which was now healing as there was mangled flesh and blood stains all over it. That was not what surprised me. What surprised, not shocked me to the bone was the scent of the handkerchief.

The crowd of relatives all agreed with each other. I fought back my dizziness, using all of my willpower to keep myself from collapsing. However, Raoul attacked my head with a heavy object. Blood began dripping down my collar, making me look like a bloody, disheveled mess. I retrieved a handkerchief from my pocket and pressed it against the wound to stop the bleeding.

Now the intimidating cold expression is only left in stock. "Who are you?" I asked at last. He didn't reply. Soon enough his right hand slipped into the pocket to take out a perfect milk-white handkerchief. That signature handkerchief, I noticed it every time he came, he used to wipe his forehead with it even if there was no sweat or dirt. Maybe he liked to show off with this piece of cloth. His eyebrow arched upwards maybe after listening to my thoughts. The long-lost smirk came back when he made me hold the handkerchief. Then after the last gesture to look back, he was gone as always.

"Did you know there's a superstition that says handkerchiefs are bad luck because they bring on tears?" "Huh? That is an old belief. Not true." "I'm sure it's real. You should believe me because I've seen it many times." He pulled his handkerchief out of my bag and put it in the wine glass he was holding. I was shocked. I didn't say anything; I just looked at him. 'Wow, he is superstitious,' I thought. Suddenly, I saw him looking at me. He pulled my hair out of my ponytail before I could say anything. It fell over my shoulders. Damon brushed the hairs behind my ear that were falling into my eyes.

"It's nothing." He pulled a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket. Not paper—actual cloth, with his initials embroidered in the corner. He took my wrist again, this time more gently than before, and wrapped the handkerchief around the marks. "Come," he said. "We're going home."

My hands were all dirtied and sticky. "Here," my eyes landed on an ocean blue colored handkerchief in front of me and to the hoody man in front of me. I took his handkerchief and wipe it off my mouth. The scent of the handkerchief was so good that it fascinates my nose and satisfied my lungs. The handkerchief was soft like it was made of expensive wool. "Enjoying?" I lifted my gaze and saw him smirking. I compose myself and wipe my mouth normally, ignoring the scent I was enjoying lately.