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buckysbabygorl · 4 years

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Notice (Part 2)

Summary: After fighting for so long, Rogers and Y/N spent the night together. Will anything come of it?

warnings: swearing

pairings: Steve Rogers x reader

word count: 2,324

Part 1

The sun was rising, peeking through the curtains of Y/N’s room. Beams of light hit Y/N’s eyeline, stirring her and waking her sooner than she had liked.

Shoving her face back into her pillow, she internally groaned. The soreness of yesterday was finally setting in to its full extent, aches running throughout her body as her limbs stiffened. She became aware of the injury on her side, noticing that it stung more than usual. She started to stretch slightly when she realized the position she was in.

Looking up from her pillow, she found herself comfortably settled against Roger’s frame. Her arm rested across his chest, hand placed just beneath his jaw cradling it slightly. A strong arm wrapped firmly around her torso, hand resting on her hip while the other held her arm in place on his chest.

They were so close, so at ease, one might think that they were familiar with this position...

Out of shock Y/N turned over too quickly, accidentally catching Steve’s neck with her nails as she did.

“Ow.” he groaned, waking him as his hand shot to the newly made mark.

“Oh, shit I’m sorry.”

Groggily, Steve rolled out his neck and tensed his jaw as he did so. Y/N watched in a silent awe as she took note of a subtle vein in his neck.

“S’alright,” he mumbled, still a bit hazy from sleep. “ ‘s it bad?”

Steve’s Brooklyn accent was especially thick when he was tired. Lazily slurring words together with a touch of hardness. Y/N hadn’t caught that before today.

Y/N shifted to rest on her elbows and reached out to place a hand underneath Steve’s chin. As she examined the scratch, Steve felt his hands tense beneath the covers.

If he had been anyone else, if she had been anyone else, they could flip this situation upside down. Her capturing his lips with hers, his hands shifting to pull her hips against his own.

But it was Y/N. His teammate, his friend. Would it be smart to take hold of a fleeting moment like that?

Not that Steve was actually considering it of course, it was just a thought.

“I think you’ll live.” She joked. Y/N released his jaw and moved away, nuzzling back into her pillow.

Steve yawned, “How’d you sleep?”

Y/N sighed peacefully. “Good, hard. Better than I have in awhile.”

Steve felt a twitch of a grin, content she had some actual rest for once.

“You?” she asked.

“Fine, someone’s a bit of a blanket hog but…I managed.”

She punched his shoulder lightly. “Hey! You’re no peach either. Practically mauled me in my sleep.”

“Actually you cuddled up with me, remember?” he countered. Y/N shook her head and rolled onto her back.

She surprised Steve with her lack of comeback, usually ready to hear some witty little remark. He considered teasing her for her loss of words but he said nothing of it.

“But seriously, you feelin’ better?” He asked.

Y/N looked into his eyes, a genuine concern delicately etching his face.

She nodded, “I am.”

Steve nodded, happy with her answer.

Both were silent, still getting used to the morning.

Steve closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as Y/N watched the rise and fall of his chest.

It was nice to see Steve like this; calm, quiet. He wasn’t the most talkative man, and when he spoke it was often with an edge or a reserve. He didn’t seem that way now, reserved. Just bare. Yes, it was nice seeing Steve this way. And no, she did not mean shirtless. Though she wasn’t complaining about that either.

In an attempt to rid herself of her thoughts, Y/N began to sit up. “Well, you in the mood for some coffee-”

Y/N cried out, feeling a sharp sting in her side. Immediately Steve shot up and ushered her to stop.

“Hey, hey, take it easy. I can do coffee detail, just rest a bit longer.”

Y/N winched as she nodded, lying down as slowly as she could.

Steve aided her, taking some weight into his arms to lower her. By accident, he had slipped his hand under her shirt and felt the small of her back. He became overly aware of how soft her bare skin was in his calloused hand.

Alright, breathe Rogers. You’ve fought in a war, you can handle some bare skin. He slid his hand out from beneath her.

He gave her a comforting squeeze on her hip. “Okay?” he asked.

As he gripped her side, her thoughts halted. Dazed, she dumbly replied “Okay.”

He smirked softly, “I’ll be back in a minute.” He gripped her hip in quick parting again and Y/N felt her heart skip a bit as she watched him leave.

Steve gently closed the door, and turned to rest his head against the wood as he thought.

He could still feel the softness of her skin in his hand...

“That’s something you don’t see every day.”

Steve smiled, recognizing Bucky’s voice and turning to face him.

“Morning Buck.”

Bucky stood with his hands in his pockets, leaning his shoulder against the corridor wall.

“And good morning to you too. Think yours is off to a better start than mine though.” Bucky said, gesturing to the door.

Steve glanced back at her room, wondering if she had already fallen back asleep...

“Not what it looks like.” He reassured him.

Bucky chuckled as he reached up to flick a spot beneath Steve’s chin, “Mark on your neck says otherwise.”

Steve swatted his hand away and rubbed the now-sore spot. “It was an accident.”

“They usually are, sometimes people get a little carried away,” Bucky teased. He laughed at Steve’s flustered reaction.

“Relax. I’m just bugging you, punk.” He firmly patted Steve’s shoulder. “I’m guessing you guys made up?”

Steve thought about their night, thinking of how different things had been from then to now. She seemed better this morning. They certainly seemed better this morning.

“For the most part I think, yeah.”

Bucky nodded, “Glad to hear it. Now when you’re both pissed off, you guys can just kiss and make up.”

Steve groaned, “Bucky, come on-”

“I know! I know,” Bucky called as he continued walking, “I believe you, besides, I know I’ll be the first one you’ll tell when it happens.”

Steve scowled, “Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“I beg to differ!”

The team finally felt at ease again.

Y/N was back on the field and all tensions seemed to have resided.

Steve and Y/N were on good terms; they had small interactions throughout the day, quick hello’s and blips of conversation. Everything was back to normal. For the most part...

Something had changed in Steve. He’d always been happy to help out his team; it wasn’t the first time he had done something like this. He would go on runs late at night with Bucky when the nightmares were too much, sometimes he would stay up a little later with Tony than he had to to help him test out new weapons or armour.

The night with Y/N hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary. But it was.

He cradled her in his arms; he held her close while they slept; he undressed her.

It hadn’t felt like simply doing the most for his partner, it was more than that. It was intimate.

Steve was still concerned about Y/N’s well-being. Every now and then, he couldn’t help but peak at the entry logs of the gym or occasionally pass by her bedroom to see if she was asleep.

But he knew she was better, you could tell by watching her.

She carried herself with more energy now, she was happy. Healthy.

Steve smiled as he thought back to that night again. Her hand on his chest, sleeping peacefully.

He was glad he got there when he did.

“Steve.”

“Sorry, what?” He asked. He’d caught himself daydreaming again, completely oblivious to Nat’s question.

He sat with her, Sam and Y/N at the island. They were lucky enough to have a calm morning; no rushing for missions or briefing.

Y/N was working through a newspaper while Sam cooked. Sam apparently had “been feeling generous” and offered to honour everyone with a breakfast “fit for Kings”.

Sam may have been one of Steve’s best friends but my god was he a shit cook.

They ate out of pity, it was better to leave him with praise than dampen his mood or harm his ego. Sometimes you’ve gotta take one for the team.

Nat rolled her eyes at Steve’s lack of attention, “I said, have you been seeing anyone lately?”

Steve was taken aback by the question, clearly missing important discussion as to how this came up.

“How did this come up?”

“Just answer the question.”

He shook his head. “Not since Sharon, no.”

“What?!” Sam said as he flailed his pan. “I thought you two had really hit it off, what happened there?”

Steve shrugged, “Just couldn’t make it work. Lost the spark, I guess.”

Steve hadn’t been overly hurt by it, they’d both agreed there was attraction but no passion.

“So you’re single? Great!” Nat cheered, “I can set you up with Jane in analytics, then.”

Steve looked at her pointedly, “No thanks.”

“Oh come on, she’s a nice girl! She’s so sweet, a little shy… but you guys might be a good match.”

Steve shook his head as he sipped his coffee, “I think you’ve set me up one too many times Nat. I’ll find someone on my own.”

Sam whistled, “Damn right you can find your own girl, Rogers. You’re a playa’.”

Y/N and Nat laughed. Steve? A player? Ha.

Sam excitedly sat down next to Steve, “You know what you need? You need a girl with some fire, some heat. Like spicy caliente heat.”

Y/N laughed at that, looking up from her crossword puzzle, “ ’Caliente’? You’ve been watching too much porn, Wilson.”

Sam shook his spatula at her, “You shush. Porn aside, I have instincts. You don’t know what the man needs!”

She shook her head as she turned back to her paper.

“And you do?” Nat retorted.

“Of course I do! Dumb question.”

Nat turned back to Steve, “That what you need Steve? A girl with some fire?”

Steve took another glance at Y/N, fixated on her paper.

He watched as she silently mumbled the word she was searching for, glasses perched high on her nose and a loose strand of hair falling in front of her face. She moved to tuck it behind her ear and he was reminded of the small patch of freckles on her cheek.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “something like that.”

“See!” Sam exclaimed, “I know what men want.”

“Well,” Y/N started, “if you could let me in on the secret, I’d be more than thankful. It’d be nice to get enough of a guy’s attention for a damn date.”

She fiddled with her pen as she had finally found the word been looking for. Astonishment.

Nat scoffed, “Oh come on Y/N, it hasn’t been that long. You can’t be that desperate.”

Y/N whacked Nat’s shoulder with her pen.

“Easy for you to say when you’re all cuddled up with Bruce,” She teased, “I however, haven’t been on a date in years.”

Sam nearly dropped his pan, “Years?”

Y/N nodded, “You heard me, years.”

Sam laughed, “Be serious Y/N, a girl like you? No dates?”

She shook her head, “Nope, sorry to disappoint.”

Steve was puzzled. Could she be serious? Has no one asked her out in that long period of time?

“Haven’t you ever heard of Tinder? Or a bar for God’s sake?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I’m not talking about sex, Sam. It’d be nice to be actually taken out for once. Like a movie or dinner. Especially being stuck with the likes of you, for so long.”

Sam ignored her teasing and went back to cooking. Steve was shocked, no dates… for years?

Steve watched as she pushed up her falling glasses, gently biting on the end of her pen before finding a new word. Opportunity.

“Well, I could do that.”

Steve was met with silence.

The group turned in sync; stunned that the star-spangled man, of all people, had invited Y/N out for a night on the town.

Though Nat had suspected something was evolving, what with Steve acting particularly interested in Y/N more so than usual.

No longer just running ideas past her and asking her whereabouts before team meetings had started, things had shifted into a day-to-day inquiry.

Has Y/N gotten up yet?

Did she go on her run with Wanda already?

And at dinner the other night, the most curious of things: Save some for Y/N, it’s her favorite. But no sauce.

Nat knew better than to tease or pry, the man being much too reserved for that kind of banter. Instead she calmly watched as the two interacted.

She looked to Sam before he interjected, silently warning him to stay quiet.

“Yeah?” Y/N laughed.

Steve shuffled in his seat, surprising himself with his statement.

“Sure. I mean, you’ve been cooped up here for weeks. You probably could use a night out. And I don’t mind… helping out with that.”

Y/N was surprised. She hadn’t really been expecting to follow through with the idea, let alone be offered by Steve to do so.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lip, she turned back to Nat seeing she was as patiently waiting for a response as Steve.

Y/N mulled over the thought. A night out of the compound would be nice. See the city, grab some dinner, maybe do some dancing…

Why not?

“Okay.”

Part 3

Taglist for Notice: @thewolfgirluniverse @farfromjustordinary

Permanent Taglist: @babyblue-07 @babybluereads @pinkdiamond1016 @fandomsfallnomore @elliee1497 @lonewolf471

#steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #chris evans #chris evans character #buckysbabygorl masterlist

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

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Name (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x fem!Reader

Anon asked: “suggestion for Todoroki angst : he got in an arranged marriage with S/O because of his dad who offered a large amount of money to her family for this. Indeed it’s not what they are both looking for but Todoroki really acts cold, is sharp, openly criticizes her (a bit OOC ik) ... S/O is hurt but is still trying to be a good wife around the house to make the best of the situation and hide her insecurities. It’s just an idea, if it does not inspire you I hope you will find something better!! xx

Genre: Angst. Just...angst. I’m so sorry in advance plz don’t hate me

Warnings: Grab your tissues, this is a long roller coaster that’s only going downhill OH GOD I’M SO SORRY

Word count: 3,059

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: (Submission 1/3 for my post asking for todo angst ideas! Thanks for the ask anon!)

Um. This is...depressing. Really depressing and really intense. I didn’t expect it would turn out this way. But it did. I had 2 other endings, but I instinctively wrote this one. I actually had to stop and cry for a few minutes because it was just really painful I mean, I know I said I was ready to but I didn’t actually mEAn it

I tried a different style for this, but I think it suits the story well. It’s 3rd person limited because I wanted you to experience everyone’s feelings in this (gotta maximize on the angst yknow) and half past tense bc of reasons you’ll find out.

God I’m afraid to post this. Is it bad that I love it, I honestly spent so much time writing this, but it hurts sO mUch?? Y’all are gonna hate me, you’re gonna kill me, oh no, just read the thing already, I’m hiding.

Buy me a coffee?

Shoto didn't know how to react to the news. It's not that he had his eye on anyone in particular, or that he was even interested in marriage for that matter. But because he proposed it, the man who had spent his entire childhood controlling every aspect of his life, he refused to accept any other intrusions from the man he should call "father."

The strange man across from his father spoke those words so casually. "So Endeavor, when are these two tying the knot?"

At first, he thought he had misheard or misunderstood. And then his father responded just as casually, "The date is set for next month."

The normally calm and collected boy almost burst the entire room into flames. He clenched the silverware so hard his knuckles turned white and his teeth ground together, but he couldn't say anything in front of his father's guest and his daughter for fear of shaming himself. The girl across from him offered a sympathetic look, but he turned away, already preparing the earful he's going to give his father.

"I want nothing to do with this!" he whirled on Endeavor as soon as they were home. "You've made my life a living hell controlling every single thing! And now you even want to control my marriage?!"

"I'm doing this for you!" Endeavor bellowed right back. "For the Todoroki name! For your future!"

"This is all for you! I want no part-!"

"If you don't agree, you'll never see your mother or the siblings again."

The calm threat was enough to drench Shoto's wrath into submissive fear. The flaming monster in front of him proved once again that he hasn't an ounce of sympathy for his blood. He's learned that family is the only thing keeping his son under his thumb and he still actively exploits that weakness.

All the boy can do is swallow and walk away, retreating to the outside world to escape his bitter reality even temporarily. Shoto doesn't have outbursts often, but there are times when the straw finally breaks the camel's back, and this is one of them. All he can do is run until he can't run anymore, reaching somewhere secluded enough where he can burst out in flames and ice without hurting anyone, finally getting to a forest where he can do exactly that and scream to his heart's content. It's the only thing he can do that is under his own control.

In the month that followed up to the wedding, Shoto barely spoke a word to anyone, choosing to isolate himself. He only came out when he absolutely had to show his face at functions to the bride's family and look presentable. His mind was always absent, the time flying in a blur of colors and white. Thankfully, his father did the preparations, so all he had to do was go along with everything. Shoto was simply playing a role in a play or movie, he was an actor who deserved an award for being in character for a month.

The night of the wedding, he and his newly-wedded wife were whisked away to their new home, being alone for the first time together. He didn't even know what she looked like nor did he care. As soon as they walked through the door of their already-furnished house, he released a heavy breath, brushed past her, unbuttoned his tuxedo, and - cold as his ice quirk - instructed, "I'm going to bed. Don't come up tonight." It was the first time he had ever spoken directly to her.

His wife, through this entire ordeal, was patient with him. She didn't want this arrangement either, but she figured they could at least talk and come to a mutual agreement. The entire month, she never pushed him to speak to her. She anticipated that he would be rational about this, as she was told by her family, and that they would be able to talk things over when they were finally alone. Just as she was going to speak her mind the way she had rehearsed it many times, he dismissed her. She was hurt, but she understood. He's exhausted after a whole month of stress and preparations, she rationalized, He just wants to rest. I wouldn't want to talk to a stranger after all that either.

Resolving to try again tomorrow morning, she undressed (with great difficulty), crept into the master bedroom for her clothes while Shoto showers, retrieved her pajamas quietly, and retreated back to the living room. The girl searched all the closets for a thick enough blanket and settles down to sleep on a couch, the exhaustion putting her right to sleep.

The next morning, the new Mrs. Todoroki woke up bright and early to make breakfast for her husband as an olive branch. She toiled away in the kitchen, somewhat making a racket even though she wanted to stay quiet so Shoto can sleep. Just as she finished setting the table and had to face the question of how to wake him, the boy padded down from the room.

"Oh, morning!" she smiled brightly at him.

He murmured a greeting back only to be polite, his face devoid of any real emotions other than coldness. He sat as far away from her a possible, thanking her for the meal halfheartedly and digging in without another word.

After waiting a few moments to let him satisfy his hunger, she cleared her throat. "So, um-"

"Your tamagoyaki needs more soy sauce and butter," he stated bluntly.

She blinked at the harsh comment. It was shocking he said anything to her at all, and the first thing he said was an insult.

"And the miso has no flavor," he continued in the same tone.

The girl finally gathered her wits. "I'll do better tomorrow. Thanks for the feedback, I guess?" she laughed nervously, trying to erase the immense tension Shoto bled into the atmosphere. When he didn't respond, she tried again. "I know this isn't something either of us wanted, but that doesn't mean we have to live here like enemies. We could be friends, or even just roommates!"

"I'd rather be strangers," he interjected harshly.

It felt like a stab in the heart. Here she was, trying to make their lives somewhat bearable together through their common misfortune, and all he wanted to do was live like ghosts in the same house.

Shoto placed his chopsticks down firmly, glaring her straight in the eyes with the iciest hatred she's ever seen. "Just to be clear, I want no part of you. You live your life and I live mine. You can have the bedroom to sleep at night if you want, but it's mine when I come home to shower and prepare for bed. We will not sleep, talk, or breathe near each other as long as we are in this house."

She dipped her head in defeat, unable to bear the weight of his stare. "C-Can we at least have our meals together?" she asked feebly.

It's something he respected, coming from family values no matter how broken. It's the only exception he made to their less-than relationship.

Months passed and she kept her end of the bargain through a suffocating routine. At first, the girl was kind, trying to get him to open up to her somehow without overstepping her boundaries. She made excuses for him constantly. He's just tired. The least I can do is leave him alone. I can't comfort him anyway, I'm a stranger. He's still upset about the whole thing, he'll come around. She even begged her boss to let her leave a little early every day to make sure she had ample amount of time to get home, shower, and prepare dinner before Shoto returned. When he did, he wordlessly showered, sat down to dinner, nitpicked at her cooking, finished eating, and went to sleep on the living room couch, all without even sparing her a glance.

But as every day passed, she grew more weary and worn in her efforts to please him. She tried to fix every little complaint Shoto had about her cooking or the cleanliness of the house or the laundry, but nothing seemed to satisfy him. She tried to hold onto the silver lining. At least he never touched me wrong or took advantage of me, she would think bitterly. He has the decency not to take his anger out on me.

Then the dark thoughts closed in as he continued ignoring her. Surely, Shoto's only disgusted with his father, he doesn't harbor hatred for her personally. Then she would remember the hate and disgust in his mismatched eyes the first day of their marriage. She realized no matter how desperately she tried, he wouldn't show her any signs of warmth or appreciation. No more did she try to make conversation with him during meals or greet him when he came home. There were days she thought, Why should I even try? He wouldn't like it either way. What's the point of getting up today? Maybe he'll even criticize how I sleep. But she still rose out of bed every morning and carried out her routine because it could always be worse.

A sliver of hope came in the form of Shoto's birthday. The girl figured if she did something just a little special, he would acknowledge her even the tiniest bit. She spent days beforehand researching and testing out the perfect cold soba recipe because she knew it was his favorite. She lit some candles on the table and bought a small cake for them to share.

When he came home, she was sure he would notice and say something, but he didn't; he went straight up to the bathroom as he usually did without a word. Though she felt the glimmer lessen in her heart, she didn't give up. For the first time in a while, she verbalized her thoughts to him.

"I made your favorite for your birthday!" she chirped as he sat down, setting the plate and a cup of dipping sauce in front of him. She was so eager for him to try it because she was confident she'd gotten it right this time. If she were a dog, her tail would've wagged in anticipation as he slurped the noodles into his mouth. She waited patiently for his feedback, leaning forward in excitement as he swallowed.

"The noodles are slightly overcooked. And the dipping sauce is too strong, you didn't add enough water."

Her hopes came crashing to a halt. She couldn't even muster anything else to say as he hastily finished his dinner and rose to leave.

She stood up, heart hammering in her chest. "What about the cake?" Anything, something!

"I don't want it." He turned his back to her.

"I got it for you!" It was the first time she explicitly stated her intentions, the first time she made herself vulnerable.

"You shouldn't have gotten it at all. It was a waste of time. Why did you even try?" The calm and cold words stung her as he got up and left her in the dining room alone.

His words echoed against the empty walls of the dining room. She looked down at the cake he disregarded, feeling cold and dizzy. She took a shaky breath in and out before resting her head on the cold glass table to stabilize herself. The voice stabs through her even as she closed her eyes to block them out.

It was then she felt bluntly in her mind. He hates me.

The girl feels nothing but numbing cold, both on her face and inside. Rolling up to sit, her neck and back cry out in soreness from sleeping on the table, pale light greeting her from the nearby window. Her face feels strange, and she trudges to the bathroom mirror to check why. She knows she should be preparing for work, but what's the point? Her reflection reveals lines across her cheek, probably from sleeping on the edge of the table. She shuffles to the kitchen because she should probably start breakfast, but why should she? Leaning against the counter, she can't bring herself to move anywhere. Her brain buffers as she tries to force herself to think of what to do now. She doesn't feel sick, but there's a dull, cool feeling in her limbs that she can't face.

The phone rings, catching her off guard. Glancing at the number, she doesn't hesitate to answer. "Hello?"

"Hi, baby. It's me."

Her eyebrows relax, appreciating the sound of a familiar voice. "Hey, Mom. What's up?" She knows her voice sounds weak, she's hoping the woman can't hear it.

"I'm just checking in, you haven't called in a while. Is something up? You don't sound good."

"I'm...fine," she stumbles over the word. "How's dad?"

"He's doing well. You sure you're not sick, sweetie?"

"I'm not." She leans her back on the counter.

"Is Shoto there? How is he?"

And just like that, she feels something dislodge in her throat. "He's going to work, he probably left early." She doesn't know, there hasn't been any rustling in the house.

Her mom is silent for a while. "Tell me the truth. What happened?"

The sound of her mother's stern voice moves something in her chest. "It's nothing, I just made a mistake."

"Doing what?"

"I tried making Shoto's favorite dish for his birthday yesterday. I put so much time and energy into perfecting it for him to enjoy it, but I fell short again." She laughs bitterly, tears starting to fill her eyes. "He didn't even want the cake I got for him, he said it was a waste. I shouldn't have bothered with it." She blinks and a tear slides down her face. "I don't know why I was expecting something different to happen, I'm so stupid."

"Honey, where is this coming from? What's going on?"

She wipes her face, but more spill out of her eyes as she slides down the cabinet onto the cold floor. "It's just a little frustrating when you're sharing a house with someone you're married to and they barely acknowledge you. I mean, I expected there to be problems at first given the circumstances, but I didn't expect this." Her voice shakes with every word. "God, what did I do to deserve this? I've lived in this house for 5 months, and never has he even said 'thank you' to me. Hasn't breathed a word of appreciation to me. I do so much for him. I've bent over backwards for him just to make everything done the way he wants it, I've worked my entire routine, my entire life in this house to cater to him, but all he does is complain!" She sobs into the phone, curling up into a ball as tremors wrack through her body. "I'm just so tired. I don't know how much more I can take. I've made so many excuses for him, but I just can't do anything right. Why am I even still here?"

Her mother is silent on the other line. "My baby, if I knew this would happen, I wouldn't have allowed this marriage. I can't believe you're going through this."

The girl can't formulate words or think anything coherent. She drops the phone out of her hand, wrapping her legs to her chest as the tremors continue in waves, muffled whimpers the only thing escaping her lips because she's afraid to cry out loud despite being in an empty, lonely house.

Shoto heard something he probably shouldn't have, but he definitely needed to hear. It bothered him for the rest of the day. It was a sobering slap in the face that made him feel shame and regret, a hard-to-swallow pill that sat in his stomach the entire day.

On his way back home, the sound of her sobs echoes in his mind. He curses his behavior from the past few months. At the very least, he made a lady cry, and at the most, he's been a complete asshole. It's all his fault, that is something he's completely aware of and is ready to take full responsibility for. All this time, he was stupidly neglecting her out of spite for his father, but he broke her in the process. He's angry that he had to hear her crying to realize that. The only thing he can do now is hurry home to profusely apologize for what he's done and hope they can start over new and she forgives him, which he's prepared for her not to do.

Honestly, he deserves all the hate from her that he's shown her. After everything she's done for him and all the effort she's put into their imbalanced relationship, he wouldn't be surprised if she yelled at him and called him all sorts of names.

Shoto walks through the door, the atmosphere different. The house is quiet as usual, but it's more eerie than he remembers, as if that means anything with how aloof he was. He slips into the bedroom and changes quickly, returning back to the quiet dining room where his dinner waits for him at his place.

He tentatively sits and spares a quick glance at the girl who's supposed to be his wife. Her eyes are still puffy and she's tugging at her sleeves. It seems she's avoiding him and he was avoiding her before. He questions how things should start. When is the right time to speak his piece. Would she listen to him now? He decides to take a bite first and chews slowly. I guess a 'thank you' is a good place to start-

"We're getting a divorce."

He stops suddenly, almost choking.

"You don't owe me anything, and I don't want anything from you." She isn't looking at him, voice calm and collected. "Besides, it's better this way since it's what you wanted." She rises from her seat smoothly. "I've already packed for the next few nights. I'll have some workers come in the following weeks to clear out the rest, and the papers will be delivered promptly." Her footsteps recede from the room.

Shoto turns around to call out to her, and his minds comes up blank.

He never even bothered to remember her name.

Sequel?

Sequel!

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #todoroki angst #todoroki imagine #todoroki scenario #female reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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atinybitofau · 4 years

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[PART 2] S A N ⇲ royal series au

RECAP: san is king of eden, you’re queen of elos under one nation with 7 other lone kings. and now you’re forced to go on a bonding retreat with san cause seonghwa told you to. enjoy boys and girls.

• series masterlist •

⇩ PART TWO ⇩, click here to read part one.

You bid adieu to your humble armored soldiers before unveiling the fur scarf you had thrown over your arms and back. Supper had come to an end and camp had been set up. Now you were going to get ready to share a tent with San for a night where you find him in his half naked glory, adjusting the straps to his cloth under garment pants.

Your heart races suddenly when he knows of your presence but thinks of nothing of it— something rare of your nobility, heart palpitations. A lack of respect and honor. Though, you somehow subbed attracted to it uncertain by your hidden desires, liquid-lacing your insides. You have your palms held together as you wait to greet the back facing King. A greeting you were taught to do by your late father even if you hate the honor you stand upon.

San moved effortlessly with his back muscles flexed in calm rebound. He laces back a loose fitted blouse of black silk before turning to you with hazy eyes. Your fingers play at your palms as you bow courteously at his highness, your eyes blinking wide at the ground with heavy anticipation.

“Princess, we need no sense of aristocracy in our quarters.” He chuckles you off though bowing his head when you raised yours. “We may be of an honorable class but we don’t need to implement them in the bedroom.”

Cheeky.

You sigh making your way to your hidden room in the tent, masked by only a sheer curtain of cloth. You could see his silhouette staring at your side of the shelter as you strip from your dress facing in that direction. God knows why you did it, but you don’t. (Hidden desire maybe). You changed into your new drawers and a past-knee cut night gown in that you would sleep in for the rest period. San clears his throat, his silhouette visibly moving now after watching you blindly undress.

Immediately you thought of his eyes. A picture your mind drew unintentionally while you had gotten ready for bed that one time he smiled may be the best thing that happened since you last saw your fathers.

So bright. Hiding so much pain. The only real emotion that can truly expose a person’s feeling with millions of muscles moving. A smile.

To that, you get into your cushioned bed.

“Princess.” You hear San mutter from opposite of the sheer wall between the both of you.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be blowing out the candles soon.”

“Yes. Thank you.” You mumble sleepily in your blanket. “It’s still quite early if you’d like to take a stroll.”

“You’d j-join me?”

Your slowly shutting eyes batted open and you stared at his shadow in pure horror.

Did you sound like you were inviting him?

“N-no.” You shoot up in your blankets with a red blotched face. “I meant for you— well it’s early so I though you’d want to walk around for a little before you sleep. Y-you can leave the light on is what I meant to say..”

He seemed disappointed with silence.

He sounded more stressed when he hurried out not even saying goodnight. You sigh feeling dumbed out by your own reply somehow finding San’s feeling of confusion curious.

You remember the boys telling me stories of their childhood. How San felt singled out and acted somewhat strange. San rarely spoke and when he did seeming indifferent by people’s responses. The way you see it, King San was just as human as any of you. If not, a little more. And he may as well have wanted bad things to happen to your father through intent.. but he was afraid. Just like everybody else. You couldn’t blame him for that.

Feeling restless now, you stand up from where you laid and slung on a warm robe and slip ins to follow the poorly lead individual on his night stroll.

Mingi was awake and stopped so forth. Eyebrows furrowed he asks, “Where are you off too, young lady?”

You smile at the taller man. “San wanted to take a stroll earlier. Did you see the direction he took from here?”

“Your grace, it’s far too dangerous to be frolicking on your own.” He insists pushing his sharp sword into it’s protector. “San can take care of himself.”

“And I’m sure I for my own.” You place your hands on the worried bachelor. “The sun is nearly up. Get some sleep, Mingi.”

“I’ll wait for you both to arrive back safely.” He says standing up with pride though bloodshot eyes reading exhaustion. “He mumbled something about seeing a cliff far off north. It’s probably where he’s headed.”

“I promise I won’t go wandering.” You hide your head under the hood of your robe and grab a weapon of choice. “If we don’t return till the sun reaches it’s highest point, I want you to send a rescue team. He couldn’t have gone that far off.”

“Please don’t say that.” He cringes. “A precaution is like waving a white flag.”

You chuckle at the boy and pull at his royal suit. “Mingi, I assure you I’ll be fine. Please get some rest.”

The boy looked uncertain, his eyes wavering in mine.

Mingi was— he’s someone you relied on in the past and someone who never failed to make you feel special.

You loved him in a special way. As far as your love goes at least.

You lay a soft kiss on his stubble cheek before walking off in the direction you think may be where San went.

With dawn upon you now, you could see well enough. You managed to catch a glimpse of a shadow and sounds of crunching dry grass near by. A few quick paces straight forward, you finally see San.

You vaguely remember what he wore before wanting to sleep but in the rising sun, he looked humble. He looked close to a royal but in a form of a free soul. His chin was pulled forward as he basked in the warmth of morning. He walks forth like a child with no sense of direction, dimples sucked in with a soft smile painted on his porcelain face.

You catch up eventually and the soles of your shoes crunching awoke his attention.

He snaps at you enguard with his sword obviously startled by your unannounced appearance. When you remove your hood off your head, he sighs in relief and bows slightly.

“Princess, don’t scare me like that.” He breaths. “I almost cut your head off.”

“I know you want to but let’s try to keep each other alive before we get back to Aurora.”

He coldly turns away from you and follows his initial steps forward. Frantic, you follow behind him like a lost puppy not wanting to get lost now that you’ve found what you were looking for: him.

“I must amend your navigation skills. It was a curvy path I took to get here.”

You glance up at him taking larger strides to catch up. “Well whatever path you took must’ve gotten you back on track. I’ve only walked a straight line. I’m terrible at directions.”

Seeing your struggle, San frigidly takes your balancing hands to help you through the uneven rocks.

You ignore the tumbles in your stomach before saying something else. “There was a cliff Mingi said that caught your attention. Is that where you were going?”

“I thought you didn’t want to accompany me on a stroll.” He shuts out your actually question with his own. “Change your mind out of guilt perhaps?”

“Please.” You snicker. “I was only afraid you’d get kidnapped.”

“I have doubts of your bravery, Princess.” He laughed at that cradling you as you. struggled more when the ground got steeper. “Though I must say for a woman, you have the persistence to get through.. rocky situations.”

Very cunning. “Always so endearing, King San.”

“If I must.”

You reach where you initially thought he’d end up, staring out into the wild sunrise with pure delight. You seemed hypnotized by nature’s beauty pulling at your dress to sprint towards the cliff. San basked in the warmth. You basked in the view.

Your kingdom was close to waters, dams and unfortunately with the weather conditions, rarely saw past an acre. You were ecstatic to see stranded villages and quaint homes that covered maybe parts of Aurora or maybe San’s Kalos Kingdom that was not too far off edge.

“Have you ever seen such a view?” You turned at San bouncing in your place. “It’s beautiful.”

San was quiet behind you. No sounds of movement, no sounds of whispers. You turn around with a beaming smile to see him laying across the ground with shut eyes.

Immediately your face gawks. “You can’t be serious, San.”

He turns at you and opens his eyes. “What did I do now?”

“The view is breathtaking and your just gonna sleep there the whole time?!”

He hums curtly and resumes his previous position. “Absolutely. I’m tired from basically carrying you here.”

Your jaw drops. “Did you just entail my weight, San-ssi?”

“Yes.” He confirms without further ado. “Yes I did.”

“You are seriously a royal pain in the ass.”

“Why don’t you come and lay here and see why I’m doing it instead of barking over there like a dog?”

You kick dead grass at him hoping he chokes on it.

“What was that for?!” He cried coughing out the dirt and specks that reached his face.

You cock your hips with your hand on top it and point a finger at him. “Have some decency, San. If a woman tells you to enjoy the view with her, you must. It’s all in the book.”

“What kind of— What in gods name— and WHO in their bloody right mind would intentionally write a book with those words specifically?”

“An intellectual.” You annunciate with a wide mouth.

“We have eyes to see, y/n.” He pans with seriousness, tiger eyes glaring at you with fuming frustration. “I can open them later before we go. I don’t need to enjoy a view. Especially that of with a woman.”

I roll my eyes nearly flicking him on the forehead. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe god gave us nature to revel in? Not manipulate.”

“He gave it to us for health and well being. And gave us eyes to learn.” He retailiates huffing with his chest puffed. “Animals are our main resources. Plants give us life, sun gives us warmth, and the night our rest. There is no room for it’s beauty. It’s a fickle thing.”

“Nature is the most beautiful thing on this planet.” You firmly smile feeling satisfied with your answers before turning around to look at it. “Give me something more of that and maybe I’ll let you off.”

Silence.

Weird from someone who hates losing a verbal battle.

You whip around to see San full on face red, eyes blinking rapidly away from you. Confused and concerned, You pull up at your dress robe to approach him again.

“Cat got your tongue?”

He snaps at that. “N-no. You’re right. Nature’s absolutely the most beautiful thing on this world.”

He gives you another look. One you’ve never seen on him before. Until you realize the camp has sent a warning flare at the sky in consideration.

You gasp interrupted, San sighing in front of you. “We’ll talk about that look later. We need to get back to camp.”

You hear him mumble something under his breath as you drag him away from your temporary rest area, your mind blurring at the unimportant words he bumbled.

“After you.”

What you thought meant you walking in front of him, really was an add on to his sentence prior. Still blank to you, with time only telling when you’d get the real truth behind Choi San.

A troubled child trapped in a prevalent King’s body.

p.s rough edit

@atinybitofau

a/n: this series will NOT be followed by the other members. but San’s was pretty much drafted in my archives so I decided to continue his for the time being. long overdue lol but pls let me know if you’d like to keep this story going 😭

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coralstories · 4 years

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An Unexpected Arrival: Chapter Six

Word count: 1750

It’s another “main character shows up in Mirkwood and has to figure out how to survive”, but this time with my OC Aurelia Castillo and she freaks out first. Have fun laughing at her!

A/N: the bolded text is a different language. @tomisbaeholland here you go, I hope you like it!

Warnings: uh crying

Aurelia woke up in her room. She sighed heavily and threw the blankets off. She paused in the middle of getting out of bed as she remembered what happened. She had been in the forest with Emlithor and Legolas when spiders attacked. She had healed Emlithor and another elf, Lúthon. She looked around wildly, trying to figure out how she had gotten back. She ran to the door, intending to find someone to ask what had happened. The door opened just as she took hold of the handle, causing her to gasp in surprise and fall back. Emlithor, on the other side of the doorway, grabbed her arms, and kept her upright. Aurelia stared at him for a moment, her smile slowly growing, then she laughed and threw her arms around his neck.

“You’re okay!” she exclaimed.

Then she saw who was behind him: Tauriel, Legolas, Lúthon, and Thranduil.

“How did we get back?” Aurelia asked no one in particular.

“After you healed Lúthon, Legolas decided to report to me immediately,” Thranduil said.

He swept into the room like a True Drama Queen™ and sat in the semi-ornate chair in the corner. It seemed too small for him, much too small compared to his throne.

“And now, I would like a report from you,” Thranduil said.

“Oh, sure,” Aurelia said. She turned to Lúthon. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

She strode forward and took his hand in both of hers.

“I am… still amazed that I am not dead,” Lúthon said, after glancing at his king for permission to speak.

Aurelia hummed and narrowed her eyes, moving one of her hands to cup his face. Her expression cleared and she nodded, seeming satisfied. She let go of Lúthon.

“Alright, but don’t go fighting any more spiders for a few days, okay, sweetie? Your muscles and tissue are still raw and need a rest,” the girl said.

“How can you tell that?” Thranduil asked, impatient. “Also, I do not appreciate you calling my soldiers such pet names.”

“You said you wanted a report right?” Aurelia sat on the bed facing Thranduil. “Well, here’s what happened: I was trying to climb one of the trees to the top, and then I heard shouts. When I climbed back down, I realized the spiders were attacking. At first, I was just trying to fend them off, but then I saw a group attacking these three.” She gestured to Legolas, Emlithor, and Lúthon. “I tried to warn them, but the first spider got to Lúthon before they could react. Then we all sort of free-fell to the ground and Legolas and Ben killed them, but not before they wounded Ben. So I healed him and then I healed Lúthon.”

Thranduil stared at her but said nothing. Aurelia stared back, unperturbed. Finally, it was Legolas who broke the silence.

“But how is it that you healed them?” he asked. “You told us you were not a sorceress.”

“And I am not,” Aurelia said, not breaking eye contact with the king. “I could not turn you into anything… unnatural. All I do is heal people.”

“And yourself, it would seem,” Thranduil murmured.

Aurelia raised an eyebrow.

“When you first were brought to my court,” Thranduil said. “Legolas and Tauriel reported that you had fallen through the branches. Yet you appeared unharmed.”

“I’m not sure that in that case I was harmed in the first place, but yes, I usually heal quickly. I don’t have to try to do it, like with other people. It just happens.”

“So if I were to cut you right now, you would heal in a moment?” Legolas asked, excited.

“No,” Aurelia said. “I’d slap you, and then heal in about two minutes.”

Legolas frowned, blinking quickly as he processed this. Thranduil reached forward and grabbed Aurelia’s wrist, much like he did when they first met. Aurelia did not protest, because she knew what he was looking for.

“Your tattoo,” Thranduil murmured. “Is this what gives you your power?”

“No. It is what unlocked my power,” Aurelia said.

She took her arm back and rubbed the tattoo. Her posture and demeanor at that moment were so regal and proud, but her expression was so melancholy. Legolas frowned. He exchanged a glance with Emlithor and saw that he too wore the same expression.

“What is it?” Emlithor demanded.

Both Aurelia and Thranduil looked at him in surprise.

“Why do you keep saying things like that, with a face like that?” Emlithor elaborated.

Aurelia smiled with a confused expression.

“Ben, what do you mean?” she asked, a laugh rising from her throat.

“Leave the girl alone, Emlithor,” Tauriel said. She bowed to Thranduil before making her way over to Aurelia’s side. “My lord.”

Tauriel took hold of Aurelia’s hand, offering her support.

“How long have you had this ability?” Thranduil asked.

Aurelia started playing with a thread in her pants.

“Since… I think it was four years ago. I got this tattoo as a special tribute to my grandmother, and then about a week later I had a small accident. I fell down a rather large staircase.”

“That does not sound like a ‘small accident’,” Legolas commented.

“It wasn’t. I broke my collarbone, had a few nasty bruises, and twisted my ankle. I was laid up in a hospital bed for a while, but it was then that I realized what I could do. I was out of there a lot sooner than anyone expected.”

“How are the tattoo, your grandmother, and your abilities connected?” Thranduil asked.

“My grandmother always said that we descend from a line of priests that worshipped the feathered serpent god, Quetzalcoatl. He was the patron of the priests. I don’t think he has anything to do with healing normally. He was the god of the wind and considered the link between the earth and the sky. I think he just gave me what I needed at the moment.”

They all watched her as she stared at nothing, and her hand moved to cover the tattoo.

“So you’re saying,” Thranduil started. “That a snake god gave you healing powers.”

Aurelia’s face contorted in anger at the note of disbelief she heard in his voice.

“How is that any less believable than a dragon, or magic? We come from two different worlds, but from what I’ve read yours has a lot more unexplainable events,” she said.

Thranduil glanced at the pile of books under the vanity.

“Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? No wonder you’ve been quiet until today.”

“What I’ve been doing is trying to find a way out of here.”

Tauriel put her arm around the girl’s shoulders as she felt her start to tremble. The solid warmth and weight of the elleth’s presence blew out the fire they could all see rising in Aurelia’s eyes. Instead, she seemed to collapse in on herself.

“But there’s nothing,” Aurelia said, her voice breaking. “There’s so much magic in this world, it’s running through the veins of the earth, and yet I can’t find a way to get home!”

Tauriel pulled her into an embrace, smoothing her hair as she cried into Tauriel’s shirt. Thranduil blinked in surprise, but Legolas and Emlithor both grimaced. They had only seen her this distraught on the day she arrived. They felt terrible for thinking she had moved on. Lúthon, the poor elf, felt perhaps even more terrible. He looked on, concern, and worry in his eyes. He stepped forward, only to be stopped by Thranduil as he rose from his seat.

“Aurelia, we will leave you for now,” the king said. His cool gaze pierced Tauriel. “When you are calmed down, come to the throne room again. Have Tauriel escort you.”

Aurelia made no acknowledgment, but Tauriel nodded her head. Thranduil left the room, and everyone went with him except for Emlithor, who remained where he was. Tauriel glanced at Emlithor, noting his concerned expression. She turned back and continued her efforts to soothe her human. When Aurelia’s breathing started to even out, Tauriel beckoned to Emlithor to sit on the bed beside her.

“Here, go with Emlithor, alright? I’m going to get a bath started for you,” Tauriel whispered.

Aurelia nodded and sniffled. “Sorry, thank you,” she murmured almost inaudibly.

Emlithor looked at Tauriel uncertainly. Aurelia turned away from the elleth and hid her face in Emlithor’s chest. Tauriel gestured at the girl and gave Emlithor a meaningful look. Emlithor shifted his gaze down to Aurelia, and he slowly brought his arms to wrap around her shoulders. She relaxed and leaned into him as Tauriel went off to start the bath as she promised. Emlithor rubbed her back, trying to be as comforting as Tauriel.

“Aurelia…,” he said softly.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said suddenly.

She pulled back and looked up at him. He pushed her hair away from her face and wiped her tears with his thumb, waiting to see if she was going to continue.

“I was really scared when I saw you fighting those spiders. You and Tauriel….”

Her face twisted in pain at the thought of what could have been. Tears welled up in her eyes again, but Emlithor was quick to stop them.

“Shush,” he said, hugging her to his chest again. “You do not have to worry. We are fine, we are both strong warriors.”

Tauriel came back and took her from him. Emlithor waited a moment to listen as Tauriel helped Aurelia undress and get into the bath. When Tauriel started singing a soft lullaby, he got up and left, satisfied that his little human would be alright. Emlithor opened the door to see Lúthon waiting on the other side.

“How is she?” Lúthon asked in their tongue.

“Still tired,” Emlithor responded. “I was just about to leave, as she is in no state for any more visitors.”

Lúthon nodded, understanding.

“Of course. I just wanted to leave her a small gift, as thanks.”

He showed Emlithor a book that he had been hiding behind his back. Emlithor glanced at the cover, noting that it was something to do with magic. He nodded in approval.

“I think she will like it,” Emlithor said, and then swept past him.

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #oc #original character #falling into middle earth trope #writing #my writing #stories #aurelia castillo #legolas #legolas greenleaf #thranduil #an unexpected arrival #tauriel

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buckeverlasting · 5 years

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Be Safe (2/2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: After he pulls Steve Rogers from the Potomac, Bucky is on the run. He finally finds somewhere to lie low and someone to lie low with. But what can you possibly do to save him and yourself when his past comes back to haunt him? You saved each other once before. Can you do it one more time?

A/N: This is to fulfill an anonymous request and is also a sequel to “Be Safe (1/2).” Links still don’t work, so you can find the first part in my masterlist.

Warning: fluff, angst; lite assault?

Word count: 2k

Just when you had put him out of your mind for a moment, another postcard would arrive, and those two words would consume you: “Be safe.” You were pretty sure of all that he meant to say in just those two words. He was saying, “Protect yourself.” He was saying, “I still care about you.” He was saying, “I wish I could be there to make sure nothing ever happens to you.” With two words, he held your heart hostage. He had saved you. He was your deliverance. You could still remember the way he tasted, his mouth, the salt of his sweat. And with those two words, he was saying he felt the same way, that he was nowhere close to forgetting you.

But what good was just repeating these two words to you over and over? It didn’t make sense until the day he returned. One unusually warm evening in autumn, he arrived on your doorstep with nothing but a backpack. He didn’t say anything when you opened the door, just crushed you to him with a hug. This you weren’t expecting.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Of course.” You let go to usher him into your apartment and closed the door behind him. “Please, sit down. Can I get you a drink?”

“Just water, please.” He let his backpack slump to the floor as he collapsed into a chair at your kitchen table. He looked exhausted.

You poured him some water from a pitcher you kept in the fridge. You didn’t really know what to say, so you silently filled the glass and placed it front of him and sat in the chair opposite him.

“I’m sorry for barging in on you like this,” he said.

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s just been so long. And I still don’t know your name.”

He sighed. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.”

“The Howling Commando? Best friend of Steve Rogers? He died, though,” you said, “in World War II. That’s not even possible.”

Bucky explained everything that happened to him, from the moment he blearily awoke on the operating table to dragging his best friend out of the river. It was a lot to take in, but you quietly absorbed his story.

“I committed atrocities,” he said. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me.”

You shook your head. “No, you didn’t. It wasn’t you. Your mind was not your own at the time. Plus, I think I know the man who saved me. He would never harm anyone. Bucky.” You smiled at him and waited for him to look at you.

He finally lifted his eyes from his twiddling thumbs and caught your gaze. He smiled back. “Did you get my postcards?”

“Of course,” you said. “I saved them all.”

“You did?”

“And I want to hear about what each place is like.”

“How much time do you have?”

“For my hero, Bucky Barnes? I have all the time in the world.”

He grinned. “Which place do you want to hear about first?”

- - -

You talked late into the evening, so you told him he could spend the night.

He was reading one of your magazines under a blanket on the couch when you stepped out into the living room. You pulled our robe tight around yourself. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you said. “There’s plenty of room in my bed.” You could feel your cheeks burning.

He looked up from the magazine. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I’m positive.”

He flung off he blanket and followed you into your bedroom.

“You don’t have to sleep in your clothes.” You were probably blazing pink at this point. You let your robe fall to the floor and slipped into bed. You were wearing only an oversized t-shirt. “Nothing’s going to happen,” you assured him. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

He got undressed quickly and joined you in bed in just his underwear. You turned off the light and sunk back into bed.

Bucky rolled onto his side to face you. “Thanks for letting me stay here tonight.”

“You can stay here as long as you need to.” You wiggled close to him and nestled yourself next to his chest. He rested his chin on your head and wrapped an arm around you. You felt safe for the first time in a long time.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he said. “I hardly know you, but you’re the reason I’m alive. I fought to stay alive so I could come back to you some day.”

“Wow.” That was all you could say.

“I know that’s a lot,” he said. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I was going to say when we met again.” He laughed lightly, and you felt the slight rumble in his chest.

“Honestly, your postcards gave me life.” You placed your hand on his chest. “I’m so glad you’re back. Don’t ever go away again.”

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

“Good.” You fell asleep to him stroking your hair.

- - -

The next morning, you woke up, and Bucky’s side of the bed was empty. You wondered if he had to run again, and your heart began to pound. Then you heard noise coming from somewhere in the apartment: something metal clanking on a burner and a curse word. You wrapped your robe around you and hurried into the kitchen. Bucky was standing in front of the stove, his finger in his mouth.

“Is everything okay in here?” you asked.

He pulled his finger out of his mouth. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”

You walked over to him and inspected his injured finger. There was a little angry red mark on his pointer finger. “You should run this under cold water.”

He ran the cold water tap and held his finger under the water. You peered into the frying pan he had on the stove: pancakes! “This is so sweet,” you said.

Bucky reached over and flipped off the burner. He hooked his arm around your waist and pull you to him. He brushed the hair out of your eyes. “I just wanted to show my thanks for your letting me stay here.”

“You could kiss me,” you said. “Wait! Let me brush my teeth first!”

Bucky laughed and let you scamper off.

- - -

“I want to tell you about the most beautiful place I know,” Bucky said.

You slowly leaned your back into him, careful not to spill your wine. You had bought an expensive bottle to celebrate a month of living together.

“Okay, lay it on me,” you said.

“It’s a pink house on the coast of Italy, in a tiny village somewhere between Genoa and Savona.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“It’s just a short walk from the beach. I’ve always wanted to go back there.”

“The beach sounds nice.”

“Will you come with me? We could eat pasta all winter, and then we could swim it off in the summer.”

You strained your neck to turn and look up at him. His ocean blue eyes were locked on yours, entirely serious.

“You want me to come with you?”

“Of course. I love you.”

It was the first time he had ever said that, and though you believed him, you were shocked. You had never imagined your life would look like this, that you would be harboring a former brainwashed assassin and that he would come to love you. You never really expected anyone to love you.

“Well, aren’t you going to say something?” He tried to laugh, but you could hear the air hitch in his chest.

You pulled away from him, and sitting on the very edge of the couch, you lost your balance and tumbled to the floor. You tried to catch yourself with your hands, but one of your hands was holding a wine glass, which shattered under your weight. Luckily, most of it didn’t couldn’t hurt you through your thick sweater, but a small cut on your palm was beginning to blossom with blood.

“Ouch.” You pressed your other hand to the cut to stop the bleeding. “Bucky, can you grab the first aid kit? Or get me a towel?” You looked up.

Bucky was standing, and you were caught in his thousand mile stare. The blue of his eyes seemed to grow darker and duller. He was looking at you but didn’t quite seem to focus on you.

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond, just charged at you where you were lying. You scrambled backwards, smearing blood on the floor. He lunged at you again.

“What’s going on?” You jumped to your feet and dodged him again.

Saying nothing, he stalked after you, and you began throwing whatever you could get your hands on. He swiped the heavy books you threw right out of the air with his metal arm. You ran into the kitchen and grabbed the frying pan out of the sink. You held it in front of you and squared off with Bucky.

“Buck, you’re scaring me.” Tears were streaming down your face. “Please stop. I know this isn’t you.”

He stepped forward, and you swung the frying pan. He snatched it out of your hand, tossed it aside, and grabbed at your throat. You caught his hands. He pushed you back against the kitchen table. You fell on your back, and he pinned your wrists above your head with his metal hand. His other hand went for your throat again. You brought your knee up to his groin, and he stumbled back, releasing your hands.

“Please stop!” You slid off the table and landed on your feet. Tears were blurring your vision. Bucky was down on one knee, breathing heavily. He looked up at you, furious, looking nothing like the man who just invited you to run away with him.

“Stop it!” You sobbed. “I know this isn’t you. I love you!”

Bucky’s head dropped for a moment. He looked around and then up at you, blinking. His face fell when he saw your expression. “Oh my god, what happened?”

You laughed. “I knew you were in there.” The room turned on its side as you blacked out and fell to the floor.

- - -

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you woke up in your bed. Your hand stung, and it reminded you of everything that had happened. Bucky must have put you in bed, but where was he?

“Bucky.” Your voice was weak and croaky. “Where are you?”

You leaned up on one elbow and looked around in the silent semi-darkness. There was a glass of water on the nightstand with a folded note leaning on it. You snatched the note and read it.

Y/N,

I had to leave because I can’t risk hurting you again. I love you too much to put you through that again. Just know that I’ll always love you.

Bucky

“That idiot,” you said through your tears. Apparently he didn’t know that it was because of your love that you were kept safe.

- - -

It didn’t surprise you when, in a few weeks, you received a postcard from Bucky. It also didn’t surprise you that all it said was “I love you,” as if that was the only thing that mattered, as if he hadn’t broken your heart. When more postcards began to arrive, this didn’t surprise you either. He never apologized, and you figured that was because he thought what he did was beyond forgiveness. But you knew it wasn’t his fault; it wasn’t him. Your love was able to bring him back and could do it again. If only you had the chance to tell him that, to convince him.

You would have lost hope if it didn’t keep getting the reminders of his love in the mail. Finally, in the spring, you received a postcard that was different. It just said, “Join me for a swim?”

Thank you so much for reading this! I would love to hear your feedback! If you would like to join a tag list, please send me an ask :)

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raendown · 5 years

Link

Part 2 of @white-crow-haruno‘s commission!

Pairing: KakashiSakura Word count: 3259 Rated: E Summary: She'd known him for years. She knew exactly what he wanted as soon as she realized he was flirting with her - and Sakura was definitely up for whatever Kakashi had in mind. No strings attached? No problem.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

One Night Is All We Need

If someone had told her that one day she would be standing by the bar of a seedy nightclub while Hatake Kakashi gave her blatant sex eyes from across the room, Sakura would have called them crazy for a lot of years. Until a few months ago she hadn’t thought of the man as anything more than the Hokage, a man who had once failed at being her teacher before passing her off to someone else, a good friend now but nothing more than that. It wasn’t until she realized that he had slowly begun to flirt with her that her thoughts began turning in other directions.

Of course, as his friend she had a good idea of what to expect should she ever fall for those charms. Kakashi had been a bachelor for as long as she’d known him and would continue on without attachments probably until the day he died. He seemed happy, at least, so Sakura had never bothered to join the train of concerned busybodies prying their noses in to his love life.

But if he wanted a night of fun together? A night that rumor said would leave her satisfied for days afterward? That certainly didn’t sound like a bad thing to her, a single mother who hadn’t had sex since her wedding night four years ago. Not many people wanted to get involved with the infamous last Uchiha’s ex-wife.

“I’d take that opportunity if I were you.” Sakura jumped when a familiar voice muttered in her ear, looking beside her to find Yamato, her old team captain, smirking over the lip of his beer.

“Confirmed a few rumors yourself, have you?”

“Sempai and I go way back,” was all he said, though he did follow up his statement with a wink.

Turning to look back across the bar, she found Kakashi tracing the shape of her legs with his eyes, dragging his gaze up so slowly she could almost feel it like a physical touch, goosebumps lifting on her skin and a familiar heat gathering in her belly. Maybe a roll in the hay with someone who was guaranteed not to get attached was just the sort of thing she needed to get back in the game. Ino had been on her case for months to start going on dates again.

“Watch my beer,” she called over one shoulder. When she hopped off her stool to walk away she could hear Yamato chuckling to himself behind her.

“I might as well drink it,” he called back. “Don’t think you’ll be coming back for the rest.”

As it turned out, he was right. Though Sakura knew she’d had some sort of conversation with Kakashi it was all a blur in her mind until suddenly they were leaving together and flickering away to land in a rather empty looking bedroom. The layout was familiar, recognizable as the Hokage mansion, but it seemed he hadn’t bothered to personalize much during his own stay here. Not that it mattered. Neither of them needed pretty walls to get busy in between them.

Sakura was a little surprised when the first thing Kakashi did was kiss her – until she felt the soft material of her own decorative headband being pulled down over her eyes. All these years and she still hadn’t managed to see what he looked like under that mask, not even a quick glimpse.

“What’s the matter, Hokage-sama?” she purred. “Don’t trust me?”

“Maa, it’s not about trust. I just thought this seemed like your kind of thing.” With her training it wasn’t hard to tell where his voice was coming from, slightly to the right now that he had pulled away a bit. Sakura turned her head to smile at him.

“It is, actually,” she admitted with some surprise. How he’d known that was a mystery she did not want to spoil. It was exciting to wonder what else he had deduced just from watching her.

Knowing where her partner was did not help her anticipate the feather light touch of his hands when they rested on her hips without warning. Sakura gasped, giggled at her own silly reaction, and then bit her lip at the feeling of large palms tracing up her sides. When both hands changed course to slide inwards and cup her breasts she had to gasp again and Kakashi took advantage of her open mouth by capturing it with his own in a fiery kiss.

Sakura found herself being introduced to new ways for applying her shinobi skills then as Kakashi began to remove her clothing piece by piece almost entirely without her noticing. It was jarring to get so lost in his kiss and then come out of the fog to realize that her shirt was missing and her pants slid halfway down her thighs, scarf dangling precariously from one shoulder and bra missing entirely. The blunt fingernail that scratched lightly and enticingly across one of her nipples was a deliciously unexpected touch as well.

“Do I get to play too?” she asked, catching the wrist attached to that wandering hand and following it all the way back to a naked chest. When he’d had time to get himself undressed as well she didn’t know but she certainly wasn’t complaining.

“I prefer to make it less about me,” Kakashi rumbled as he pulled her against him without warning and leaned down to nip the top of her ear. “Unless you have a problem with that?”

“A problem with letting you make me feel good? I’m not completely crazy, thanks. You just tell me where to lie down and I am all yours, Hokage-sama.”

He groaned very softly and Sakura got the impression that he rather enjoyed her calling him that. Ironic, considering how hard he’d fought against taking the job at first. A moment later it was her groaning as soft lips wrapped themselves around her other nipple and suckled gently. Strong hands returned to her hips and gently guided her backwards until her knees hit what she assumed to be the mattress, her theory confirmed when she was encouraged to sit and then to lie back.

With her feet off the ground it was much easier to dispose of her shoes and peel her pants off the rest of the way. It should have felt strange to lay back naked and blindfolded knowing that Kakashi, of all people, could see her in such an exposed state. All she felt was a rush of arousal when she felt him kneel on the edge of the mattress as well and lift her hips to help shuffle her more towards the middle.

“Do you know what I was thinking tonight while I was watching you?” Kakashi’s voice spoke from directly over top of her as he settled in between her open legs, his own bare skin brushing against hers.

“Gods yes,” she breathed. Even blindfolded her hands found his hair unerringly when she reached out, tugging on the strands to bring him closer.

“I was trying to imagine how good you would taste, how loud I could make you scream while I suck on your clit. Or maybe you’re not a screamer, maybe you’re the type to dig your nails in and mark all the places that you’ve been, hm?” She could feel his wicked grin when he finally let her pull him in for another kiss.

“Tell you what,” she whispered against his lips. “If you can make me scream with your tongue tonight then maybe I’ll do the same for you tomorrow under your desk.”

His breathing hitched with interest and Sakura took her turn to grin.

“Naughty naughty, doctor Haruno. I like it. And I shall very gladly take you up on that offer.”

Kakashi granted her one more kiss before crawling down her body, licking a path down the valley between her breasts, dragging his teeth along the lines of her abdomen. When he met the patch of hair between her legs Sakura remembered suddenly that she hadn’t tidied that area in way too long but if he minded the natural look then he said nothing about it.

Her legs parted easily at his gentle touch, already spread to accommodate him between them and widening now just to feel his hungry gaze on the most secret parts of her body. She felt the mattress shift when he leaned down and yet somehow it was still a shock to feel his tongue drag along her outer lips and gather the moisture she knew would already be gathering there. As she hooked both legs over his shoulders Kakashi opened her with two fingers and delved deep, no more warning given than a rush of warm breath on her skin before suddenly she was clenching her fists in the blankets with pleasure.

It only took a couple of minutes for Sakura to wonder if she hadn’t stumbled on to the secret of nirvana, hidden on the tip of Kakashi’s tongue and bolstered by the two fingers he slid inside her, slowly pumping them in and out while he fulfilled his promise to suck on her clit. Every time he paused to draw circles with his tongue she saw stars and each time his fingers curled to find that one incredible spot deep inside she ran out of air to breathe.

Considering how long it had been since any hands but her own had touched her body this way, Sakura hoped it was more understandable than laughable just how quickly she reached her first orgasm. One moment she had her head tossed back to moan with abandon and the next pleasure like she’d never experienced was ripping through her veins and encouraging her to grind down on Kakashi’s face until she could take it no more and fell back to the blankets, panting as though she’d run to Suna and back. Her entire body convulsed when he swiped at her clit one last time and Sakura let out a single helpless puff of laughter.

“Well…I don’t know about you but I didn’t hear any screaming. Is that all you’ve got, Hokage-sama?”

��I would say you’ll regret saying that…” Kakashi’s weight shifted away from between her knees and then hands on her hips were turning her over without warning. “But I suppose your punishment could be considered more of a reward than anything else.”

Sakura allowed her body to be pushed and pulled, anxious to see where she would end up and what heights he would take her to next. Gentle hands traced the shape of her muscular thighs before gripping and hauling her up in to a doggy style position. Then they skimmed up her inner thighs to dip back inside of her and drag out another gasp of surprise.

“Ready for me again so soon, I see.”

Even if she could think of a response while his fingers worked their magic inside her she would have lost it again when they slipped up to rub a few circles around her now overly sensitive clit. Sakura was already panting again by the time she heard a condom wrapper being torn open, crying out in mindless protest when those glorious fingers stopped what they were doing only to moan as something blunt and thick pressed against her entrance.

Kakashi made a low noise behind her but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the cock slowly pressing deeper and deeper, filling her more than she’d ever been filled. As a confident adult woman Sakura was not ashamed to admit she had purchase a dildo or two to satisfy her desires since the divorce was finalized but she’d never thought to purchase anything that stretched her limits quite like Kakashi’s natural gifts. Her face was burning for the shameless noises dripping from her lips but she couldn’t stop herself; he felt incredible inside her.

Just as she was starting to think she couldn’t possibly fit all of him in Kakashi bottomed out, pausing for a moment to grind his hips in a small circle and then pulling out almost as slowly as he had pushed in. The drag felt amazing but not as good as it felt when he braced her hips with both hands and slammed forward again.

The pace he set up was punishing, would have been too much if she weren’t just as much of a hardened soldier as him. Sakura closed her eyes, planted her face in the sheets, and rocked back in to the motion as well as she could, writhing against the hands holding her in place and almost hoping they would leave a few bruises like trophies of the best fuck she’d ever had. Whether they did or not, she knew she would definitely be thinking about this the next time she relieved a bit of tension on her own.

“Fuck you’re tight,” her partner grunted, a note of surprise in his voice.

“I – shit – I do my Kegels,” she said. Despite the pleasure rolling eyes back in her head she even managed a bit of sarcasm too and surprised a laugh out of him.

“And so wet for me. Is this how you like it, Sakura? You like it when your Hokage fucks you from behind?”

“I’d like it if he fucked me a little harder.” She could feel heat creeping up the back of her neck but refused to take the words back. He wasn’t the only one who could talk dirty, though she’d hardly had many chances to perfect the art of it herself.

Kakashi must have appreciated her efforts more than she expected him to. Instead of replying with something sassy like he normally would he simply took her advice and upped the intensity, snapping their hips together so hard she was sure that his fingers weren’t the only thing that would be leaving bruises.

And damn was it good. It was everything she’d thought she was fine without the last few years. Hopefully Kakashi wouldn’t mind a few repeats of tonight until she could actually get herself back in to the dating scene.

From the grunts and moans that had begun to slip out it was easy to tell when Kakashi was getting close, which Sakura was very thankful for since she could feel another orgasm creeping up on her as well, just waiting to pull her under the waves. When his rhythm began to stutter Sakura transferred all her weight to one arm and desperately shoved the other underneath her own writhing body to take up the same patterns he had drawn on her clit before. Almost immediately she could feel a tightening in her muscles and she knew it wouldn’t take much to push her over that edge.

In fact, all it took was the almost violent crash of Kakashi’s hips against her own as his rhythm broke down entirely and he remained buried deep inside of her to grind out his own peak. Sakura didn’t bother to muffle the filthy moan that slipped out, concentrating only on drawing faster circles with her fingers until finally her entire body shuddered with release for a second time and the intensity of it turned her moan in to a helpless scream.

The world around her felt fuzzy and distant as Kakashi gently slipped out and helped her crumple sideways on top of the blankets. Static mixed with the blood running through her veins until all she could do for several minutes was lie still and stare sightlessly at whatever happened to be across the room. When she finally came back to herself she realized that she couldn’t see because the blindfold was still wrapped securely around her head and moved to pull it off. Unfortunately she was too late; by the time she turned around to peek at Kakashi he had already pulled his mask back over his nose and was just fastening his trousers in to place.

“Damn,” she murmured. He blinked innocently at her over the mask and then chuckled.

“You thought it would be that easy, huh? Seduce me once and discover all of my deepest darkest secrets?”

He was, at least, still without a shirt. Sakura openly dragged her eyes down the planes of his chest in admiration. All shinobi worked out but not everyone was gifted with such naturally pleasing shapes – or maybe she was just weird about which body shapes she found pleasing to the eye. Being trained as a medic had left her with some very odd habits, after all.

“A girl can hope,” she murmured, forcing herself to sit up properly and casting around for where her clothing had gotten to. Her shirt lay within easy reach at the foot of the bed but her bra seemed to have gone on an adventure somewhere and it took her a few minutes to locate it hanging from a dresser drawer. She laughed when she realized that her underwear was hanging from the ceiling fan above their heads. Only Kakashi would be so cliché.

When they were both completely dressed and presentable once more Sakura turned to her friend and gave him a long, contemplative look. It really was a shame that TenTen was expecting her to come pick up her daughter at midnight; she would have liked to stay and see if they could go for another round.

“Heading out?” Kakashi asked, a clear invitation to stay and follow the train of thought she’d just been entertaining.

“Unfortunately I’m expected elsewhere rather soon.”

“Maa, not even time for a nightcap on your way out? You know I always enjoy our talks.” His eyes turned up in that same old smile, the one she used to think was so mysterious and cool when she was younger. The older she got the more she realized the man was more dork than mystery.

Sakura checked her pockets to make sure she had everything as she shook her head. “You mean you like it when I talk and you pretend you’re not reading porn under the table.”

“Every man has their vice,” Kakashi told her solemnly, one hand held earnestly to his chest.

“Well, you’re free to go enjoy that vice on your own for the rest of the evening.” On her way to the door Sakura paused to lay her own hand against that gorgeous chest and look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “But I suppose a scream is a scream no matter if it wasn’t because of your tongue and that means I will be seeing you tomorrow, Hokage-sama.”

She was out in the hallway a moment later, the sound of his dirty giggles chasing at her heels. A smile curled her lips as she let herself out the front door to take her bearings and assess whether she was sober enough to use a body flicker jutsu. In the end she decided it would be better for her to just travel by rooftop. The exercise and the cool evening air would help her sober up and it wasn’t like she’d never run in heels before; she’d be fine.

More than fine, actually. After such an explosive end to an already great night out Sakura felt like a brand new woman. She’d gotten laid for the first time in four years, tomorrow she would get laid again, and she now had bragging rights over Ino for bedding one of the hottest bachelors in the village. After spending so long stuck in a rut it looked like things were finally starting to go her way.

#rae writes #commission #kakasaku #sakura #kakashi #yamato #fanfiction

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hiilikedragons · 5 years

Text

drunk blogging involves uploading chapters of sacrifice au that aren’t finished yet

After weeks without them, the sounds of Astrid’s sleeping breaths are insanely soothing. Even in the dark, in a room of a thousand people, Hiccup’s quite sure he’d be able to pick out her soft inhales and sighs over anyone else’s. Any other night, they would lull him into blissful unconsciousness, but tonight, not even a blow to the head could put him out.

She finally gave into exhaustion long after midnight. It took a lot of reassurance, of trying to convince her that the more rested she was, the faster she could recover. And then even when she began to drift off, she would wake with a start a few moments later, clutching at her abdomen in nightmarish fear. It wasn’t until he stayed leaned over her bed, slowly stroking her hair, that she ended up truly slipping into deep sleep.

He hasn’t stopped touching her hair since. In the dim candlelight, left behind by the village healer, he’s been staring at her face and wrapping blonde locks around his fingers for hours. Even before they left their island, when they fell asleep wrapped around each other and he would trace the tiny scars on her skin-- it was never so comforting as this. Maybe it’s because of the heights that his panic reached earlier in the day-- the heart-stopping dread that clenched his whole body when she told him something was wrong.

But really, it’s just been so long since she’s been willing to tolerate his presence. He’s ached for so long to be next to her, hold her hand, bury his nose in her braids. Even tension he didn’t know he had locked into his muscles is coming unwound.

When they arrived, touching down on the decently sized port village nearest to the sanctuary, Hiccup didn’t bother hiding Toothless or concealing their presence. Instead, they landed in the middle of a cluster of large buildings. There was some screaming, some rush to action. More than one axe was raised in threat. But once Stormfly arrived just moments later, along with a few other dragons who were loyal to Hiccup and had sensed his urgency-- the villagers’ hostility was accented with hesitance.

“We need a healer,” he demanded, voice as loud and authoritative as he could muster. He had to gently unfurl Astrid’s fingers from his arm before swinging his leg over Toothless and dismounting. Her eyes kept flicking between him and the villagers.

“Be careful,” she murmured, voice shaking.

He stalked into the orange glow of their torches. Lifting his helmet, he held out a hand to stay anyone who might be tempted to make the first move. “The dragons won’t be aggressive unless someone tries to cause us harm.” He played up the Dragon Rider persona just a touch, instructing the dragons to be calm and easy.

Then only once he was sure that all weapons were lowered did he finally turn back to Toothless and help Astrid down.

“C’mon,” he whispered, holding his arms out to her. She’d ridden side-saddle the whole way, leaning against him with one hand fisted in the fabric at her waist. There were wrinkles in the dress when she accepted his help to stand.

She-- of course-- made all the difference. Once he helped her into the light, everyone got a look at her pained expression and hunched posture. They saw a helpless young woman, watched the protective way that Hiccup orbited her, and must have realized that even intimidating dragon masters have vulnerabilities.

It was the chief’s wife that approached them, in the end. Broad and serious, she went to Astrid’s other side and began asking questions without pleasantries. If she was injured, where it hurt. As soon as Astrid mentioned that she was with child, though, things went very quickly. They were taken to the healer’s house, and a midwife was summoned.

She hardly let go of him that whole time, and nobody was brave enough to try and tell him to step aside. More questions were asked, and she was instructed to lie down on a tiny corner bed. But what Hiccup would remember most was when Astrid lifted her tunic for the midwife to inspect.

He could see her ribs, she was so thin. And her hip bones jutted to either side. He’d felt good about her getting adequate nutrition after she’d been taken from Berk, but it seemed that since the last time he’d seen her undressed, she’d lost all of that progress. And yet, where her stomach was once hard, defined muscle, it was now smooth and swollen. Not much, just a protrusion large enough for him to fit one hand over, but for the first time, he could see the beginnings of life inside her body.

Something inside him trembled in awe. He ducked his face away, afraid someone might see how overwhelmed he suddenly felt. How terrifying it was, to be suddenly so attached to something he could so easily lose. He wished he had the power to stop time, make everything stop. To be able to keep anything from happening to either of them.

And then, the alarm was drained from the room.

“Bedrest for a while,” the midwife instructed, after touching and prodding and pressing. An older woman, she gave Astrid’s head a fond pat and adjusted the blankets around her. “Stay off your feet for at least a couple of weeks. More, if the bleeding doesn’t subside within the next couple of days.” Hobbling away from the bed, she folded Astrid’s ruined, dark-stained leggings and sat them in a nearby chair.

“So it’s okay?” Hiccup asked warily, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat.

At the same time, Astrid shook her head, unsure. “Everything’s fine? I didn’t…?”

The midwife waved a hand, dismissing the rest of her sentence. “I can’t say there’s no reason for concern.” She was an old woman, and it was hard to read the wrinkles in her expression. “The placenta is detaching slightly. It’s alarming and bloody, but there’s no immediate danger for the babe as long as it’s given time to heal.”

Her beady eyes fixed on Hiccup. “And she needs to put on weight. Bread. Milk. Meat.”

“She hasn’t eaten much today,” he admitted guiltily, but Astrid spoke up.

“I can’t keep much down.” The tone in her voice was a little firm, as if she was interjecting to defend him. He tried to not let the ache in his heart show. “I don’t usually have an appetite.”

“Well, you’re getting one tonight,” the old woman insisted. “I have some things for an unsettled stomach. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat.”

The chief’s wife was the one to bring it. And even though Hiccup himself was starving, he made sure he watched his wife eat several substantial bites of chicken and gravy-slathered potatoes before touching his own food. She only paused once to breathe deeply through her nose and then resumed her chewing. If she had any other nausea, she didn’t show it.

After Astrid had cleaned her bowl and fallen into a fitful sleep, the chief’s wife-- who, admittedly been very gracious to the strangers who disrupted her village and mildly threatened their people-- informed him that they could stay the night. Just the night.

“I don’t like those dragons lurkin’ about,” she said lowly. Her accent was thick, and with her blonde hair sticking out from her head, she reminded him a little bit of Gobber. She stabbed a finger into the tabletop. “They haven’t broken or attacked anything yet, but they’re watching our flocks and licking their chops.”

“They won’t bother anything.” He swore, keeping his voice down so he didn’t disturb his sleeping wife. “They stay well-fed, and they won’t take anything unless I allow it.”

“Oh aye, we’ve heard of you.” She leaned forward on her elbows, narrowing her gaze at him. “Word’s travelled. They call you different things, but it’s all the same--” Her mouth twisted in a sneer. “You and them dragons of yours come through, stealing and burning. Leaving villages destroyed in your wake.”

Hiccup felt a slice of nerves open through his gut-- not for himself, but for Astrid. Asleep and helpless. Without any way to protect herself, she could easily be used to hurt him. All it would take would be a little bit of spite, and from the sound of the old woman’s voice, they had plenty of it.

“Don’t worry so much, boy.” Something like amusement flashed in her dark eyes. “You’re not quite the demon of fire and fury I was led to expect.”

His panic must have shown on his face. He tried to offer a twist of a smile as a vague sort of thanks. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“Aye, well…” She shrugged, sitting back and crossing her thick arms over her ample chest. “I won’t say all the rumors are false, but the way a man treats his wife speaks for his character. And that one,” She nodded, gesturing to Astrid. “That one hasn’t let go of your arm since y’arrived.”

Something tugged in his chest. Oh, if only she knew how cold Astrid had been towards him recently. How deeply he’d wounded her. But there’s also something that pulses warmly through his veins at her words. Astrid hadn’t let go of him. She looked at him with fear and anxiety, searching for reassurance. She’d called for him, and she trusted him to get her to safety. That had to mean something.

He made sure to promise that they’d be gone as soon as they were able. That seemed to satisfy the chief’s wife. After refilling his mug with ale, she reminded him to call for the midwife if anything changed and left them alone.

Now that the worst of the fear has gone, his whole chest has been left sore. Like he just ran a sprint or nearly drowned. His relief is so potent, he’s a little drunk on it. For the first time in a long, long time, he sends a small prayer of thanks towards the gods. He stays by her side, playing with her hair and watching her expression for any hint of pain or fear.

Hiccup’s hand pauses as Astrid stirs, shifting in her sleep. Her face turns towards him, and her fingers curl around his wrist so she can nuzzle into his palm. He can’t completely stifle his quiet laugh. Valka was right-- she is just like a dragon.

His chuckle must wake her. Her lashes flutter, and she exhales a little sigh. “Hating you is so exhausting,” she mumbles, lips brushing his thumb as she speaks. She shifts so that her body is curled in his direction. “Can’t I just go back to being angry tomorrow?”

Hiccup doesn’t answer at first, not sure if she’s really fully conscious. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s caught her talking in her sleep. Just in case, though, he whispers, “Whatever you want,” and brings her knuckles to his lips.

As long as he has tonight.

Unfortunately for Astrid, Hiccup takes the healer’s instructions very literally.

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, but begrudgingly, she wraps her arms around his neck and lets him lift her from Valka’s bed.

“Healer’s orders,” he quips. She considers smacking the smug smile off of his face. After walking just a few steps outside, into the aviary, he sets her down on the fur that’s become her designated spot.

“I don’t think she meant I couldn’t walk to the other side of the room.” She doesn’t try to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but if she’s honest, his obsessive tending to her is slightly endearing. He’s been attentive and gentle and patient. She almost doesn’t know how to respond to this new, affectionate Hiccup.

“So far as I’m concerned, your feet aren’t meant to touch the ground.” He drops down next to her pallet and stretches out, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You can gripe and complain all day long, but if I see you walking unattended, I will tie you down.”

At the sight of him, a gaggle of baby Gronkles comes waddling over. They crawl over his arms and legs, turning circles before settling down against him. He lifts his forearm for one trying to rest its head on his chest and scratches it behind the ears once it’s snuggled in. Astrid tries desperately to bite down a giggle at the scene.

The past couple of days have been quiet. Shockingly easy. She sleeps a lot and-- thanks to the village midwife-- eats a lot. Hiccup made sure to over-pay everyone that night. The healer, the midwife, the village chief, and especially the villagers who sold him an absurd amount of food. They certainly made at least triple than what was required for their services. The villagers can now spread rumors about the Dragon Rider flying in with a horde of dragons if they want, but they can’t say he’s not generous.

In a way, it’s almost like the days in their cave. Half ignoring each other while still hovering close. She can’t say that she hasn’t had moments of doubt and anger, but for this brief space of time, she’s okay with just letting things lie as they are.

He sleeps. Astrid plays with the dragons that wander by and struggles with the little Night Fury she’s been trying to make from fabric scraps. Certainly she’s gotten better at sewing since she started mending all of Hiccup and Valka’s clothing, but the legs are still coming out a little crooked, and she hasn’t dared to try embroidering the face yet.

It’s an uneventful afternoon. At least until a Windcutter comes blowing in with a masked woman hanging onto his ankle. Valka deftly releases her hold and uses the wall to slide downwards before Stormcloud even has a chance to land. She lifts her mask.

“Astrid!” Valka croons, her face filled with such maternal affection. Hiccup stirs at the sound of his mother’s voice, lifting the arm that he has shielding his eyes.

“Welcome back,” Astrid says with a smile. As Valka kneels, reaching for her, she sets aside her sewing and accepts a fond hug. The older woman has a chill hanging to her skin and clothes from the cold wind, but the way she pats Astrid’s head is warm.

“Any news?” Hiccup asks, grunting a little as he sits up. He scratches sleepily at his scruffy jaw.

“We’ll talk about it,” Valka assures him, waving off the conversation. She settles on the pallet across from Astrid and distractedly fields the hatchlings running to meet her. “How are you feeling? Have you been resting?”

“I’m alright. Hiccup has been a tyrant about letting me exert any energy whatsoever.” She gestures to the fur and small pile of her things as an example.

“She complains when she does chores and she complains when she doesn’t have to do chores,” Hiccup is sure to insert. “I can’t win here.”

Valka clearly finds their banter amusing. The corners of her mouth twitch. Then she lowers her voice just slightly and asks, “And the babe?”

Astrid inhales at the sharp flare of anxiety that jumps to her throat whenever she thinks too much about it. But she tries to make her tone sound calm and assured. “As far as we know, everything is fine.”

“When I got your message, I was so worried.” She reaches over to her son, cupping his face in her palm. He leans into it, clearly used to this display of affection. “I don’t know if I’ve told you-- Hiccup arrived early. He was so small and frail.” Her brow furrows, clearly aching at the memory. “It’s something I’ve been concerned about with this one.”

Astrid remembers her mentioning that once before, but she had never considered that it was something that would be repeated with their child. She feels her fingers crawling nervously across her belly. Odd how just a couple of months ago, this child felt like a death sentence. Now, it somehow feels like she might die without it.

“Not gonna happen,” Hiccup says, gently pushing away Valka’s hand as if it holds the very idea. “I’ve always been the runt of this family, and we’re keeping it that way.”

Despite herself, she feels her mouth tightening with a smile she doesn’t want to give. But she can’t help but glancing at his determined expression. He catches her eyes and winks.

Gods be damned! Where does he get off making her heart flutter like that? Astrid forces her lips into a frown and looks away. She desperately searches inside her chest for some of the icy anger that has sustained her for the last several weeks, but she only finds tepid annoyance.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Valka begins, distracting her from her thoughts. “I’ll try to keep from flying too far for a while.”

Astrid nods. Of course. She has a feeling that there’s something going on that Valka and Hiccup aren’t telling her about. Something to do with Drago’s traps. It’s easy to pick up on their alertness, because she spent her life on an island anticipating attacks. And she’s not surprised that they’re keeping her in the dark, trying to protect her. She’ll have that argument another day.

“I’ll just be happy when I’m back to my old self,” Astrid sighs, half joking and half serious. “I can’t even protect myself like this, much less somebody else.” She feels almost as if her body isn’t her own. This frail, weak thing. Her legs crave a run, and her fingers itch to dance along the handle of her axe.

Valka tilts her head, evaluating her with sea foam eyes. “I know you’re not used to being taken care of. But will you let us? Just for a little while?”

Heat rushes to her cheeks. She can’t meet Valka’s gaze. “Just for now.”

She can’t stop thinking about that night. The sharp, knife-like pain and the even more terrible fear. But as awful as it was, it’s not the ache or the panic that she recalls. It’s the firm brace of Hiccup’s arms around her on the flight to the village. It’s the murmur of his voice as he soothes her frayed nerves. It’s the way he never left her side, and the relief in his expression when the midwife informed them they’d be okay.

She wants to be angry. Gods, it would be so much easier if she could be angry. But over and again, she thinks about waking to find him next to her.

It was the wee hours of morning, and she was wrenched from a nightmare. She’d dream of blood and the midwife’s grim face, and she’d just know that her baby was dead. And then she’d gasp awake, usually to Hiccup reaching for her hand. Or caressing her hair. Or telling her it’s okay, you’re okay, we’re alright. But he must have fallen asleep not long before dawn, because she woke when it was the dark blue of near-morning outside. He was leaning over with his head cushioned on his folded arms at her side.

Astrid watched him for a long few moments, letting her racing heart slow and her breathing even out. For some reason, an overwhelming wave of bittersweet peace crashed over her, leaving a knot in her throat. For so long now, she’s craved being this close to him again. Feeling the slightly too-warm heat of his skin and smelling his smoke and leather scent. But she didn’t dare letting him close enough. She kept her righteous wrath like a shield between them, keeping her safe from the dangerous lure of his new promises and devotion.

And now-- now he was here. It would be easy for him to leave her to her own devices, to risk a miscarriage and absolve him of any obligation to her. She would’ve thought that was what he wanted-- to be free again, to not be guilted into staying by her. But he hadn’t left. Hadn’t run. He risked his safety and his identity to get her help, and kept watch while slept.

She wanted to reach for him. To brush his messy too-long hair out of his face and trace his features with her fingertips. Her heart ached just to touch him.

But she didn’t. She shifted slightly to make more room on the edge for him and then closed her eyes once more.

She didn’t have anymore nightmares after that.

Part of her wants to tell Valka about all of this. His mother has become such a confidant, a wise advisor and attentive listener. Part of her wants to tell someone how hard it’s become to hate him. How her heart is beginning to jump into her throat when he holds out a hand to caution her or insists that she eat more.

But that would mean she’s softening. That he’s getting to her. Valka would surely look at her with amusement in her eyes, her lips pressed into a knowing smile. She’d say something about healing or forgiveness. And Astrid’s not quite ready to hear it just yet.

#my fingers are like sticks of butter #dragon drabbles #sacrifice au

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chibi-writings · 6 years

Text

Ink 5/?

Characters: Frollo, Esmeralda

Note: I gave Frollo a fourth ring in this story, a seal ring which he by all logic would have, especially for the time period. I also tried to find out what exactly he would be, and a provost, specifically Lord Provost of Paris, was the position that fit him the best. (Although he is still referred to as minister sometimes since this is based off of Disney.) Medieval France is honestly a huge, confusing mess with its administration and I'm surprised they ever got anything done.

"Those who guard their mouths and their tongues keep themselves from calamity." —Proverbs 21:23

Trouble

When he awoke it was to a bright sun shining through his window, its radiance restored overnight it seemed. Frollo winced and rubbed his eyes, his movements slow and leaden. He had finally slept, thank God, but he still felt strange and weak. His head was clogged with wool and even though his body responded to his wishes it felt as if it didn't belong to him.

With a small groan he sat up, moving gingerly and taking long pauses between his bouts of action. He had to let his head adjust to being awake, to everything being peaceful again. Minutes passed before he was able to slide himself out of his bed, into his house shoes and stand upright. He stretched himself long and languidly, like a cat, and glanced around the room. His robes were gone, taken away during the night to be cleaned undoubtedly, and his fire was burning small flames. Near fresh, then.

He bent down and tossed a log into the flames and then went to the door. He rapped his knuckles against it sharply and it opened beneath his touch. "Bring me water to wash myself with, and breakfast," he ordered the servant waiting outside. He heard a murmur of affirmation and the door closed again.

Left with nothing to do but wait, he turned and walked slowly back to the fireplace, basking in the warmth it provided. Nightgowns were not made to keep someone very warm and now without the protection of his blankets he could feel the gentle chill of the room creeping into him. When the cold had been sufficiently driven away he reached up to grab the rosary around his neck and take it off, then he knelt by his bed.

Normally his morning prayer would have only taken a minute or two, but he had been so tired last night that his nightly prayer before going to sleep had utterly slipped his mind. He had never, ever done that before, the very thought was unimaginable to him and yet there it was in his memory, no trick or hallucination. He vowed to make it up with and especially long prayer today and threw himself into his devotion, Latin spilling from his heart with more perfection and precision than he could remember in a long time. The words sang in the air, seemed to vibrate with their own energy as if they plucked at the fabric of existence around him.

"Confiteor Deo et beatae Mariae semper virgini, et beato Michaeli archangelo et beato Iohanni baptistae et sanctis apostolis Petro et Paulo et beato Leutherio et Cassiano et beato Iuvenale cum omnibus sanctis et tibi patri, mea culpa, quia peccavi nimis..."

During his praying he heard the door open, but he continued on unperturbed.

"Per superbiam in multa mea mala iniqua et pessima cogitatione, locutione, pollutione, sugestione, delectatione, consensu, verbo et opere-"

The servant did not interrupt him and he did not acknowledge the other's presence, and he heard a clunk of something being set down on his dresser. Then the footsteps retreated and the door closed behind him. Silence reigned once more, broken only by his words.

"In periurio, in adulterio, in sacrilegio, omicidio, furtu, falso testimonio, peccavi visu, auditu, gustu, odoratu et tactu, et moribus, vitiis meis malis. Precor beatam Mariam semper virginem et omnibus sanctis et isti sancti et te pater, orare et intercedere per me peccatore Dominum nostrum Ies. Christum."

But that was not enough for his sin. The other prayers came to him easily, the prayers of the Rosary, the gems warm under his hand as he held them, as if Mary was taking his hand in hers as her gesture of forgiveness. His heart swelled in his chest but he did not stop, he could not.

When it had finally ended, he stood up and replaced the rosary around his neck, wincing as his knees unbent from their position on the cold stone floor. Turning, he saw that a large bowl of lavender water had been left for him on the dresser. He went over and dipped his fingers into it. Warm still, plenty warm. He dug out a bar of soap from one of the drawers and a towel and dipped his hands into the water completely to wash them with the soap. Then, after undressing and wetting the towel, he rubbed it with soap and proceeded to wash his face and neck, then down his arms where he could see patches of dirt and smoke from the excursions of the past few days. There were other spots as well, but few. He would call for a proper tub in a few days, but for now he was far too busy to spend time with it.

It was quick, precise work. He knew breakfast would be arriving soon and he had little time left for luxuries such as slowness. Once he rinsed the soap off he headed to his chest, lifting the lid to find his spare robes and his chaperon neatly folded inside. Frowning, he lifted the hat and sniffed it. It still smelled like smoke. Unfortunately he had no replacements, it was unique, so he would have to deal with the smell for today and send it off to be washed later. He quickly pulled out his minister robes and the garments he wore beneath them, slipping them on as quickly as he could.

He had barely finished and was still adjusting the black velvet to lay properly across his shoulders before there was a knock at his door. "Enter," he growled, reaching down to snap the lid shut.

The door opened and a servant entered, bearing a plate and cup on a platter. He bowed to Frollo with a "Master," slipping from his lips as he set his load down.

Frollo nodded and waved him away, coming to peer over at what he had been brought. A piece of bread with salted trout and a cup of wine. Excellent. He reached out for it, then paused, realizing that the servant had not moved. "Well, out with it, what is it?" he demanded, turning his head ever so slightly to pin the servant with a glare.

The man bowed again. "A messenger arrived earlier this morning, Minister Frollo," he said apologetically. "He was sent by the bishop."

His stomach gave a little leap and his hand dropped, food forgotten. "And? What did he say?" he questioned, trying to keep his tone calm even though a part of him wanted to snap and demand answers from the other. This had to be about yesterday, there was no other reason. The bishop had heard of the executions and was responding. But with what?

"Nothing, Minister. He has a letter from the bishop and said he would show it to no one but you."

Food and wine had settled his stomach some and he sat rigid in his chair, spine straight as he waited for the bishop's messenger to be announced into his office. Frollo was certain that whatever it was Beaumont had to say it wouldn't be bad, but dealing with the archdeacon was bad enough, he didn't need to juggle any more members of the clergy in his daily life. It didn't matter that he was one.

His eyes flicked over to the window, where he could see the towers of Notre Dame far off in the distance. He wondered if the bishop would ask about Esmeralda. It had been no secret that he had spared her, but he wondered if many would even remember it. Vulgar, idiotic peasants would only remember something until the next new curiosity stumbled across their attention and they would be off chasing that instead, but more noble, intelligent men...that was a harder one. Perhaps he would mention it, perhaps not, either way he had to be prepared for it.

The sounds of bells came to his ears, and he perked up at them. Quasimodo was ringing the bells? Whatever for? It couldn't be past noon already, could it? Frollo sighed and rubbed his temples, staring at the eternal blue sky and the world it swallowed up below it. Heaven have mercy now he was sleeping in late, this was horrible...another sigh left him. One more thing that was Esmeralda's fault.

The door opened and he snapped back into position. "The messenger is here, Minister," a servant announced.

"Bring him in then," Frollo ordered. There was a glimpse of red and the man entered, his clothes immediately identifying him as a clerk of the Church.

The man stopped in front of Frollo's desk and bowed. "Good day to you, Minister Frollo, and may the blessings of the Lord shine upon you."

"Etiam te, good sir," Frollo replied with a dip of his head. "It is a great honor to have you here. Tell me, what does the Most Reverend Beaumont wish to say to me?"

The man reached into his bag and slid a roll of parchment out, and presented it to Frollo. "It is for your eyes only," he said, speaking this time in Latin as Frollo had done. "You have done a great service to Paris and for His Most Reverend, I am sure it will say so in the letter."

Frollo's eyes landed upon the seal holding the parchment shut. Green wax. That meant it was important. He extended his hand and took the paper from the messenger, its quality evident from its weight in his hand. So, was this truly important or was it ceremonial importance? He broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, his eyes scanning the letters quickly.

To the most prestigious Minister Claude Frollo, Lord Provost of Paris, I, Beaumont, Bishop, send you greetings in the Lord.

You have performed a most commendable service to Paris and to Our Lord in our fight to drive out the heathen menace from our city. Surely God was lighting your path when He led you to uproot their nest of demons and satanic worshipers to purify Paris and the morals of her people. I have—

Ah, ceremonial importance then. He felt his shoulders loosening somewhat as he read over the passages, filled with the bishop's sophisticated, if somewhat superfluous, writing. None of it in particular stood out, not that he expected this type of letter to, until he reached the bottom.

—and in light of recent events I deemed it necessary, if not obvious, that you receive a token of my appreciation. Along with this letter I give to you a ring from the Notre Dame treasury and 500 livre tournois for your dedication.

I pray that you receive them well and that the blessings of the Lord and our Savior Jesus Christ will continue to follow you in good health and good spirit, Minister Frollo.

He closed the letter, handling the paper so it carefully rolled back up and looked to the messenger who was still standing and waiting patiently for him. "His Most Reverend is extremely generous," he said, "and his words humble me greatly."

"His Most Reverend holds you in high esteem," the messenger replied with a smile, and reached into his bag once more. A small, elaborately carved wooden box came out, which he placed in front of Frollo. "He also said you may keep the box, as to part them would be like to part a sword and shield."

Frollo's lips twitched in a smirk and he opened it, revealing the ring nestled inside. He took hold and examined it. By weight alone it was pure gold, engraved with scrollwork motifs until the band started to widen. The black cabochon gem was framed with an engraving of a haloed animal on one side, and on the other the letters A.D. in the midst of the scrollwork. Angus Dei. Lamb of God.

A shiver of unease passed through him, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "I am honored to accept it," he said as he examined the size of the ring compared to his own. Finally he slid off his emerald ring and replaced it with the bishop's. It was only larger by a fraction and he wondered how the bishop knew what size would fit his hand. "And I would be most surprised if you carried five hundred livre tournois coins all the way up here yourself."

The man gave a smile of amusement. "Of course not, Minister. I gave the gold to your treasurer when I came here, he is in charge of it now."

"Excellent," Frollo replied, steepling his fingers. "If you wait a moment I will write back to His Most Reverend and then you can go on your way."

The man bowed again and Frollo quickly opened one of his drawers to draw out parchment, ink, and a quill pen. Such a simple thank you note did not take much grandiose writing and prose, but it was the bishop he was writing to all the same. Frollo's penmanship was excellent and precise, almost mathematically so, and his pen danced across the paper as he wrote. Even the messenger looked surprised by how soon he put his quill down and reached into his sand box in the drawer to sprinkle the fine sand over his fresh ink. "A sous for your duty," he said, reaching into his purse to hold up the silver coin.

Bowing generously, the man accepted it. "Thank you, Minister."

A candle had already been burning, so it was little trouble to melt the wax he needed to seal his letter. "Does His Most Reverend say anything else? Something that is not written, perhaps?" He waited a few seconds for the wax to start drying, then pressed his seal ring into it.

"Not at all, Minister."

"Alright then, off you go," Frollo replied, handing the letter to the messenger. He watched him go, his mind whirling with thoughts.

His gaze turned down to look at his hand, the bishop's ring on the forefinger and his seal ring on the ring finger. Juxtaposed they created an image in his mind, the forgiver and the executioner. In the same hand he held both the axe and the olive branch, the sword and the shield as the bishop put it. He smiled at the idea and held his hand up to the sunlight, watching as the gold gleamed under it and yet the raised patterns in his seal left some parts in the deepest shadow. The cabochon was as black as ink, like that night where he had walked through a forest of smoke and beheld his gypsy in her cage, that night when he realized what her skin felt like against his lips for the first time.

He shivered and ran his fingertips over them. How in the world had this even happened? It was just days ago when he was merely attending another Festival of Fools, just like he had every single year before. But this time it had turned out so different, spiraled out of control into a series of crazed events that ran away from them all like a hysterical horse, unresponsive to his touches on the reins. And that was days ago! Mere days! It felt like years.

Yet now...it had only been one night. One night of rest for him, and one night of having her under his roof.

Her skin had been so soft, her blood had beat against his lips.

Her smell was unlike anything he had ever known. Unlike anything he could have ever dreamed with his vows. The memory of it haunted him, in the darkness where it had seemed like they had been the only two humans left in the entire world. She made him forget everything when she was around.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor in protest. He swept past the desk, eyes flinty and feet swift as he threw open the door and charged out, startling the life out of the servant standing outside, and down the hallways that he knew better than anyone.

The guard outside of her door straightened when he saw Frollo coming, standing perfectly at attention in an attempt to look as if he had been doing so the whole time. The servant jumped to his feet as well, apparently the two of them had been playing some sort of game on a tiny table when Frollo came up. Not that he cared in the slightest, his focus was on one thing only.

"Is she in there?" he demanded as he came close.

They both nodded. "Yes sir," the guard said, short and simple, as if that was all he needed to say.

"She is asleep," the servant added quickly, perhaps noticing Frollo's forming scowl.

Frollo arched an eyebrow at the words. How could she still be sleeping in the middle of the day? "Did she ever awaken?" she asked, his tone cooling in his curiosity.

"Yes, for a little while."

Eyes darting to the door, he stared at it for a moment as if he could see her through it. She saw the very same door, touched it, was behind it right this second. "Go get another soldier and bring him here," he said to the servant. He waited for him to scurry off before turning his attention to the other. "And you. Let no one inside. And do not interrupt unless I call you, understand?"

A salute was his answer. Satisfied, Frollo brushed by him and opened the door, entering the room of softly patterned red and gold that glowed gently in the faint sun from the southern window. He had never liked this room much, but for keeping guests it had been acceptable to their more gaudy tastes. But here Esmeralda fit as perfectly as a hand in a glove.

Immediately he saw her, and his full attention was arrested by what he saw. She was curled into her blankets, nearly invisible except for the wild cloud of hair that splayed all across her pillow, its waves reminiscent of sand on the seashore. For what felt like an eternity he stared at that alone, frozen in place, mesmerized by every single curve and glitter of spare light he could see trapped among the hairs. He remembered how it flew when she danced, so wild and vibrant and alive. How she was alive, how she had leaped upon him without the slightest trace of fear, her touch so warm against his face while her eyes never left his, such a deep green that promised things that no good man would ever dare to whisper out loud in even the darkest of night.

Satan had surely hand-crafted her in the fires of Hell to torment his soul. That had to be it.

As sudden as ice breaking across a frozen lake, she moved. Frollo jumped a little, but she only shifted under her covers and then she was silent again. But, like that, her spell on him was lifted and he could think clearly again. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, but the gypsy woman was still there. Sometimes he wondered if she was just a product of his own imagination, something his mind conjured up to remind him of what temptation looked like, but he knew he was just being utterly ridiculous in those bouts of insanity.

Shaking his head again, he made his way closer, his steps making a bare whisper of a sound until he was standing right at the very edge of the bed. His robes flirted with the blanket each time he breathed, a soft teasing almost daring to touch before they danced away. The same way she had danced away from him after kissing him. He stood there for a few minutes longer, simply watching, wanting, letting his mind run wild with thoughts that he knew would absolutely land him in the deepest pits of Hell, all ones that she put there. He had already tasted her, touched her, and she had chosen him over death in the fire. She had accepted.

He let out a breath and very slowly moved to sit down. His heart was thundering in his ears as he did, the bed dipping beneath him as it took more of his weight. When had settled all of his weight down she moved again, rolling over with a mumble, and his heart leaped into his throat. He was not afraid of waking her up, but he just didn't want her to, not yet.

Now she was so close he could have touched her with one wrong, careless movement. Instead he reached his hand out and caught a strand of her hair between his fingers. He had never done anything so carefully in all his life, and he bent down as he lifted her hair up. Gently, so gentle and slow that he nearly shook from the effort, he bent down and kissed her hair. It was as soft as he remembered, warm as if it had a lifeblood of its own, and it smelled like her. Even through the smell of smoke that clung to her, he could smell her beneath it. It made the hairs on his body rise and his spine tingle, the mere knowledge of it, and he dropped it and sat up again, his head spinning.

She was too much, a strong and heady wine that went immediately to the head after it was sipped. Witchcraft, absolutely. Yet the accusation didn't seem to have as strong of a sting in his head as it did before. He knew that it would later, but his senses seemed to be clogged around her, anything that wasn't her didn't truly matter.

There was no way he was going to sit here all day and just watch her. He was insane but not by that much. Already he longed to hear her voice and see her eyes. Again he reached out and this time he caught her hair fully in his hand and let it run through his fingers, marveling at how thick and soft it was.

Esmeralda stirred under his hand, just like he knew she would. He watched, hungry as she moved and became more aware of the world around her, held in his hands alone. Her lips curled, a contented smile playing across her face and oh, she liked it. Frollo felt as if he would never move ever again, even as she came to life underneath him. She turned her head into his hand, then her eyes suddenly flew open in shock, the tranquility shattered as fear came over her and she whipped her head around, her hair jerking out of his grip, to meet his eyes.

His heart raced in his chest, not at all out of fear, and he tried to keep still and poised as he watched her move, unwilling to let even the slightest bit of his excitement show through. Esmeralda was always so intriguing to watch, he knew he would never tire of it. He felt his own smile appearing. Now she was all his.

Silence stretched between them for a second that lasted a lifetime, going more and more taunt until it snapped. All within the space of that second Esmeralda's eyes had gone from afraid to angry, and her expression was morphing under it. "What are you doing here?!" she hissed, trying to jerk herself away from him into some sort of sitting position, but the weight of the blankets seemed to impede her movements somewhat.

The question was so absurd to him that he had to chuckle. "I live here," he said, folding his hands together in his lap. "I can go wherever I please."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him, in that way he loved that told him she would be spitting fire at any moment. "Get out," she said, her voice low.

It was about as useless as trying to argue with a thunderstorm. Frollo's smile never faltered. "No."

Anger leaped across her eyes and her arm moved. "I said get out!" she snarled, her hand held firm and fast, ready to inflict pain.

Frollo barely caught her wrist in time, holding her in a vice grip. She was always so predictable and so easy to anger, playing with her was a whole other game. Her other arm went to strike him and he had to duck away, his hat slipping even as he caught that arm, too. But her fingers flailed, wanting to claw at something, anything vulnerable, but all they caught was a fold of fabric in his hat and yanked it off his head.

She fought and tried to kick at him uselessly, until he used his weight to pin her hands down beside her head and then he was looming over her, boring into her eyes with his gaze. She stilled, her breaths coming quick in her chest, yet she was still defiant as she gazed up at him. Good. "You chose me, Esmeralda," he whispered. "Remember that."

Her lip curled. "You forced me to," she retorted, her voice laced with bitterness and anger. And, ah, a note of guilt? Someone's sins were weighing heavy upon her soul indeed.

"I never did a thing," Frollo said, leaning closer until their faces were inches apart. He could feel the curve of her body under him, how it pressed against him so deliciously. "I did not force you to choose me nor did I put those words in your mouth, in the end your choice was your own."

The gypsy writhed in a vain attempt to throw him off. "Because you were going to burn me!" she yelled, trying to force herself past his strength and weight.

"And if not me then someone else would have!" Frollo thundered back, his grip becoming painful. "You're a witch, and who would have helped you after that accusation? Those people would have torn you apart themselves if I had let them. My greatest mercy and kindness to you was to even give you a chance of life."

He watched as she became still, pain crossing her features at his words, but Frollo did not relent. He had seen it far too many times, how the cold, harsh truth cut right through the armor of delusion to the vulnerable flesh underneath. Quasimodo had often needed such a treatment, but Esmeralda was made of far stronger stuff, she would take far more before she would break. "You just saved me because you want me," she murmured, her words an acceptance, a desperate grabbing of the truth and throwing it at his face in a pitiful attempt to use his greatest weapon against him. "I know what you're like, and how you look at me."

Her veins were beating under his hands, a counterpoint to his own pounding pulse. Frollo let his thumbs wander across her flesh, delighting in how soft it had been kept by her bracelets. "Your words show me how little you truly know," he said, fascinated by how her eyes tried to contain her emotions and thoughts. "I don't want anything from you. You're a witch and you cast a spell on me back at the Festival, your magic is in my head and twisting my mind and thoughts! But—" his smile widened and he leaned closer, dropping his voice, "I will save us both. Your soul is damned to Hell for all eternity but I can offer redemption, it will bring us back into the Grace of God."

Her fingers clenched a little, and he noticed the half-healed marks of nails across her flesh. "You're insane," she said, her voice dropping again, as if such a proclamation could not be spoken too loudly or else the retribution would be swift and terrible.

An emotion passed over him, something he couldn't identify but it made him want to laugh. "I am more sane than I have been in days, demon," he hissed back, "I know what I must do."

And he kissed her.

It was even better than what all of his wild, sinful thoughts had told him. Her lips burned against his, more fiery than any brand, searing an unseen mark into his flesh that he knew he would carry in his soul until the day he died. It was unnatural to have lips so soft and yet so warm, it had to be magic, something unholy, yet it plunged him into the depths of darkness and desire that made him react without thinking. He pressed closer, kissed deeper, wanting to consume it all for himself. There was a part inside of him that he had never known existed until this moment, a hidden part that had been starving, crying for relief until it raised its head in ravenous hunger at the morsels offered before it.

Black magic, dark magic at work, he was going to enjoy driving the demons from her flesh and soul.

Then there was true fire, pain that spiked through his lip and jolted him out of his daze and back to the real world. He jerked back instinctively and it doubled, a hiss leaving his throat as he felt Esmeralda's teeth holding him in place, biting harder and harder and—his hand moved by itself, completely thoughtless like how one takes their hand away from a fire to stop the pain, and grabbed her hair, yanking it as hard as he could.

A cry of pain left Esmeralda's throat, her now free hand slapping and hitting every inch of him that she could reach. She didn't let go, but neither did he. On their wills fought, storm against stone. One would have to give up, to submit for the dance to end.

Frollo clenched his fist and pulled harder, threatening to pull Esmeralda's hair out by its roots. Finally, her mouth opened as she cried out loud, releasing him. But her hand struck out again and this time, it finally hit. Her slap echoed across the room as it caught him full in the face and she tore away from him, whether his grip had gone loose or she had a burst of strength he didn't know. But she was gone.

His rage quickly returned and he leaped from the bed after her, his hand grabbing a moment too late as she fled from him. She ran around the table and gave chase. He knew that following her would be foolish, and instead cut her off before she could make a run for the door. She stopped in mid-flight and glared at him from over the table, even as she trembled. She had nowhere to go and they both knew it.

But ah, she was still wearing her execution chemise, he could see. Not that Frollo had really expected her to change into the dress his chose, in fact he would have been very surprised if she did, but the choice amused him all the same. So she preferred to be the lamb, then.

Blood, he could taste blood. He reached up with his other hand and touched his lip, watching as his fingertips came away red.

"So you do bleed, then," Esmeralda's quivering voice broke the silence. She was making a valiant attempt to still sound angry and controlled, despite everything.

Frollo chuckled and used his handkerchief to wipe the rest of the blood, wincing as the fabric touched his injury briefly. Not even that could bring him down from the jubilation that his heart danced in, nor the impressions banished from his mind that her touch and taste and even pain brought him. "I was right, witch," he said softly, nearly caressing the words as he said them. His breathing was too fast, too shallow, but he did not care. "Fire truly would not have affected you." He stepped closer as he spoke, and she stepped back, her eyes growing wider, but never leaving his face.

Defiant, audacious demon! How dare she hide herself behind the veil of innocence and fear when he could see so clearly through her! He would peel that mask away to reveal her true nature underneath, a spawn of Hell that had crawled out of the dark forests and into the world to drag men back to the fiery lakes from whence she had arrived. But not him! He understood and he would not be led by her temptations!

He would send that demon screaming back to Hell when he was done with her.

Esmeralda took another step back, as if sensing the subtle shift in his behavior. "I'm not going with you," she said, as if she could predict him. "I am not yours and I never will be!"

"You already have." He tucked his handkerchief away. "But it's amusing how you think I'm going to ask for such things." He smiled, ignoring the pain in his lip and yet the fear that passed across her face was worth it. "Guards!" he shouted, watching her jump at his voice.

Immediately the door slammed open and two soldiers entered. "Sir!" they said, hands on their swords as they looked around, perhaps expecting to find a scene of disaster awaiting for them.

"Take her to the dungeons," Frollo ordered, his smile never faltering even as Esmeralda's broke into pure fear.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, looking to him for answers. She tried to step back again but the men had already caught her by the arms and were dragging her to the door. "Stop it! Let go of me!"

He never spoke a word, simply watching as she was dragged away, her yells to him, her pleas of mercy, falling upon his deaf ears. Her voice echoed to him down the hall, still calling for him, crying for him.

For him.

He hummed a little as he went back to retrieve his hat and place it upon his head, and he touched his wound once more. It burned and a small shiver of unease prickled his gut. It was a good thing he didn't let her get too much of his blood, who knew what that witch would do once she had some.

Shaking his head, Frollo hurried out of the room, his steps following the route his guards took, moving swiftly to catch up with them.

#disney hunchback of notre dame #hunchback of notre dame #disney #frollo #judge claude frollo #Esmeralda #fresme

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ferryboatpeak · 7 years

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@mildlymaddy, what better way to celebrate your birthday than to write something in a genre that you love and I loathe with all my heart? Here you go, a fluffy lilo KIDFIC (??!?!) with tomlinshaw pining, canon-compliant hoodie sharing, and just a spot of lourry angst…

Almost two months, and Louis still hasn’t met the baby. He hasn’t meant to put it off. It’s just that there are so many other things to do, and he and Liam are barely on the same continent these days anyway.

Today’s the day he decided that’s unacceptable. So he’s driving to Surrey, even after a full day shooting in Doncaster, even though he knows it’s a bad night for it. Liam’s probably knackered after getting back from the states on an overnight flight. And part of Louis knows that even without the jetlag, Liam would rather have a quiet evening with his little family.

But their friendship has always been based on Louis pushing boundaries and Liam ending up glad that he did, so Louis hadn’t bothered to ask how Liam felt about him showing up. He’d just announced he was coming, and he doesn’t feel one bit bad about it.

Nor does he feel bad about showing up the night before Liam goes on the Breakfast Show. You can stay up all night and still do the Breakfast Show just fine. God knows Nick and Harry have proved that.

Louis never got the chance to. Nick was the place Harry went that wasn’t Louis, the next chapter after the inexplicable fuel source that kept the too-bright too-hot flame of their friendship burning finally ran out. Being friendly with Nick would have felt like chasing after Harry with a knife and flint, trying to coax a spark onto something dead.

It’s after dark by the time he pulls up to Liam’s house. Cheryl answers the door, in yoga pants and a ponytail. “You look lovely,” Louis tells her, and means it.

“Thank you, love, it almost sounds like the truth when you say it,” she says, pulling him into a hug. “Come on inside, the baby’s sleeping on top of Liam.”

Cheryl turns to lead him into the living room. From behind, Louis can see a ghostly spot of baby sick on the back of her shirt. “He a good sleeper, then?”

“Both of them, yeah.” Cheryl smiles back at him.

Liam’s stretched out on the couch with Bear on his chest, tucked up in a ball with Liam’s arm holding him in place. There’s a load of unfolded laundry on the other couch, all baby blankets and onesies and tiny flannels.

Louis pushes aside several rattles and squeaky toys and sits on the coffee table next to them. “Hey,” he says, reaching one finger out to smooth over the fuzz on the back of the baby’s head. “Welcome aboard, little man.”

Liam beams, eyes tired but as happy as Louis has ever seen him. “He’s great, right?”

“Of course he is.” Louis touches the bottom of one tiny foot. “Congratulations.”

“You want him?” Liam gestures with his free hand, offering the baby to Louis.

“You sure? Never wake a sleeping baby.”

“He’s due to eat soon anyway,” Liam says. “Here, take him.”

Louis stands and scoops up Bear, who barely stirs when Louis situates him against his shoulder. He falls into the rhythm of holding a baby without even thinking about it, shifting his weight from side to side.

Bear’s practically weightless in his arms. He realizes, suddenly, how big Freddie’s gotten. Louis tips his head down to inhale the warm scent of baby shampoo and sour milk, and looks up to see that Liam’s got his phone out taking their picture.

Bear sleeps long enough for Louis to ask Liam all of the standard baby questions, how he’s sleeping and how he’s eating and what happened the night he was born. Then he wakes up and is willing to let Louis jolly him along for a few more minutes while he and Liam have a choppy half-conversation about video shoots and promo schedules.

“Breakfast Show tomorrow, then?” Louis finally asks. Bear squirms in his arms.

It’s not a question about Nick, not really. Louis makes it a policy not to ask about Nick, or even to notice him.

Liam nods. “Yeah, it’ll be good to see Grim.”

Louis hums noncommittally. Bear squawks and pushes away from his shoulder.

Louis mostly manages not to notice Nick’s long legs and big hands. It’s harder not to notice how Nick always seems so delighted with everything, tells every story like it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him.

“I’ll tell him you said hi,” Liam says.

“…sure,” Louis says, after a moment, as Bear’s disgruntlement crescendos.

Sometimes Louis wonders if he could manage to annoy Nick enough to get underneath that exterior of gentle banter and amused self-deprecation, or if Nick would be just as delighted by Louis as he is about everything else. He doesn’t think too hard about which outcome he’d prefer.

Bear arrives at full-on tears, and Louis recognizes that professional intervention is called for. “Cheryl!” he yells, just as she swoops into the room.

She retrieves the baby from him, automatically falling into the same baby-bouncing sway Louis had. It’s much more effective when Cheryl does it. “Bedtime,” she says, smiling at Liam as she heads toward the stairs.

Liam watches her go. It’s obvious he’d like to follow. “Want to see the nursery?” he asks Louis, hopefully.

“Sure,” Louis says, although he doesn’t particularly care about the nursery. But he’s got a half-idea in his head, and being upstairs could help.

Cheryl’s in the middle of undressing the baby when they get to the nursery. Liam joins her at the changing table, chattering sweetly to Bear and letting him grab his fingers while Cheryl efficiently deals with his nappy.

“Pass me the cream?” she asks. Liam hands her a tube of something from his side of the baby. One finger’s still in Bear’s clutches, and Liam doesn’t miss a beat in the one-sided conversation he’s conducting.

Louis knows the contours of this routine, although it’s strange to see it done as a team. Feeding and songs in the half-light of the nursery come next. He’d only be intruding if he stuck around.

This visit’s just about run its course, anyway. Nobody wants company for hours with a new baby, Louis remembers. You want company just long enough to adore the baby properly and to reassure you that people remember who you are outside your small cheerful prison of nappies and play mats and laundry.

“I’m off,” he announces, coming up behind Liam to hug him with one cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Thanks for letting me stop by. You’ve bred well.”

“Thanks for coming,” Liam says, turning around to hug him back. “You’re the first to meet him, of the boys, I mean.”

That feels wrong, but also right. “New favorite nephew,” Louis says into Liam’s shoulder. Liam feels skinnier.

Liam laughs. “I wish I could tell you you’re his favorite uncle, but I think Andy’s already got that one.”

“Think I’ll live,” Louis says as he turns to leave. “Good luck tomorrow,” he adds offhandedly, pulling the nursery door closed behind him.

He passes the half-opened double doors to the master bedroom on his way to the stairs. There’s a bassinet by the side of the unmade bed and an overlarge suitcase on the floor, clothes spilling out of it.

The half-idea in Louis’s head suddenly takes perfect form.

He slips through the opening in the door and paws over the contents of the suitcase until something catches his eye. A black hoodie with patches on it and blocky letters on the sleeve. One shoulder is that peachy-pink color that Liam’s been wearing lately. Louis likes it; it makes Liam look soft. Not like Harry’s aggressive pink.

He tugs the hoodie over his head and goes to preen in the mirror on the far side of the room. Perfect.

On his way back out the door, he skirts the edge of a baby blanket spread out on the carpet. Something gives under his foot, and Louis recognizes the gentle squeak of Sophie the Giraffe. He looks down to confirm. Sophie’s tangled up with… a pair of little crocheted nunchucks? Louis considers nicking them too; Freddie would love nunchucks.

He rejects the idea. Appropriating one of Liam’s innumerable hoodies seems like the kind of mildly monstrous behavior that will delight Liam (and, maybe, Nick). Stealing the coolest baby toy ever might be unforgivable.

The door to the nursery’s still closed when Louis trots downstairs and out the front door, hands tucked in the cuffs of the ill-begotten hoodie, smirking all the way back to Doncaster.

By the time he gets home, Liam’s due to wake up in an hour or two. Louis finds a well-lit corner and takes a selfie, eyes bugged out and lips stretched in flat-line smile, pointing at the pink patch on the shoulder of the hoodie. He sends it to Liam.

It’s the kind of story Liam might tell Nick, when Nick asks him about the others. If Nick asks him about the others.

Nick’s always making guests call people.

Louis keeps his phone on, just in case.

#it's the only kidfic i'll ever write #so i went for broke #it woulda been better with your beta #lilo #tomlinshaw #lourry #kinda #kidfic #paynopup #definitely not the brits verse #sorry not much happens #hbd #fic

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willsherjohnkhan · 7 years

Text

Complicated Little Emotions

Chapter 1: Uncertainty

***

OUTSIDE MOLLY’S FLAT

Sherlock stood, his gaze fixed on the door in front of him, uncertain whether he should knock, or simply turn and walk away.

Uncertainty was not something Sherlock Holmes, the World’s only consulting detective was used to feeling.

In fact, Sherlock ruefully acknowledged to himself, it was one of a whole array of emotions he wasn’t used to dealing with. But it was one of many that were now bubbling to the surface, finally released with the revelation that he had a sister, and all that she had done...

Eurus, the very thought of her, what she had put him, John and Mycroft through.

And Molly...

The emotions he’d felt during and after the phone call were still very raw. They were what had brought him here, to her flat in the early hours of the morning.

Yet the hand he’d raised intending to knock still remained frozen, hesitant. What would be her response when she saw him? Would she allow him to explain?

What finally had his hand connecting with the door was the knowledge that in truth he couldn’t hide away from this, he owed Molly Hooper a full explanation.

What happened after that was entirely her decision.

MOLLY’S FLAT – HALLWAY

Molly had been unable to sleep, the phone call with Sherlock still going round and round her head. One moment tears were pouring down her face, and the next she was so angry all she wanted to do was punch him.

She’d been in the kitchen about to make a cup of hot milk in the vain hope it would help her sleep, when she heard the car pull up outside her flat.

She heard someone exit the car that immediately pulled away. Then she’d listened as familiar footsteps made their way to her front door.

Of course instinctively she’d known who it was even before he’d got out of the car. Who else but Sherlock bloody Holmes would turn up at her flat at two o’clock in the morning?

As she stood in the hallway, dressed in a ratty pair of shorts and t-shirt as Sherlock finally knocked on the door, the only thing she didn’t know was whether she would be strong enough to never let him back into her heart again.

***

Chapter 2: Fear and Concern / Shock and Exhaustion

***

OUTSIDE MOLLY’S FLAT

It felt like forever, but at last Sherlock heard Molly unlock the door.

MOLLY’S FLAT

What she expected upon opening the door was for the consulting git to barge in, and give her a quick-fire no-nonsense explanation for the humiliating phone call, before requesting that she completely forget the whole incident so that then they could carry on as they had before, as though nothing had happened.

But as soon as she saw him, all her hurt and anger instantly turned to concern. Sherlock looked shattered, his expression one of sadness, loss and utter devastation. With his shoulders slumped, he looked totally beaten. It broke her heart to see him that way.

When he didn’t immediately move, Molly all but dragged him indoors, before leading him into the living room. Only then did she reluctantly let him go so that she could get a fire started.

Sherlock remained where he stood, his eyes downcast.

Moving back to his side, she managed with some effort to get his belstaff off. Almost immediately Sherlock began to shiver uncontrollably, and Molly realised he was going into shock.

Leading him over to the fire, she settled him into the overstuffed armchair, before grabbing a warm blanket from the closet and wrapping it around him. She then headed to the kitchen to make him a mug of hot chocolate, which she placed into his shaking hands and assisted him in raising it to his lips.

A quick examination revealed injuries to his hands. She grabbed a pair of tweezers that she used to remove several splinters, before rubbing antiseptic cream inter the more nasty looking wounds. But other than that none of the injuries he’d sustained could account for the shock. That left psychological trauma. But what could be so traumatic as to leave him in this state.

And then she thought of Mary, and her blood ran cold as another possibility presented itself.

Taking Sherlock’s face in her hands, she forced his unfocused gaze to meet her fearful one. “What’s happened, Sherlock? Is it John? Rosie?”

The agitation in Molly’s voice worked its way into Sherlock’s numbed sub-conscious. The events of not only the phone call, but all that had happened since he’d learned of the existence of his sister hitting him without warning the moment she’d opened the door. Rousing himself from his stooper, he now focussed on reassuring Molly that all, as far as their friend and goddaughter were concerned, was well.

Mirroring her actions, Sherlock gently held her face in his hands. “They’re fine,” he assured her.

Sighing with relief, Molly felt much of the tension within her ease.

“They’re safe,” Sherlock continued. “As is Mycroft... And you.”

Molly realised in that moment that there was so much more going on here than just the phone call. So much more that she had no knowledge of.

But as she looked at Sherlock, exhaustion finally taking its toll, she knew now wasn’t the time for explanations.

So she hauled him out of the chair and down the hall, thankful years of dealing with cadaver dead weight meant handling a nearly comatose Sherlock wasn’t that difficult at all.

Once she’s manoeuvred him into her bedroom, she undressed him and got him into bed.

As soon as she joined him under the covers, Sherlock pulled her to him, her back to his front. With his arms secure around her waist, and his nose buried between her neck and shoulder, he let out a contented sigh as his mind and body finally relaxed.

In the blink of an eye he was sound asleep.

***

Chapter 3: Comfort and Forgiveness

***

MOLLY’S FLAT

Molly was jolted awake. Sherlock was thrashing about and moaning, caught up in the throes of a terrible nightmare.

“Redbeard! Victor!” he called out frantically, and then he began sobbing uncontrollably. “Why Eurus? Why did you do it?”

Desperate to offer him what comfort she could, Molly attempted to reach out to him, but Sherlock would have none of it, battering her hands away.

Shortly thereafter he seemed to calm down enough to settle back to sleep, when, without warning his whole body went rigid, and he started screaming her name.

“Molly! Please Molly! Say it, say it, just say it damn you!” Then the scream turned into a snarl, with his teeth bared he announced triumphantly. “I won Eurus, I won. I saved Molly Hooper.” But the triumph was wiped from his face, and he let out the most deafening roar before appearing to rip something apart with his bare hands.

Molly remembered the slivers of wood she’d removed from those same damaged hands. This wasn’t a bad dream, this was a recent memory.

When she reached for him a second time, Sherlock came willingly. Awake now, he clung to Molly as all the emotions he’d kept so carefully buried rose up once again, threatening to overwhelm him.

With Molly’s cheek resting against his forehead, and her fingers weaving their way through his hair, to gently kneed and stroke his messy curls, Sherlock felt the threat ease, leaving him calm and at peace.

Only then did Molly get up and out of bed. Walking over to her wardrobe she grabbed two dressing gowns. Sherlock’s she placed at the end of the bed before putting on her own.

“I’m just going to get breakfast ready. Why don’t you go have a shower, and then we can talk.”

Sherlock made no response, now lost in his Mind Palace.

Molly left him to his thoughts. Whatever she was about to learn, she wanted to know it on a full stomach.

She’d just placed their breakfast on the low table by the sofa when Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, dressed once again in his suit.

Once seated, he looked around him, clearly looking for something. Not finding it he frowned and turned to Molly who’d joined him on the sofa. “Where’s Tobias?”

Molly’s expression instantly triggered another recent, painful memory...

“Hello, Sherlock. Is this urgent, because I’m not having a good day?”

Why had he not seen it earlier, no ratty old blanket adorning the armchair, no toys for him to trip over, the cat scratching tower missing from where it usually stood. All led to one inescapable conclusion.

Had Eurus known that Molly’s beloved feline had passed away that day?

Of course she had, given the surveillance cameras she’d had installed in the flat for God knows how long.

Sherlock closed his eyes at the realisation of how he’d been used a second time, though unwittingly to cause Molly more unnecessary pain.

“I’m so sorry, Molly. I know how, fond of him you were.”

Molly gave him a small smile in thanks. “It’s all right Sherlock, you weren’t to know. He went peacefully.” Feeling the familiar burn of welling tears she quickly changed the subject. “Let’s have our breakfast before it gets cold.”

Sherlock acquiesced to her suggestion without argument.

But once the breakfast was eaten, the coffee drunk and the dishes washed, they knew they could no longer delay the inevitable.

Sitting back on the sofa, Sherlock turned to Molly. “Where do you want me to begin?’

“Who’s Eurus?”

Sherlock nodded his head in acceptance and approval, Molly was never one for taking the easy way out.

“Eurus is my younger sister,” he began, watching Molly closely.

Clearly surprised, she waited quietly to hear more.

“According to Mycroft her intelligence was described as ‘era defining genius, beyond Newton’. Unfortunately she was also a psychopath, and an extremely dangerous one.”

He told Molly all there was to know: - About her jealousy over his friendship with Victor Trevor. And what she had done to him. - Burning down Musgrave Hall. - Being sent away. - How what his sister had done had traumatised him, and how he had dealt with it. Forgetting his sister existed while turning his childhood best friend into a dog. On and on right up until the events that happened the day before.

“I’m so sorry, Molly,” Sherlock said sadly. “I never meant for you to be in such danger. I’ve always tried to keep you safe, but you continually put yourself in harm’s way, despite my best efforts.”

“Sherlock, you must know by now that I will always be here to help you in any way that I can, the consequences be damned.”

“I know,” he assured her with a smile.

“And,” she continued, taking a deep breath. “If we’re talking apologies, then I need to add my own.”

Sherlock frowned in confusion, “Whatever for?”

“I should never have made you say...what I did,” she replied, her eyes downcast. She felt so deeply ashamed, now that she knew what he’d been put through.

“Molly, look at me.”

Once she had, he continued.

“You have nothing to apologise for. You were just another pawn in Eurus’ game.”

Before Molly could respond, Sherlock’s mobile rang. Upon checking the call ID Sherlock said regretfully. “I’m sorry, I need to take this.”

“Of course.”

Sherlock got to his feet as he finally answered the call. “Hello, Mycroft...”

***

Chapter 4: n. 1. Warm liking or affection. 2. Sexual passion. 3. Loved person. 4. (in games) No score, nil. v. 1. Feel love for. 2. Like greatly.

***

MOLLY’S FLAT

While Sherlock spoke with his brother, Molly went into the kitchen to put the dishes away, to give him some privacy.

When she returned to the sitting room, the phone conversation was clearly nearing its end. “I’ll be there shortly.”

As soon as he’d pocketed his mobile, Sherlock walked over to where Molly had placed his belstaff, and put it on.

Realising that this might be the only opportunity for them to openly discuss the elephant that was still hanging precariously over their heads, Molly walked up to the detective.

Reaching up she turned his coat collar down, before running her hands nervously up and down his lapels. “Sherlock,” she began cautiously.

Sherlock braced himself, knowing full well what was coming. But instead of making a comment based on what he had already deduced he remained silent, waiting patiently for Molly to continue.

At last she looked up at him, meeting his gaze straight on.

“I can’t unsay what I said, Sherlock. I have always loved you, and I probably always will,” she paused a moment, her teeth worrying her lower lip. “Knowing what I feel for you... It won’t destroy our friendship, will it?”

Sherlock responded by enveloping her in a warm embrace, his chin resting comfortably on top of her head, as his arms wrapped themselves around her petite form.

“It’s true that the dynamic of our relationship has been irretrievably altered by that phone call,” he agreed. “But has it destroyed our friendship? No, not even close.” Pulling back so that he could look Molly in the eye, he continued. “You were right. I have always known that you loved me. But as I’d convinced myself that sentiment was a defect, I dismissed it, and your romantic feelings for me as irrelevant,” he paused briefly, continuing again with words chosen with obvious care. “It was only when you forced me to say those words out loud that the one secret I had kept hidden, even from myself, was finally revealed for all to see. As unbelievable as it may seem, it is nonetheless impossibly true, I do love you Molly Hooper.”

His words confirmed what she’d believed when he’d said the words the second time. But when Molly looked into his eyes she saw not only his affection for her mirrored there, but also sorrow and regret.

“One day, maybe, I’ll be able to say those words to you in the full knowledge that I mean them with every beat of my heart. But I don’t believe I’m there yet.”

Molly reached up a hand to gently sooth the frown that marred his brow.

“No, I don’t think you are,” she acknowledged. “And that’s okay. Take all the time you need,” and then with a cheeky grin she added. “When you’re ready, you know where to find me.”

Sherlock felt an immense relief wash over him, thankful he had someone so caring and understanding in his life as Molly Hooper.

But when after a couple of minutes he still hadn’t made a move to leave, Molly felt compelled to remind him.

“Don’t you have to go and see your brother?”

Sherlock’s expression immediately became more serious. “Yes I need to go. Mycroft has arranged a meeting with our parents. There’s a lot to explain.”

“Then you need to get going,” Molly urged. “They’ll need your strength.”

Sherlock leant down to press a chaste kiss upon her lips. “As I will always need yours,” he told her, knowing full well that his pathologist already knew.

Just as he headed out the door, he paused and turned back. “By the way, Mycroft is sending some of his people over to remove all the cameras.” Then with a playful wink, he turned, to stride purposefully towards a new and infinitely more exciting, if unpredictable future.

***

#Sherlolly #Series canon compliant #Missing scene #What happened between the end of the phone call and Molly's arrival at 221B

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cherrystreet · 7 years

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It's the first cool day New York has seen in months. Louis wakes up to a light chill in the air, goosebumps rising on his skin, the cracked windows finally letting in a breeze that doesn't feel muggy, and when he rolls over to face Harry, sheets pooled around his bare waist, Louis only pauses to stare for a brief moment before he's poking Harry's chest, cheeks, eyelids. Harry bats him away, groaning.

"Why. What." His voice is rough with sleep and he doesn’t any make an attempt to open his eyes.

Louis smirks, poking him in the stomach. Hard. "It's finally fall."

"It's been fall for a week and a half."

"Yeah but now it feels like fall."

Harry groans louder. "It’s Sunday. The day of rest. I don’t want to wake up yet.”

“But.” He sits up, reaching for the duvet cover, wrapping it around himself. It smells like Harry’s shampoo, and a little bit like fabric softener. “We should go apple picking.”

“You don’t even like apples that much,” Harry mumbles into his pillow.

“I’m a teacher. I think it’s a law to like them, or something.”

He grunts out something that resembles probably, then rolls over to his other side, his back facing Louis.

That won’t do.

Louis rearranges himself so he’s situated on Harry’s lap, his movements quick enough that Harry doesn’t have time to react or push him away. Louis drags his hands up and down Harry’s sides, touching softly at his fading scars, and Harry finally opens his eyes at that, smile breaking, shaking his head.

“Has anyone ever told you how much of a pain in the ass you are?”

“A few times, maybe.”

“More than a few.” Harry grabs Louis’ left hand by the wrist and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his palm. “Like, ten more minutes, and then I’ll get up. I’m exhausted.”

“How can you possibly be tired? We went to bed before 11 last night. It’s like we’re a boring elderly couple.”

He laughs, wiggling beneath Louis’ weight, trying to shove him off. It doesn’t work. “Just because we were in bed before 11 doesn’t mean I was actually asleep.”

“Why, what were you doing…” Louis trails off when his gaze catches something on the nightstand on Harry’s side. A stack of papers, all a little rumpled. He can’t tell what’s written - not without glasses - but he can tell it’s Harry’s messy scrawl. “You writin’ me some love letters, Styles?”

“Mmm,” Harry agrees. “By candlelight.”

“Fancy.” He leans over to grab the papers, thumbing through them. “Seriously, what is this. Wait.” He looks down at Harry, shaking his head, in disbelief. “Harry, for the love of God.”

“What?”

“Are you fucking replying to all of the letters I sent to you when you were deployed?!”

Harry scrunches up his nose and shrugs, unashamed. “Something like that.”

“Jesus Christ.” Louis climbs off of Harry’s lap, sliding back under the blankets, duvet caught up around his shoulders, his pillow still warm. The first letter is about a page in length, but the second is five. “Good grief. Harry. Why now. You’ve been home for months.”

“I dunno.” He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at Louis’ face. “Didn’t feel fair to leave them unanswered. I read them all the time, and it’s like it’s a book with missing pages. Had to fill in the blank spots.”

“You read my letters all the time?” He’s surprised, had no idea.

“Yeah. I do.”

He looks over at Harry to see if he’s kidding. The look on his face proves he isn’t. “Why?”

“You know this last time overseas was hard. And how hard it was to readjust once I got back home. I don’t know.” He traces his fingers along the pattern of the blanket, a sweeping motion across the threading. “Makes me feel safe when I can read and reread your words.”

Louis licks his lips, stalling. It’s been an incredible challenge since Harry came home; the amount of therapy - both physical and mental - he’s had to go through to find his footing again has been immense, and some days, Louis feels helpless, like he can’t do anything to make any of it better. “You know you can always talk to me, right?” he says softly. “You don’t have to resort to going through a stack of old letters to communicate with me. I’m right here.”

“You are,” Harry agrees. “And thank God for that. But sometimes it’s too much for me to talk, you know? Reading I can handle. Writing back I can handle. It’s enough. It’s good. It’s working.”

Louis nods, his grip tight on the stack of unread letters. His eyes are a little glassy, but Harry doesn’t mention it. The letter in his hands is a response to Louis’ from months prior, talking about how much he was dreading going to Harry’s nephew’s play. It makes him feel a little sick, a sour taste in his mouth, remembering what it felt like counting down the days, the hours, until Harry was back home, can recall exactly what that agony felt like, still fresh in his mind. But he has Harry’s words - new words - in front of him, and his healed body beside him. Harry’s safe. He’s not going anywhere.

“And, uh,” Louis says, his voice cracking, “you’re gonna answer all of them?”

“I am.”

“Will I ever get to read yours?”

“Of course. Once the mailman delivers them.”

“Oh my God,” he snorts. “How many more do you have to reply to?”

“I think I have three left. The last few aren’t the easiest to read, so I’ve been taking my time with them.”

Louis knows. “And then you’re done?”

Harry makes a face and sits up all the way, curls matted up in the back, growing so quickly since he’s been home. “Why would I stop?”

“Because… there’d be nothing else to answer to?”

“Oh, I’m gonna keep going. Letters everyday. Can’t stop, won’t stop.”

“Harry, you do realize that’s insane, right. I fucking live with you.”

“So?”

“So, it’s a waste of stamps.”

“I’ll send ‘em in bulk. Won’t be too much.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “How will you even find time to write me letters, you fucking nut. Just e-mail me. Or text me.”

“Romantic.” Harry rolls his neck before he climbs out of bed, heading toward the bathroom. “I told you, writing feels good to me,” he says over his shoulder before he disappears around the corner.

“Do I have to respond to them?!” Louis asks before he climbs out, too, trailing behind him.

“I mean, that would be nice,” he says over the sudden sound of the spray from the shower. “And some of my favorite moments between us have been your letters. But I suppose you don’t have to.”

“Ugh, Harry. But I’m so busy with work. I barely have time to talk to you, never mind dig up the ol’ quill pen and write you a Goddamn story.” He stands in the frame of the doorway, arms crossed, and watches Harry undress. Harry definitely knows he has eyes on him, based on the way he’s flexing a little obnoxiously. Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “I just fucking love you.”

Harry turns around, cheeks pink. “I know you do.”

“And I’m gonna respond to all your stupid letters.”

“I know you will.”

He laughs before he shrugs out of his own clothes. Harry’s eyes are fixed on him, unblinking. “Guess we should make a stop at the post office. Gotta pick up some more stamps.”

“I guess so,” Harry murmurs. “C’mere.”

Louis goes, happy to play along, whatever it may be, whatever it takes to keep that smile on Harry’s face.

It’s a good smile, after all, one of the best.

#210 days #annie's birthday is today #she asked for 10 sentences of fluff #this happened instead #happy birthday ladybug #ily #my drabble #drabble

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thewonderfulworldofashton · 7 years

Text

Jealousy:

Request from contest winner: Ashton getting hella jealous, so maybe like, cuddling up to Calum or smth just cuz he's a good friend and Ash gets all jealous and y'all fuck in the other room and he tries to get you to be as loud as possible.

Requested by: @asshatoftheeast

A/N: Hey guys I’m excited to post this smut as a response to a request by one of my contest winner! @asshatoftheeast gave me the whole idea and I hope they like it! I would really appreciate it if you reblogged this smut if you liked it or maybe some of my other posts i’m really trying to get to 200 followers and would be so appreciative! As always I hope you guys like it but that you understand that is very graphic and sexual in nature. Therefore if you are not comfortable with that please do not read. Thanks you all so much, enjoy!

As I pull up to my friend Calum’s house you see that my boyfriend Ashton and other friends Luke and Mike are already there. Hanging around and watching some movies together was a normal friday night thing for all of us but Ashton had been acting weird all day. It first started when I woke up before going to work to give him a call. He had already been at his work for hour working on an important project and maybe he was just stressed but he was super short with me and seemed almost bothered by the fact I called. Then at lunch I texted him to confirm the plans for tonight and he only responded with the word yes. It may not seem like a huge deal to other people but Ashton not being his giggly sweet self worries me. I try to shake the thought from my head as you get out of my car and walk up to the door. Having been there several times and knowing all of them well I let myself in.

“Hello?” I call out hearing them somewhere else in the house.

Luke calls back to me. “In the kitchen!”

I kick off my shoes and hang up my heavy coat I was wearing due to the harsh winter breeze. Making my way into the kitchen I hope Ashton will be in a better mood.

“Hey guys!” I smile and looking over at Ashton. He barely smiles and my stomach turns. What’s going on with him?

We all talk for a little while and order the pizza for the movie. Deciding on X-Men and the pizza quickly arriving we all settle on the couch. Ashton, although he has barely spoken to me the entire night, he sits to my left and Calum sits to my right. After finishing a few slices I lean over to get closer to Ashton who sighs. Taken back by this I shift my weight again towards Calum. I have to admit now I’m extremely worried and slightly pissed.

“You okay?” Calum asks above a whisper.

I nod and say, “I’m fine I’m just chilly.”

Calum takes the blanket off his lap and lays it over me. “We can share, come here.” He says opening his arms.

This didn’t seem strange to me, all of us were friends before you and Ashton started dating. I’ve cuddled with all of them and even kissed Mike in like the tenth grade. However Ashton shoots me a dirty look. I’m mad now. He’s been an ass all day and now he wants to be mad at me? “This is ridiculous.” I think to myself.

The movie is over soon and we all clean up. Ashton is now complete mute towards me. Everyone says their goodbyes and I quickly storm out the door. I hear footsteps following me but ignore them. That is until I get to my car and suddenly the footsteps are right behind me. I know it’s Ashton and I go to open the car door but he shuts it quickly and turns me around to face him. For a moment I just stand there waiting for him to say something.

“Are you going to say something?!” I suddenly ask feeling uncomfortable and angry and most of all confused.

“You are mine….” He whispers gruffly. “Get in my car.”

I look at him shocked. “No way!”

“I wasn’t asking you, just get in my car.” He says walking away and getting in his car himself.

Something makes me follow him and do as he says. “Fuck you.” I mumble buckling my seat belt. We drive in silence but when we pull up to his house her rushes to get my car door for me and then leads me inside.

“I had a bad day and I treated you like shit and I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry… but you are mine.” He says as he backs me into his front door. “Mine…. Not Calum’s… not anyone else’s…. Mine. I love you and I’m sorry.”

I nod my breathing unsteady as I feel his hands caress my hips and pulling me close. “I-I’m still pissed at you.” I stutter out. “But I love you too…”

Ashton rests his forehead against mine and smiles a little. “You better.” His one hand then moves up to my cheek and caresses lightly before kissing me roughly. “Now let me remind how mine you truly are…”

Nodding he swoops me up and walks us to the bedroom. The whole way there we keep kissing roughly and passionately. Ashton kicks the door open and tosses me onto his bed. He then slowly and agonizingly lifts off his shirt revealing his toned chest and abdomen. I got to take off my clothes but he grabs my hands. “Let me.” He says just above a whisper. I lay back on the bed and slowly he starts undressing me. “Fuck…. I swear you somehow get more beautiful every day….”

I giggle as he leaves teasing kisses on my stomach. “I’m still pissed.”

“Keep telling yourself that baby girl.” He says leaving me now only in my underwear before stripping himself. He undresses slowly and teasingly and by the end he has me so worked up that I’m practically drooling. I reach out to touch him and he grabs my hand. “I said let me.” He says growling a little under his breath. He lets my hand go and pushes me back on my back before climbing over my figure and leaning down to kiss me surprisingly soft.

“Ashton….” I mumble a little under my breath.

He smirks as he kisses at the delicate skin on my neck and chest. “Was that a moan my darling?” I nod at little and then whimper as he bites into my flesh to mark me his. “Answer me baby… did you just moan? Huh?” He asks again as he continues down my body with his lips and his bites.

“Y-yes….” I whisper watching him as he slowly tugs on the band of my underwear. Ashton chuckles and starts softly kissing my thighs and hips and everywhere except where I need him the most. “Please Ash…” I mutter out running a hand through his soft messy curls.

“Be patient or we’ll stop.” He snaps a little and I groan as he continues to tease. He pushes me further by fanning his breath over my heat and ‘accidently’ bumping my clit with his nose as he changes thighs. However finally he lays a soft kiss on my center. Starting to kitten lick me Ashton grabs my hips to keep me steady. I moan out for him a little which makes him smile against me. “Let me hear you, let the neighbors know your mine, scream so loud fucking Calum can hear you across town.”

“Ashton….” I moan louder as he works me up and causes me to start to squirm with his tongue. “Fuck please don’t stop.”

“Trust me I won’t, cum for me baby girl, come on.” He says quickly before returning to the task at hand… or mouth rather. My legs start to shake and soon I’m writhing beneath him. I know I’m moaning and calling out for him but I can’t hear it through my orgasm. My chest heavy I start to come down from my high but Ashton suddenly slams his lips against my mine passionately. “I could do that all fucking day…” Breathlessly I reach down for him but again he denies me and pushes me back onto my back. “How many times do I have to tell you, let me… let me…”

“Ashton please, I want you.” I whimper looking up at him desperately as he slowly strokes his cock a few times. “Please…”

“Fuck you are so beautiful…” He groans. “Say my name just like that again, whimper it for me.” He asks and of course I do because with every flick of his wrist and every second I don’t have him I find myself getting more and more needy. “Good girl, now remember what I said, let me hear you.”

Slowly he leans down and hovers over me before slowly sliding into me. Instantly I moan for his and find my fingers raking. He groans and kisses me hard. Almost immediately he starts rocking in and out out of me establishing a good pace. We are both moaning and groaning and I’m tugging lightly at his hair with one hand while the other stays trying to keep him close to me. He then reaches down and starts rubbing my clit with his fingers.

“Oh fuck Ash!” I whimper and bite into his shoulder.

He grunts and starts thrusting harder. “Don’t muffle yourself, I’ll fucking stop I swear, let it out.” He command and I throw my head back moaning his name loudly. Kissing my neck and jaw line he starts whispering in my ear. “I can feel how badly you want to cum again… I can feel you fucking clenching already, tell me baby are you close?”

“Yes Ash fuck…. Oh god.” I whimper the last part as he goes harder and faster suddenly. “Don’t stop… fuck…”

“Then cum for me baby, I’m so close baby but I’m not cuming until you do….” He groans and I moan again super loud as I arch my back and he again goes quicker and harder driving me to my orgasm. “That’s it baby, fuck…. Fuck Y/N…” Ashton says orgasming as well.

As I come down from my second high and Ashton’s first he holds me close. “I love you so much.” He whispers breathlessly. “I was an ass… I know, I had myself all worked up today over something.... Something I’ve been wanting to ask you….and seeing you cuddle into Calum just made me so…. infuriated.”

I stare up at him confused. “What do you want to ask me?”

He smiles but his cheeks redden. “I wanted to know if… you… wanted to move in with me?” He asks softly. “I love you so much, and that apartment of yours makes me worried, and if you live here, we could do that whenever we wanted…”

Blushing up at him I nod and giggle a little. “Yes, I’ll move in with you.” He eyes light up but after I kiss him I whisper. “However with the reaction you had tonight…. I might cuddle with Calum more often.”

We both laugh knowing I’m only joking and then lay there together peacefully in love never wanting the moment to end.

PS. - Another Daddy!Ashton and a Neighbor!Ashton smuts coming soon

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