#anyway i'm nervous and excited and terrified to be sending it to a professional | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wri0thesley · 4 years ago

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hi nat it's the avdol anon again 😳 i noticed that ur requests were open and uh... you might know why i'm here. feel free to take this in any direction u want but i was wondering if afab reader could get a tarot/palm line reading by avdol which foreshadows their quickly budding romance. this is just an idea but i think it's cute! tysm for reading <3

prediction - avdol x reader (2k)

warnings: none! neutral reader, neutral pronouns. sfw.

It is your third time stepping foot in Muhammad Avdol’s little fortune-telling shop, and your heart is beating faster and more nervously than it ever has before. The first time, you had come with a friend who had not stopped chattering on about how they’d heard that this man was the real deal, they had friends who he’d been able to tell the life story of from just a glance at a tarot card spread. You had been sceptical but humoured them, agreeing to come with them to get a glimpse of this mysterious character who would so easily be able to read one’s past. It would have been dangerous, you reassure yourself, to send your friend alone to a strange new place.

Avdol himself had looked at you and smiled and you had been hit by how warm he was. You’d assumed he’d look like a charlatan, a snake-oil salesman – but his hands had seemed genuine as he’d shook yours, his thumb warm as it brushed your wrist, a curious expression on his handsome face before he’d turned to your friend.

His shop smelt like burning incense, draped in rich warm shades of red and ochre, comforting as he poured you both a cup of tea. If he’d been perturbed that your friend had brought with them an audience, he did not show it; merely motioned for the two of you to sit as he shuffled a well-worn pack of tarot cards.

You had expected the same vague kind of allusions as you’d heard so many people make before – broad statements that, if thought about, could be connected to anything in one’s life if the listener was desperate to do so. You’d expected his dark eyes to be sharp as he searched your friend for weakness, as he picked up on various little tremors of their face and voice and twisted them into something like cleverness.

But his voice had been unwavering and calm as he’d said names straight off the bat, as he’d confidently recounted incidents in their life in not quite elaborate detail, but in enough detail for you and your friend both to understand that he was the real deal. As he’d predicted moments in the future, his brow furrowing as he gave advice as to paths that should be taken carefully and paths that should be embarked upon with wild fervour and excitement.

He’d taken their money with a small smile, before he’d turned to you and said;

“And you?”

The thought of your future spelt out by him suddenly seemed terrifying. You had shaken your head, backing away – and he had given you that curious look again, like he saw something inside of you that you’d never noticed yourself.

“Maybe next time I see you,” he’d said, and you’d followed your friend out of the room with a dizziness that you couldn’t quite explain.

He had not said ‘if I see you’. In Muhammad Avdol’s mind, the two of you meeting again was a fated occurrence. You had told yourself that you would not allow that to happen, to afraid of all of the things that could happen to you and hadn’t yet.

Of course, you go back. Your friend is desperate to see him again, after some advice that he gave them leads to a promotion at work. They want to thank him, and ask him advice for an upcoming business trip that will take them out of Egypt for six months – when you hesitantly shake your head and bite your lip, they pout at you.

“Please?” They wheedle. “I won’t see you again for half a year, this is our chance to do something together before I leave--”

And because you love your friends, you agree, and you step foot in the comforting, homely little fortune-telling shop for the second time in your life.

Avdol does not look up from the table.

“I already poured you tea,” he says. “Please, take a seat.”

Something about the atmosphere of the shop is at once terrifying and comforting to you; like a place you’ve been a hundred times in your dreams. Your fingers trace the delicate gold embroidery of the table cloth as Avdol listens to your friend’s ardent thanks. It’s pretty; constellations on dark midnight blue velvet.

“Do you like it?” You’re snapped from the daydream by Avdol. He’s looking at you, his face unreadable. “I made it myself.”

“Oh,” you say, heat rushing to your face. “Y-yes. It’s beautiful. So delicate. It must have taken a long time--”

“I like projects,” he says to you. “Small work you have to take your time over. It’s satisfying to see it turn into something beautiful at the end.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks at you. “Watch out for your own constellation, habibi.”

You don’t know what he means, but your friend is tugging you out of the door before the two of you outstay your welcome, chattering on about all of the advice that Avdol has given them about making the most of their six months in a foreign country. When you round the corner and Avdol’s little shop is no longer in sight, she gives you an elbow to the ribs.

“I think he likes you,” she says, and you go all over hot and bothered at the thought of it. There’s something about him that frays at the edges of your consciousness – you have never felt quite so safely ensconced in anything as you feel within the warm incense-laden air of his rooms. But him liking you is ridiculous. And you don’t believe in anything so nebulous as fortune-telling.

You do some spring cleaning that weekend. In the very corner of your wardrobe, almost falling into a gap between the floor of it and the chipboard of the back, is a necklace that your mother gave you for your eighteenth birthday. It’s not precious; it was a silly little gift picked up for pennies in a market to go inside your birthday card, cheap metal. It’s a representation of the constellation you were born under.

Your heart beats too fast in your chest as you put it on.

And that’s the series of events that leads you to be stepping foot in Muhammad Avdol’s fortune telling shop ten minutes before he’s due to close. The lights are already off, but Avdol is sat by his table with a book in his hand and looks up as the bell over his front door rings, a smile splitting his face.

“I was expecting you earlier,” he says. Your hands fly up to the necklace, twisting it between thumb and forefinger. “Ah. I’m glad you heeded the warning.”

“How did you know?” You ask him, your throat dry as you take the seat that he points to opposite him. There is already a steaming teacup in front of it; you know it will be steeped exactly how you like it, will have two spoonfuls of sugar in it, will be your favourite blend. Avdol has seemed to know that since the moment he laid eyes on you.

“The universe works in whatever way it wills,” he shrugs, taking a sip of his own tea. The teacup he has put in front of you is patterned with your favourite flower. “You wanted me to read your palm, didn’t you?”

You nod. You do not ask him how he knows what you came here for. Too many coincidences have lead you to this point, and with Avdol so close to you and you finally alone with him you are beginning to wonder if your scepticism has been misplaced. He holds his hand out over the finely embroidered velvet cloth – you realise that your own birth constellation is exactly beneath it.

Up close, he’s so handsome you can barely breathe. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, his skin reflecting the flickering candlelight beautifully. His hands are warm and dry; well-kept, as you place your own in it palm-up.

“You’re soft,” he says – which is not the most professional thing for him to say, you don’t think, but your breath catches in your throat anyway. “Let me see.”

He gently traces your life line. He murmurs something about your family, about your past, about your driving force and your career – all of it true, all of it right. His finger dances over it as he tells you to be wary of people offering you chances that are too good to be true.

Head line. Fate line. His fingers are so warm, he holds you so gently – you imagine what he would feel like holding your hand as a lover and chastise yourself in your head. Everything he says to you about your past is true. Everything he says about your personality, about how you value certain things and about how you are feeling right at that very moment is true. You can barely breathe as his index finger brushes along your heart line.

“Ah,” he murmurs, soft. He coughs. You swear you see his cheeks change colour, just a little, but you don’t know how to react to it. “This is interesting.”

“I-is that a good thing?” You ask him, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Perhaps,” he says. There’s a rigidity to him that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“What . . . what does it say?” You ask. “What does it mean? Am I going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger?”

“Not a stranger,” he says. He swallows, and for the first time you see Avdol looking a little nervous. “And I think perhaps it would be remiss for someone like me to call him handsome.” You look curiously at him, but his eyes are focused on your smaller palm. It feels so right, being held like this. “Your heart line. Well. It says you were wary of this person at first, that you did not quite believe everything they were saying – but that something about them seemed to draw you in even so, like a magnetic pull. It says . . .” He seems more awkward than you’ve ever seen him, and certainly more awkward than you’ve ever heard anyone describe an encounter with him. “It says you should trust your instincts. And if you want to make a move . . . well. It seems to think today is as good a day as any.”

Your eyebrows scrunch as you think about what he could mean. You haven’t had any thoughts about anyone like that, recently. There’s nobody in your life. Hell, Avdol is the first man you’ve touched like this in the past week--

And a lightbulb goes off over your head.

It explains the way that you feel in his shop, the way that your heart seems to beat just a little bit quicker around him. It explains the constellations and the teacup and the way the two of you keep not quite meeting one another’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Avdol says. “This is unprofessional, I should be closing up shop right now--”

He goes to drop your hand, but you breathe in soft and sure as you whisper with a dry voice;

“Wait.”

He looks at you from under thick dark lashes. The whole of outer space feels like it’s contained within his eyes; dark constellations, secrets you can only wish you understood. You take a deep breath to gather all of your courage up within you. You think of Avdol warning you about things offered that seem too good to be true, but you push back the anxiety.

“Would you like to get something to eat, sometime? I’d ask about something to drink, but . . . I don’t think anything will measure up to the tea.”

Avdol looks at you. His eyes linger over your face; the cross between trepidation and hopefulness. They flicker back down to your palm. The small smile he gives you in return to yours is just as shaky as your own.

“Yes,” he says, quietly. “I would love to.”

#writing #jjba #avdol x reader #muhammad avdol #jojo's bizarre adventure #muhammad avdol x reader #jojo fluff #avdol fluff #neutral reader #Anonymous

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