#and if my next chapter fic is an unhappy ending then what
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for no reason in particular…😀😀😀 (reblog for a bigger sample size mwahaha)
#ha. hahaha.#and if my next chapter fic is an unhappy ending then what#i can figure out how to make it happy. maybe. depending on this poll#i guess we’ll see :)#byler#stranger things#will byers#mike wheeler#wayli writes#mike wheeler i know what you are#byler fic#ao3#🫧🪴#💛💙#polls#byler polls#fic polls
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Dopamine
On AO3
Viktor x f!reader
Rating: Explicit
Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, idiots in love (?) dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut, masturbation, angry sex, unprotected sex,
Cw: lot's of blood, slight spice if you squint
Words: 1.7k
[A/N: bit of a shorter one this time, in preparation for the teeth-rotting fluff and filth that awaits in the final chapter~ tags and content warnings to be updated in each chapter, updates weekly(ish). (also, let me know if you want to be tagged in fic updates!)]
Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201
Previous Next
Chapter 8: Blood-tinted
You had become so small all of a sudden. The earnest compulsion to scream at Viktor, to tell him how much his constant presence in your life lately had exerted an influence over your thoughts—a negative one you planned to clarify soon thereafter—was brought to a halt. The blood made you panic, and seeing you there, his own shoulders depleted into a pronounced hunch, as if he expected you to pester him with questions he did not want to answer.
You didn’t; instead, your hand swiftly held his wrist as you conducted him out of the bathroom, and out there, you swerved through the commotion of people clustering in the middle of the room to make your way to the infirmary. It was too late for the nurse to be there, but the room itself was never locked, you knew, so you turned the door handle without a second thought and dragged what remained of Viktor inside.
Viktor sat on one of the cots, lifting his head up with what you assumed was the intention to stop the bleeding.
“Don’t do that; the blood is going to end up in your throat." You said as you grabbed a towel and placed it in front of his face, “Pinch right there—yes, there you go." You continued gently nudging his head forward with your other hand. You noticed the bleeding was also coming out of a small cut on the bridge of his nose, so you needed to find some gauze. You heard Viktor sigh audibly behind you as you rummaged through the drawers.
“Care to explain?”
Silence
“Viktor, what happened?” You said this time, looking at him. He closed his eyes and breathed in.
“I got punched in the face; I believe you’re smart enough to figure that out.”
“Color me shocked!” You said in a sardonic hiss. “By whom and why?” You said punctuating each question with an ironic stare at the same time as you soaked a small piece of gauze in saline solution. Viktor winced slightly at the pain.
“That vacuous donkey, and I suppose he was unhappy as a consequence of me preventing him from following you into the bathroom.”
“Asher?” He chuckled at how fast you got to his name with only that description. “Why would he follow me into the bathroom?”
“Judging by my state, I think you can presume I did not ask any questions.”
Although your knitted frown made it seem like you were upset, it was confusion that bounced all over the walls of your skull.
“Why?” You managed to ask, finally.
“I’ve already said—“
“No, why did you do it? It simply doesn't make any sense to me that you would put yourself in jeopardy for me.”
Silence once again.
“A jumbled mess, selfish, intolerable, and big-headed, remember?”
Silence.
“I don’t actually believe you are most of those things.” Viktor started in a timid voice. “You are not selfish; eh, I suppose I feel a sense of longing for the time in my life where I would take risks the way that you are allowed to do now. I envy that freedom, that’s all.”
The hand you had holding his face in place had long dropped to hold the edge of the cot firmly.
“I do think you are a mess, but that carefree nature you have is not something negative necessarily,” he continued when you gave no signs of interjecting, “and when I said big-headed, I meant to say stubborn.”
“Oh.” A small smile creeped up the corners of your mouth. “I thought you meant I have a big head.”
“I can assure you that you have a normal-sized head.” Viktor said with a lighthearted chuckle. “But you are, in fact, very stubborn.”
“Fair.”
A comfortable atmosphere washed over as you went back to disinfecting his wound. The bleeding had stopped both from his nose and the cut, so you rummaged through the drawers once more to find some medical tape to patch him up.
“To be fair, I also don’t believe you are most of the things I said yesterday.”
“The things you said before we slept together, or during?” You rolled your eyes.
“Before.”
Viktor hummed, a small smirk on his dry-blood-tinted lips.
“So I’m a tad more tolerable to you than I thought, but getting into a fight for me still feels unbelievable.”
Viktor inhaled sharply before giving you a defeated look.
“I can tell you are trying to make me say it, and I don’t appreciate that.”
“Say what?” He looked at you with one eyebrow raised and a long silence, slowly letting it sink in. You were dumbfounded. He couldn’t possibly mean it, but then again, if the previous night did something, it was proving your attraction to him was mutual, and now knowing he does not in fact have the deep aversion to you that you were certain he did, it all fit into an odd puzzle perfectly.
To him, the long, numb silence you had fallen into as your mind followed your convoluted line of reasoning had come off as a cold but polite rejection.
“Naturally, everything was likely circumstantial on your part, and I understand that,” he started saying as he stood up. “You were heavily intoxicated that night at Lara’s house…”
“What? No Viktor—“ You started to say this as you moved out of his way.
“...and I appreciate how well you dealt with what transpired at the lab. I do apologize; however, I should have put my feelings in check and known it was a terrible idea...” Every word he uttered left his mouth louder than the last, and you could hear the tension in his voice as he tried to find the correct string of words to use. Around the last few words, you heard his volume deplete, and before he even finished speaking, his nose started bleeding again.
“Viktor, stop! You are bleeding again— settle down for fucks sake!” Anything you could have said would’ve been useless, as he seemed to not hear any word that came out of you at that moment. He leaned against the wall, and the blood trickled down his mouth like delicately embroidered stitches over his lips.
“...my care should have extended to what happened yesterday; deep down, I knew it wouldn’t be a casual slip-up and an easy-to-forget mistake as it probably is for you, yet I couldn’t hold back—though it was entirely my fault. I recognize that, and I won’t hold it against you…”
It wasn’t that for you either. You said so out loud and tried to convince yourself of that much, but it was not the truth—another well-crafted lie that came porcelain cold and perfect through your teeth. The thin stream of red percolated all the way to his neck. You wanted to say so much, but only lying came easy to you; lies were far and detached, and telling Viktor how you felt seemed too near and vulnerable, too constricting. His eyes now looked at you, not expecting an answer but simply giving himself a break, glossy and distant but still vibrantly golden. You remembered the dreams you had the night before, and they fueled whatever timid wish you had in you. Sure, you couldn’t say something, but you could show him.
The room was narrow enough that the step forward you took was small. You had him pinned against the wall, although not of your own volition, and that aided you in finding a firm grip on the sides of his face before you met his lips with your own. You almost second-guessed yourself when you initially felt no struggle, thinking he must have been so weak from the loss of blood that he hadn’t been able to wriggle himself out of your grasp. A metallic taste creeped its way into your mouth when Viktor’s fingers slithered their way to your jaw, softly prying it open to make way for his tongue.
You tasted his lips for a long while before you both had to grasp for air, Viktor being particularly in need of a break. Endearment peaked through his eyes as he unsuccessfully tried to wipe the bloody tint off your mouth and chin, and you both laughed quietly at the vampiric state of your faces, a picture painted by your silent confession to him. You could have said something then and even had something in mind, but your plans were spoiled by the dry sound of Jayce clearing his throat in an attempt to make himself known.
You know there was nothing you could have said that would serve as an excuse for what happened, and no well-told lie could have steered Jayce’s mind away from the murder scene on your faces; thus, against what you would’ve normally done, you stayed quiet. Viktor did too.
“Just so we’re clear, I always suspected.” He said, an eyebrow raised on his forehead as a sign of satisfaction.
“Is it a prize you want? A pat on the back? A handshake?” Viktor said only half-annoyed, his mood unable to be ruined by any of Jayce’s brazen commentary.
“Do you mind?”
“Alright, I’m going. Just don't do it here; it’s so unsanitary.” He quickly left the room, only a millisecond away from being hit by a bloody towel thrown in his direction. One of the small pieces of gauze you still had on hand was enough to clean both of you up, and you helped each other out among light giggles and child-like mischief, followed by another small kiss to seal the deal.
“How about a proper date?” You asked as you handed Viktor more cotton pads to replace the now-drenched one in his nose. “We could go to the café from last time.”
“I refuse; I won’t be able to look at that waitress's face without wanting to be swallowed by the ground with embarrassment.”
“How dramatic.” You said, rolling your eyes playfully, and Viktor shook his head.
“My dorm tomorrow, we can cook something; I’ve come to find out I rather enjoy it.”
“Why yours? Do you still think my dorm is messy?”
“Yes.” Your hand shot up to clutch your imaginary pearls in an inflated expression of fake outrage.
“Have you considered that if I keep going to yours, it will end up untidy as well?” You smirked at Viktor’s defeated expression.
“Fine.” He said with a loud, frustrated groan, followed by a mellow grin.
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Hii I've just read your ex-husband satoru fic, and God, you broke my heart!! It is so well written, and there's so much angst 😢 you also left us with a cliffhanger!! (Love it but it pains me)
Nora kinda came off rude to me, like, who says that at (probably) the first meeting? Can we know how long they have been together for??
Sending you love🩵
Thank you so much for reading and I'm so sorry for taking longer than expected to respond!
I honestly didn't know what to do with Nora at the beginning. I'm usually against the girl vs. girl trope (I'm a girls girl and get kinda sad when girls are put against one another, but then again, there are women in real life who act and do things out of spite). so I think I'm doing that with Nora, making her this perfectionist who can't really seem to move forward with the insecurity of the reader and satoru's last relationship (not to mention they have a child). so the idea of them having a child (nora and satoru) is her idea since she does/will be doing things out of her own insecurities and unhappiness. at the end of the day, her decisions will unfortunately affect everyone (as they are now. was that a spoiler? I don't know).
At the time of the park visit, reader has known satoru has a girlfriend. she met her once at a company dinner that ended up being cancelled because satoru's dad ended up getting sick or something like that (I have yet to mention that), so she did give her a short greeting and it was very awkward. this meeting, however, is the first time reader's daughter, saori, is present with satoru's girlfriend. none of them have met, but after seeing her daughter, nora can't help but feel competitive (or insecure). her and satoru have been dating for 4-5 months. 6 in the next chapter that'll soon be out<3
I've been so on edge @ adding satoru's perspective, but I think this story will be fine in reader's perspective, plus some flashbacks. If I end up doing something on satoru's side, it's probably 3rd person. I'd likely do a spin-off with satoru's side, but that'd be pushing too much into the future as of now.
Again, thank you so much for your kind words. they really do mean a lot<3 and they are never left unseen :) I hope I can execute this story as well as you can think of it as, and grant you the entertainment that I hope it did/has. <3
#these messages always fill my heart and I have so much fun writing replies#I hope to publish something today but I have an appointment this evening so it all depends#also a busy weekend but I'll make to squeeze this work out!#gojo#jjk#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen#jujustu kaisen#gojo headcanons#satoru gojo#toru#gojo satoru x reader#ex husband gojo
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Fuck it Friday
Here we go- a bit of self promo putting a touch of F in your Friday with one of my E fics that I was quite pleased with. 😏
Tagged by @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus @heartshapedvows @disasterbuckdiaz @daffi-990 @wikiangela @loserdiaz with wonderful snippets
Coming Home 8.5K first kiss to first time (sequel to I Missed You 11k an angsty little number where Buck leaves for several months until Eddie finds him and finally tells him how he feels but can be read alone) A bit from each chapter to tempt you in
Chapt 1 😚
“Buck we can’t.” Eddie doesn’t sound completely convinced.
“Why?” he tries not to whine
“Because if you kiss me I’m not going wanna stop and we’re at work.”
“I’m not, not back yet.” Eddie considers this a persuasive argument.
“One kiss Eds, please”
Eddie groans, moves infinitesimally closer then pulls back again, head thunking against the wall. His pupils are blown he’s panting and they haven’t done anything.
“We’re waiting.” he says but he lifts his hand and runs his fingers slowly over Buck’s parted lips. Buck closes his eyes and chases after them, catches Eddie’s hand by the wrist, if that’s all he gets he’ll take it. He pulls his hand to his mouth and kisses the palm, drags his lips up to a finger and slides the tip into his mouth.
Chapt 2 ☺️
Chris is already sat on the bed, he pats the spot next to him and Eddie eyes narrow suspiciously, half amused, half concerned.
“Everything ok?”
“Just sit down Dad”
“We need to talk.”
Eddie frowns, well that is a worry, few conversations that start with that end well. “We do?”
“Yes” Chris sounds serious. “It’s about Buck.”
Eddie sits down a little harder than he intended, oh God what if Chris has worked it out and disapproves, he never thought of that. Chris loves Buck so much he never thought he’d be unhappy if they got together. He keeps the nervousness out of his voice when he asks the tentatively, “What about Buck?”
“I don’t want him to go away again.” Some of his anxiety fades, that’s somewhat reassuring at least.
“Neither do I” Eddie reassures him quickly “but I don’t think he will bud.”
“He was sad before but he’s not anymore.” Eddie can’t work out what Chris is trying to say to him.
“No, I think he’s happy to be back.”
“With us?”
“Yes.”
Then Chris gets to his point.
“With you?” Chris fixes him with a look far more penetrating than a preteen should be capable of.
“Um” Eddie’s horrified to feel his cheeks start to go red.
Chris nods thoughtfully, taking his father’s embarrassment in his stride “That’s what I thought.” Then he follows up with a crushing statement, “Dad, why are grown ups so silly That makes him laugh and he bumps shoulders with his son, “no idea.”
Chris has another question, “Denny asked if I can go to his for a sleepover tonight. Can I?”
“That’s a bit short notice Chris” Eddie’s reluctant to agree and anyway he’s already asked Carla to babysit tonight while he’s out with Buck.
“Denny said it was his mom’s idea so it’s fine.”
“Was it now?” he mutters and thinks about his meddling friends fondly.
Chapt 3 😏
Buck pulls away to breathe deeply, mutters his name in a reverent tone with his eyes closed. Eddie’s dizzy, he doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed quite like that, like he was the oxygen necessary for Buck to breathe.
He thinks its finished but then his lips are taken again, harder, faster and he’s being moved backwards until he hits the door of the fridge with a thump. Eddie meets the fire from Buck eagerly, hands coming up and burying themselves in his curls. He tugs slightly and Buck groans, kisses him harder, presses then closer together. He can feel the aching hardness between his legs matched by Buck, pressed up close like this there is just enough friction to tease but not satisfy.
The kisses were a lot but then Buck shifts to his neck kissing downwards, when he bites lightly into the muscle Eddie cries out and his knees actually do stop working he slides a little down the refrigerator door. Buck stops to laugh his breath tickles and Eddie’s squirms. Buck bites again making him gasp once more.
“Like that huh?”
“Take a guess.”
“Nuh huh we said we’d talk,” he’s peppering more kisses along his skin “you gotta tell me these things Eds, I gotta know what feels good”
“You, you feel good” he’s arching back against the door, pressing himself harder against Buck, giving him more access to his neck. Buck hums a pleased little noise. When Eddie looks at him he’s blushing.
“Yeah?”
Eddie pushes his hip forward again to prove it and Buck takes a stuttering breath at the pressure against his cock, eyelids fluttering shut.
Eddie licks his lips “Wanna go somewhere more comfortable?”
@monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @shortsighted-owl @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @hippolotamus @buddierights @stagefoureddiediaz @thekristen999 @like-the-rest-of-la @the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @spaceprincessem @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @elvensorceress @bekkachaos @giddyupbuck @housewifebuck hope I didn’t forget anyone
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Royally Screwed!
Read on AO3
1/2/3/4/5
Wow that was some hiatus. But we're officially back! And hopefully we'll start to update more frequently as well, but I can't be too sure because of college and (if you've been following me on twitter and tiktok) I'm also voicing Jane Doe in 'Birds Of Paradise' by Rosetta Sun on tiktok. I really recommend going to her kofi as the rest of the cast and I are doing commisions to voice your oc's! We all have a large range of voices so if you want go to the link of Rosetta's tiktok bio and go to her kofi and see which voice would best suit your oc! Besides from that, hopefully I'll be writing more too, especially with a certain sequel everyone has been waiting for 👀.
Also, the beginning of the chapter does go into detail about Pomni's past and how she was treated by Caine, it wasn't great to say the least. I don't want anyone to feel triggered to like always, I will label (1) when the flashback starts and (2) when it ends. If this is something that you're not comfortable reading, please always feel free to skip this fic.
Anyways, enjoy!
4. Anything, Anything, Anything
(1)
Pomni panted as she stared at the ground below, clutching onto her aerial silk. She didn’t know how long she had been practicing for, only that she was completely exhausted. But rehearsals weren’t over yet, she had to keep going. The ground looked so far down below her, sure she was up high but for some reason the height was giving her vertigo. She never gets vertigo.
“Pomni?” Kaufmo called up to her, placing down a pie he had for his act. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Pomni took a breath, “I’m fine Pa! Just lost my focus, that’s all.”
The clown didn’t seem to buy it, “I don’t think so kiddo, start climbing down slowly, you look exhausted.”
It was true. Her eyes were red with bags underneath, she seemed paler than normal and she was concerningly thin from what Kaufmo could see. But she didn’t want to worry him, not when there were worse things at play, “I’m fine Pa! I promise. I…”
She didn’t get to finish her sentence, her vision blurring and her head pounding with the force of an unexpected headache. Against her control, she slipped into unconscious, letting go of the silks.
“POMNI!” Kaufmo screamed, running to where she was falling. The rest of the cast gasped, halting their own practice as they raced to the collapsing jester.
She was lucky that her father was there in time, catching her in his arms before her body hit the floor. Kaufmo didn’t even want to imagine the type of damage she could have taken. “Ragatha,” he turned to the ragdoll, “Go get her some water, she’s skipping practice for the rest of the day.”
“Now, now Kaufmo,” a low voice drawled, making everyone’s skin crawl when the ringmaster floated into the tent. His eyes sharpened in on Kaufmo and the fainted jester in his arms, “I don’t believe you have the authority to make those commands.”
“Pomni fainted Caine,” Kaufmo hissed, his own tone cold and unafraid, “It takes the slightest bit of human empathy to recognise that she’s being overworked!”
Caine went still, his feet planted on the ground, unhappy with Kaufmo’s attitude. Ragatha’s lions immediately circled round the clown and jester, shielding them from the ringmaster’s unknown wrath, “She’ll be fine, she just needs to keep practising.”
“She needs rest.” Kaufmo spat, “The only reason why she fainted the way she did is because you keep working her to the bone to the point that she can’t even stand. Not to mention the fact that you’re sucking the literal life out of her every day just so you can fulfil your ‘precious’ ego! So excuse me if I find everything that comes out of your mouth to be complete horseshit!”
The clown panted, not tearing his eyes away from Caine even for a second. The next few seconds were nothing but aching silence.
Kaufmo had been used to Caine’s torment for years. The pair of dentures forced him to endure each performance no matter how much pain he was in. As long as the audience was satisfied, he couldn’t care less if the clown had a few broken bones. But Kaufmo would be damned if he was going to let the ringmaster inflict that same pain onto his daughter, not if he could help it.
The clown turned his attention away from Caine when he heard a small whine, turning to look down at Pomni fluttering her eyes open. “Pa?” she whimpered, “What happened?”
“Hey there kiddo,” he rocked her lightly, like he used to do when she was younger after she had a fright or a nightmare. “You fainted, you’re lucky I was there to catch you.” He put a hand to her forehead, wiping away a bead of sweat, “You’re burning up, come on you need to lay down.”
“I didn’t give out that order,” Caine intervened.
“And I don’t care!” Kaufmo snapped, “You’re not pushing her to the brink today Caine! Do what you want with me but leave Pomni out of this!”
“Here,” Ragatha rushed back, a cup of water nursed in her hands as she held it to Pomni’s lips. “Oh sweetheart, you look as pale as a ghost.”
Pomni gulped down as much of the liquid as she could, she didn’t realise how thirsty she was until the water hit her throat. Her head buzzed with a light ache, pressing her hand to it when she finished the water. She really had been overworked, hadn’t she?
“Easy there, kiddo,” Kaufmo raised her upper body into a sitting position, “Let’s get you back to your quarters.”
Caine cleared his throat condescendingly, “I believe I told you that I didn’t give out that order Kaufmo.”
“And I believe I told you that it was complete horseshit,” the clown retorted, not taking his eyes off Pomni as he helped her to her feet.
“I guess you need a gentle reminder,” the ringmaster spoke softly, contradicting his words with the next action he was about to do.
He flicked his hand, a red mist contrasting Pomni’s usual blue appearing. It extended like a chain, wrapping round Kaufmo’s neck and pulling the clown towards him, forcing him to drop Pomni as she landed back onto the ground with a thud. “Pa!” she cried out, the others surrounding her.
“Let me make this perfectly clear Kaufmo,” Caine hissed, the chain tightening around the clown’s neck, suffocating him. “You are under my rules, you obey me. If I say jump, you jump. If you are tied to the back of a carriage while being dragged around on a rope, you will do just that. If you had to bleed out for an act with no one to assist you, you will continue with a smile and be damn pleased about it.”
Kaufmo coughed and spluttered, pulling at the misty chain to get the smallest breath of air, but Caine was too strong.
“Caine, stop! Stop please!” Pomni screamed, the others holding her back, “Let my Pa go!”
His eyes darted to the jester, his gaze making her feel tiny. He threw Kaufmo at a box of crates, the clown grunting at the painful impact. Pomni let out a cry, her hand reaching out to him.
Caine flicked his fingers again, lifting up the others and leaving Pomni on the ground to watch in terror. “You did this, you know,” Caine tsked.
Pomni’s eyes widened with terror, “W-what?”
“They all suffer because of your incompetence,” he growled, “You’re lucky you have a bit of talent and that little magic of yours, otherwise you would be a nothing-filled waste.”
“Caine, let them go, please,” Pomni begged, her lip quivering.
He rolled his eyes, letting out a chuckle before throwing each member in different directions of the tent. Sun hit his head against a pole, Ragatha tore one of her stitches as she landed on her knives and Gangle ribbons were tied up in knots when she landed face first on the ground, putting a crack in her mask.
Pomni covered her mouth, trying to stand yet her legs give way once again. She was too weak.
“Caine, what is the meaning of this?” Moon’s startled voice echoed throughout the tent, gasping when she saw everyone scattered around and furrowed her brows when she saw Pomni’s dishevelled form on the ground. “You have to put a stop to your madness, look at what you’re doing to everyone! Look at what you’re doing to that poor girl!”
“This is merely discipline, Moon, I’m doing whatever it takes to make sure a circus is successful,” Caine muttered, barely paying her any mind.
Moon could even barely recognise the man in front of her, “What happened to you Caine?”
He turned to her slowly, “Come again?”
“What happened to the man I fell in love with?” she continued, “What happened to the promises you made to make this circus amazing? What happened to trying no matter what? What happened to the man I fell in love with?”
Caine scoffed, “I did what I had to do in order to make these dreams happen. You could never understand sacrifice Moon, you believe what you want to believe but this is the way things are.”
Moon’s eyes darkened, she started stomping towards him, “You…you vile, disgusting, monstrous-!”
He snapped his fingers, an axe appearing in his hand as he held it to her chin, daring her to come closer. “Just because I’m soft on you Moon, it doesn’t mean that I won’t take precautions for you stepping out of line,” he glared at her.
But Moon was unflinching, staring him down with the same coldness he gave her, “Do your worst.”
Caine hummed, giving her a shrug, “Fine.”
He waved his hand again, sending the axe into her shoulder. An agonised screech echoed throughout the tent as a group of his masked men rushing in and pulling her away. “You’re lucky dear, this is me sparing you,” Caine sneered, “But make no mistake, I will be dealing with you accordingly.”
Moon screeched as she was dragged away, her eyes looking on with worry at the frightened Jester. “Run Pomni!” she screamed, “Run!”
She wanted to, Pomni really wanted to. But fear had paralysed her when Caine set his eyes on her again. Tears leaked from her eyes, feeling like the five-year-old girl he grabbed from the street the moment he caught of whiff of her power. “Caine, don’t do this,” she sniffed, “I’ll be better, I’ll practice more, I’ll stop singing just please don’t do this.”
“You know, I never did understand your silly little songs,” he mumbled, “You waste so much time on them yet you know the real reason the audience comes to see you, and it isn’t to hear those tacky lyrics of yours. You know exactly what you’re good for.”
That part stung. Yes she knew that her skills as a trapeze artist and her abilities was what got tickets to sell, but her songs were her passion. Her songs were her, something that Caine hadn’t been able to take away yet. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that her songs were everything! But she was still too frail, and she was certain that it was only going to get worse.
“Caine please, I’m still recovering from last time and we have another show tonight!” she back away, kicking her legs as she crawled backwards on the ground. “Please don’t do this it…it hurts.”
“All good sacrifices come with pain Pomni,” Caine told her, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out the amulet. “You should be thanking me for using this gift, I’m the one who’s actually putting it to good use.”
He held the amulet in front of him, Pomni’s eyes pleading for mercy. “Now my little possession,” he grinned, “It’s time for me to receive my gift.”
The amulet glowed, a loud whine leaving its source.
Pomni could feel her blood boiling, her head pounding and every part of her body shattering with pain when she felt her energy being ripped away from her. Her blue mist was forced away from her, being sealed away into the amulet as Caine looked on with greed.
It hurt, it hurt so much. Her skin was burning as though she had been lit up into a thousand flames, her hair being ripped from her scalp, and she was bleeding out of every pore of her body. She wanted it to stop, it hurts, just stop, please stop, STOP, STOP, STOP!
A pained scream ripped from her throat.
(2)
.
.
.
Pomni woke in a cold sweat, her heart pounding in her chest. Her head whipped from side to side, scanning her surroundings in a dazed panic. She wasn’t in that lifeless tent anymore with that cruel ringmaster. She was in the castle, she was safe, and she was far away from him.
She let out a sniffle, bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging them tight as she buried her face into them. A few stray tears leaked onto the sheets, her sobs muffled against the blanket. That was the worst thing about her nightmares, they weren’t just that but memories too. It was real and it had happened. All they did was make her relive it over and over again.
Kaufmo told her many times that it wasn’t her fault for what Caine did, that his actions were his own doing. But seeing the repeated moments of her family being hurt over and over again just to protect her only made her guilt increase. Maybe Caine was right. Maybe it was her fault.
She took a deep breath, sitting upright and wiping the wetness off her cheeks. That was the past, there was no need to be self-pitiful about it now. She shouldn’t waste time fussing over stupid memories that only brought everyone else down the longer she thought about them. She just needed to get up and go throughout the day, push everything back until she’s able to manage it on her own.
Pomni swung her legs over her bed, going over to clean herself in the sink inside the connected bathroom, before moving behind the screen the maids gave her to change into a new dress she was given. She first pulled over a simple cream shift over her head, the silky fabric gliding over her skin. Next was a simple blue stays and puffy skirt, with two red hearts on each side of the skirt and ribbon of the same colour in a criss-cross pattern in the middle of her stays, with the bottom of the skirt being layered with red and white trim.
She did a onceover in the mirror as she pulled the strings off the stays shut, giving herself a quick nod before finally exiting her room.
Part of her wanted to bury back under the soft sheets of her bed, to hide whatever the day had to await her, her nightmare clawing at the back of her mind. But the moment she saw Prince Jax outside her door waiting for her, all doubts instantly vanished as a true and natural smile tugged at her lips.
“A good morning to you Prince Jax,” she greeted, giggling as Motley immediately jumped into her arms and climbed onto her shoulder, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Only your smile little lady,” he grinned, eating up the little blush that dusted across her cheeks. “But that’s not the only reason I’m here. My parents asked me to collect you, they have an announcement for you and the rest of your family in the throne room.”
His brows were furrowed and face serious, this had to be a serious matter.
“Oh, lead the way then,” she said, anxiety started to grip at her again.
Jax sensed her apprehension, scooping her arm up and linking it with his, “Don’t worry, no matter what it is we’ll be able to figure it out. Promise.”
How does he do that? How does someone with the type of reputation that made her want to keep the farthest distance away from him as possible, say the simplest yet heartwarming things that might her heart spark? And how did he say it so honestly that she had to believe him? She cleared her throat, giving him a little smirk, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep Princey.”
His eyes were unchanging, still soft as he placed his other hand over her and rubbed his thumb over her fingers, “I don’t. You’re too important to risk.”
Pomni felt her heart skip a beat. If it weren’t for Motley purring against her ear, she wouldn’t have anything to ground herself from floating up to cloud nine. Her grip on his hand tightened, whispering, “Good.”
With a gentle smile and a steady hand, he led her out of the hallway and made their way to the throne room. Neither of them felt the need to run down the halls like they usually did, that experience would be for another type of day. For this day, the slow steady pace down the long halls of the palace was what the two of them needed. The comfortable silence of each other’s company was enough for both of them, not a single word had to be spoken. Was this what it would be like for Pomni if she were to stay? Just peace? No worries about what or who could come after her? That she could be free to express herself in any form she wished for, song, dance, art, speech? Where her powers would be hers and hers alone without the fear of them being used for someone else’s selfish exploitations? And where she could finally allow herself to open up to the idea of love? To spend her days with someone who would listen to anything and everything she had to say. To feel safe in the loving embrace of another. And she and Jax could live their days in nothing but peaceful bliss…
…Oh…OH!...oh…
Electricity struck through Pomni as the realisation dawned on her.
She had fallen in love with the prince.
Jax looked down at the jester once he felt her grip loosen on his, concern curling through him when he saw the worried look on her face. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, capturing her attention as she blinked up at him. “I know that this whole ‘being called to the throne room’ thing seems pretty daunting, but trust me, there’s nothing to be afraid of. My parents always have a plan, so no matter what happens, I’m sure it’ll be alright.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she nodded, giving him a soft smile before they continued walking. How she wished that were the reason why she suddenly felt so down. But no. She loved Jax, she had fallen so hard for him. But she didn’t have the luxury to stay with him. Someone like her couldn’t afford to love.
Bury it down, she inhaled deeply, don’t ruin this, not like everything else.
She wanted to enjoy this as much as she could before anything else could happen.
The throne room already had a small audience, consisting of the rest of the circus while Kinger and Queenie sat ahead of them on their thrones. The king and queen shared a nervous yet hopeful look, two emotions that could go either way depending on what the topic of conversation that were about to have. It only made the prince and jester all the more nervous.
“Thank you for joining us Pomni, I’m glad that our son is being a good host to you,” Queenie greeted, bowing her head to the girl.
“Well, he has become a very good friend to me over the past few days,” Pomni gave the prince a smile before focusing back on the queen, “If you don’t mind me asking your majesty, but why have you summoned us all here?”
“Hey, it’s okay kiddo,” Kaufmo walked up to her. Pomni detached her arm from Jax’s to put her hands in her father’s, the rabbit already missing the warmth of her touch. “They’ve already informed us that there is nothing to worry about.”
Pomni exhaled shakily, nodding. Though her nerves would get the best of her at times, Kaufmo’s voice was always something that kept her slightly grounded ever since she was a child. Even Motley’s purring added to that as well. With a final breath, she turned to the king and queen, ready to hear whatever they had to say.
Kinger cleared his throat, rising from his throne, “As you know, we’ve had our guards roam outside of our kingdom to make sure that Caine or his men haven’t been planning another invasion. Well, we’ve just had a report back and they’ve told us that the outer realm has been clear of them since the last attack.”
“We’ve told them to do one last surveillance before their final report, just to make sure that Caine isn’t lurking,” Queenie continued, “However, since there’s not been any sightings, we believe that it is safe for you to continue with your travels.”
“So, how long do you determine that we stay in the castle?” Ragatha asked, “During the last surveillance.”
“Unless anything else comes back, I’d say you should stay at least one more week before you believe that you should go,” Queenie confirmed.
Several of the cast members let out a sigh of relief, the anxiety of Caine’s lurking washing away at the thought of being free to travel again. Though a bittersweetness hung in the air. The kingdom had been nothing but supportive and accommodating to them in their time of need. What was supposed to be a short time here to entertain the subjects here had turned into the kindest experience any of them had ever received in their entire lives.
For Pomni? While the thought of seeing new places (and being as far away from Caine as possible) thrilled her to her core. For the first time in her life, she actually wanted to stay. Don’t get her wrong, she still had her dreams of travelling the realms, to let audiences hear her songs - not watch her acts or witness her powers, but to listen to her songs. To listen to her singing. To listen to her.
But if she closed her eyes for a moment, only a moment, she wanted to let herself pretend. Pretend that she had a place here, to wake up in the morning and plan to do whatever she pleased, to go out into town and greet the other people of the kingdom as though she were one of them too. To sing in the town centre for whoever wanted to stop and hear her.
And perhaps, in the far back of her mind, she would go up to the castle and be greeted by a pair of yellow eyes and a Cheshire grin. Where he would take her hands into his and ask about her day, stroll in the gardens with her as he listened to whatever plans she wanted to venture. To listen to the songs that she only reserved for him and him alone. And until the midnight sky, watching the stars twinkle amongst the inky blanket of the nightly heavens, he would hold her in his arms, a silent promise that he would always love her. No matter what.
But now, she realised that there was no way to have that fantasy be real. Yes, Caine wasn’t spotted by any of the guards, but it didn’t change the fact that he was still out there. Still waiting for the chance to strike and get his hands on her and her powers. As long as Caine was after her, she could never have the life she dreamed of living.
Jax looked over the side of his shoulder, worry striking him when he saw Pomni’s crestfallen expression and the glazed look in her eyes. While he was sad that she was leaving (and deep down prayed that she could stay), a part of him believed that there would be some joy in the fact that she could finally be free to leave. He knew that something was wrong, “Pomni, what’s wrong?”
Pomni wanted to cry right there and then at how kind his words sounded, at how far the prince had come from the stereotype she expected from him. Why couldn’t she just keep hating him, why did he charm and endear her so much that she had to fall in love with him! It could have made everything so much easier. She wanted to tell him how much she wanted to stay, tell him all of the potential plans she could have had here, and how much she wanted him to be part of them. But the words kept getting stuck in her throat, as though an invisible hand had wrapped around her neck, silencing her from making any word that would ruin Jax too.
“However,” Kinger’s voice rang through the room. “There is one last thing we would like to do before you all take your leave.”
Pomni didn’t know whether to feel eased or frustrated at the sudden interruption.
“We would like to host a ball in your honour near the end of the week,” Queenie announced, “To thank you for all that you have done here.”
“For what we’ve done?” Ragatha titled her head in confusion, “Your majesty, you and your family are the ones who took care of us in our time of need?
Queenie eyes softened, a glimmer of a smile flickering in her gaze. A kind look that Jax knew all too well from his mother. “Yes, you and your family may have been under our care,” Queenie confirmed, “But it does not take away from the fact that you have all been an incredible presence in our kingdom. You have brought smiles to everyone, not just from your performances, but by simply being your best true selves for everyone to see. Even if you didn’t bring your tricks or talents, the moment you stepped out into town you all saw the world as authentic and beautiful, that’s what brought our subjects to you. That mind view is an incredible ability to possess, you’re lucky. Many people lack it. That’s why we want to celebrate you, for all of you cherishing the kindness that our kingdom was built upon. Doing that is the greatest thing our foreigners and travellers can do, that is why the entire kingdom is invited, so they can say one more final thank you and goodbye for all that you have done for us.”
Each member looked to one another, like a sparkler had been lit within their souls as they grinned at the prospect of a ball. Neither one of them had been to one before, mostly they would stay as long as they would need to in the town they were performing in, do the performance they rehearsed day and night to do before finally leaving up the time their shows were finished. They had only heard what happened at balls through whispers of stories from the other common folk. And now they could finally be a part of one.
Excited murmurs broke out between them, wondering what they could wear, where they could get their garments, what colours they should choose, what type of jewellery they would wear if they decided to wear them at all. There was just so many choices in so little time! It was all so amazing!
Pomni felt herself smiling. A ball. Like everyone else, she had never been to one. But Kaufmo’s fairytales left so many fantasies in her mind. When she was a teenager - after a rough night of performing and dealing with Caine’s wrath - she would dream about being at a ball, wearing the loveliest gown while dancing under the stars. Sometimes those dreams would include a handsome prince or princess sweeping her off her feet, taking her far away from all that hurt her.
She looked to Jax. She may be leaving after the end of the week, but it was still one night to have all her dreams come true. Even if it would only last for so long. “So,” she lightly nudged Jax’s shoulder, “I’m guessing you already have a plus one to bring to the ball. A princess no doubt.”
“Well I am planning on asking someone,” Jax confirmed. Pomni felt her face fall a bit, a little piece of her was hoping he would ask her. Huh, she never expected that thought to enter her mind. “She might not be a princess, but she has the spirit of one for sure.”
“Oh,” Pomni fiddled with her ring finger, “Well, she’s lucky if you’re the one who’s wanting to ask her.”
“I’m the lucky one if she says yes little lady,” he grinned, “Or rather, if you say yes.”
Pomni’s head snapped up.
“You really think I wouldn’t be asking you?” Jax chuckled, “Did you not see what I was like when I met you? Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought before I heroically saved you.”
“Shut up,” she shoved his lightly in the chest, unable to stop her own laughter from joining his. “I’ve never been to a ball hosted by royalty, I thought since you’re the prince that it was required for you to ask a princess or a noble to join you.”
“Maybe in other kingdoms,” he nodded, “But here, you’re the only lady I want by my side that night.” His breath wavered as his face went serious. His hands slightly shaky as he prepared himself for his next question. Years of his ego being his defining personality trait, to be able to get away with the most rioting pranks and wild parties, it all melted away when asking the girl of his dreams to a simple ball.
And this was the same prince who revelled in the promise of danger.
“Pomni,” he began, taking her hand still on his chest into his own, lacing their fingers together. “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the ball?”
She squeezed his hand, her stomach doing an excited little flip as she answered, “I’d love to.” The jester heard a disgruntled cough coming from behind her, and by Jax’s pale expression, she could tell who it was. She turned, coming face to face with Kaufmo, Ragatha and Moon, each of them wearing a stern look on their faces. “Pa, it’s okay. He asked and I agreed.”
“Don’t worry kiddo, I know you did. I trust you,” Kaufmo replied reassuringly to his daughter. “I just have a warning for the prince.”
Jax gulped at the three cold stares coming from the trio, if looks could kill then he was fairly sure he would be singing with the angels right about now. “Let me make this very clear,” Kaufmo began, “If Pomni is even slightly sad at the ball because of you, then I have no hesitation to let Ragatha use you as cat food for her lions.”
The ragdoll nodded, glaring at him with all her might. Moon didn’t even have to say anything, but the way she stood with Ragatha was enough to tell him that she had no problem assisting the redhead. He whipped his head to his parents, who hadn’t uttered a word during this whole ordeal.
“Don’t look at me,” Queenie put her hands up. “I’m not the one to judge a father for being protective over his daughter. Besides, he has a right to be wary of you darling.”
Jax shrugged with a nod, he couldn’t disagree there. He looked back at Pomni, her cheeks slightly flushed with a humoured smile on her lips after that whole interaction. How did she manage to look so beautiful in every way? He probably had a lovesick look on his face again, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care because this was her, nothing else mattered. “Well in that case,” he picked up her hand again, revelling in the way her cheeks flushed even more, “I can’t wait to see you there, my little lady.” He pressed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, forcing himself not to laugh as he heard a silent squeal erupting from the back of her throat.
“A-and, I-I,” Pomni cleared her throat, straightening her back again and regaining the calmness she had before. “And I you, your highness.” She then enclosed his hand in both her palms, with the upmost gentleness she started running her thumb over his fingers, like he had done so with her hand earlier. All without breaking eye contact with him, she smirked when it was his turn for him to get all flustered.
She let go, giving him a small curtsy, “Now if you don’t mind, I’m fairly certain that the rest of the ladies and non-gender affirming friend are going to drag me to help them find ballgowns soon.”
Jax spluttered, trying to find the words that were in his head a few seconds ago. How on earth did this tiny powerful woman have this much of a hectic effect on him only from touching his hand?! “Y-yeah, I’m pretty sure my father will be doing that but for me,” he wasn’t able to focus on anything but the faint tingling of where her fingers had been on his hand, sending little shocks up the nerves on his arm. He flexed his hand, letting his fingers stretch to see if it would make any difference. The tingling only increased, his fur fluffing up at his neck at the reaction. He huffed fondly, worth it. “I look forward to seeing how beautiful you look.”
She raised her brow at him, rolling her eyes as he chuckled. He was always just so him wasn’t he? But it’s also why you fell in love with him, isn’t it? She sighed, yes, it was. In the amount of since she met him, he had become a far cry of what she believed him to be from the tales she heard. He had proven to be kind, noble and brave. Though still a little bit of a trickster, a good man and a good prince with a tender heart was all she could see. And soon she would have to leave all that behind.
She opened her mouth to say something, she wanted to say something, but she found herself being pulled away by Ragatha, Moon, Gangle and Zooble. Just like she had suspected, they were pulling her away to start dress shopping. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue our conversation later!” she called out to Jax, looking over her shoulder while Motley jumped out of her arms and trotted back to the prince as she was dragged out of the ballroom.
Jax laughed at the scene in front of him, picking up the kitten and placing him on his shoulder, “I look forward to it.”
Pomni gave him one final smile, before joining in with the excited chatter with the rest of the ladies and Zooble.
However, once she was out of sight, did Jax let himself frown. The girl seemed so strangely down all morning, quieter and more reserved, less of the usual spunk than he had come to expect. Had something happened? Did he do something to offend her? Whatever it was he should at least try and make it up to her.
“You’re overthinking,” A familiar voice murmured. Jax turned to face his father walking towards him.
“I inherited it from you, old man,” the prince snickered. Kinger’s face didn’t move an inch, not willing to change the topic of conversation just yet. Jax sighed, “I’m worried about Pomni. She hasn’t really been herself much this morning. I didn’t want to pry into what it is cause its none of my business and I don’t wanna push her, she already felt pretty stressed out when she told me about her past. I don’t wanna add anymore onto that. But I can tell that something’s wrong, and I hate feeling helpless. I just want to protect her.”
Kinger hummed. He had heard this monologue many decades ago from when he was around Jax’s age. He should know, for Kinger was the one who said it too. “When I fell in love your mother, I was a wreck,” the king began. “Despite going round in circles to think of a way to win her heart, I also had other thoughts in my head as well. I worried that I could never protect her the way I wanted to, she could be sad for only a moment and I would panic that I had done something to hurt her. But when he married and grew together, I had to realise that I wasn’t a magical knight from a story book. Even with my crown I was only a man who loved his wife deeply. It hurts when we have to come to turns that we cannot protect everyone – including the ones we love – but no matter what we still try. We try because we know that it’s better for them to be in our lives than to lose them. We can do what we can and that’s all right, for what is love than the desire to guard what we care for the most?”
Clarity never hit Jax harder than it did right here in this moment. He lifted the hand that Pomni touched again, shifting his fingers where hers had been. His father was right. Even the biggest dam in all of the world would never be able to stop a crack, letting a flood release. And even if he wanted to, he knew that there were bigger forces out there who would do nothing but take Pomni for themselves. He squeezed his hand into a fist, but they would have to kill him first before ever hurting Pomni ever again. Even if he were to fall, her safety would forever and always come first for him. “Yeah,” he nodded, “It is.”
Kinger felt warmth radiate through him, it had been so long since he heard that part of his son speak so earnestly. He missed him, “Come now, it’s time we get you fitted. I’m sure you’ll want to look your best for your lady-friend at the ball.”
He snickered as he heard his son’s splutters, it was fun getting under Jax’s skin sometimes. A little petty revenge if that’s what you want to call it.
From the side, Kaufmo stood, hearing everything they had just said. For the first time, since Jax saved her, he was able to see clearly about what Pomni saw in the prince.
.
.
.
Pomni was panicking. Which wasn’t a complete shock. Tomorrow was the ball and she had spent the entire week helping everyone else pick out their gowns expect for herself. The ladies had insisted on finding what colour would flatter her the most, but she had turned away in favour of finding something for them, insisting that she would find a garment for herself soon. And yet, here she was. Gown-less and nearing a mental breakdown.
She groaned, honestly she blamed herself. She had been so caught up in the nightmares that she had and the future aftermath of the ball. Caine would always be breathing down her neck, something she would never be able to shake away even after they escaped from him the first time, and soon she would be returning to that fear. When she met Jax, somehow his foolishness and change in behaviour had been able to forget about her worries for a while, despite their first meeting. He only had to say one word and the rest of the world didn’t matter, it was just bliss. Soon, she wouldn’t have that anymore. She’d soon return to surviving for herself and her family, looking over her shoulder constantly to make sure a pair of blue and green eyes wouldn’t be staring back at her.
She just wanted to be selfish, just once and stay here. Stay with Jax, stay in the kingdom, stay in the life that she oh so wanted to have. But the thought of Caine harming Jax because of his obsession with her powers was a risk that she never wanted to take…after all, it was the same risk that her village was raided and burned to the ground.
How dare you think of that, how dare you even think about staying. You could lose everything just because of your entitlement you stupid girl! Pomni felt tears well up in her eyes, You’re selfish! Selfish! Selfish! Selfish! Selfish-
A knock at her door broke her away from her panic, wiping away her tears and smoothing down the fabric of her skirt. “Just coming!” she hoped her voice didn’t give away the fact that she had been crying.
She had expected either Ragatha or Kaufmo to show up at her door, so it was quite the shock when it was Queenie who had appeared, holding a large yet flat box under her arm. “Apologies, I don’t mean to intrude Pomni but I…Oh darling, what happened?” the queen asked, her brows furrowing with worry.
Pomni wanted to rub at her eyes again, to hide any evidence of her tears. But the queen had already put the box down and took the jester’s hands into hers, leaving Pomni unable to hide. “It’s nothing, your majesty,” Pomni brushed off her worries, “Please, don’t mind me, I’ll be okay.”
“Oh honey,” The queen wrapped her arms around the girl, “This is a safe place, your tears aren’t nothing. Whatever it is you’re feeling, don’t ever be afraid to say it.”
Pomni typically wasn’t one for physical touch, usually it was reserved for those she was close with like Kaufmo or Ragatha – and now it included Jax. But this was different. Queenie’s warmth reminded her of a familiar touch that she had not received in a long time. A touch of a mother reassuring her child that everything was going to be okay. And though Pomni couldn’t remember her face, that small yet significant warmth from her mother stayed with the girl throughout her life. And now, she was receiving the same touch from Queenie, another mother who fiercely loved her son.
Pomni clutched onto the queen, her small body shaking with silent sobs. Queenie was patient and gentle the whole time, rubbing her hand up and down the jester’s back, shushing in her ear like how she did with Jax when he was young whenever he got scared or bruised his knee. She had only heard snippets from Jax about what the girl’s childhood what like, he didn’t tell her everything, after all, only Pomni could be the one to detail her past to another. But what she heard was enough for her to know that this poor girl had went through hell and back. She wasn’t surprised to see Jax so protective over her after their day at the village festival, whatever Pomni had told him there was enough for him to guard her with everything he had.
Once the girl was quiet, she pulled away, leaning into the queen’s touch when the latter lifted her hands to Pomni’s face and brushed her tears away. “Are you okay to tell me what wrong my dear?” Queenie asked, as kindly and patiently as she could.
Now Pomni understood how Jax was able to show kindness the way he did. “Is it…is it wrong for me wanting to stay?” Pomni spoke softly, as though a single wrong word would make everything crumble. “I love my family, and I’m so grateful for the hospitality that you’ve given us and I can’t wait to get back on the road again, but...I never had a real home in so long. That isn’t to mean Kaufmo and the others aren’t! They have always been my home. I’m just…I’m so tired of running. I’m tired of not being able to live a normal life and pursue my dreams because of the threat of one man. Your kingdom, that has been a home for me after so long. For the first time in my life I didn’t have to run, I could be safe in the knowledge that I was protected…and Jax. Your son has to be one of the sweetest people I have ever met, despite his reputation. But the thought of leaving here? It already makes me feel homesick thinking about it…I-I’m sorry your majesty I didn’t mean to overload you with all of that!”
Queenie had not spoken a word, letting Pomni take the time she needed in order to let out everything that was tying her down to the ground, like releasing her from being chained to a boulder. Pomni had more pages than the heaviest book in the world, each piece unfolding a new layer of her that made the queen’s heart ache for the girl. “My darling, I am queen of a kingdom where people need to unload on me,” Queenie told her. “It is my job to help those who cannot help themselves. Do not apologise for letting yourself feel. You might not be my subject, but that does not mean I will not take your problems seriously.”
Was this what having a mother was like? She wouldn’t trade Kaufmo for the world, but that never stopped the lingering curiosity of what her own mother would have been like. All she had left of her mother were blurry images in her mind, the powers she shared with her, and her love of music. If her mother was still here would she offer her the same comfort and security that Queenie did for her in only a few short moments? It was times like this, times her soul twinged with sorrow and doubt when she wished that her life was different. That it could be of her own making. She would be in her village, under the care and singing day and night with her mother, only traveling when she wanted to find new places to play her songs, meet the other members of the circus under different circumstances, and fall in love with Jax without having to worry about leaving him.
Why did life choose her to be so cruel to?
“Thank you, your majesty,” Pomni bowed her head in appreciation, “I’m sorry again for such a heavy topic.”
“You must learn to stop saying sorry, dear,” there was a joking tone in Queenie’s voice as she wagged her finger at Pomni, “Otherwise I’ll have to make a rule to ban you from saying it.”
Pomni laughed at that, tears of mirth pricking in the corners of her eyes instead.
Queenie’s eyes smiled, softening as her hands encased the jester’s again, “Not every bad thing that happens is your fault. Please hold onto that information for when you travel again…Pomni, it’s not my place but if you were to stay, we would be more than happy to protect you from Caine.”
Pomni’s face fell, “That’s the thing your majesty. Caine always comes up with new plans, if I stayed he wouldn’t stop terrorizing this kingdom until he gets what he wants, No one is powerful enough to stop him.”
“He managed to get arrested once,” Queenie pointed out, “He can be again.”
“He also managed to escape,” Pomni said, her face saddening once again. “You’d think someone with powers like mine that I could be able to do something. But even now, he still has a hand around my neck. I could be the strongest person alive yet I’d still be too scared to face him. You have…you have no idea what he put us through.” Her heart squeezed, she felt so damn pathetic.
“I don’t know what he’s done, but I do know that you didn’t deserve it,” Queenie told her. “Never feel ashamed for feeling afraid because of what that monster did to you. Do what makes you feel safest my darling, and if you ever want to come back our castle doors are always open.”
Pomni sniffed, a smile brightening her face once again, “Jax is lucky to have you.”
“And he’s lucky to have you too,” the queen teased, humming laughter as the jester started gasping and stuttering. “Now, speaking of Jax. I understand that he asked you to be his plus one for the ball. I hope it’s not inappropriate but I do have something that you could wear. If you don’t already.”
“I-I don’t,” Pomni’s jaw fell a little in surprise at the kind gesture. “You didn’t have to do that your majesty, not for me.”
“Nonsense,” Queenie shook her head, picking up the box from the ground and bringing it over to Pomni’s bed. “Every girl deserves to have something nice for themselves. Besides, I was hoping you would wear this.”
Pomni bit her lip, the queen had a pleading look in her eyes. Whatever was in that box, it was enough to convince the jester that whatever was in it held significant importance to the royal. “Okay, um, I’d like to look at it,” Pomni answered, fidgeting with her hands for a moment.
The queen lit up, like a sun shining in the jester’s direction as the chess piece’s fingers went lift up the lid of the box. As soon as it was removed, Pomni’s breath hitched at the contents on the inside. What laid in the box was nothing short of the twilight sky stitched and sewn together into a ballgown. It was too much, “Your majesty, I can’t have this! Someone like me shouldn’t wear this!”
“Someone like you is perfect for this gown,” Queenie stated. “It was a gift to me in my younger years, from a good friend of mine in another kingdom. She wanted me to wear this, saying that it would be worn when I was with my true love. I never had a chance to wear it, after all Kinger was already courting me and I didn’t feel good enough to wear it. Ironic, I know. However, something tells me that this dress wasn’t meant for me.” She looked away from the gown to face Pomni again. “But perhaps it was for you.”
“I…” Pomni was speechless, truly. The gown that laid in the box looked as though it was worth all the gems in the realm, if she were to wear that, she would literally be wearing that costed millions. Yet the queen believed that it was perfect for her. She had said it so earnestly that Pomni couldn’t find it in herself to turn it away. “Thank you, your majesty,” Pomni bowed, “I promise to take care of it during the ball.”
“As long as you’re having fun as yourself, then that’s all I care about,” the queen told her. “Now, let me help you get ready. I have an idea on what makeup would go well with that gown.”
Pomni giggled as the queen rushing over to her vanity at the other end of the room. Pomni ran her fingers over the gown’s fabric, perhaps she was worth more than what she believed.
.
.
.
Jax pulled at the collar of his shirt. His suit was nowhere near uncomfortable, but it didn’t stop the anxiety coursing through his veins. The suit in question was consisted of a long navy-blue waistcoat, with ruby embroidery along the lapels and cuffs with matching trousers with the same crimson detailed design. Underneath the button coat was a white blouse with a ruffled collar and a pendant on top, with the final addition of his outfit being a red rose tucked into his breast pocket.
Why was he so nervous you ask? It was all because of Pomni. She had yet to arrive, and though the ball hadn’t started yet, both guests and the circus group had already flooded the ballroom. He hadn’t seen any of the nobles yet, well, the nobles that he normally couldn’t stand. When asking his parents about the matter, they had merely shrugged with a mischievous glint in their eyes, yet it told Jax exactly what they did. And they’re still surprised by the fact that I turned out to be a trickster he grinned to himself.
His hands were shaking. What if something happened to her while she was getting ready? What is she hurt herself and wasn’t able to attend? What if Caine somehow managed to get into the castle and swiped her away?! Oh god he had to go get her-!
“Relax prince boy,” a hand grabbed him by the back of his coat, dragging him back before he could run off. He scowled, turning to see who did that, when he came face to face with Gangle and Zooble. The girl he had rudely pushed upon their first meeting, and her justifiably angry partner. “Pomni’s fine, Gangle went to check up on her a while ago.”
“How did you know I was thinking about Pomni?” he questioned, raising a brow.
“Gee, it’s not like you’ve been spending every waking moment glued to her side ever since she came here,” Zooble replied sarcastically, rolling their eyes at the rabbit’s question.
“Zooble,” Gangle hissed, “Be nice, please.” The body of ribbons looked back at him, not as upset as he thought she would be after their interaction when they met. She was wearing a sleeveless gown the same colour as her ribbons, with a full skirt and rubies sewn atop of it. Zooble was wearing a suit of the same colour, no doubt wanting to match his sweet girlfriend. “Pomni will be here soon, your mother kinda overwhelmed her while getting ready.”
The prince sighed. “Of course she did,” he shook his head fondly at Queenie’s direction, the woman was laughing with her husband at whatever joke he had come up with. He looked back to Gangle, who was looking up at Zooble with nothing but love in her eyes, the other doing the same. He hadn’t apologised to her for what he did, yet she still talked to him as though he had only brushed her shoulder on that day. He wouldn’t blame her if she were to be as upset as their hot-headed partner, yet she didn’t. That only made the guilt sting all the more.
She deserved an apology. “Listen, uh, Gangle right?” he asked, making the ribboned lady look up at him with worried eyes. She probably thought that he was going to be mean to her again, it only rubbed more salt into the wound. Jax was sure Zooble was going to kill him right there and then with the way she was glaring at him. He gulped, “Listen, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for how I treated you when we met. It was ignorant and entitled of me to do that to you and how I treated Pomni as well. I genuinely care for your friend and I’m extremely ashamed of how poorly I was to you. I deeply apologize.”
There was shift in the way Gangle looked at him, she didn’t look as worried as she was before, her posture was straighter as she gazed at him with intent in her mind. “Thank you for your apology your highness,” she replied, “Though I’m still not happy with you pushing me, I’m glad you’re able to realise the error of your ways.”
“Of course,” he nodded, “And please, call me Jax. If I’m going to make a fresh start, I would like if you could call me by my name.”
Gangle smiled, a new determination flickering when she saw this new side of the prince, “Very well, thank you Jax.”
“I’m still onto you,” Zooble growled. “But…I’m glad you’re not a total dickhead…you’re still pretty dumb though.”
“Zooble!” Gangle hissed.
A snort escaped from Jax, surprising the couple when a loud belly laugh boomed throughout the ballroom. The laugh lacked any type of maliciousness or was mean-spirited, it was just a hearty yet a pure and honest carefree laugh. “They-” he snickered, “They aren’t wrong! I haven’t had the brightest ideas in my lifetime.”
Both the body of ribbons and the assortment of shapes were a little surprised by the prince’s reaction. They were fairly certain that he would have made some sort of passive aggressive comment or even get angry at Zooble. But no. It was the same sort of laugh that one of them would have whenever Kaufmo told one of his better jokes or when they all had fun as a family. Zooble smirked, “See Gangle, princey doesn’t mind.”
Gangle groaned, rolling her eyes, “What am I gonna do with you?”
“Hmmm, love me forever?” Zooble retorted cheekily, wiggling his eyebrows.
“If I have to,” Gangle couldn’t keep the grin off her face, resting her head onto Zooble’s shoulder.
Jax’s laughter ebbed away, a softness lacing his heart. That tenderness and comfort the couple shared with one another, he couldn’t help but imagine it with him and Pomni. To let her feel safe with him no matter what, to share sweet moments with him with no other prying eyes. But after tonight, she’ll be gone, along with his wish for all of that. All this because of a power-hungry man who kept her in a state of fright ever since childhood, it wasn’t fair for someone as sweet as Pomni.
“Ah, I see the prince has graced our presence,” a soft voice spoke. He looked up to see that it was Ragatha’s voice he had heard, with Sun and Moon by her side and Kaufmo trailing behind her. She looked towards Gangle and Zooble, “He hasn’t given you two any trouble, has he?”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” Zooble said, “He came over to apologise to Gangle.”
Ragatha raised a brow, shifting a little bit in her place, as if this were a small shock to her. “Did he know?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Zooble nodded, what they said next made it look like they were going to hurl just having to form it into words. “I guess I was…wrong about him. Oh god I hated saying that.”
“Oh,” was all Ragatha said. The doll in question was wearing a backless gown of midnight blue, sleek and sparkling, no puffiness in sight as long skirt trailed behind her. She wore long silky white gloves and half of her curls were pinned up into a bun while the other red locks pooled around her shoulders.
Moon was wearing something similar, though hers was pure black with little stars stitched onto the fabric, with a double leg slit and a feathered scarf around her shoulders. Sun was wearing a red and yellow striped waistcoat and trousers, along with a simple white blouse and a black bowtie wrapped around the collar.
Lastly was Kaufmo, whose waistcoat and trousers were sewn with a fine grey silk with what seemed to be music notes embroidered into the lapels and cuffs. He pulled at the collar a few times, he hadn’t worn something like this before so it was a bit new to him. But he looked happy with his new attire.
“Well,” Ragatha’s voice broke Jax out of his trance again, “I’m glad you weren’t up to anything foolish, after all I still have two very hungry lions.”
“Don’t forget the meat cleaver you have darling,” Moon pointed out, “It would be such a shame to see such a lovely tool go to waste.”
“Uh…and I’m here!” Sun cheered, not wanting to be left out. While it did relieve some of the tension, it didn’t stop Jax from shrinking under the glares of the women.
“While I support your protection over my daughter,” Kaufmo interrupted, placing a hand on Ragatha’s shoulder, “Let’s wait until the prince does anything before charging headfirst. Besides, something tells me that he would want to join in with that protection as well.” The clown gave Jax a knowing wink. “But make no mistake, you hurt her and not even the guards will stop Ragatha and Moon with what they want to do with you.”
Jax gulped, “Understood, sir.” Despite the obvious threat, the fact that he had Kaufmo’s acknowledgement about how much he cared for Pomni made Jax want to sing. The clown trusted the prince, and Jax wasn’t going to let him down. Pomni mattered to him just as much as she mattered to Kaufmo, there was no way he was going to break that trust.
“I’m surprised that little Motley cat isn’t with you,” Sun said, “Other than Pomni, you two are practically glued together.”
Jax was about to open his mouth to say another word, until a small mew interrupted him. The group looked at him with wide eyes, the sound not going unnoticed. The rabbit sighed, reaching into the side of his coat pocket and pulled Motley out, the little kitten wearing a blue bowtie around his neck.
Everyone’s mouth fell open, it was quite the sight indeed.
“This little bugger insisted that he should join me tonight,” Jax defended.
“Right, a non-speaking animal somehow managed to convince you to let him come to the ball,” Zooble drawled with doubt.
Jax frowned, though he didn’t feel mad. So far, everything was going well. The guests were happy, he had Motley in his arms, there were no sign of the nobles, the music was lovely, the food was delicious, his parents were delighted and he had won over the favour of the circus group. All that was missing is-
“-Pomni,” Kaufmo’s eyed widened as he gazed up to the staircase leading out of the ballroom.
The rest of the group followed the clown’s eyes, their own jaws dropping when they say who he was looking at. The rest of the ballroom had gone silent as well, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Jax whipped round, wondering why everyone was reacting the way they did…oh…he understood perfectly now.
Pomni stood at the top of the staircase, the only way to describe how she looked was breathtaking. Her gown was the most beautiful shade of purple, startling at a light pinkish lavender at the top as it faded into an amethyst shade in the middle before finishing in a plum shade at the bottom. Her skirt was full, layered with organza, rippling like raindrops on a pond. The top of the gown had off-the-shoulder sleeves with a sweetheart neckline, with glistening gem at the centrepiece. And the whole gown twinkled with little diamonds stitched into the fabric. She wore simple makeup, with her normally short hair curled and now reaching her shoulder as it gleamed under the chandeliers.
She clenched her hands, there were so many eyes on her. She didn’t have the façade of her jester persona to help her out, it was only her they were all looking at. Gathering herself, she managed a small curtsey, the shimmering layers of her skirt pooling around her. She stood again, her gown swishing as she made her way down the steps.
Jax couldn’t wipe the awestruck grin he had on his face even if he tried. Not even the stars could compare with how beautiful she looked. He handed Motley over to Kaufmo, “Sir, if you may. Could I please lead your daughter for the first dance?”
Kaufmo smiled, running his hand over the kitten’s back as he purred, “Go on, give her a dream come true.”
Not wasting a beat, Jax turned back to Pomni. He wasn’t sure if he saw him yet, so ever so slowly, he made his way towards her, the rest of the guests parting to let him through.
They had done the same with Pomni, giving her the room she needed yet not being able to take their eyes off her. A little part of her liked the attention, they weren’t drawn to her for powers or the act she had to put on, they were drawn to her for simply being her. This new feeling was strange, but nice…really nice.
She let out a small gasp when she finally saw Jax, how handsome he looked in his garments and how he looked at her as though she were the only person in the room. Her heart fluttered seeing him, making her way towards him as he did the same. Finally they met in the middle of the room, the only ones in the middle of the ballroom floor, their eyes locked onto one another.
“Prince Jax,” she breathed.
“My lady,” his voice held nothing but adoration for her. “You look absolutely exquisite.”
“I’ve been praying all day not to trip in this,” she whispered, “I think I would perish if I ruined something as lovely as this.”
“That would be a shame, you look too beautiful in it,” Jax murmured, “Um. Pomni, would you do me the honour of letting me lead you through this first…” he trailed off. Could you blame him? She was positively stunning.
“…Dance?” she finished for him, a small grin forming on her lips.
“Uh, yes of course, dance,” he stuttered, laughing awkwardly.
Pomni took pity on him, nodding excitedly. Call her childish, but it was nothing short of magical that she actually got to dance like the princesses she read about in fairytales.
Jax’s face fell, a serious look took over yet his eyes were still soft as he brought his hand forward, pulling Pomni closer to him. The girl’s breath hitched, with these newfound feelings she had for Jax, it made this touch all the more significant. A shiver ran down her spine.
The music of the orchestra began, filling the ballroom with the sounds of the many violinists and pianists’ instruments, a soft yet heavenly tune echoing in the room. Ever so gently, Jax began to sway, with Pomni repeating his movements. Pomni gulped as he led her further into the dance, she could feel everyone’s stares despite having her back to them. Who wouldn’t? After all, she was the prince’s choice to lead the first dance with. “They’re all looking at you,” she whispered.
“Believe me,” he grinned, “They’re all looking at you.”
Normally she would have panicked at that sentence, but the gentle grasp of his warm hand on her waist kept her attention on him. He picked up her forearm with his, letting it glide up and down, “Just focus on me, okay? And follow my lead.”
Pomni nodded, her once quickening heart slowing down as she gazed into his eyes. He took her hand, carefully spinning her before she held she gently grazed the knuckles of said hand against his cheek. He threaded his fingers through her, spinning her again as the skirts of her gown fluttered around her, giving her the appearance of a butterfly.
The repeated the range of movements a few more times before Jax wrapped his arm around her waist again, pulling her closer than he did before, their noses inches from each other as he clasped his free hand into hers again. Pomni’s breath stuttered as their feet travelled around the empty space, never in her life had she felt anything so surreal, so euphoric in all her life. A carefree laugh escaped her lips as both she and Jax spun again, the prince doing the same as the picture of her lovely smile imprinted into his mind again.
He released the grip on her waist to twirl her onto the empty space on the floor, the rest of the crowd aweing at the way her gown glittered each time she spun left and right while holding onto Jax’s hand.
Not even the rest of the circus troupe could erase the butterflies they were having just by the way the prince and the jester looked at one another. It was right out of a love story. “I can’t disagree, they would make a beautiful couple,” Kaufmo remarked, with Motley letting out an agreeable mew in his arms.
“I suppose so,” Ragatha nodded, “As long as he doesn’t hurt her.”
“Don’t worry my dears, rest assured that my son would never do the following,” Queenie told them as she and Kinger snuck up behind the group.
“Your majesties,” Ragatha gasped, the rest of them quickly bowing, “Please forgive me for saying that.”
“Oh that’s alright,” Queenie snickered, “Jax has caused one too many incidents to have a reputation that’s worth your worry.”
“Though I will say, your Pomni has him wrapped around her finger,” Kinger mused as he watched the due dancing on the floor. “I haven’t seen this side of my son in so long, until your daughter arrived Kaufmo.”
“Pomni has always found a way to bright the best out in others,” Kaufmo told them, “Whether they know she’s doing it or not.”
Kinger hummed in agreement, “I can confidently say that without a doubt, this is the best ball this kingdom has ever seen.” Kaufmo nodded, the two fathers turning to look back at their children, smiling at seeing how happy they were together.
Jax had twirled Pomni a few times, still holding her by the waist until he picked her up in both arms and held her high up above him, twirling her in the air as the crowd oo’ed and clapped for the sudden display. Though it was silent compared to the chimes of her giggles at the sudden motions, bringing her back down to face level. Neither of them could stop glancing at each other’s lips, the temptation to swoop down and capture them growing stronger.
Before he could give into it, he saved himself by dipping Pomni once more time as the music slowed. It was for the best, she would be leaving tomorrow. He didn’t want to sour things more for her, not when they had come so far. He could tell by the way she was looking at him that she was silently agreeing, what they had right now was good, good enough in fact.
The music slowed to a stop, with Pomni curtsying and Jax bowing respectively as the crowd thunder into applause. The first dance of the night was a success.
They allowed themselves to breathe for a movement, unable to take their eyes off each other before the music started up again, more fun and livelier than the last. More couples ran onto the floor, including the king and queen as they chortled together while reminiscing how they used to dance when they were younger. Gangle had pulled Zooble onto the floor, squealing with excitement at the thought of dancing with her partner. Even Moon and Ragatha had decided to dance together, the latter shocked when her friend took her hand and led her into a dance.
Pomni and Jax were still together, and quite frankly, they didn’t see themselves dancing with anyone but with one another. And so, they danced again. And again, and again, and again…
After a few songs, they did have to stop eventually, panting heavily and needing food as well as drink. “I must say, you dance pretty good for someone so short,” Jax snickered, handing her a glass of water.
“Shut up, I’m just glad you didn’t stand on my dress,” Pomni retorted, giggling into her glass. She gulped down as much as she could, especially with what she was planning to do next. “Do you mind waiting for a second? There’s something I need to take care of.”
“Oh, of course, is everything alright?” he asked as she handed him back her glass.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” she reassured him, “There’s just something that I need to do.”
“Well, whatever it is, you take care of yourself,” He told her, “Alright?”
Pomni nodded, patting his hand reassuringly before disappearing into the crowd, Jax sighing fondly as he watched her walk away. He nearly jumped when he felt something rub against his leg, looking and scoffing when he saw that it was Motley. “Of course it’s you, you little shit,” he muttered, scooping up the kitten with one hand, “Alright, you had your fun. Now you’re in time out.”
“Well I must say,” Jax turned when he heard his mother’s voice, “I think this is the most you two haven’t been able to keep your hands off one another.”
“Mom!” he groaned, his ears flopping down and pressing against the back of his head as his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
“What? I’m just making an observation,” she shrugged, “It does make sense though, with her leaving tomorrow.”
His ears perked back up at the mention of that, his tail twitching in discomfort. Although that statement would ring true every time he heard it, it didn’t mean he liked it. He wanted to get on his knees, beg Pomni to stay with him, stay in the kingdom where she would never worry about feeling afraid ever again. But he knew that it wouldn’t be fair for either of them. He knew as much as she wanted the freedom of her own life, the freedom of this choice was all she could have. And he didn’t want to make her feel guilty about having to travel again. Even if it meant she would be further away from him.
“I…I really love her mother,” he said, earnestly and honestly. “I have become an ocean and Pomni is a storm, raining down on me strongly without resistance, but my waters are able to take her strengths, faults, everything. But I know that…I can’t have her.”
Queenie’s face fell, her son had never looked so vulnerable in that moment. It reminded her how she felt when she fell in love with Kinger when she was her son’s age. “Oh darling,” she murmured, cupping his cheek in her hand. Even Motley had climbed up onto the prince’s shoulder, rubbing his fluffy face against Jax’s face to comfort him.
The queen was going to say another word when a single strum of a guitar made the room go silent. Both the queen and prince turned, for on the stage with the rest of the musicians was Pomni, holding onto her guitar as she looked out onto the crowd. She looked positively petrified, there were more people here than there was at the festival, the confidence slipping as doubt crept into her mind.
But when her eyes caught Jax’s, and as he smiled at her with the upmost reassurance, the doubt started to melt. She could do this, taking a breath as she faced her new audience, “This is a song that I wrote during my stay here. It’s a little bit different than what I’ve written before but I hope you all enjoy.” Her fingers pricked at the strings of her guitar before her voice rang like a bell as she began to sing.
Honey, I hate wine
But I’d gladly down a bottle of your name
Just to get another taste of you
A single drop not on my tongue would be a waste
The audience seemed to be enjoying so far, leaning next to their partners or spouses as Pomni continued to sing.
And I hate mornings
But I like waking next to you
You always wake up before I do
So I can sleep in your embrace
We burn like gentle firewood
We yearn like vines and leaves
And we settle in the comfort of
The bones that rest beneath
And I’d start drinking wine and sleeping at night
To keep your soul with mine
I’d do anything, anything, anything
Anything, anything, anything
Pomni could hear the distant murmurs in the crowd, murmurs of praise and how much they enjoyed her simple song. Her heart nearly skipped a beat form excitement as the rest of her doubts faded away. People liked her songs, people liked her. Her songs meant something!
Honey, I hate travel
But I’d man a boat to glimpse you at the shore
No stretch of miles would ever mean more
Than feeling my hands wrapped around your waist
And I hate time
The minutes shared will never last enough
No amount of time will ever be too much
And parting leaves a bitter taste
At that last word, Pomni turned her attention to Jax, who was patting the side off his leg at each beat of the song. She thought she would hate him, she despised him when hearing about all the rumours that built over the years. But now, nothing tasted as sour than the idea of leaving him tomorrow.
We burn like gentle firewood
We yearn like vines and leaves
And we settle in the comfort of
The bones that rest beneath
And I’d stop staying home and wasting time
To keep your soul with mine
I’d do anything, anything, anything
Anything, anything, anything
She would. She would do anything to change the fate that life had given them. She wanted to have that choice to stay. Jax’s eyes never left hers, not even more a second as he smiled with all the warmth he could muster. If this was truly their last night together, she was going to make it count.
And I love rain
But I’d ruin every cashmere coat I own
Before I let it wash off any kiss you stole
So they’ll keep us dry as I walk you home
We burn like gentle firewood
We yearn like vines and leaves
And we settle in the comfort of
The bones that rest beneath
And I’d lose every penny that I find
To keep your soul with mine
I’d do anything, anything, anything
Anything, anything, anything
With that final strum of her guitar, she finished her song. There was a beat, it felt like years to Pomni as she waited to hear the crowd’s final thoughts on her song. Suddenly, the audience erupted into applause, grins nearly splitting their faces.
She let out a sigh of relief, they really did like it. She placed her guitar backstage as she walked away, letting the band strike up again. She strolled towards Jax, determination set in her mind, she meant it when she said she was going to make this night count. “Another dance your highness?” she asked when she got close to him, holding out her hand, “Or are you afraid I’ll look better than you?”
Jax took her hand into his, his smile matching hers, “Little lady, you could trip and you would still look better than me.”
Pomni hummed, “You’re right, I would.”
They snickered as they want back to the dance floor, dancing the night away until the ball came to an end. It was the most magical thing Pomni had done without her powers.
.
.
.
Jax groaned as he sat up in his bed. He had been trying to get to sleep for the past few hours, but he could still feel the tingles of where Pomni’s hands had been on him while dancing. That night was going to be burned in his brain for the rest of his life. He wished she was here right now, to hold her while she ran her fingers through his ears, his fur, wherever she wanted as long as he felt that simple lingering touch.
The prince sighed, shifting as he reached his hand to find Motley, onto to find that the feline was nowhere to be found on the bed. Don’t tell me that little cretin went back down to go ham on those leftovers. He threw the sheets off his bed, ready to exit the room when there were three soft knocks on his door.
Strange, the servants didn’t use that knock and neither did his parents. He opened the door, it was Pomni holding a purring Motley. “I, um, thought I’d return him,” she spoke quietly, her voice breaking slightly, “He woke me up.”
Jax didn’t take him just yet instead leaning in slightly closer to inspect Pomni’s face. His heart plummeted when he saw dried tear stains on her cheeks, “Have you been crying?”
“W-what?” Pomni stammered, “N-no, of course not! I-it’s probably-”
“Pomni,” he spoke sternly, “I know when someone had been crying, I’m not that dumb. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
She took a breath, walking into his room as Jax shut the door behind him. She sat on the edge of his bed, the prince sitting next to her as she cuddled Motley closer. “I sometimes have really bad nightmares,” she told him. “Well, I’ve always had them but they got worse when we escaped Caine and he came after us. Some of them are about ways on how he’d find us and how he’d make us suffer, others are…well, memories of growing up in the circus…”
Jax brows furrowed as the girl curled in on herself, making her seem smaller than usual, “And I’m guessing you had one now?”
She sniffed, nodding her head as Motley pushed his face into her neck, purring as much as he could to give comfort to the girl. Jax brought her into his arms, she let out a surprised squeak as he rubbed a hand up and down her back. “It’s okay, you’re safe here,” he told her, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know,” she whimpered, easing into his touch, “But I won’t be here tomorrow. And I know no one has seen Caine, but it doesn’t stop the fact that he’s still out there looking for us…looking for me.”
Jax wanted to kick himself for saying that. Why her? Why did the universe make her go through the hardest trails life had to offer? It wasn’t fair. “I know what you’re going to say if I asked you,” he ran his fingers through her hair, “But I wished in another life, you could stay.”
“Jax, I…I wish I could too,” she cried, burying her face in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that. But, just for tonight, stay…with me?” She peered up at him through her lashes, his fingers wiping her tears away. “For one night, please…be mine?”
She wrapped her hand around his, bringing it up to her face to cup her cheek, “I am yours, as you are mine.”
“For you Pomni,” he mumbled, carrying her over to the middle of his bed and laying her down, “Always.”
That night, they slept in each other’s arms. That night, they pretended tomorrow didn’t exist. That night, they weren’t Prince of Laphria or jester of the traveling circus. That night they were Pomni and Jax, two people in love.
.
.
.
Kaufmo let out a grunt as he closed the door of the trunk connected to the circus carriage, “I think that’s everything.”
“I’ll say,” Zooble whistled, “I feel like we have more than we did at the last place.”
“Well we were here longer than we have been in other places,” Pomni pointed out.
The circus troupe was outside the palace doors, finally ready to leave. The king and queen had guards to travel with them to their next location, to make sure they would have the extra protection they needed in case Caine was nearby. It had been a wonderful dream here, but like all dreams, it had to end.
Pomni was wearing the same dress she wore when she first came to the kingdom, her simple blouse, corset and pink skirt. She gave the palace one more look, out of all the places she had been to, this one was her favourite. And now she had to leave.
“The king, queen and prince had already given us our goodbyes,” said Ragatha, holding onto Moon’s hand. “Our we ready to go?”
Kaufmo looked to his daughter, “What do you say kiddo? Ready to go?”
Pomni sighed as she turned to her father, he frowned as he saw her downed expression. He hated seeing her like that. She was going to open her mouth to speak when-
“-Pomni!” Jax, it was Jax. She whipped round and saw the prince running out the palace doors and towards her.
“Jax? What’s wrong?” she asked, running over to him.
“I know we already said our goodbye inside,” he explained, “But I needed to do one more thing before you leave.”
Pomni nodded, looking back at the rest of her family, “I’ll be a minute, you finish packing.” The rest of the circus gave each other knowing looks, doing as they were told when Pomni gave them a glare. When they went back to packing, she turned back to Jax, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” his voice sounded nervous, “I just…I want you to have Motley.”
She gasped as she looked at the kitten held in Jax’s arms, the little feline already jumping into hers, “Me? Why?”
“Little monster likes you better than me, traitor,” he frowned at Motley.
Pomni stifled a laugh, “He’s a sweetheart, admit it. Plus, he loves you too. I can’t separate you too.”
“Hey, I’ll be okay,” Jax told her, “Besides, it’s better if he goes with you, to let him be a reminder of this place and…of me.”
Her breath was caught in her throat at those words, nothing could ever make her forget all that he had done for her. “Are you sure?” Pomni asked, scratching behind Motley’s ears.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he bent his knees to be eye level with the kitten. “Listen here bud, you’ve got an important mission. In case Pomni gets into trouble, I want you to protect her. If you need backup, you know where to find me. Understand?”
Mew
Motley lifted his paw, it hit Jax directly on the nose.
“Good,” Jax straightened his back, “So I guess this is my final goodbye.”
Pomni bit her lip, reaching up to kiss Jax’s cheek one last time, “Thank you for reminding me how magical life can be.”
Jax’s breath hitched. He could barely recover from her hands, how could he recover from her lips?! She gave him a tiny grin, that jester was going to be the death of him, “You’re welcome Pomni.”
With that, she curtsied once more before running back to the carriage and hopping inside. There was a call from Kaufmo upfront as he pulled on the reins connected to the horses on front, giving them the command to walk as the guards followed on their own horses.
Jax watched as the carriage was pulled further away from him. And further, and further, and further. Then, it was gone. Pomni was gone.
He sighed, lifting his feet and going back into the castle. He didn’t retreat to his room or to his studies though. In fact, hours after the circus had left, he had been pacing back in forth in the throne room, his arms crossed behind his back while the prince was deep in thought. It caused the staff to alert the king and queen at once, leaving the royals to watch their son as he continued to pace.
“Oh the poor boy,” Queenie cooed as she peered through the crack of the door, “Pomni must have left quite the impact.”
“Tell me about it,” Kinger agreed, “I’m fairly certain that his brain has never worked that hard in its life.”
“Shush,” Queenie whacked him lightly on the shoulder, “This is a good thing. It’s not the bad type of thinking he’s having.”
“Then what exactly is on his mind then?” Kinger titled his head to the side.
“Well there’s only one way to find out,” she took her husband’s hand leading him into the throne room. Jax didn’t even notice them come in, still pacing back and forth as his mind kept storming. “What are you thinking about darling?”
The prince let out a yelp, jumping a few feet before facing his parents with a hand to his heart, “You have to stop sneaking up on me like that!”
“I apologise, but you’ve been so caught up in your head for the past few hours,” Queenie told him, her brows furrowing with concern, “We were worried.”
“Please,” Kinger went up to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Tell us what’s on your mind.”
“Well I…,” Jax sighed, clenching and opening his fists, feeling slightly anxious for what he was going to say next. He hadn’t said or done anything that he was thinking about right now, only hoping that it was the right thing to say and do. “I’ve been having a lot of perspective for the past few weeks, about my place in the world and my role as prince. Even since I was young, I was told that I didn’t belong, that I never deserved my title and I started to believe it. I pitied myself for so long that it blinded me to the potential that I had for myself and for the people of my kingdom. When Pomni came into my life, it opened my eyes to see how fortunate I actually am and what I can be able to do. Knowing what she went through, it made me realise just how privileged and lucky I am, and how I’m able to use my power do help people like her. The nobles were wrong about me, wrong about my dreams being too childish, there is nothing childish about wanting better in this kingdom.”
He took a deep breath before continuing, “That’s why I wanna open a home, a home for people who need to seek shelter if they don’t have it, whether they are from our kingdom or somewhere else. To protect them and give them a life until they can stand on their feet again. I want to give them the safety and security that they were denied. I know that I’m able to do this, I want to do this. I am worth the title of Prince and Heir of Laphria.”
Both Queenie and Kinger were speechless, never before had they heard their son speak with the most graceful confidence. This wasn’t like the times when he spoke with arrogance, no, nothing that he had said held no vanity or selfishness. For the first time, he was speaking like a true prince. “That’s a wonderful idea Jax,” Kinger beamed, sharing a pleased look with his wife, “And you doubted that you’d be a good king.”
“Look at my baby growing up,” Queenie cupped his cheeks in her hands, pressing little kisses to his forehead and cheeks as the rabbit flushed.
“M-mom!” he tried not to grin at the attention, but his wagging tail gave him away.
Mew
He froze at a familiar meow, facing the window when he heard something scratching at it. There was a small little blob on the other side, is that? Jax opened the window, Motley immediately jumping into his arms. “Woah, woah buddy what are you doing here?” he checked him over, his front little paw was bruised as the poor thing was shaking, “What happened?”
The doors of the throne room slammed open, two guards panting and bleeding as they staggered through. “Oh goodness! Someone assist them and get them some water!” Queenie demanded to the nearby maids, the royals and servants rushing over to them. They were led to one of the nearby sitting rooms, urged to sit down and drink until they could get their energy back to speak. One of the servants had brought an ice pack for Motley, Jax immediately took it and held it to his paw while another servant wrapped his paw.
“Easy buddy,” he whispered to the kitten, still trembling in fear. “You’re okay.”
“Don’t force yourself,” Kinger instructed when one of the guards tried to begin speaking, “Tell us what happened at your own pace.”
“We…ugh…we were leading the circus through the forest, there was no sign of danger so far,” the guard began to describe the scene. “But they appeared out of nowhere. We tried to fight back but they were too strong, as though they were having some assistance.”
“What are you talking about? Who attacked you?” Jax was starting to panic. The circus had been promised safe travel and if anything happened to them…he didn’t want to imagine it.
“Caine,” the guard continued, “He and his men jumped out and attacked us. We had the upper hand but then there was this red mist and…” he trailed off, his pupils shrinking as he remembered the horrors of what his mind had deceived him with.
“Easy, easy,” the queen soothed him. “The circus, are they alright?”
“We don’t know,” the second guard spoke up, “We were lucky enough to escape to come back and warn you, but…”
“But? But what?!” Jax raised his voice, he didn’t mean to but fear was rushing through is veins. If anything happened to-
“Pomni,” the guard said, making Jax’s heart stop. “Before we escaped, Caine took Pomni.”
Song Credit: Anything, Anything, Anything by Madds Buckley
#the amazing digital circus#jax#pomni#pomnijax#funnybunny#jax x pomni#pomni x jax#kinger#queenie#ragatha#gangle#zooble#tadc sun#tadc moon#caine#dragon rambles#fanfic#fanfiction#ao3#royal au#prince!jax#my writing
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Fic: Silent Screams in Wildest Dreams
Title: SILENT SCREAMS IN WILDEST DREAMS
Fandom: MCU
Characters/Pairings: Bucky x female!Reader, side of Steve
Word Count: 8k
Summary: A dark tale with an unhappy ending. Just when you’ve married the man of your dreams, only just closed the chapter of your honeymoon, happily ever after is wrenched away, and you’re met with a nightmare you never could have imagined. This was written for prompt #14 in Roo’s Hallo-Cream Extravaganza: Each morning you feel more and more drained, but you don’t notice the marks until it’s too late.
Content Warnings: dark dark DARK tale, smut, main character death, rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, talk of wounds, slight dub/con, elements of somnophilia, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT
Additional Notes: I will leave more detailed notes at the end of the fic so I don’t give specifics away, but this is loosely based on some Scandinavian folklore I’ve been exploring. I emphasize this is loosely based on the folklore – I’m not a Scandinavian folklore expert AND there were a couple of elements I did adapt to fit the direction of the story overall. I've left some songs throughout the fic for a bit of a soundtrack, if you wish. The title is taken from a Taylor Swift lyric (from "This Love"), but don't let that fool you. Here be a dark story.
Also, thank you to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for letting me in on the party here with the challenge (my first challenge in this fandom) AND for literally saying "take all the time you need" when I said the beast was still being tamed and that life had been more life-y than I thought it would be over the past few weeks.
The first thing you’re conscious of are the warm fingers stroking lightly up and down your back. You take in a deep breath of morning air, and hum in contentment as you let it out, stretching one of your arms out across the mattress, and the other above your head, pushing out from under your pillow to press against the headboard.
“Good morning, beautiful,” your husband says softly, his hand now moving beneath the hem of your shirt to press gently against the small of your back.
“Morning, Buck.”
Then you frown, registering that he’s not on his side of the bed, but sitting on the edge of your side of the bed. You turn and try to sit up. “Wait, what time-?”
He cuts you off and pushes you back down to the mattress. “Early.”
“James! You said you were leaving at six!”
He chuckles, “I know. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, brushing some hair out of your face before kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck. “You don’t have to get up until seven, and I didn’t want you to go to the trouble of getting up at five to try and make breakfast and send me off.”
He’s kissing you again to try to swallow your protests, which only works for a moment, but then you turn your head. “It’s our first day going back to work since the wedding, you should have let me dote on you.”
Pressing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, he counters, “Shouldn’t a husband allow his wife to sleep in so he can keep her up all the later when he gets home?”
You let out a soft moan as he punctuates his question by sucking softly at the crook of your neck.
“What time is it?” you manage to whisper, trying to stay focused on your spat.
“A little after four.”
“What?” you jolt up with shock. “Four!”
He laughs. “Wheels up at five so we could get back for dinner.”
You groan and settle back into the mattress. “Four in the morning is disgusting. I’m glad you tricked me. Just make sure to grab some toast or something on your way out.”
“Yes, dear.”
As he moves to leave, you pull him back. “One more kiss.”
“Always.”
He sinks back into you, and your lips meet again. You love to feel his weight pressed against you, but he does prop himself partly, his metal forearm right next to your shoulder, and vibranium fingers tangling in your hair. Both your hands hold his face, and you part your lips to drink in more of him. He reciprocates, tongue seeking yours earnestly. His flesh hand skims up the side of your body, moving again under your sleepshirt, over your ribs, and then he begins to gently palm your breast, and your moan again.
“Keep up with that, and you’re not leaving this bed anytime soon,” you murmur against his lips, your back arching into his hand.
He huffs out a sigh, easing his hand away, but pressing his forehead against yours. “Fuck, I know.”
Your lips capture his again, but with less urgency, just lips and feelings, and his warm hand withdraws from your chest and comes up to caress your face.
After another minute, he sits up.
You sigh but smile at him.
“I promise to pick up where we left off when I return.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
He takes your hand and presses a warm kiss into your palm before standing, then pulling the covers back up and tucking you in. You yawn, both of you laugh, and then he leaves a final kiss on your cheek.
“Sleep well, my love.”
The sky grows darker, and you frown as you look at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t a problem for Bucky to be taking longer than you expected to get home for dinner because the soup was safe just simmering, but this much later when he texted he would be home soon wasn’t normal.
There’s a knock on the door, and you carefully move Alpine off your lap and deposit her back on the cozy armchair to go answer it. You wonder if it’s Bucky and maybe he forgot his keys?
A quick glance out of the peephole reveals the familiar frame of your husband’s best friend on the other side of the mahogany door.
“Steve!” You open it wide and beam at him. “Bucky didn’t say you’d be coming by! You’ll stay for dinner, I’m assuming?”
Because Steve is already such a regular fixture in the place you and Bucky had recently moved into before the wedding, you had already turned and crossed the living room, heading for the kitchen, when you pause and turn back around, realizing that Steve hasn’t said a word of greeting and has only taken a few steps inside.
He’s watching you closely in a way he never has, and you read hesitancy in every muscle and movement of his body. He slowly pushes the door closed behind him.
Steve looks around the room very quickly, then takes a deep breath in and out before saying your name, and there is so much emotion in it, your blood runs cold immediately.
“No,” you shake your head. “No, no, no. Steve, he can’t…”
He closes his eyes and gives a single nod.
The flood of anguish is overwhelming, dropping you to your knees, and the tortured sound that erupts from your soul is foreign to your own ears. In less than a moment, Steve is crouched next to you, wrapping his arms around you. As much as you’re clinging to him as you sob, his arms are holding you so tightly you can feel he must be trying to hold both of you together, but he weeps as well. You stay that way, huddled together, until both of you are empty – no more tears, past feeling, beyond exhaustion – overcome with the grief that Bucky is gone.
There is no body to bury, but Bucky had already stipulated he didn’t want to be buried. He and Steve both stated they wanted to be cremated when their time came to remove temptation for trying to develop any new super soldier serums from their remains.
Without a body, you, Sam and Steve decide burning mementos as part of a funeral bonfire would be a fitting tribute for those who wanted to pay their respects.
The man who so often perpetuated that he was a taciturn and sullen retired assassin had collected a small but mighty community of neighbors, friends, and colleagues who show up on the day. Seeing so many who regarded him as Bucky, James, Sergeant Barnes, or the White Wolf – not HYDRA’s Winter Soldier – gather to say goodbye is a balm to your soul in those days immediately after losing him. You know it will take years and still the vast hole of losing him will never be truly filled, but you don’t want to drown in the depths of despair.
Still, you are a shadow of yourself as you live through the enormous heartache.
Steve comes by to “check in” on you every other day, but it’s always around dinner, and you think he needs someone who feels this much pain over losing him, too, needs to know it’s okay that it still hurts, with someone else who knew him, even though you knew different parts of him. You’re glad because Steve had also become someone you considered one of your own close friends, and a small part of you had worried that without Bucky to tie you two together Steve might have disappeared as well.
One night about a week after the service, Steve seems a little distracted, and you ask what’s on his mind. He mentions that there have been two deaths reported that Bucky would have been interested in – Senator Stern and Jack Rollins. The senator had already been in treatments for advanced colon cancer, but it appeared there had been a severe reaction with his chemotherapy. Rollins, the former number two on SHIELD’s STRIKE team who was revealed as a HYDRA sleeper agent when Steve exposed them and Bucky escaped and went into hiding, had gone underground himself, a mercenary operating in the shadows of the shadows, but had turned up in an alleyway in Detroit. He’d died of what looked like an aggressive infection from a wound, likely from a violent altercation.
“I know he never pursued vengeance, but I think he would’ve liked to know those two were gone for good. It’s just another thing I won’t get to talk to him about,” Steve says.
“Damn it, Barnes,” you sigh. “This would all be so much easier if he’d been a pain in the ass not worth missing.”
The ache still hurts, but the small genuine laugh you and Steve share is another tiny piece of healing.
A few days later, you’re curled up on the couch with Alpine who’d been distant and skittish at Bucky’s abrupt extended absence at first, but then finally sensed you were as forlorn as her and largely refuses to leave your side now. It’s late, and you’re starting to fight with your eyes to stay open as you read, when two distinct poundings on the door startle you and Alpine both.
“Who could possibly be here at this hour?” you whisper to Alpine, gently moving her from your lap into a small cocoon of the blanket you’d been wrapped in.
You move to the door as quietly as possible. You don’t want to confirm to whoever’s on the other side that you’re home if you can help it, glad now that you had been too lazy to get up and flip the record in your record player when the music came to an end however long ago.
But when you see the shoulders of the man leaning weakly against your doorframe, a shocked cry bursts out your chest. Your fingers struggle with the locks as you hastily work to throw the door open, and he stumbles in.
You’re quick to try and catch a cold and shaking Bucky Barnes as you close and lock the door behind him.
“Bucky?” Your left hand moves to his bicep to steady him, but your right hand tentatively seeks his.
He seems lost for another moment, but then his other hand comes up to cover yours and when his fingers brush over your wedding ring, he turns his eyes to look at you, and you see the flame of recognition. It’s confirmed and your heart sings when he murmurs your name.
“How are you here?” you ask, desperate to know this is real.
“I promised.”
Your breath hitches. You’d relived the pre-dawn moments of your last morning together in so many dreams, waking up with a tear-stained face too many times to count. “Is it really you?”
You’re not convinced this is any more than a hallucination.
But then he pulls you in and his lips consume yours, and its lips and teeth and crashing, too desperate and too real to deny.
“What do you think?” he growls, breaking the kiss for a moment, leaning his forehead to yours again as he had so many times.
“God, I missed you,” you respond, tears freely spilling down your cheeks.
“God has nothing to do with it.”
His hands grab the collar of the old sweatshirt you’re wearing, and you yelp in surprise as in one swift motion he rips it from top to hem and pulls it down away from your body. He’s never ripped your clothing – he always wanted you to feel safe even in your most vulnerable moments – but if he’s anywhere as close to as desperate as you are in this moment of reunion, it’s no wonder he doesn’t hold back.
Your hands go beneath the collar of his jacket to push it down his arms, and before it hits the floor, he’s already lifting his Henley and undershirt up and off his torso. You quickly unhook your bra and drop it while he yanks off his shoes. Then he’s up, and his lips capture yours again, his metal hand tangling roughly in the hair at the nape of your neck, the other palming your breast. This is truly where you left off the last morning you saw him, and you’re entirely overcome – by the grief that has enveloped you the past two weeks, the release of relief, confusion, but, more than anything else, your love and lust, blazing out from the depths of your soul. He sinks to his knees, pulling you with him, then pushing you back to the floor, the hard wood solid against your spine while he hovers over you, his lips moving down to your neck, kissing and sucking, nipping at your collarbone. Then his hungry mouth latches onto your other breast, alternating between sucking the nipple and teasing his tongue over it, drawing a moan from your lips.
Your hands seek every part of his bare skin they can reach, running over his face, his neck, in his hair, gripping his shoulders, up and down his arms, the planes of his stomach, his broad back. Then you pull his head back up to you, needing his lips against yours. You need him more than you need to breathe.
He pulls down your underwear, and you work at his belt and zipper, and in the next moment, he’s plunged fully inside you, bottoming out in your wet heat, and any pain is welcome, less painful than your heartache without him. He doesn’t let you take a breath to get used to the fullness of his cock inside you again before he’s already setting a quick pace, thrusting in and out brutally. You whimper against his lips, but you don’t want him to stop.
“I didn’t want to believe you were gone.”
“’m never leaving you again,” he swears.
You’re hit with a fresh wave of tears at his words and with a shift in his hips, his cock now hitting at a different angle, pressing furiously now against that most pleasurable spot up against your pubic bone.
“More,” you moan, and he grunts and gives you exactly that, more force as he ploughs into you.
Your walls clench around him, and he reaches down to pinch your clit, biting down on your lip at the same time, and it all pushes you over the edge, and you cling to him as your orgasm shakes you. He continues to fuck you through the waves, not slowing his pace or his force, and you whimper, but with no desire for him to stop. Every brutal thrust is primal, and you need to feel this as much as he does.
Finally, his movement stutters and then he’s filling you with his hot seed, his head tucked in the crook of your neck, hot heavy breaths against your skin. His pace slows, but he continues to pump into you until he’s finished, then collapses fully onto you. You welcome the weight of him, another reassurance he’s really here. You thread your fingers through his hair, no thoughts of moving.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” you say softly.
Bucky raises his head to look at you. His expression is unfamiliar – haunted, hungry. It’s unsettling. Or it should be.
“You’re still cold, Buck,” you note, moving a hand to stroke his cheek. Immediate intensity of your reunion starting to abate, and now you begin to assess and worry over him.
He moves quickly, standing up, then scooping you from the floor and pulling you into his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist. His destination is the bathroom where he deposits you on the counter before turning to the shower, twisting the knobs to initiate the stream of hot water. As you’re securing your hair up and out of the way, he drops his pants to the floor, and then the two of you step naked into the shower.
The hot water pours over your skin. Enclosed by the sanctuary of tile and glass, in here he kisses you as if it’s as essential as breathing, slow and concentrated. It’s still overwhelming, but it’s not the same frenetic desperation he took you with on the floor, and time flows by just like the rivulets over your skin, until you realize the temperature of the water is cooling.
A small laugh bubbles up from your chest, and you pull away from his lips. He tries eagerly to follow, but you gently cover his mouth with your fingers. “Let’s get you cleaned up before we lose the hot water completely.”
Bucky sighs, but nods meekly. You turn to see only your things in the shower, and it’s only a half of a second that you bite your lip before pushing out of the glass door, not caring that you’re dripping water all over the floor but do take care not to slip as you take the few steps to across the bathroom to the cupboard. You had removed Bucky’s toiletries from the shower, the counter, and his designated shelves behind the mirror so you wouldn’t be constantly reminded of his absence but couldn’t bring yourself to throw them out and had only been able to stash them in a box. You slide the box from the shelf, set it on the counter, quickly fish out his shower gel and shampoo, and return to him and the shower.
Bucky's already soaped up your loofah and gets to work running it over your skin as he has so many times before. You switch him spots to rinse off, then turn your attention to him. You work up the shampoo in your hands, and he bows his head down when you reach up for him. You draw a moan from him as you work your fingers through his hair and massage his scalp and his posture relaxes. You trade places again for a moment to let him rinse the suds out of his hair, then pull him back out of the direct stream so you can wash the rest of him. Neck, shoulders, arms, chest. You tug his vibranium arm to get him to spin around for you, but then you gasp.
“Bucky!”
Your fingers skim over burns below one shoulder blade, and he tries to turn back to face you, but you press your left hand firmly against him to keep him there as you continue to examine him. You knew every freckle and mole on his skin, the scars he had before, and these are new. So, too, are some bruises, and there’s even a gash lower on his side.
“Bucky, what happened?”
He’s slow to turn back and face you now, and there’s a deep furrow in his brow, the haunted look is back in his eyes, and he’s frowning. Your heart aches while you wait for him to speak.
You take his hand and gently tighten your grip, trying to reassure him that you’re here, that there’s no rush for him to answer.
After another moment, he finally answers, but he drops his gaze to the floor. “I don’t remember everything that happened. It’s just fragments.”
Setting aside the foam sponge you were using, you take a half step closer to him and cup his cheek, urging him to look back at you. “You’re here now. We’ll figure it out together.”
He engulfs you in another kiss. The heat and urgency grows, and then you two quickly rinse off the suds from his scrubbing down, and you’re escaping the shower, quickly toweling each other down, and Bucky pulls you to your bedroom and buries himself again in you. He’s relentless, taking you apart for hours, pulling orgasms from you, spilling his own into you, until you’re beyond spent, unable to move a muscle. Only then does he sink into the mattress next to you, pulling you into his side, you burrow happily against him, and he pulls the sheets and blankets up and around you both.
“Sleep well, my love.”
When you wake in the morning, you feel the sun on your face and fingers softly stroking up and down your back, and you sigh in contentment. A moment later your eyes fly open, and you shoot up in bed, your heart skipping a beat as you lock eyes with Bucky. You’d been so consumed by grief and conditioned yourself to coping with his absence that the reality of having him back hit you anew, and a laugh bubbled out of your chest even as you heaved a small sob.
“You’re really here,” you say softly, confirming it, reconditioning your brain.
“Never leaving you again,” he promises, pulling you close and wiping the few happy tears that spilled over your cheeks.
Tucked in under his right arm, you rest your cheek on his shoulder and let your fingers come up to trace lazy patterns over his chest, reacquainting yourself with the planes of his body. “I thought I had dreamed all of it.”
“This is not a dream.”
You shift slightly and laugh. “Yeah, my muscles are saying last night was very real. Can’t conjure up this kind of soreness in a dream, and I’m sure I’ve got bruises.”
“I’d apologize, but…”
He can’t see it, but you roll your eyes. “Bucky, I’ve always said I’d tell you if I ever needed you to stop, if you ever really hurt me.”
He huffs.
“Speaking of bruises,” you continue, letting your hand move to the side of his torso where you had discovered the gash in the shower. It’s still there. You lean up on your elbow and with your other hand, push up under his back, urging him to roll up onto his side. He tuts impatiently but indulges you all the same. Your fingers skim over the same bruising and burn marks that remain unhealed on his back. “Why are these still here? You always heal so quickly.”
He rolls onto his back again, looking at your concerned face. “I don’t know.” Your frown deepens. “No, I really don’t know, but they don’t hurt either.”
You sigh. “Okay, okay. But you’re also looking pretty peckish-“
“Peckish?” he interrupts, a smirk on his face. “I don’t think that means exactly what you think it means. How much BBC have you been watching lately?”
“Fine! Gaunt! You’re looking pretty gaunt for my super soldier, and I at least know how to fix that, so can we go make a ridiculously big breakfast?”
This had been a routine weekend ritual for the two of you, so you fall naturally into your roles in the kitchen, moving around each other to prepare your typical feast. Bucky is on waffle duty, in addition to making coffee and cutting up strawberries and bananas. You take care of scrambled eggs and frying up sausages and thick slices of tomato. The two of you know your timings, and you’re placing everything on the table around the same time.
He looks at the different dishes laid across the table, studying them. You watch his face, reaching slowly to spear a waffle with your fork. “Bucky? Everything alright?”
“Hmm?” He blinks and shakes his head before looking at you. “Of course, just… been a long time.”
You smile, but it’s a sad smile. He’s here now, but it doesn’t erase the weeks of pain your heart crawled through day by day, alone at this table, in this kitchen, in your bedroom, in this home you’d built with him.
“Tell me what you read this week,” he says, starting to pile food on his own plate.
And then you two fall into your rhythm. In your job as a literary agent, you read incessantly, and in a relationship with a man who turned out to be quite a book nerd, you’d established that you didn’t talk about books every night so you could have some off time from your job at the end of each day, but he was an eager listener each Saturday morning, and at the end of the week you always had an array to talk over with him. He would take seconds, and often thirds, while you spoke, and today was a dive back into that.
After an hour, the two of you cleared up the table, put the food away, did the dishes. As you do, Bucky eyes are on you constantly, and he takes any opportunity to touch you that the mundane tasks afford, a hand on your back as you pass each other putting things away, fingers brushing your skin when you hand him dishes, standing shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen sink.
As you close the cupboard, you turn and find Bucky moving to press you up against the counter, his arms bracing the marble edge on either side of you, and he slots his lips over yours, kissing you with a hunger that takes your breath away, and your fingers take desperate purchase clinging to the green t-shirt he’d thrown on with a pair of sweats.
When you finally break away to gulp in a lungful of air, he nips down your neck, then spins you around to face the counter and kneels behind you, yanking down your shorts and underwear with both hands, and you lean forward against the counter as he forces you to swiftly step out of them. Then he’s nudging your legs apart and burying his face into the apex of your legs, first biting at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, making you keen. Bucky makes one slow, torturous lick along your folds before going at your core with abandon, licking, sucking, slipping his tongue into your pussy, teasing your clit, bringing you to the edge. He backs off completely, and you whimper. “Bucky, no! More!”
He chuckles darkly, caressing the round curves of your hips. “More?”
“Need you. So close.”
He picks up again, but slowly, teasing you more, making you a whimpering mess, desperate for him. Your legs tremble, and you push back against his face, urging him to push you into waves of ecstasy.
Suddenly he backs off again, but he stands quickly, turns you around, and pushes you up onto the counter. He pushes his pants down, and you wrap your legs around him. Bucky sinks into you, but doesn’t move yet, instead demanding more kisses. You taste yourself on his lips and tongue.
“Take me back to bed,” you finally gasp out against his lips.
He nods and lifts you off the counter while keeping his cock inside you and takes you back to the bedroom. He tosses you onto the mattress, and you shuck your own clothes off, tossing them to the side, while he hastily removes his own and joins you on the bed. You push him down onto his back and straddle his hips. His hands move smoothly up your thighs as you reach down and guide his cock into your slick folds. You sink down slowly, and you both moan at the sensation. You close your eyes, but you can feel he’s watching your face. Your move your hands down to twine with his at your hips, and you gradually begin to move above him, raising and lowering yourself unhurriedly.
Since the very beginning taking Bucky as your lover, it’s always undulated between fast and slow, but with passion burning steadily through all of it. His every move, every touch, has always felt more intentional and cherished than everyone who came before. It consumed you in those early days, and he’s consuming you again now.
After a few minutes though, Bucky is not satisfied with the pace, and he sits up to take more control. With your faces close again, his hands move your hips up and down more quickly, setting a blistering pace, racing to another climax for you both, and you’ve no complaint, head falling back. He plants hot kisses along the column of your throat, his hands moving up your back, kneading, almost pinching the flesh as he clutches and clings to your shoulder blades.
He can feel you clenching down on him, knows your close, and he brings his metal hand around to reach down where your bodies meet in the thrusts, and rubs the small, tight circles over your swollen bud. Just another moment, and you let out a sob as another orgasm rolls over you, pulling him over the edge with you as your walls constrict around him. He grunts and holds you down, rocking your hips together back and forth as he shoots his hot sperm inside your womb.
You’re both breathless as he lays back, pulling you down to rest on his chest.
As your pulses return to normal, you place your hand over his heart, humming in contentment. But then you frown, noting that the skin you were so used to running hotter than anyone else because he’s got that super soldier serum running through his veins is still cooler than it’s supposed to be.
“What is it?” he asks, sensing your mood shift.
“Maybe we should call Dr. Banner and ask him to run a physical.”
He doesn’t answer, but you can feel the hesitance.
“I’m worried is all, Buck. You’re cold, and you’re never cold, and then the lack of healing with your wounds, I think something strange is going on.”
“Something strange is going on,” he admits, “but no Banner, not yet.”
You shake your head and push away, sitting up to look at him, “Why not?”
He earnestly sits up and cups your cheek for a moment, eyes seeking understanding in yours. “I can’t do it – no, I won’t do it again. I just got to a place in my life where I finally felt almost normal, and I don’t want to return to being be the oddity to everyone while I’m putting things back together.”
“What about Steve? He knows you better than anyone.”
He shakes his head. “Not even Steve. I’m not my old self yet, and Steve has seen me broken too many times, I can’t do that to him again. Maybe in a few days.”
You sigh.
“I know you’re worried,” he continues, “but please don’t. I still can’t tell you what happened, but I knew I had to get home, but it took me so long to remember how and to remember why. Someone said promise and I remembered I’d made you a promise. When I got here and you opened the door, when you put your hand on my arm and then I felt your wedding ring, another piece – quite a few pieces actually, it’s one of the reasons I couldn’t stop last night. Every touch put more pieces back into place. I’ll figure this out, but I can’t do this to Steve again.”
You chew the inside of your lip. “He’d want to know.”
“That punk doesn’t get to have everything he wants all the time.”
The comment draws a smile to your face again. Bucky rests his forehead against yours.
“I’m getting more clear pieces all the time; I just don’t know how they all fit together yet.”
“Okay.”
“Besides, you’re wrong about one thing.”
You pull away again, searching his eyes.
Now he is the one with a small smile on his face. “Steve doesn’t know me better than anyone. You do.”
Another kiss.
You melt. You understand. You trust him. You agree.
Unfortunately, you don’t know what you don’t know. Neither does Bucky.
You spend the rest of the day wrapped up again in each other, the night as well.
Sunday passes much as Saturday had – eating, talking, more sex than you had on the honeymoon. He’s seemingly insatiable, and you’re no less desperate, but also no match for his stamina.
Monday he lets you work, but only just. He convinces you to set up shop in the living room, where he promises to behave, he just wants to be near you, and your heart can’t deny him. He is always near you, almost constantly touching you in some way whether it’s one of you leaning against the other on the couch, holding your feet in his lap, sitting at the table and your knees touching. He lets you read manuscripts, but not for long before exacting more than proximity or the innocent touches from your body. You’re so intoxicated in his return you can’t think of denying him. Even during the night, you sleep more than he does (you always have), and as you drift in and out of consciousness, it’s to the feeling of his hands or his lips on your skin, waxing again between innocent and carnal.
Each morning you feel more and more drained, but you don’t notice the marks until it’s too late.
Tuesday so many of your bones and muscles ache that you draw yourself a hot bath, unable to sleep and waking earlier than you had planned. The sex has been desperate and rough and frequent, and so the bruises on your body seemed natural.
When you step out of the tub, you happen to look over your shoulder in the mirror and see there are a couple of bruises that had bloomed on your back that were much darker than any you’ve had before. You just frown, finish drying off, and get dressed. Part of you longs to go back to bed and back to sleep, but you want to check in and see if you can’t get a few hours of work done. You do call off for the afternoon, and Bucky joins you for an afternoon nap.
You awaken with a gasp. It’s dark outside and Bucky has you on your back, planted between your thighs, his cock thrusting into you the action that woke you up. You clutch at his shoulders, letting him carry you away in the pursuit of more pleasure. He pulls you later into the kitchen to eat, but you’re still so tired that Bucky insists on returning you right back to bed after. You drift off, but not before he’s exacted another orgasm from your body, with his lips on your clit.
The next morning, you look at the bruises on your back again. They’re still just as black, but now two of them look like they’re starting to open up like wounds. Your stomach floods with dread, and you call for Bucky, trying to keep the edge of panic out of your voice.
When he enters the bathroom, in the mirror you see there’s something that flashes in his eyes when his eyes first take in the planes of your back, but you can’t tell what it is, and it’s gone too quickly. You want to ask, but you’re also too afraid to know what it could be.
“I…” he starts, then swallows almost imperceptibly. “I was thinking I would go to the store. I’ll get something from the pharmacy for that, but I think we should get you back to bed.”
You’re so bone tired you don’t protest, and even your worry is swept away by your exhaustion. He tucks you in, and you’re already beginning to fall asleep again.
Another long rest seems to help, and you’re able to pull yourself out of bed and into the kitchen. The clock reads that it’s early afternoon, but Bucky is still out. You warm up some soup, toast some bread, and curl up on the couch with your modest meal. You switch the television on and stream some of your favorite reality show; it’s engaging enough to pull your mind a little from worrying about Bucky’s extended absence.
There’s a soft plop, and Alpine has suddenly appeared on the other end of the couch. You extend your right hand out, and she stalks over, nuzzles her head against your hand, and climbs right into your lap as if she hasn’t been absent for days.
You chuckle. “Where were you, you little minx?” It wasn’t uncommon for her to come and go on her own adventures in and out of the home, but she rarely left for so long. “Bucky’s been back since Friday night, and you’ve missed him completely!”
She settles down and purrs as you start petting her, seemingly oblivious to your inquiry and revelation. You turn your attention – as best you can – back to the screen.
Bucky was only supposed to be going to the store, two stores at best, but many episodes later, he’s still not back, and you can’t even contact him because you realize you two haven’t even got him sorted out with a new phone since he’s come back from the dead.
It's dark when you finally hear a key in the lock, and you’re fully alert again, turning to watch him enter, disturbing Alpine asleep in your lap, and she jumps down and darts away.
“Bucky!”
His back to you, he methodically closes and locks the door. When he turns back around, the look on his face makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes are wary. His whole demeanor is tense with dread. He moves slowly toward you.
Adrenaline floods your veins, relieved that he’s back, but worried at his state. “Where were you?” you ask, noting he has returned empty handed. “You were gone for so long.”
He sits down next to you on the couch, positioning himself to face you, never taking his eyes off of you.
“James, talk to me. You’ve got me scared to death.”
He opens his mouth at that, then closes it again. You move closer and take one of his hands in both of yours, pulling it into your lap. “Dying moves lower and lower on the list of bad things that could happen.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m already dead.”
The blood rushes in your ears, and your heart stops.
“I don’t want you to be afraid.”
A bitter laugh falls from your lips, jumpstarting your breathing again. “A bit late with you talking like that. What happened? Where did you go? Why are you saying this?”
“I told you the other day that pieces were coming back.”
“Right, go on.”
“The marks on your back, they reminded me of a very old piece I didn’t even know was there.”
You nod slowly.
“When I was just a boy, my grandmother’s older sister, my mom’s aunt – so my great Aunt Ida, she came from Sweden to live with family here in the States after her husband died. They didn’t have any children of their own, and my grandmother had written to her and convinced her to come live with her in Brooklyn, because she’d have all of us around.”
Bucky rolls his left shoulder, something you’d noted he would do when he got uncomfortably nervous. You don’t push him, but just wait. He rubs his left hand up and down his leg, then continues.
“Aunt Ida liked to tell stories and read books – got me into books, actually. When my sister was around, she’d tell harmless stories, fairytales and stuff, but a couple of times when it was just me, I’d ask if she knew any scary stories, and she played along, teasing me, get me going. The last time, she told me this old folktale I’d never heard of before or since. She told me about there were souls who were killed but refused to die, souls who were either so tormented in life or who had tormented others so much that they could never be laid to rest.
“She got lost in the tale and before she realized what she was saying, she joked that her husband never wanted to leave Sweden, for years he knew my gran had wanted her to come to America, and she said she was surprised he hadn’t already risen from his grave and followed her to New York. She said it was only a matter of time before he tracked her down. My gran overheard that from the doorway though and screamed and scolded Aunt Ida for suggesting such a thing.
“A couple of weeks later Aunt Ida got pretty ill, I saw her only once more before she died, and she had the same kind of black bruise on her arm that I saw on your back today. Only once did I see my gran draw the two together – I wasn’t supposed to be close by, but I was down the hall when the doctor made a final house call to look over Ida, and my mom had to pull her out of the room. She was hysterical, saying it was this creature I’d never heard the name of before, that it was Ida’s husband, come to pull her away, but I couldn’t remember the name she used.
“But when I saw your bruises, and the way they were opening up like hers, I remembered everything about Aunt Ida and that story. I went to the library. I wasn’t sure where to start, except I figured folklore always starts with roots of truth somewhere in its distant past, so I pulled books on Swedish and Nordic folktales and got to reading.
“Then I found it. They’re called gengångare, and I know I am one.”
“No!” You had let him go on for some time, fascinated and horrified, not even sure what you would’ve interjected previously, but this you couldn’t believe or agree with.
“I must be. No, don’t cry,” he says, bringing his vibranium fingers up to gently brush away the tears spilling over onto your cheeks. “It explains everything: you said I died, and I’ve remembered a lot about my life before the incident, but almost nothing after, only scattered pieces that are so much slower to come and foggier than my actual life. It explains why my body isn’t the same as it was – I ignored every time you said my skin was colder, didn’t want to think my body wasn’t healing, but I’m not feeling any pain with those injuries either. I’ve been so desperate to touch you, to please you, because the heat and the physical sensations – especially the pleasure – I can feel something of that.”
He pauses, his expression changing slightly before he continues. “It explains why loose ends from my past have turned up dead in these past weeks.”
You have to move away from him, have to think. This is too much.
You stand abruptly from the couch and start pacing, but you only manage to take a step or two before you sway and have to steady yourself with a hand on the mantle so you don’t fall. Bucky is at your side in an instant. He’s calling your name, but you feel so lightheaded, and it sounds like he’s miles away instead of right next to you, holding your arm.
You blink and try to shake your head to clear it.
The cool vibranium of his hand is suddenly on your face, pressing against your forehead, then your cheek, your neck, and your cheek again. “You’re burning up,” he mutters.
You remember his enhanced hand can register temperatures.
He scoops you up bridal style into his arms and takes you to the bed you share for the last time.
“The gengångare went after souls,” he continues to explain, “trying to pinch and pull at their life, whether to steal them away into death or try to just pull some life back into their own souls, they couldn’t seem to control their draw fully one way or the other.”
Bucky seats you on the edge of the bed, and you remain quiet. Truly, what could you say?
He plants a kiss on your forehead. You don’t fight him when he reaches for the hem of your shirt to pull it up and over your head. He turns your body so he can examine your back again, and his breath hitches. When you turn back and meet his eyes again, your heart sinks because his are full of resignation.
“I should have known it was too good for us to be happy. Taken from you after our honeymoon, brought back in a cursed state, doomed to lose you.”
“What now?
He lifts his own shirt up over his head and lets it drop to the floor.
“You’ll be consumed by what loves you. Ruined.”
He steps out of his boots, unbuckles his belt, and unfastens his jeans, sliding them to the floor.
Another tear slips slowly down your cheek, and he falls to his knees in front of you, fingers brushing the tears away. Then his fingers continue trailing down your neck and ghosting over the lace trim of your bra over the swell of your breast, making you shiver, terror and yet desire for him surging through your veins.
“You’re still so beautiful here at the end,” he whispers, his other hand smoothing up your leg.
Not knowing what else to do, your hands reach out and cup his face, drawing him to your lips. He kisses you so deliberately.
Bucky releases the clasp of your bra, you shrug it off your shoulders, and he pulls it away, tossed onto the floor in the heap with the rest. He pushes you back further on the bed and lays you down gently. The places you know those horrific bruise wounds should be feel numb against the sheets. He draws your panties down, discarding them as well.
Worshipping you as he has so many times, he hovers over your body, kissing your neck, your heaving chest, your breasts, while the skilled fingers of the assassin delve into your folds, drawing the wetness from the heat there, touching you in the way he knows your body craves. His fingers slip into you while his thumb rubs over your clit. He finds the tender spot within your pussy so easily, and you moan and whimper, one hand clutching his shoulder, the other tangling into the sheets.
You can only manage a short scream with your release, and though he was slow in the first stages, now he’s feral, wasting no time kneeling between your thighs and plunging his cock into you. It jerks you, but he pays no attention. He’s chasing with abandon now, both hands gripping your hips as he thrusts in earnest, bottoming out with tremendous force each time. The fullness, the force, it’s so much pain and pleasure with each stroke that you sob, clinging to him as another orgasm washes over you. His face is buried in your neck, and he cries out, his own climax coming soon after as your walls contract around his full cock. He pumps you full of his seed, moving until he’s empty, everything and every emotion poured from him into you.
He drops onto you, his energy fully spent. Once he’s recovered enough, he moves off of you, rolling to the side, and pulling you with him, chest to chest, face to face. His vibranium arm holds you close, and his other hand gently pushes some of your hair out of your face.
You look at him for a moment, but you can feel you’re slipping out of consciousness. So tired.
“Don’t be afraid. Dying is much easier than living.”
His blue eyes, darker than you’ve ever seen them before, are the last thing you see.
He whispers quietly to you in the dark as you fade away. He wouldn’t let Steve see him like this. He’d pulled you away from life, he wouldn’t do it to another now that he knew. He would return to Russia, so fitting to go to where so much else went wrong for him, and vanish in Siberia, waste away where he would never be a danger ever again.
Then after a while, he falls silent, wanting to hear the rest of your heartbeats while they last.
Then finally, he murmurs his goodbye.
“Sleep well, my love.”
↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
Writer commentary available here as part of the 2023 Dark Forest Fest
More detailed author notes...
First, LONGEST ONE-SHOT I'VE EVER WRITTEN (I've got some very old HP fandom days under my belt from many years ago, just not attached to this tumblr account). Just kidding. I lost my masterlist, and so I'm going back through my fics and saw that Into Dust actually almost hit 9k.
Second, Into Dust was only a slightly dark fic, but this was a. dark. plot. I was stoked to write something for spooky season, and when I got the line part of the prompt, it wasn't exactly what I was expecting, so I... knew I wanted to go into some uncharted territory. This year I've been turning toward discovering my own ancestral heritage instead of just "being American." My ancestry DNA test reports that I'm a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT of Swedish - like almost half my ancestry. I've had an affinity for Sweden for ages - have friends who moved there, have been able to visit once myself and completely fell in love, half the stuff I own is from Ikea, etc, etc.
So with this, I was initially thinking, what's a folktale or fairytale or halloween thing that I could use that's not totally overdone... but then I thought, wait, I'm trying to learn more about my Swedish heritage anyway, so why not see if there are some creepy awesome SWEDISH folklore elements I could research and explore. I googled "Swedish folklore monsters" and started combing through different top 10/top 5/top 15/top 20 lists, and this Gengångare came up across most of them, and the concept intrigued me. I think I stayed true to about 90% of what my deeper digging led me to. Anyway... if anyone is more interested, let me know/send me an ask/whatever and I can share more of what I found and catalogued away.
#bucky barnes fanfiction#spooky season fic#bucky x y/n#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky x yn#bucky x female reader#monster bucky#bucky barnes smut#monster bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes dark fic#Spotify#rooshallocream#aspen wrote something#female reader
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All These Years - g. russell
a/n: I challenged myself to write an entire fic in under 24 hours, and here it is: the first half was written far past 2am when I knew damn well that I had to wake up early, and the second half was written while I was emotionally recovering from my horse taking me on an impromptu rodeo. Bonus points for this entire thing being based off a dream I had. + Showbiz, Baby Chapter 3 will be up around Silverstone weekend at the latest.
warnings: an asshole ex, slight mentions of alcohol/drinking, occasional swearing
word count: 5k
summary: it takes George far too long to work up the courage for a confession of love.
masterlist
‘And I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be, right in front of me’ - I Found, Amber Run
‘----------’ indicates a time skip of a few months / years
--------------------
Laying down on a blanket, you watched the clouds drift overhead. It was a particularly pleasant day, balmy and sunny, so your parents had decided to invite some friends over for a barbecue, and along with them their son, of course.
Even after hearing the doorbell, you remained reclined outdoors, knowing that your parents would be at the door to greet the guests, and you’d much rather just wait for them to come into the garden than abandon your comfortable spot. It didn’t take long for everybody to make their way through the house, bringing with them a dreadful amount of noise. You lifted your arm up, giving a quick wave without looking behind you, not even sure if anybody was looking at you or whether they were too focused on their own conversations.
Suddenly, the rays of sunlight that you had previously been basking in were blocked by the body of a lanky teenage boy towering over you.
“I’m trying to get a tan,” you told him, swatting at his legs in an attempt to make him move away. He huffed in an offended manner but gave in, sitting down on the blanket next to you and grabbing a strawberry from one of the many bowls of snacks that you had prepared before his arrival.
There were a few moments of silence between the two of you, in which you closed your eyes, before feeling something landing on you and jolting up into a sitting position, just to see the green, leafy part of the strawberry that had hit you fall to the ground.
“George!” you shrieked, only to be met with an amused smirk from him. Consequently, you turned around to face your parents, sat around a table at the other end of the garden, and pointed an accusative finger at the other teen, trying to get him into trouble with the adults. In return, they just gave a shrug of ‘you’re old enough to handle this alone’ and turned back to their boring grown-up conversation, probably about something like insurance or taxes.
Turning back to the boy, you flipped him off. “What do you want, Georgie?” you hissed, unhappy with his prior treatment of you. You shifted onto your knees, reaching forward to grab some pretzels. Letting out a surprised yelp, you felt an arm grab your torso and yank you to the side, causing you to land directly on his lap.
“Attention,” he stated bluntly, still donning a grin. You groaned, but made no attempt to move away.
“Go get some from that girl in our maths class who keeps asking you to the cinema, then,” you joked, reaching for the pretzels once again.
“Nooo, not Kathy,” George whined, before adding, “She seems like the kind of girl that would collect my sweat in a jar.”
You faked a gag, suddenly completely put off from your pretzels.
“So, what’s the plan for the rest of your education?” he asked quietly after a few moments of comfortable silence. You sat back up and gave a small shrug, a sombre mood falling over the two of you.
“Sixth form next, I think,” you mumbled, turning your attention to picking at a stray thread in the blanket. Being so close to the end of secondary school, it was time for you to make decisions about your next steps, but as someone with a deep dislike for significant changes you were finding it very difficult to be confident in your decisions.
After hearing no reply from George, you looked up at him with a feeling of dread in your heart. “You’re not coming with me, are you?” you whispered, caught up in a cloud of dismay. He shook his head.
You rushed forward to clutch him in a tight hug which he reciprocated, as if allowing any physical distance between you two would result in him getting ripped out of your everyday life even sooner.
“With all the racing stuff, it’s gonna be easier if I’m just homeschooled,” he began to explain, “But we can still see each other whenever I’m home, and we’ll still go on holiday together with our families, and we can still be friends.”
As your mothers had grown up joined at the hips, the bond had obviously been passed down to the two of you as well. You both had countless photo albums filled with photos of you as toddlers splashing around in paddling pools and surrounded by piles of flour after breaking into a kitchen cupboard, or aged around six sharing a sleeping bag on a camping trip.
“Okay, but promise me that when you become really, really famous you’ll take me to all your races,” you said, trying to lighten the mood a little.
“Of course I will. I’ll get you a seat in the garage for every race,” he replied, smiling brightly.
“And we stay friends, yes?”
“Always.”
----------
“I’ll give you a fiver if you go and stand on that branch over there,” George whispered in your ear, pointing at a large branch just barely skimming the surface of the lake.
“I want at least a tenner for that, Russell.”
“Deal.”
You both drastically slowed down the pace at which you were walking at, distancing yourself from your parents as much as possible - you were fully aware that they wouldn’t be overjoyed at the two of you engaging in stupid teenage activities.
After a few months of you going to your new school and George being homeschooled and occasionally racing here and there, his parents had approached yours with the idea of renting a cottage for a week away during your school break. And now, when the six of you were meant to be going on a peaceful walk around a lake, you and George had decided to get back to your usual bullshit.
“This is exactly why they don’t like leaving us unsupervised,” you grumbled, beginning to make your way over towards the branch.
The first few steps on the widest part of the branch were fine, with you holding your hands out to the side for balance and occasionally looking over your shoulder to see George still standing on the path. About halfway to your destination, the wood beneath you began to creak and groan in a rather foreboding way, but you weren’t about to back out of a challenge and make yourself seem like a coward, especially not when George had offered you a cash prize.
Determined to complete your mission, you continued moving forward, swaying from side to side with the branch creaking out its protests from beneath you until-
The branch finally reached its limit and snapped in order to prevent any further advances from you, sending you plummeting into the water underneath with an ear-piercing scream.
Awkwardly half-swimming, half-wading back towards the solid land, you tried to push down the utter humiliation flooding you, but when your eyes fell on George nearly keeling over with laughter back on the shore you were certain that he wouldn’t let you forget this incident for a long time.
He offered you a hand as you reached solid ground, pulling you close to him as you shivered in your soaked clothes, the icy water seemingly permeating right into your very bones.
“It’s not funny, George,” you scolded him, shaking and rubbing your arms in a fruitless attempt at warming yourself.
“Aw, I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he responded just as you heard the adults’ footsteps coming closer to you, definitely running after having heard your screech.
Your mum instantly yanked you away from him and towards her instead, stripping you of your drenched coat and wrapping you up in her own instead. Off to the side, you could hear George’s mum yelling, “What do you think you’re doing?”
You were both in for one hell of a lecture once you were back at the cottage.
On the way back, you and George trailed behind the adults, who now threw glances at the two of you every now and again just to keep an eye on you. After a short while, you felt him grab your hand and slip something into your grip, before whispering, “Here’s that tenner.”
----------
“Get the fuck out, and if you’re going to keep being like that then don’t come back!”
“But- wait!”
Your pleads were useless as he rolled the window of his car back up and drove off without even looking back. Slumping down onto the sidewalk, you silently sobbed in the rain, abandoned on some random street like an unwanted dog.
It took you an upsettingly long time to gather your thoughts, but luckily the evening darkness that had already swallowed the town prevented there from being many people to witness the scene. You didn’t want to go back home - your parents had gone abroad to celebrate the new year, and they weren’t due to come back for a few more days. An empty house would do nothing but give you an opportunity to further wallow in your grief.
Instead, you began the trek towards the only other place you could call home: George’s house.
The usual British rain that had a habit of replacing snow throughout the winter season hounded you down as you wound your way through the streets, soaking you to the bone. By the time you reached his front door you were dripping from the rain, and you could only pray that somebody would open the door at such a peculiar hour.
It was his mum who greeted you at the door after you knocked, immediately gasping at the sorry sight before her. She rushed you into the warmth of the house, helping you take off your shoes and coat and placing them by a radiator to dry, before pulling you into a tight hug.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice saturated with concern.
“James, he… he pretty much broke up with me,” you sobbed. She sighed and shook her head, putting an arm around your shoulders and leading you towards the kitchen.
“George! Get down here!” she yelled up the stairs as you walked past them, “Boys and their video games - once they’ve got that headset on, they’re oblivious to the outside world,” she added to you. Laughing weakly at her words, you sat down at the kitchen table as she began making a cup of tea.
It only took around thirty seconds for George to come stomping down the stairs, obviously displeased at his mother’s demands, “Mum, the guys will kill me for having to leave halfway thr-“
His complaints died down just as quickly as they appeared once he rounded the corner to the kitchen. Dumbfounded, he stood in the entryway for a short moment, trying to process the sight of you unexpectedly being sat in his kitchen at eight in the evening, tears streaming down your face.
He covered the distance between you in a few large strides, then gently reached out to cradle your head against his chest, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. No words were exchanged between the two of you - right now, his presence was enough to comfort you.
“Sweetheart, do you want to talk about what happened?” his mum gently prompted you, placing a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of you and sitting down beside you to take your hands in hers.
“So, like, we were going to the cinema-“ you were abruptly cut off by a hiccup between sobs, “And then when he asked if I wanted to stay for the night I said I didn’t because I just wasn’t in the mood.” His mum nodded patiently and George continued to wipe the tears away.
“And then he went on a massive rant about how I’m frigid and never do anything with him anymore, and I tried to explain to him that I’ve been busy trying to apply for universities recently, but he wasn’t having any of it, and then he kicked me out of his car telling me not to come back if I’m going to be like that - but I don’t know if I want to go back at all if he does stuff like that - and he just kept saying that he should be my first priority and-“ your increasingly accelerating diatribe suddenly crashed to a halt as you broke down into full-on sobs once again. Behind you, you felt George tense up and hold you closer against him.
His mum took a moment to assess the information you had given her before replying, “Well in a lot of cases I would say that a partner should be one of your first priorities, but if he’s treating you like that even after you’ve explained what’s going on then he deserves to be at the bottom of the list of your priorities.” Sniffling, you nodded before taking a sip of the tea as she continued sharing her opinion on the matter, “I can’t instruct you on what to do in this situation, but I can definitely tell you that you shouldn’t put up with someone who makes you feel this way.”
You pondered the situation in silence. James had never been a saint in the first place, and your parents hadn’t necessarily been fans of him, but you had been enjoying the thrill of your first proper relationship until he began acting up a few months ago.
“How about you watch a film here instead?” George’s mum offered, pulling you away from your thoughts, and you nodded weakly in a grateful agreement.
Soon after, you had changed into an old set of slightly too small pyjamas that you had left here after a sleepover a few years ago and the living room sofa was draped in soft blankets. George’s mum came in holding a massive bowl of popcorn which she placed on the coffee table just as you chose a film to watch. “I’ll leave you two with this while I go and sleep. Feel free to stay here for the night,” she told you, and you thanked her graciously before she headed upstairs.
You settled between George’s legs as the film began playing, laying with your back to his chest and the bowl of popcorn on your lap so that you could both reach for it.
“I told you right from the very start that he was a piece of shit,” George grumbled, definitely providing a very profound and insightful comment after his previous silence ever since he’d seen you in his kitchen.
You chuckled at his words. “You’re just jealous because he was the one dating me,” you teased him, aiming at making the conversation a light one that wouldn’t result in you shedding more tears.
“Am not,” he replied stubbornly, clearly with no intentions of keeping the discussion light-hearted, “You just should have listened to me when I said he only wanted the sex,”
“George!” you hissed at him, taken aback by his bluntness regarding the matter, “We never even went beyond making out, okay? Now calm your tits.”
He huffed, obviously still lacking any desire to concede, “Well maybe you should pick someone who actually cares about you.”
What’s gotten into him today?
You placed the popcorn back on the coffee table, unwilling to continue this odd confrontation (if it could even be classed as that) and instead shifting over onto your side, but still staying in George’s arms.
“I’m too tired to talk about this. Goodnight,” you muttered firmly, leaving no room for further arguments.
With a dull thud that sounded like his head falling against the back of the sofa, he sighed and replied with a hushed, “Goodnight to you too.”
----------
“To our fully-fledged engineer!”
Flutes of champagne were raised to the toast, and you sipped on the alcohol with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. But as exuberant as the atmosphere was, it still felt rather solemn to only have three people at the table.
You spent the next hour or so dining, discussing your freshly-finished studies with your parents and your potential next steps in life. At the top of your list was going to one of George’s races.
The unadulterated pride that you had felt when he had called you announcing his new seat in F1 a few years ago had been utterly indescribable. He had finally achieved one of his biggest goals in life, and you were glad that you had supported him along the way.
However, despite George keeping his promise about inviting you to every race, years of rigorous academics from you and a packed travel schedule from him had kept you strictly separated. Obviously you had stayed in touch, calling each other every few nights and keeping up an incredulous level of texting, and you made an effort to watch every one of his races on TV, but it wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person.
Eventually, after a few more hours of celebrations, your parents had to leave the restaurant and go back home, leaving you feeling quite alone in the world.
Your cramped flat was empty when you arrived at what had been your home for the past four years at university. Knowing your flatmate, she was most likely out celebrating finishing her own studies and wouldn’t be back until late.
You took the few hours of solitude to continue packing your belongings, getting ready to soon head off and leave behind the university.
A few knocks on the door forced you to stop shoving your clothes in a suitcase. You made your way towards the door with a groan, already expecting somebody to be lugging your heavily intoxicated flatmate home.
“Emma, I thought we agreed that-“
Your words got caught in your throat as you yanked the door open, your exasperated expression turning to one of unbridled shock.
“Georgie?” Your voice cracked as you took in the sight of him standing before your front door, dressed in a casual t-shirt and jeans and wearing his signature warm smile.
“How did you find out my address?” you asked, and he laughed at seeing you so confused.
“I asked your parents.”
So that’s why they left so early.
Stepping to the side and gesturing for him to come inside, you couldn’t help but feel beyond ecstatic at his unexpected visit. Shutting the door behind him, he pulled you in for a hug.
Despite always having been slightly taller than you, over the past few years apart he seemed to have hit another growth spurt, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes as you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in the area around his collarbone.
The two of you just stood in the entryway, embracing each other, trying to make up for all the lost years and the thousands of miles that had separated you at times, hearing nothing but your hearts beating for each other.
Pent-up emotions from all the time spent apart threatened to make an appearance, and you had to give him a slight warning, “George, I’ll start crying if you don’t let me go.”
“That’s okay. That’s alright.” Hearing his voice break made you aware that he had been the first out of you two to finally allow the dam to crack. You pulled him in towards you as much as you could in an attempt to comfort him, but he grabbed you by the hips instead and moved you a few steps back.
To be completely honest, you felt a pang of rejection, beginning to question whether the years spent in separation had resulted in him no longer being comfortable with such close contact.
“I was planning to make this more romantic, maybe over a candlelit dinner or something, but…” he trailed off, meeting your gaze with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You just gave him a frown of confusion, completely unsure of what he was getting at, but the sight of him prompted the tears that had gathered in your eyes to begin spilling.
He took a deep breath, before blurting out, “I just can’t bear to spend so long apart ever again, and I’ve wanted to do this ever since we were young but I was always too scared that you wouldn’t feel the same way.” He took a few steps forward, resulting in you having your back against a wall as you looked up at him, reaching up to rest your hands on his cheeks, “I need you by my side, I need to walk through the paddock with your hand in mine, I need to come home to you every day.”
He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, breathing deeply and looking into your eyes as his final request came as a whisper.
“Please just let me call you mine so that I can be forever yours.”
You took a few moments to process everything that had just occurred. Why hadn’t he told you all this earlier?
Tentatively, you tilted your head up and gently pressed your lips to his. He reciprocated immediately, gripping your hips tighter and holding you against him, pouring every year of silent pining into the kiss. It was messy, it was emotional, salty from the tears and broken only by the occasional gasp.
Placing your hands on his chest, you started gently pushing him in the direction of the sofa, greedy for more. All of a sudden, the clank of keys in the front door jolted you away from George, and you whipped around to face the door.
There stood Emma, not sober, yet not drunk, high heels in one hand, keys and phone in the other. The three of you just stared at each other in a tense silence until she slowly pointed at the man standing behind you.
“Is that George fucking Russell?”
----------
Caught up in a throng of cheering Mercedes team members, you were pressed against the barrier, waiting for George to get out of his car and run over. It wasn’t your win, and you weren’t the one about to be stood on the top step of the podium, but you were on cloud nine as if you had taken first place.
He took his helmet off and sprinted over towards the crowd, leaping up towards them despite the barrier. The roar of the team was deafening, your own cries of delight swept away in the cacophony.
By the time he had made his way over to you he had calmed down a little, but you could still see him shaking from the adrenaline that hadn’t let go of him just yet. He approached you in silence, a grin spread across his face, reaching out to hold your face and resting his forehead against yours as you held his wrists.
You both just smiled at each other like idiots, completely oblivious to all the cameras and people surrounding you. All that mattered in this moment were the occasional excited giggles and looks of pure adoration that you shared.
“Well, you did it, I always told you that you could do it,” you whispered, gently squeezing his wrists.
“This one’s for you,” he replied, leaning forward to give you a quick kiss and laughing at the way he left you blushing.
“I thought that all of them will be for me, no?” you teased him, running a hand through his hair before letting go of him and stepping back, “Now get up onto that podium.”
Up on the top step, he held his head high, a well-deserved sense of regality to him. Holding his trophy high in the air, he waved to his team below him and when he caught your eye he gave you an excited thumbs up. You waved back at him, taking photos on your phone with your other hand as he crouched down to pick up the champagne.
On the way back through the paddock, George, still clad in his champagne-soaked racesuit, held out the trophy and the oversized champagne bottle to you. You gave him a doubtful look, unsure if you trusted yourself with such valuable items. He just gently nodded at you to take them, and when you did he gave you a pat on the back, smiling brightly.
You continued walking, occasionally having to stop whenever somebody wanted to congratulate George. Eventually, the crowds petered out into just a few members of the various teams going through the paddock.
“Georgie, where do you want to eat tonight?” you asked him - there were quite a few fancy restaurants in the area, and you had also packed a rather elegant dress that you had been waiting for the chance to wear. When you were met with no reply, you turned around, perplexed by George’s silence only to see that he wasn’t by your side anymore.
Instead, he was a metre or two behind, down on one knee, with a little box in his hand.
For a second, you just stood in front of him, utterly stunned at the event that was occuring. When he didn’t make a move to say anything, just kept looking up at you with those hopeful eyes of his, you placed the champagne bottle down in order to have at least one free hand and took a step towards him.
“I know that it’s only been just over a year, but we’ve known each other for our whole lives and I couldn’t wait any longer,” he began, opening the box to reveal an enchanting silver ring with a shining diamond. You gasped, the significance of the situation suddenly hitting you as all the pieces fit together.
“And, you know, I went as far as getting one of the mechanics to hand me the ring on the way to the podium, so you’ve definitely got the evidence that I’m dedicated,” he laughed and you did too, placing a hand on his shoulder as he gave you a wink.
“You had this all planned out?” you asked, shocked at how well-prepared he was.
“Well, yeah, kind of. I told myself that when I finally win my first race then I’ll do it,” he admitted sheepishly, before putting a serious expression back on, “So, will you marry me?”
You didn’t even think twice about your answer. There was no need to.
“Yes! Yes!” you squealed, bouncing around with utter exhilaration as George stood back up and tried to hold your hand still for long enough to put the ring on your finger. He picked you up, no longer concerned in the slightest about the safety of the trophy pressed between your bodies, and immediately started making a beeline towards your car, stumbling through the paddock like a pair of love-struck fools, presumably to go back to the hotel.
He only stopped once, trying his best to stay balanced enough to pick up the champagne from the ground while you incessantly left small kisses on his face and neck. Handing it over to you, he gave you another wink before whispering, “For the celebrations.”
Oh, what a celebration there would be.
----------
At an hour so far past midnight, the majority of the wedding guests had gone home, leaving behind only the closest friends and family. You and George took this as an opportunity for one final dance on the empty dance floor, holding each other close as you swayed rhythmically across the centre of the room.
“Did I tell you that you look beautiful, my love?” he said quietly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
“Many times today. It’s the first thing you said after I walked down the aisle,” you replied, before adding, “I think you look very dashing, too.”
He chuckled lightly and you looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of your mothers sitting together at a long table, in the room clad with pure white decorations and bordered by enormous windows into the night sky, also occupied by a few other guests such as Emma and a handful of drivers from the grid.
“Do you think that they’re watching us and saying ‘I told you so’ to each other right now?” you joked, and George took a glance behind him to see who you were talking about.
“Oh, absolutely. They definitely placed bets on it back when we were kids or something too, it seems like something they’d do,” he laughed, before allowing a comfortable silence to settle over the two of you as you continued to unhurriedly dance to the music.
There weren’t many - if any - secrets between the two of you, considering how you had grown up together and how you’d somehow managed to become even closer after he had officially asked you out that night in your university flat. However, a small question had gnawed away at you for a while, and you decided that now was the time to spit it out and get an answer.
“Is there anything about us that you regret?”
George gave you a small frown, presumably unsure of what you were implying by that question, before giving a short reply, “Only one thing.”
His reply piqued your curiosity even further, “What is it?”
He took a deep breath and met your eyes with a love-laden gaze, the type that you had once thought only characters in films would ever experience.
“It’s that we’re finally together, and it’s all as perfect as it was in my teenage daydreams, but some part of me wishes I had made a move quicker instead of trying to hide how I felt, so that we could have had it all so much earlier.”
You moved your hand to gently run your fingers through his hair before adding your own contribution to the conversation, “I didn’t realise how I felt until I moved away for university and we couldn’t see each other in person anymore. It made me realise that I didn’t miss you in the same way as I missed some of the other friends I had left behind.”
Your gentle dancing slowed down significantly as George leaned down towards you. “It’s all okay now, though,” he whispered, “After all these years, we’ve finally got each other - officially.”
Smiling like a teenage girl with a crush, you replied, “I never needed an official document or a fancy wedding to know that I’m forever yours,”
“And I’ll always be yours.”
The two of you shared your final kiss of the night against a backdrop of a sky full of stars.
--------------------
a/n: I must admit, writing in past tense after using present tense for all my other fics felt absolutely bizarre. Showbiz, Baby Chapter 3 is coming soon!
#i have a george addiction#george russell#george russell fanfiction#george russell fanfic#george russell imagine#george russell x reader#george russell x y/n#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#gr63
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Penance IX
Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)
A nsfw multichapter little fic, dedicated to @purpurniymstitel‘s inspired prompt. Still on my slow burn bullshit. Not even a little sorry. But! Brace for an entirely self indulgent SUPER LONG hurt/comfort chapter of softness. Which will almost certainly bleed into the next chapter. Lets get cozy. 🖤
Stupid. You'd been so stupid and foolish and childish.
It was all your fault. No, it was all his fault. That felt better but you knew it wasn't true, and wanting it to be so only made you feel worse. Knees tucked up tighter against your chest where you huddled in the empty confessional as you pulled the rosary beads out of your pocket and closed a fist so tight around them that the little silver cross on the end of the chain bit hard into skin as you pushed knuckles to the throbbing ache behind your forehead and dissolved.
All you'd wanted was a normal evening. The kind you ought to be having; single, young, with money to burn and time to kill. After leaving school like you had you'd been shunned by your peers and never really cultivated another tight group of friends, simply picking the random loose one up here and there through work or casual accident. Never a bothersome thing until those occasional bouts of loneliness would creep up out of nowhere and hang over you shoulder, whispering terrible things in your ear with no one to interrupt them. It always passed though, took precious little to help get over them and once again tell yourself how unbothered you felt to be untethered.
Lately though? Lonesomeness had come hunting with sharper fangs and longer claws.
It made you angry, bitter. Made it anyone's fault but your own.
You knew there'd be hell to pay for your stunt in the confessional, what you hadn't banked on was how genuinely mad it had seemed to make him, how cold. You'd figured on a bit of aggravated good humor, a little scolding and playfully making you pay. So shocked to face down that cold fury instead. A chill rage not even diminished by that horribly delicious torment he'd put you through in his office, not tempered in the slightest by your attempted apologies and invitations and pleading. It hurt. Had cut you deeply, the way he'd looked at you with all the softness drained away, and how he sent you away a sodden, unsatisfied and unhappy mess. So pleased to have been cruel. It had left you feeling a little sick, stomach twisted in knots for days, unable to go five minutes time without sliding back into that nauseating bog of worry, anger, and upset.
He'd hit you. It hadn't been hard, left no mark or tenderness. At least visible, that was.
But he'd hit you, and no matter how little it might have had in common with the hateful ways you'd been beaten in school for bad behavior it still felt like a betrayal. More keen on venting his own repressed anger than he was about your feelings. Selfish, cold, unhappy bastard. Made you absolutely livid that you'd be so blind and stupid as to have trusted him for tenderness, and even more bitter that in spite of it you still couldn't stop wanting him or thinking of him constantly. The incessant loop of this unhappy ouroboros was becoming unbearable.
Instead of going to the church that Wednesday, to spend time with him in pointless lessons and then with the boring planning committee, you'd headed out to the supermarkets to collect for the food pantry. It still counted as your work as patron but kept you clear Silco and gave you something else to occupy your brain with. At least that was something to be proud of; you'd made significant headway with stocking the pantry, nearly ready to begin donations, and delighted to have already signed up a list of families and individuals who'd receive weekly packages. More than a few local stores had agreed to regular donations, and others like the one you'd posted up outside of were happy to let you set up a table and hand out lists of needed items to their shoppers.
You'd already collected several full bags of non perishables by the time the girls stopped by. Sophie and Leena both familiar faces from your old job. You liked them well enough, they were fun if a little insipid sometimes, and the three of you had hung out together before you'd quit. It gave you a tiny stab of guilt when they seemed so delighted to run into you out of the blue; came rushing up to fold you into hugs, both talking nearly at once and overwhelming. How had it been so easy to forget what spending time with other women your age was like? None of the serious dourness of the old church ladies and nuns as the pair of them bowled you over with story after story of drama you'd missed since you quit. Sophie kept an arm looped through yours and the contact felt deliciously grounding; affection that you didn't have to second guess, unvarnished by guilt or sin.
They pressed you on how you'd been filling your time since last they saw you, and you were glad at least to have the obvious charity work you were in the middle of to fall back on. Tried very hard to veer away from mentioning the fact that in a little less than a full month now you'd developed a massive and painful crush on sadistically, sharply handsome priest and ended up blowing him in his own church. Alright, perhaps it was not that difficult to steer clear of that particular conversation, but it was difficult not to talk of him. And no framework to do so in. It had you lying by omission when Leena asked if you were seeing anyone, if anything was new. Little half-truth answers that allowed you to finally tell someone, anyone that you were caught up in something you didn't quite understand, couldn't quite navigate.
Yes, I'm seeing someone... sort of. It's complicated, haha no he's not married. No, I don't think he'll have time to get together some night... he's... very busy. Yeah, yes I like him. I don't know, I guess we met through church. Things are weird right now, I'd rather not say...
Ever the perceptive one, Sophie seemed unconvinced by your attempts to brush off their deeper questions and by your determination to put a pleasant face on. Had her cuddle of your arm tighten as she eyed you with fair brows drawing together further and further as the conversation went on.
"Did you guys have a fight or something?" She finally asked, directly. "Sorry, its just. You look miserable."
Leena swatted her and she jumped a little but doubled down, laughing it off.
"What?? She does! You do."
"Yeah I guess you could call it that." You admitted, shrugging. "But its nothing."
"Ok yeah nothing." Sophie mimicked you, not unkindly, just to mirror back how unconvincing you were. "Girl, look. We're going out tonight to The Drop. You should come. Forget about him and whatever bullshit you guys have going on. Come dance, get a little drunk, yeah? You look like you could use it."
And honestly? You could.
"Yeah, ok!" Suddenly, intensely excited at the chance to just shake everything off and be who you were, how you were before Aunt Marjory and her cursed bequeathment chained you to the life of a church mouse. Free again. You weren't a priest, after all. Why act like one? You made your plans to meet them later and they went off on their way.
Left you feeling smugly pleased and positively giddy. There was absolutely no reason why you should have cloistered yourself up like you'd been doing. The claims upon your time were confined to today and Sunday Mass and that was all. You could go out and live it up as much as you liked, surround yourself with friends and strangers and all the things you hadn't been able to afford before with so much time to devote to anything and everything your little heart desired.
And after all, your Lenten 'promise' as it were, was not to touch yourself. It sure wasn't not to let anyone else touch you. And if he wasn't going to do it, well. Again. You weren't the one stuck on stupid vows; not a priest or a nun. Could do exactly as you pleased.
Absolutely thrumming with anticipation by the time you got finished collecting the non-perishables. Dropped them off at the cathedral and neatly avoided running across either the father or any of the regulars that attended the weekly planning meetings. Headed back out to do a little shopping, something new and tight to wear out to the club, and then home to revel in the simple pleasures of getting ready. Hot scrubby shower and hair done, careful and wicked makeup like you used to do it, all thick dark winged liner and lashes inky black. Cut off tags and pulled on new clothes mingled with some old pieces, admired the result in the reflection of those full length windows. And managed to down most of a bottle of wine while you were doing it all so you were well on your way to happy by the time you headed out.
Took a taxi to the club. It had been ages since you'd been to The Drop, though it was one of the more popular spots in town. Even midweek it had a line outside waiting. Music a throbbing bass thud you could feel in your molars and the space beneath the span of your ribcage as you poured out of the cab. The girls had been waiting for you, holding a spot toward the front of the line, and waved you over with shouted delight. The three of you waited patiently, chatting in shouting little jags over the music spilling out onto the sidewalk, and were inside soon enough.
First things first, a round of shots, then a second then a third. Each of you buying for the others in turn. Properly fortified and chasers in hand you followed Sophie and Leena through the moving maze of the crowd out to where the dancing was thickest.
Hot bliss, to just lose yourself in the churning crush of nearly faceless bodies, to feel half deaf with the music and the bass a second and frenetic heartbeat. Dance till you were sweated, till you could feel hair sticking softly to your forehead and nape of your neck. Till you were breathless and laughing at Sophie's new moves and Leena's infectious joy at how each new song that came on was her favourite.
Even better were the men that came and went from the little clustered trio of you three, like bees visiting flowers in passing. Stopping for a song or two, to offer to by one of you a drink, or grab another of you up in a grinding dance, or to whisper-shout a compliment or suggestive comment in an ear; try your luck, come have a taste. Not long at all until one of them had you. Hands skimming your waist, grabbing hold of one of the several belts looped loose around your hips and using the hand hold of it to haul you back against himself. Chin on your shoulder and ticklish press of stubble to the crook of your neck that had you squirm and shout a laugh as you pushed back into the grind of his dance.
Nice to find him rather attractive indeed when he finally spun you around. A touch too frat boy for your tastes but he'd sure do fine for a night and you were too happy to let him get you back to the bar when you were both too breathless to keep dancing. Let him buy you a drink and then offer you a little something more. He took the tiny vial from his pocket as the pair of you chatted mindlessly, or at least tried to over the music. Pointless, really, not interested at all in getting to know him, just in enjoying yourself for the night. He pulled the little vial out, uncapped the eyedropper top of it and squeezed one shivering little drop onto his own extended tongue before catching your eye and offering you a drop as well.
What the hell, why not?
Head back, mouth open, the droplet hit your tongue with a faintly bitter aftertaste that quickly vanished against a sip of the mixed drink he'd ordered you. Felt it seeping in as you both finished your drinks slowly, smiling over the rims of the glasses you each held, wordless flirting mingled with the occasional shouted whisper in an ear, all of it unintelligible for the most part. Barely caught half his name, probably misheard most of his questions and gave odd answers he pretended to hear. His breath wasn't great, if you were being honest with yourself, each time he leaned in to speak. And cologne too heavy and sharp. But he was kinda cute. Could have found at least ten cookie cutter versions of him in any club in the city, and had met your fair share of them before.
Easy enough mark if you wanted him though. And god, as the drug hit warmly all you wanted was to finally be rid of the tension, all that horrible built up need that almost a month's worth of teasing torment had left you in. Cup filled to its absolute brim and ready to slosh over at the next drop, surface of want built up in you a perfect convex, shivering meniscus.
His hand slid over the bare skin of your midriff and it felt like sweet crawling fire. Spread outward in heady spirals that felt like individual colors rushing through your skin, made you want to chase more, made the edges of the world blurry and heart a shivering creature in your chest its beat felt so fast. Your mouth tasted funny, and you could feel your eyelashes, the weight of the black mascara on each individual one. The soft constriction of fabric against your flesh and when you reached out to rub fingers against the scruff of his jaw it both delighted and repulsed you.
What the hell had he given you?
Back on the dance floor and unsure how you got there, bodies closing in, limbs knocking, twining against your own. Bass driving and him caged up against you, crushing you close, face in your throat, mouth at your jaw. Hands slipping down the back of your pants and grip tight against the bare skin of your ass. Yes. No. You could feel him hard up against your thigh. Slid a hand down automatically to cup at him, push palm an encouraging rub.
No concept of how long you both pawed at each other on the dance floor. No idea where Sophie and Leena ever got to. Vague recollection of seeing them in the crowd, still having a blast, but you could have imagined it. No notion how long you both kept dancing. Breathless, sweated, finally pitched against him in boneless exhaustion. Felt his unfamiliar arms close around you and lift you ever so slightly off your feet. Rough rasp stubble like sandpaper against the side of your face as he shouted in your ear.
"Wanna fuck?"
Did you want to fuck? Yes that why you came here, wasn't it? To finally get fucked by someone who wasn't afraid to do so, by someone who could give you a release to all this terrible tension built to the breaking point. You felt yourself nodding and then stumbling backward as he set you on your feet again and grabbed hold of your wrist, hauled you through the club to the men's rooms. Had to be the men's rooms since there was always a god awful line for the ladies. Everything was spinning a little, everything slightly tilted and blurred and the pounding music so visceral it felt like its own thoughts running concurrent in your brain to your own, overpowering your own.
The cramped room stank of stale piss from the consistently missed urinal, floor disgustingly tacky under your boots and the walls a riot of graffiti and scrawled messages undecipherable layered one over the other. He hoisted you back into a corner and had his hands up under your shirt, pawing clumsily, shoved fingers under the underwire of your bra to artlessly push the cup up, pinching the other breast awkwardly. Fingers a squeeze to soft flesh that had you grit teeth, kneading like it wasn't even attached to you, more interested in filling his own palm and copping a feel than offering you pleasure.
His mouth was no different, grossly hot against your throat and collarbone, stubble feeling like it was flaying your skin away. That horribly strong cologne not nearly enough to cover up both the stink of the restroom and the sharp tang of his sweaty body odor, only adding to the noxiously eye watering mix. Not nearly as bad as his dehydrated and alcohol laced breath when he finally made a play for your mouth as he shoved his hand down your pants.
And very suddenly you couldn't stand the thought of kissing him, of letting him kiss you. Wrenched your head to the side when he closed in, kiss landing at the corner of your mouth instead and making you tighten lips to near bloodlessness. Flooded with the sudden cold realization there was only one person you wanted to kiss you and it certainly wasn't this boy. Had you squirming to get away as fingers made a grab of the shape of your pussy just as tight and thoughtless as he'd made of your breast, rough up and down strokes constantly missing the mark and only making you feel disgusted instead of aroused.
"No. No. Nononononono stop!! Stop just stop." You grabbed his wrist, yanked his hand out of your pants and pushed palms against his chest.
"What? What's wrong? I thought you said yes." He groused in slurred confusion, tried again to lean in for a kiss that had you jerk hard to the side and push back against him harder.
"No, I'm sorry, no." Just managing to squeeze past him, you threw the lock to the door open and ran out, tugging bra uncomfortably back into place and shirt as well, trying and failing to ignore the nasty thing he shouted after you and the hooting cat calls of the pair of men waiting outside the restroom.
It was a fight to get to the door, to stumble outside and fall into a cab, had the bad feeling you'd just stolen the waiting taxi from someone else, but too far gone to care as you curled up in the back seat and tried to give the driver your address without sobbing. Tried very hard to keep those heavy hot tears from seeming terribly obvious as you sniffled away, arms wrapped tight around your folded legs. And so confused when the cab drew up to a stop in front of the cathedral, not your building. You stared out the window at it, stained glass lit faintly by the lights from within.
"Why... why are we here?"
"This was the address you gave, miss. Are you quite sure you're ok? You don't seem ok." The man in the front seat seemed kind, though the tone of his voice made you feel like he might have been a little afraid of you, and why wouldn't he be? You dove into his cab like a whirlwind, so upset you weren't even sure if you'd been talking to yourself in the backseat the whole time, unsure of anything really. Nothing felt real and everything too heavy, too serious and hard and harsh. You shoved a bill way too large for the fare through the plexiglass divider and poured out onto the sidewalk, gained your feet and stumbled for the massive doors. The cabbie calling after you as the others had done, but you heard the car pull away by the time you got the large front door pulled open and let yourself inside.
Now what? You wobbled there, among the flickering lights of the still burning devotionaries, the church more profoundly empty than you'd ever seen it. Hushed and solemn and every stone face carved to stare directly back at you with hot accusing hatred. Whore. Harlot. Slut. How dare you come here, keep making a mockery of everything as you had from the start? This place was supposed to be about forgiveness, love. Instead it was full of spite and judgement. You wandered forward, choking back tears, and pitched up upon the back row of pews. Attention shot to the confessionals along the near wall and shoving off the pew, you wandered over. Lifted the green glass of the lamp hung beside the door and set your lighter to the wick within. Let the glass fall back into place and let yourself inside, into the priest's portion of the booth again.
The door banged softly on its spring hinges and you curled up in his seat, pulled the rosary out of your pocket with shaking fingers and clutched it tight enough to cut, to hurt, to offer some kind of grounding sensation as you let your head drop onto your knees and sobbed softly. So stupid, so foolish. Unsure why you were more angry with yourself at that moment; because you'd thought you could just go do as you pleased like you were an automaton with feelings as easy as an off/on switch, or that you had those feelings in the first place and chosen to ignore them or believe they were less than they were. And what good even were they? None of it made sense, everything hurt, and worse you could still smell that boy on you, still feel the places he'd touched you like an itchy brand, making you rub at skin fitfully.
"Lamb?" The door to the confessional swung open, Father Silco's lean shape silhoutted within the doorframe, the green light of the confessional lantern cast over the ruined half of his face, no eye patch on, no white collar. Just the stiff collared black shirt and pants, like he'd been interrupted getting undressed.
You blinked up at him and dissolved into ragged sobs, hands rising to cover your mouth, stifle the piteous noise as your head hung.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry daddy I'm sorry..." Oh god, that stupid dirty little name had slipped out, hadn't it? Not sure what was out loud and what was in your head anymore.
He blew out the lantern and came inside, bent and scooped you up and sank down. Arms tight bands around you, voice a humming reverberation in chest against your cheek and ear as he spoke, softly, quietly. Shushing you.
"Lamb, lamb stop. Stop, now. Sshh. What's wrong? Where have you been? Are you hurt?" Hands smoothed the back of your head, along your arm, kept you gathered in close, nearly rocking you. Hollow of one cheek coming to rest against your head as you shoved the hot, tearstained mess of your face into his chest. Fingers a tight grip of black fabric and that cutting rosary both.
Were you hurt? Yes you were hurting. But it was as much his fault as yours and that stupid boy's. All you could do was nod and sink into another ragged little set of sobs.
"I'm sorry, please I'm so sorry..."
"What for? What's wrong?" You felt him tense against the cuddle of you as you refused to answer, and lean arms unwound so he could slide hands a cradle around your face, draw you off himself slightly, thumbs smudging at the hot tracts of tears and black makeup smudged and running beneath your eyes, a tenderness that set you off, had your face crumpling in a silent rictus of agony. It drew a hissed inward breath from him, a sound like you'd stabbed him through the heart.
"Lamb....if I hurt you, then I'm the one who's sorry. Please stop crying. Please."
The warm of his mouth brushed your forehead, pressed light to the stinging swollen ache of both your closed eyelids in turn. Had you shudder, and then seized by a sudden mad rush of impetuous thoughtlessness, shift and straddle him, grip his shirt by the collar, then him by the face, huffing to repress the little sobs still hanging on as you released one hollowed cheek to find his hand, gather it up in yours fold all fingers back but index and middle and before he could start to protest, slid them both into your mouth. Tips, then back, first knuckle then back, and finally all the way deep to draw out slow. Gaze flicking up to find him watching, expression muddied shock and confusion, concern and yes... want.
You licked at his wet fingertips and tried to shove them down between you both, down into your pants. Get rid of the feeling of that other boy on you, erase what you'd nearly done with the touch you did want, the hands you did crave. It had you desperate, disorganized and fumbling, trying to get pants open and shove his hand within as he struggled with you.
"Wait, wait... hey. Stop it." He jerked his hand from your grasp and caught you by the face again, and all you could do to stare back at him desperately, dumbly, so tired and the world a harsh hollow carnival ride you dearly needed to get off, the drugs still coursing through your system heightening all the wrong things and dulling the ones you wanted sharper. His thumbs prized down your lower lids and that teal eye narrowed as it flicked between bloodshot eyes with pupils dilatated from more than just wanting him.
"Are you... high?"
You nodded with a half tilt, rueful little smile and watched his expression darken.
"What did you take?"
Shoulders lifted and dropped in a little shrug as you turned your head a touch, trying unsuccessfully to catch one of those thumbs against your mouth. Oh, to feel that little tease he offered you at communion, the way he'd prized your mouth open before he honestly and truly kissed you the first time. He foiled you, keeping them out of your reach as he gave your face a gentle shake. Focus.
"Lamb." His voice was warning, an edge of concern rising and sharpening along that gentle velvet dark tone. "Tell me what you took."
"Dunno. Molly maybe, or E. Acid? No hallucinations though. Unless you aren't real." You watched thin lips peel back from his chipped teeth as you wobbled on his lap, pitched forward out of his grasp to cuddle up against him again, arms folding round him in a warm little embrace, nails digging little furrows through black fabric against his shoulder blades.
"Think. Please. What color was it? How did it taste?"
Why did he sound so worried? You were fine, just high. High and sad and craving him.
"Dunno. Bitter."
He sighed harshly and gathered you up to him in a crushing hug. Felt his face shove hard into the crook of your neck and shoulder before he rose, taking you with him, waited for you to unwrap legs and stand on your own, but kept you folded up. One hand closing upon the nape of your neck as you nuzzled face into his chest. Thumb a soothing little stroke behind your ear. Why did it feel like his grip was trembling?
"Lets get you home." He murmured. "You can walk, yes?"
"Mmmhm."
"Good. Come along." He shifted you, tucked you up under the support of one arm and reached to push the door open.
If it was slow going, you didn't register it. Didn't register anything but the warmth of him against you, long stride tempered to your stumbling one. He got you home. Got you inside and sat you down on the nearest chair, knelt before you and checked eyes again.
"When was the last time you had water?" His voice swam through the void, anchored you. Again you shrugged. Heard him repress a quiet growl of frustration, or was it anger? Sounded more like concern. And then he was gone. Sound of the fridge opening. Cold water bottle pressed into your hand a moment later, and him tilting it up toward your mouth.
Oh, that was good. Drank and drank and drank. Cool water delicious down your throat, no idea how parched you'd been. Only half aware of him moving about your apartment, and would have reveled in the fact you finally had him back here again were it only under different circumstances and your thoughts more linear. As it was you were just grateful when he took the empty water bottle and pressed a fresh one into your hand. Kept drinking, more slowly this time, little sips, and watched his back as he stood at the sink, ran the cold tap for a moment and then returned to you. Knelt again. You could get used to having him on his knees instead of the other way round. If only he didn't look so stressed, like he was struggling to repress a great deal of worry indeed behind the cracks in that stern exterior.
Cool, damp fingers lifted your chin and eyes closed automatically as he wiped a damp washcloth over your face, cleaning away all the trails and smudges of dark makeup and sticky tracks of tears. God, it felt good. Soft, cool cloth, slow gentle drag against skin, so careful and light over your eyes and under them. Just dabbing away the mess of the evening while you sighed out your first breath of relief in longer than you cared to admit. Tried to pitch forward for a kiss after but he stopped you, caught chin in his hand and righted you before he rose. Nudged at your hand that held the bottle wordlessly on his way back to the sink and, stymied once again, you went back to sipping your water before you finally set the half finished bottle aside.
It might have tasted amazing and felt even better but this wasn't the thirst you were interested in slaking.
"Why did you do this, lamb?" You heard him ask quietly from the kitchen, and you shrugged, turning your gaze out the massive windows. They unhelpfully reflected only him back at you against the dark backdrop of the city, shoulders tight as he leaned against the countertop, watching you shake your head and shrug again. Unable, even half drunk and fully high, to come clean enough to tell him it was because you were too weak, too hungry to keep up your end of the bargain. Possibly you just didn't want him to think less of you than he already probably did now. Those tears felt like they'd start up again, and sure enough the hot welling of one shivered on your lashes before spilling down.
The reflection of him in the dark glass looked like you'd slapped him. Or perhaps like he'd slapped you, and stood horrified at what he'd become capable of. You shut your eyes against it either way, wishing for the tenderness of that washcloth back. Instead you got his hands on your wrists, drawing you up, folding you in again. Mouth warm in its press to your hairline above your forehead.
"Please stop crying." One hand slid from its cradle of the back of your head to cup a cheek, tilt your face up.
And he kissed you, slower, softer than you could recall. Terribly gentle slow suckle of your upper lip as his thumb slid a light back and forth against your temple. Greedy thing you were, you pushed for more. Opened mouth under his and licked back at him in invitation. He took it, albeit slowly. Deepened that kiss until your high wasn't the reason the world was spinning. You could feel your heart beating in your throat, fingers falling to pull at the buttons just above his collarbone, got four, no five of them open and slid hands within, spread flat and smooth palm across the warm of his skin, had you break that hungry kiss in a little gasp at the simple pleasure of finally, finally having his bare skin under your hands.
You ducked under his chin and pressed mouth to the divot of his collarbone, licked at the shape of it and heard his breath hitch before he struggled against a soft groan, head tilted back, letting you have at that lean throat. It wasn't artful, in your state, but you didn't make a mess of it either. Too eager, unwilling to let such a chance pass you by. Kept explorations soft, little licks and the light press of kisses, well aware marks here would not be welcome. Still, the moment you sucked very softly over the point of pulse you could feel right under the sharp curve of his jaw you heard him catch a grumbled moan in his throat and try to kill it. Knew the jig was up then.
He was peeling you back from himself a little by your elbows. Not an easy task when he seemed unable to keep from trying to kiss you again, himself.
"Come... ah. Come on, then. Let's get you to bed."
That felt like a bucket of cold water poured straight over your head. Had you tighten your grip on the opening you'd made of his shirt.
"You're leaving?" God, it sounded so small when you said it, but too far gone to care.
"Of course not." He prized your hands free and shepherded you along toward the bedroom. "I'm not leaving you high on who knows what, alone."
Twenty different protests rose to the surface like dead fish, none of which you really wanted to give voice to. Because him staying the night was far too great a gift to care too much for the consequences. If he was willing to risk it, who were you to convince him otherwise?
The bed waited with open invitation, looking softer and more lovely than you could remember, and you crawled right into it over the covers with a noise of contented bliss. Face down, pulling a pillow under you tightly. Heard him make a noise caught halfway between a sigh and a dry little laugh.
"Could I at least get your boots off?" The weight of him dented the bed down by your knees and you nodded and mumbled assent into the pillow down. Felt him close warm hands around your lower thigh before he took hold of the zipper at the back of the impossibly tall boots you wore and drew it downward to your ankle. Pulled it off you and repeated the same with the other. Skimmed a hand along the rise of one jeans-clad calf.
You rolled over, offered him a sleepy smile and thumbed open the button of your jeans.
The bed dented further as he leaned forward, and the sharp point of that nose tickled just below your navel before the heat of his mouth pressed into the tiny part made by that open button. Had your head rocking back, hips lifting as he pulled zipper down and pressed a slow, small line of kisses within the widening spread of denim. Across the low rise of satin panties. And felt him pause.
Felt a finger touch the obvious stain of a trail left behind by the previous wet of the other boy's fingers in the fabric.
Heat rushed up under your cheeks and lower lip caught itself between teeth fit to crush it off your own face.
"Were you." He seemed to be struggling mightily to find the correct words, or tone. The first ones far harsher than the tempered ones that followed, though still strung through with tension. "Were you with someone tonight?"
It dropped like a pebble down a well.
"Not really." Was the best you could manage initially. And he sat up in stony silence, waiting for you to do better.
"I was frustrated... and mad at you. I thought I could just go out and... and make it better, make it all go away for a little while. But it was a mistake. I didn't want it to go away. I wanted you." There. You'd said it. Sort of. Shuffled up onto the press of your elbows in the mattress to watch him, sitting there, staring coldly at a spot on the floor, one hand a hard grip left over your knee.
"Please don't be mad at me. Nothing happened, really. He was... he was pretty pissed about it." You confessed, honest as you could. Silco's hand slid off your knee and he rose from the bed. It had you leaver yourself up sharply, heart sinking.
"Get undressed. You need some sleep." Cold as stone.
"Silco... Father, please." Oh fuck, what had you done? You watched him redo the buttons of his shirt as he left the room, clicking off the lights. Heard him head back to the kitchen, run the tap, set the kettle on the stove. And then dropped back on the bed in frustration with yourself, bitter anger at how stupid you'd been. Fuck. You struggled out of clothes and yanked covers down, crawled under them and huddled up in a tight ball. Only vaguely heard him return in about a half hour and set another bottle of water by your beside. The smell of strong coffee - burnt coffee - wafting after him from the kitchen. Heard the big chair in the corner of the room set back by the windows creak with his weight. And then nothing.
Sleep came for you whether you wanted it or not. Ignorant of your self-loathing or regret or fears. It came on hard and deep and dreamless. Save for the one where he was crawling into bed with you, pulling back covers and sliding in. Skin on skin where his shirt was gone, soft fabric against your legs where his pants were still. Arms gathering you up, mouth on skin a hard press, teeth a little jagged where they scraped over a shoulder.
Did he do anything more than touch you?
"Mmn no."
Did he hurt you?
"No, no."
Did he kiss you?
"No, I didn't want - "
Go to sleep, lamb.
Elegant, gentle hands a slow sweep up your back and down, cupping a tight grip of your backside, pulling your leg over his hip, fitting you close. Such a sweet dream.
Sweeter still, that very early morning, to wake to the shock he was actually in your bed. Not a dream, not still sitting or dozing coldly and angrily in a chair across the room. In your bed. Albeit on his side, back to you. Snoring in a way that indicated he'd really been chainsawing it earlier and the noise had softened with the length of sleep. Bare skin of shoulders just visible above the drape of the sheets.
Fingers slipped up of their own accord. Stroked soft down the short shorn dark hair of the back of his head, down along the nape of his neck slowly, skin warm under your touch. Heard him hum quietly, noise sleep drenched and semi lucid. You stroked a slow caress out along the shape of his shoulder before resuming the path back up in the tickle of his hair. He sighed a slow breath and you stilled, fingertips ghosting to a stop at the nape of his neck.
"Don't stop."
Such a strange sensation, to hear that voice muddled by sleep and to issue an order that sounded terribly close to pleading. Chalk it up to him just being disoriented and tired. No idea how late he'd stayed up before he climbed into bed. Regardless, you obliged. Tender caress down his neck and between shoulder blades until he was making a noise that reverberated against the mattress before you cuddled up against him shaped spoon, crush of bare breasts to his back, arms sliding under his own to wrap around close. Let your cheek settle against the skin you'd just be stroking.
"Please forgive me."
How strange to hear those words from his mouth instead of your own. Then again, he'd said them before, hadn't he? In a way. Felt as if along with this odd dance the two of you were doing there was quite a bit of forgiveness being laid between you both. Trodding on toes as you each learned the steps. The kiss you pressed to the soft edge of his hairline at the nape of his neck was gentle, absolution enough.
"You're not mad at me?" You had to ask, the guilt still hanging heavy within. Nearly as uncomfortable as your hangover-come down. Head feeling full of hot coals, throat and every other single cell of you absolutely parched. Eyes sore and everything a sharp throbbing ache. Still, misery could wait on the doorstep while you got to press yourself to more of his skin than you'd ever had before.
"No. Perhaps a little." He heaved a tired sigh. Closed the grip of one of his hands loose about your wrist as your hand took up its tender, stroking exploration of the front of him. Trailing fingertips along the shallow divot that lay between pectorals, only to flatten hand out over the smooth, slight ripples of his lean stomach, ticklish little trace of his navel that had him grunt softly. Silent thrill to find those delicious, shallow cuts of muscle lower that led from hip down into the waistband of his pants. He tensed against you as you toyed caress along them, mouth straying to press light kisses between the span of his upper shoulder blades. And then the slow slide down that lovely little cut of muscle into his pants. Heard him huff and try to catch breath against an instinctive moan as your hand closed over his already half-hard cock.
"Please... stop." He sounded strangled, quietly tortured. But oh, how he hardened in your hand. Thick as you remembered and twice as hot. You kept grip gentle, slow.
"Only if you promise me this isn't the last time you'll be here, in my bed."
"I ca...hmmn. I can't do that." Yes, you already knew. No promises here, tomorrow as unsure as yesterday. So much for building your house on solid stone instead of shifting sand. But quoting bible passages was his thing, not yours, and you didn't need words to tell him how badly you wanted him, or to feel how badly he ached for you.
Grip tightened slowly as you pumped him, palmed him, let fingers toy at the sensitive head of his cock, felt him leaking and used it to wet your grip a little.
"I want you back in my mouth." You murmured, chin hooking over his shoulder to whisper in his ear, lips a brush to flushed skin. "You taste so good. Please let me."
He bucked against you, tried to stop it but it only made it more obvious, and hissed breath between the clench of teeth as his grip upon your forearm tightened.
"How... aren't you hungover? Ahn. Lamb... "
You stroked one taut gripped long pump from the root of him all the way up and it proved the final straw. Had him pull your hand out of his pants and roll to cage you in, pin you down. Joke on him as you spread legs and wrapped them around his hips, lifted to grind bare sex up against what had to be an agonizing erection now, still caught in the confines of his damn pants.
"Stop. Please." Chipped teeth bared and that terrible red eye wide and livid, contrast to the softer teal more pleading beside it. You stilled hips but kept him hooked close. It earned a soft exhalation of relief from him and he released your forearms to cradle up your face. Thumb toying at the corner of your mouth as if he couldn't stop reconsidering your offer to suck him off again.
He caught up a hungry kiss instead, diving into you like he was drowning, his hips the ones to roll forward this time, caught you by surprise and had you gasping at the sudden delicious friction. It must have broke that iron grip of his for a moment because his head fell, sharp blade of that nose crushed into the crook of your neck as he thrust clothed against you, rutted against you, hips a hard, rolling push over and over that had you lifting to meet him, had your throbbing, aching head rocking back, mouth open.
And so gone with him, so built up and twisted and unfulfilled for so long that friction was all it took.
Nails dug into his skin as you shivered out your release, tight little bucks caught against him. Quiet whine caught in the close of your throat, fighting with his name to be the first one out and both just barreling forward unintelligible together. Felt the dragging lick of the tip of his tongue trace from collarbone to chin up the bared expanse of your throat. As if he'd taste the wanton little noises he was pulling out of you.
When you finally came around he was gazing down at you. Backs of fingers a fanned caress to your hot, flush flooded cheek.
"Far prettier ecstasy than any saint." He murmured, and stole another, slower kiss.
You weren't sure about the saints, but you sure as hell felt like a martyr; fit to die for this, him. Boneless warmth of release gathered you up and sleep came lapping back against your aching brain. It was still terribly early. The light pale and grey and dim. No reason in the world to leave this bed, or the way he gathered you to him. Felt him lean across you to reach for the night stand and then the push of the water bottle into your hand. Messy to drink at this angle, but you managed and realized instantly how badly dehydrated you'd become in just a few hours sleep. Nearly finished the bottle before offering the last quarter of it to him. Silco seemed ready to refuse but instead downed it. Set it aside and curled you up against himself.
"Mmnf. Now. Let me sleep." Like he'd done all this just to get a little shut eye and stop you pawing at him. Had you snort a little laugh, unconvinced at his fraudulent grousing. Still very much aware of how hard he was, pressed to your hip. Still... warm, happy, wrapped in the swallowing bliss of those delicious chemicals of release? There was no fight to be had here.
It had you panic when you woke next to full sunlight and an empty bed. But the cold, crushing blow faded as you heard noise from the kitchen. And something like cooking that smelled very good indeed. Had you sink back down in bed from the start you'd had. Reached over and gathered up the pillow that still smelled like him, inhaled deeply. Only to glance up to find him darkening the doorway, cup of coffee in hand, watching you with a wry little half-tilt smile. In he came and set the coffee on the nightstand nearest you before handing you your phone.
"If you wouldn't mind? I don't have mine and I've some calls to make before the sisters start sending the police on a wild goose chase for the missing priest."
Offering him a sheepish smile at being caught cuddling his pillow, you sat up, mindless of your utter lack of clothing until you watched his gaze drop, then gathered up sheets. Unlocked your phone and handed it back. Very nice to see him still shirtless. Very nice indeed. He cut as lean and taut of a figure as your fingertips had told you he would in the gloaming dark that early morning, pants riding low on narrow hips, the occasional scar here or there a quiet promise of a story from before he wore a white collar.
He stood there a moment, profile to your unapologetic gaze, in that slightly back-slouched petulant posture of his, tapping numbers into your phone before putting it to his ear. Offered you another thin slice of a smile.
"Yes, Sister Grace? Yes. I'm fine. Sorry to alarm you. The deacon can do the morning service. Calm down."
He turned away and your jaw nearly hit your folded knees.
Huge across his back, stretched from the curve at the small of his back up to the base of shoulder blades and from ribcage to ribcage was the tattoo of an enormous cross. Intricate black work ink, celtic by origin with its intertwining design. Only the delicate twisting lines were made of snakes, snakes run up each post of the cross and along each arm of it in matching mirrored patterns. And in its very center, Eve's apple, cut through with two pale bites in red flesh, the only color in the whole piece.
"I'm afraid (y/n) came down with something terrible last night. Yes. Well it hardly does to let our patron die if she needs someone to sit up in case she needs a doctor. No, she's much better this morning I think." His voice trailed from the other room as he wandered away and you recovered from the surprise of that enormous tattoo inking pale skin. Never in a hundred years would you have guessed him hiding something like that under dark cassock. Then again... there seemed to be plenty of surprising little things Father Silco kept hidden away from the world. A tattoo hardly seemed the worst of them, listening to him calm a nun with half truths and not break a sweat or falter once.
You scooped up the coffee he'd left, cradling the heat of the mug in both hands as you blew the steam off it. It smelled...strong. Bitter. Hoping he'd made it how you liked you took a slow sip. And came up sputtering, choking. Bitter, burnt and thick as syrup. Possibly the worst coffee you'd ever been cursed with.
You gave it another sip and puckered, swallowed hard and set the mug aside with a little hissing breath. Well. Good to know there was one thing he was absolutely terrible at.
"I am quite tired, yes. I won't be back today. Let the deacon take over services. I'll be back for morning Mass tomorrow. Yes I'll let you know if she needs anything. Alright."
Noise of his irritated sigh and the soft clatter of your phone set on the countertop.
"Come have breakfast when you're ready, lamb."
Part X
#penance#silco#silcoxreader#priest!silco#arcane#arcane au#silco au#silco fic#arcane fic#arcane silco#silco arcane x reader#priest Silco
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Look out for me
the second part of this fic, you can find the first here
3500 words
after ending in detention with professor umbridge Y/N start to hang out with the Weasley twins, kind of leaving behind her friend, too entangled with the new situation. But what will this came to?
CHAPTER TWO
Seeing the twins hanging around with Y/n, glued with them, was weird. Yes, the girl always had an attitude for chaos, for explosion and her laugh always echoed in the corridors of the castle, reclaiming the attention, reclaiming the looks of her peers. Was kind of obvious, she was the other half of one of the most popular duo in the school; she and Ginny made heads turn, when they passed in the halls, the Weasley with the longest legs, mesmerizing smile; and her friend with the silkiest hair and a laugh so contagious that would have made the statues in the castle laugh too.
But from a month or so the girl was hanging around with the wrong Weasleys, the two older brothers of Ginny and Ron, the two most notorious troublemaker in the school. She was always next to them, at the meals, in the pauses between lessons, during their free days in Hogsmeade, it was like the girl had glued herself in the middle of the duo, making him become a trio. No one was happy about it. Ginny wasn’t, Hermione wasn’t, Lee wasn’t, but the most unhappy was for sure Neville, which looked like was founding a sport, becoming champion in looking for the trio in the corridors, and then become all grumpy once spotted. It was kind of a weird look, seeing the boy, usually too timid to let go any other emotion than embarrass, all grumpy and moody; so, he started to hang out way less with the other Gryffindor, preferring to spend his free time in the green-house, sometimes accompanied by Ginny and Luna, which just sat there to study, while listening their friend rumble about something in half voice.
It went of like that for a month or so, before Ginny decided she was full of that shit, and decided to take the matter into her own hands. Seeing Neville miserable, moping around every time he saw the trio in the halls was a show she grew tired pretty fast. So, one night she waited for her friend on her bed, her arms crossed and the face her mother used to wear when she was about to lecture one of her children. It took long, Y/n came into her own room late at night, after the curfew, and despite being quite stealthy two sarcastic coff claimed her attention the right moment she put her foot inside the room. She did a little jump, not expecting to find someone awake, and a little light arise from her wand, lighting up Ginny on her bed, looking at her friend.
“We need to talk.” Simply said the redhead, getting up from her bed to descend into the common room, followed by a confused Y/n. The two did the stairs in silence, Ginny going first, and when both sat on the sofa, in front of the half dead fire she looked at her friend serious.
“Listen, and don’t get angry.” Started Ginny without leaving her friend the time to understand what was this about “Believe me I know my brothers do this effect. They suck you in their shenanigans, and I’m well aware that it all looks so cool, while doing it. I don’t judge you for this but… I miss you. You always spend all your time with them, I nearly don’t have a best friend anymore. Even during the Hogsmeade day you prefer their company, I…” she hesitated, looking into her eyes, thinking about the right words “Listen, I know… he will kill me, I mean, he would kill me if he knew how to held his hand; but do you know that Crabbe and Goyle last week waited Neville outside the green house to torment him? Everyone knows you are hanging around with my brothers, but I miss you, I miss you, Hermione miss you, Neville miss you.” She paused, “He told me that he doesn’t care about going around alone, neither being picked on from those idiots, but he misses your chatter in the halls; and I miss those too. Can… you pleas return to hang out with us?” ended in a hopeful tone, grabbing her friend hands, and looking her in the eyes. In those she found remorse, and sadness.
Y/n sent her arms around her friend neck, hugging her tightly. “I’m so sorry” she cried, hiding her nose inside Ginny’s neck, on the verge of tears. “Oh, I’ve been a terrible, horrible friend. I’m so, so, so very sorry Gin. I… didn’t even notice, the twins are just so much, I always felt like I was drunk around them, and I’ve let them intoxicate me. I’m so stupid.”
“Hey, now” she laughed softly, patting her friend’s back “it’s my brothers you are talking about, not fire whisky, c’mon.”
“But it’s true, once you feel part of the stunts it’s so difficult to step back, it’s just so funny and… I’m sorry. Really.” She shook her head, cleaning her eyes from the small tears that had formed. “From tomorrow I’ll be back being your shadow, I promise. And I’ll go talk to Neville to, I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about those two gits!” added getting up, and giving her friend a hand, to help her get up too. “Let’s go to bed, now. Tomorrow I’ll fix everything, I swear.”
The next day Y/n kept her words, she didn’t talked with the Twins, sitting not far from them, but near Ginny both at breakfast and lunch, but the three kept smile at each other. About Neville, however she didn’t catch a sign of him the whole day. The day slip between her fingers like water, the lessons of the morning let her with a sense of something missing, she was understanding that in the past weeks her mind was so full of pranks and schemes that she had left behind her academics, only her quidditch didn’t rusted. The question in her head just one, were the twins two geniuses? She had no other way to understand how they managed to keep all their invention and pranks work, while going not bad at school AND being in the regular team of quidditch, so playing every damn match. There weren’t any other explanation, those two were well above the other students.
But she wasn’t, and with the DA and quidditch she already felt herself fall behind her classmates, so she decided that she was doing the right thing, she could just keep talking to them during the trainings, and during meals.
Those were the thinking that were filling her mind while she trotted in the direction of the greenhouse. Two problems were solved, Ginny wasn’t angry, the twins weren’t angry. She only hoped that Neville would been understandable as well, not getting angry. Happily she descended the stairs that lead to the greenhouse, her books under hands and a smile on her lips, and approached the door of the first structure. The greenhouse zone was gigantic, and she knew she could have to look for him for some time, before, she hoped, the two of them had to leave to go together at the last DA meeting before Christmas.
With as much stealth as she could she entered in the first structure, at the ground floor, and started looking around, careful to not touch any of those plants, turning up her nose, not being very fond of the subject. She wandered around, in silence, and having decided that on that floor there were no one she took the stairs, going up to the first floor, where she started to wander once again. It took some time to do the whole turn around the greenhouse, and she was now sure that he wasn’t there when a knowing voice reclaimed her attention, and she leant over the handrail, to look at the lower floor.
There stood Neville, laughing about something in a muffled voice, his hand in front of his mouth and his cheeks red, perhaps from the too much laughing, or because of the hand that a blonde Hufflepuff girl had on his forearm, to keep her steady while she was laughing with him. Y/n stood here, almost in shock, looking at the two, a heartache suddenly make her need to have a seat, but at the same time she found herself unable to look away from the scene under her. She discovered that jealousy left a very acrid taste in the mouth, and make the hands twitch while the eyes stings. She never knew, or better, she never knew that jealousy could be that strong for a friend. She already proved jealousy, she had some crush in her life, she remember the distraught sighs she used to unleash watching the twins dancing with their dates, and earlier that same year she remembered watching Harry ogling over Cho with a sting of jealousy; not because she fancied the boy, but dreaming, perhaps in a childish way, to have someone that looked at her like that.
But this, she decided, was a new kind of jealousy, the one kind she didn’t feel like to ignore, to walk with the two of them to the meeting, so she get up on her wobbling legs and left, leaving behind her the two plant lovers, talking with one another. She didn’t spare a look at the greenhouse, nor to the Slytherin outside of it, that followed her with their eyes, soft smile forming on their lips while words impossible to hear came out of their mouth. She just left, alone and angry, challenging everyone to step in the middle of her run, to talk to her. Nobody did, nobody stopped her, talked to her, looked at her. She felt alone.
.
.
.
The room of requirement was stuffed with people, the DA was almost already gathkered here to the lesson of the day, the spells flowing from left to right in the room, the people screaming, laughing; and in an angle, by herself, Y/n was testing a refined fire spell, exercising her control. She knew, Harry knew, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, the Twins and all the rest knew that the girl was raw power, her spells the fastest and strongest of the students in the group, but not controlled, not fined, not precise. She could make three walls one after the other explode like it was nothing, but when the other managed to make pass their spells inside a metal ring without causing damage; she would make the thing explode in hundreds of pieces. When Luna could make her levitate in the middle of the air, gracefully, she shouted her poor companion into the ceiling, and then released them into the floor with no grace. When Hermione managed to make her aguamenti took the form of a beautiful horse she would create a wave so big that could draw everyone inside the room. When Ron expelliarmus made the wand of his opponent fly directly in his open hand, hers shouted the wand of the opponent inside a wall, physically.
She was embarrassed.
So that day she decided to sit by herself in an angle, only a small table in front of her and her wand in hand, held as she would hold a knife, so strongly that her knuckles had became white, her forehead sweating, sticking her hair to her skin. The flames in front of her dancing softly. “Engrogio” she whispered to her wand, and fast enough the flame erupted toward the ceiling, reclaiming the attention inside the room, making everyone move their head to the girl. Her cheeks reddened, in shame. Hermione was fast to kill the danger, sending a knowing look at the girl, once the flame had returned to a smaller figure.
“You lack control.” Spoke Harry coming closer.
“Don’t you say.” Is the snarky answer that greeted him. A grin lifted the corners of three lips, as the twins and Ginny looked at the scene.
“She is going to eat him alive.” Someone whispered.
But just in that moment the doors of the room opened once again, letting inside Neville, that was carrying a huge vase, followed by some Hufflepuff girl laughing at something he would have said during the route. Once again the flame near Y/n exploded like a firework, a powerful swoosh that made everyone shout their mouth, looking at her with wide eyes. The flames moved near the head of the girl, caressing her hair and casting moving shadows on her visage, her eyes usually bright looked like two dark caves shadowed in her face, but somehow the image of the fire reflecting on her skin make her look like some sort of ancient divinity of chaos and revenge.
“Aguamenti.” Shouted in synchro Hermione and Harry, pointing the wand to the blazing flames, extinguishing them for good, leaving a little smell of smoke and steam in the air.
“What in the bloody hell was that?” asked Ron elbowing to get closer, his eyes widened, and the face white. She was feeling all of the eyes in the room pointed on her; but felt unable to move her gaze from her friend and the blonde girl who just entered in the room. Felt the redness of her face rose once again, and hoped that could be attributed to the fire that, just now, almost burned her. Y/n lowered her gaze, mumbling some apologies, unable to sustain the look everyone was giving her, in particular the shocked look of the boy and the smug one that Ginny reserved only to her friend, confident on her right opinion.
“She just lost control of the spell.” Tried to defend her Luna, “We know she has problem, with it.”
Somehow the defence only worsened the ache in her chest, being pointed as the one who could not handle her own spell was no pride. Every respectable duellist knew that, even she.
“Y/n blossom in the middle of the chaos, when she can use her spell at a fast rate, not under the pressure of being controlling,” Ginny rose to speak “if I had to choose someone to fight alongside she would be the one.”
In the meantime, the rest of the students seeing the danger ended turned to do what they were.
“She would risk killing you too.” Answered Hermione, while the girl felt her cheeks reddens even more. “Perhaps we should focus more on control,” she moved her head in the direction of the boy at her right “Harry?”
The boy-who-lived nodded, putting a hand under his chin “Perhaps… how about a duel?”
Hermione looked at him as he went mad. “A duel?”
“Against someone she doesn’t want to hurt. She’ll be forced by herself to hold back.”
“That’s idiotic.” One of the twins said getting closer the hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers.
“Ye, Y/n hates every one of us.” Added the other half of the redhead pair. The girl showed them her middle finger, causing some laugh from the two. “I mean, she punched everyone in this room.” The small group sent a look around the space, thinking, with Ginny’s arm around her friend’s shoulders.
“That… that’s not true.” A timid voice spoke, as Neville got closer. “She never punched me.” Smiled him, to the girl, which shook her head.
“That’s true. Maybe Neville is what is needed for Y/n, maybe he can handle her spells.” Said a voice near to Y/n’s ear.
“I mean, we already have worked together during the meetings.” Added the boy with a smile, looking hopeful at his friend.
She shook her head. “I never cast when we work together,” answered her “whit no one, not since I sent Fred into the wall.” She gives one of the twins a look of sorrow, but met a finger that pointed the other, so she scoffed and returned to talk, “I don’t want to hurt Nev.” added reinforcing the grip on her wand.
“I can handle it.”
“I can’t.” answered the girl hardly.
“I will.” Offered Ginny. “She’s my best friend, won’t hurt me.” Many worried looks set on the girl, but she didn’t move herself, only sent a look in Neville’s direction, telling him something only with the eyes. The boy shut his mouth, and Y/n slowly nodded.
“If you are sure… if you need to make me duel someone, I would have preferred kicking Harry’s butt, but as you wish.” An arid laugh left her, as she moved a strand of hair behind her ear.
In no time the middle of the Requirement Room got evacuated, leaving place for the two girls to face themselves, the wand high in front of their faces, ready, waiting for Harry’s signal to start. Y/n’s face looked like she was about to have a stroke, her hand trembling slightly and once again her wand was kept so hardly that looked like it was about to break in half. Ginny’s look was completely different, almost relaxed. Around the both of them, on the floor, a circle was drawn, and the purpose of the exercise, sending the other just out the line, for Y/n; for Ginny sending her friends out of the circle, whatever it takes. One had to keep herself under control, the other had to let herself go.
When Harry clapped his hand Ginny’s started to blast spell first, Y/n just focusing on deviate the ones that came near to her, trying to not hit someone by doing so. Screams emerged from around them, while the two moved around the circle, one still launching spells, and the other only deflecting them. It was clearly an impair fight, Ginny already had the victory on her; as she was duelling against someone who was focusing only on defensive spells, which weren’t her area of expertise. Just once Y/n lifted her wand, exasperated, to hit her friend, casting a levicorpus that sent Ginny fling in the air, but let go almost immediately, afraid of hurting her, and that give the redhead the time to send against her friend a jinks that hit her like a punch on the nose, leaving with the part swallow and bleeding; but none of them stopped. Slowly Y/n, attack after attack received, started to send her friend some offensive spells, but it was easy to see she wasn’t really aiming Ginny, but more the walls behind her. Nonetheless, some student had to jump away from the paths of the spells, to not be caught as a collateral victim.
It was after a spell that was particularly difficult to dodge that Ginny manage to sent the final blow on her opponent, the stupeficium spell hit Y/n’s face sending her fly back for some meters, and crashing ruinously on the floor of the Room. Silence fell from above, on the group, and then the acclamation for Ginny’s started, whit the girl laughing, while her friend just laid herself on the floor, looking above.
Y/n heard some fast step approaching and when she moved her look the preoccupated face of Neville, kneeled near to her, occupied all of her visual field, the boy had his eyes so wide that for a moment the girl feared that they would have fallen out, and his cheeks where so red, was also painting, as he had sprinted to get near to her. “Are you hurt? Your nose is bleeding an afoul lot.”
She laughed softly. “Yes, I mean, no. I’m alright. Noting serious. But someone should fix this bloody mess, don’t wanna go to dinner covered in blood.”
Neville nodded, and fast looked around for one of the green flasks of wiggleweld potions the DA students where required to bring. In no time he jumped to grab one and came back, sitting on the floor whit Y/n.
She drank the liquid, unhappy, “Don’t you go congratulate to Ginny?” asked after a bit.
“Why so?” asked the boy looking at the youngest Weasley “You were the one that forced herself to not attack. I saw how strong your wand was trembling, sure not because you were afraid of Ginny, or hurting.”
She sent the boy a confused look and give him a small push. “Since when are you so sure of your opinion Longbottom?”
Neville laughed softly, getting red on the cheeks. “I… am attentive, when are talking about friends.” He sent the girl a small look, whit the corner of his eyes “Did… did I say something stupid, didn’t I?”
She shook her head. “The contrary I would say,” Answered getting up, and handing the boy her hand to help him getting up as well “pretty accurate.”
Neville accepted the hand, and was pulled on his feet by the girl, which didn’t move to go congratulate on her friend, that when saw her on her foot again sent her a murder look. “She’s gonna be angry,” Luna came near them “she will think that you didn’t take the duel seriously.”
Y/n shook her shoulder, “She’ll get over it.” answered dryly “I was contrary from the beginning, could not have thought that I really was going to fight her. How could I watch myself in the mirror after hurting somebody I love? Could have not sparred honestly with her, nor with..." she stopped, biting her tongue "Doesn't matter, i'm happy enough to not have hurt someone I care about."
Neville stood in silence, his head racing, the words of the girl next to him echoing in his head.
#neville longbottom fic#neville longbotton x reader#neville x reader#neville x you#hogwarts fifth year#Y/n is an idiot#harry potter fanfiction#neville is a cutie#neville longbottom#neville Longbottom fic#Neville Longbottom x you#Neville Longbottom x y/n#Neville Longbottom fluff#hp x reader
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Probably a bit silly and you’ve likely answered this before, but do you think you’re going to come back to “at the Very least, the Wall will change?” I’m just getting into ORV and I want to read some fanfic! I promise I am patient but I’m hesitant to start reading something that’s abandoned. I hope this doesn’t come off as disrespectful! I completely understand burnout (med student here hehe) and there’s no shame is shelving a project for a time if it no longer speaks to you. I just wanted to check
You're right that I've answered this before but like it's totally fair to ask me again after how long it's been lol. Bc like I think about this a lot too and thus the answer/feelings I have about it kind of changes?
Like my journey with this fic has kind of been tumultuous because I started it before I had access to ADHD medication and a lot of my life can be divided into the Before times and the like Now Times where my baseline happiness/standard of care of myself is vastly improved. I outlined all of wall fic before publishing the first chapter and then the scenes I wanted to include took up a lot more time to create than I initially thought they would and that like frustration was really harmful to like my sense of being a "writer," I guess?
Sorry, getting into this bc I'm trying to articulate my own feelings to myself, but I'll tldr; it at the end probably.
Like when I first started wall fic it had like a strangle hold on my imagination and was a way I was able to articulate feelings about things in life. Truth is, I'm someone who has called 911 for suicide/self-harm of friends/classmates like 4-5 times before turning 18. There is this feeling of helplessness I always had as a minor that the world was always ending around me but even when I was up till 5 am making sure my friend got to the hospital ok without any way of really knowing except waiting for a text back, I still had to just buck up and go to school the next day. The emotions I have towards these times in my life really latched onto omniscient reader, because the way it discusses suicidal ideation and what can help with it rang really true to me. I love KDJ a lot, part of that is, in my interactions with suicidal ideation, his sense of narrative inevitability really describes the emotions behind it well, the feeling of "this is the only Solution that will Actually work" is sewn into the fabric of the universe as "probability." And I've actually been thinking about that term "probability" a lot lately, and how it relates to ideas about Narratives. We're always estimating the likelihood of future events based on past experiences, calling things "realistic" or not. But the function of this system in my own life has often been to convince myself to 'give up' on certain things, conserve the energy it would take to try them. Sure that has helped me when Ive not had any free time/energy in crunch times or big projects, but when something is actually important, giving up feels like shit to be honest. Which is part of why I really love and kind of idealize this character of Yoo Joonghyuk, someone who 'never gives up.' To me KDJ and yjh in wall fic represent these two radical sides of a spectrum where someone becomes unhappy by giving up caring about everything and someone becomes unhappy by never giving up on anything. KDJ is then sort of this love letter to people who give up on themselves, people who could never imagine living past a certain age and yet somehow implausibly remain. YJH is a love letter to people who have been left behind and are So aware of their choices and their power over situations that they blame themselves for things that were actually out of their control in the first place. It's these two different ways of interacting with helplessness and grief and fear, giving up knowing you never could have made a difference in the first place or being convinced you could always have done Something and blaming yourself for failing, constantly stressing about what you could have done and what you ought to do the next time it happens.
Codifying these themes into Characters is originally this fun way of exploring emotions I have about them and sharing the experience of feeling them with others without having to tear too much of my self a part. I feel like when we're young it feels like a sense of self is something like a wall, an image of ourself that we have Built and must put in work to Maintain from erosion. This sense of self and protection makes us feel distinct from other people, the line we draw where we begin and end in the universe, and they become rules dictating How we will Act and Appear towards others. Drawing these walls and lines is pretty important to KDJ's perspective in wall fic, but i now realize I had sort of started doing to myself? Towards the middle of writing it?
Just because I've been on the Internet so long, I know the sort of "narratives" of being different "kinds of authors" online. Because of this, when I started posting wall fic, something that was of a lot of concern to me was how I appeared as an Author to people reading. I honestly think now that the performance of things I associated with like Being an Author were more sort of motivated by a fear of failure and disappointing others than anything else. It's kind of only been recently that I've realized that I have a choice to do things because I enjoy them instead of the fear of not doing them, which sounds a little crazy/obvious to be honest, but forcing myself to be an honor roll student for like more than a third of my adolescence while completely unmedicated kind of made that sort of intrinsic fear of disappointing others the ole'reliable of Task Motivation. Participating in ORV fandom has sort of been this emotional tight rope walk for me of like. Kind of really desperately desiring validation from others but also being afraid of receiving it bc of like the pressure it then puts on to Keep Doing the thing that Works and otherwise feeling like a Failure. But obviously like creative writing isn't going to have the same like Fear/Urgency factor as life stuff and it shouldn't feel that way, anyway, tbh. I'm kind of having to like. Re-invent the idea of writing being Fun and Relaxing for myself. And the idea that talking to other people on the internet (also like. People in general I still do this at uni even) does not actually have to have like any performative elements or factors of like? Disguise? Because like my sense of self doesn't actually have to be a wall I keep building and have to repatch whenever someone comes along with a pickaxe like my sense of self doesn't actually need a metaphor attached to it because it just is what it is lol. Like whatever I am RN is my "self" and that meaning would only suffer under the restraint of comparison, lol.
It's been easier to like feel normaler/better quicker in like my day to day stuff, but because a lot of the time I spent previously trying to write wall fic lies in that like that brain space where I felt afraid and stressed out etc I think I currently have like an aversion to sitting down with it out of like a fear of returning to that mindset. Because I'm like looking it in the face and such I do have like strategies of getting over it like doing warmups or taking time to make nice writing spaces and having a name to/strategies to access the creative part of my brain, but that stuff takes time and because it's a lot less likely I'll have writing on the brain than go through my every day life like the process of becoming normaler/feeling better goes a lot faster day to day than in my approach to writing.
Because in my brain the progress of wall fic is a sort of gentle curve I've been trying to shape the growth of upwards, I wouldn't say it's abandoned at all. But also like because the next "update" is not really guaranteed and I'm kind of hesitant to force myself to commit to a timeline for finishing/releasing it, I think it makes sense to like hesitate about starting it as a reader? In terms of a sense of completion, the chapters are organized in such a way that each one concerns a sort of complete Section of KDJ's life/relationships, tho. Like, Chapter 1 shows KDJ and YJH's first meeting as kids and establishes the "soulmate" setting. Chapter 2 shows the life KDJ carved himself to thereafter, how he and YJH's paths have diverged, established the stakes of KDJ's current "world" in a way parallel to the first few chapters of wos/orv. Chapter 3 focuses on how the soulmate worldview and KDJ + YJH's characters/past interact with the way they view children/the idea of "childhood/youth." Chapter 4 is meant to show how that worldview encounters adult life/ adult friendships/relationships, but the final part of it is something I'm still working on a bit. The structure is such that I tend to bring the end of the chapter back to a moment of peace/resolution/settling in the "new world" after the events of the chapter and then writing a one sentence cliff hanger about what the next chapter includes. So if you want to give some of it a read but don't want to be left feeling too incomplete, I'd read up till before the last sentence of Chapter 3, tho that's a bit silly, lol.
I will say again and have said before, I don't mind that much getting thoughtful comments/messages like yours at all. Thoughtful in the sense of like, desiring a response from me as a person, I suppose? Towards the start of writing online i really like needed the validation of little comments to feel good about myself/my work, but now I realize that the thing I like actually desire that ao3 comments aren't often a good format for is that I just like talking/discussing these things with other people. Sometimes comments will make me feel more like an unpaid customer service representative getting feedback or a student looking at a quick note on my report card. The kind I like most are messages where people want to ask me questions, argue with me about something, share something of their own interaction with the text that there's room for me to interact back with them as a person. The thing I hate most is feeling like I care too much about something/talk/think too much to the point that people are tired of hearing from me/form a bad opinion of me.
So like typing this all out has actually put myself in the brain space of remembering some of the things I like to write about and feel and how the current part of wall fic explores them. I'm kind of setting up my computer and such to start working on it like rn actually, hopefully the like feelings I'm having towards wall fic won't evaporate when i have to go to my class in 1/2 an hour or when i try to reread some of what I've written so far lol.
TLDR; Wall fic isn't abandoned or on hiatus or anything, but I am super slow about it lol. If you wanna give it a read I recommend stopping before the last sentence of Chapter 3 if you don't want any "cliff hangy" feelings. Questions like yours that ask me to interact with orv/wall fic/related themes do honestly help me start thinking about it again and I'll probably try to work on some of it tonight bc of you so thanks 👍
#long post#wall fic#ask#anonymous#TLDR; Wall fic isn't abandoned or on hiatus or anything#but I am super slow about it lol. If you wanna give it a read I recommend stopping before the last sentence of Chapter 3 if you don't want#any “cliff hangy” feelings.#Questions like yours that ask me to interact with orv/wall fic/related themes do honestly help me start thinking about it again and I'll pr#obably try to work on some of it tonight bc of you so thanks 👍
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hullo! I read your chapter of your au with the Very Horrible Lex and the Very Baby Kon and the Very Sad Clark and i love it sosososo much! The GOOD ANGST my dood.
I want you to know i’ve been daydreaming abt it. Heck, i was daydreaming WHILE reading it- i mean that’s actually normal for me when i’m invested in smthn, but fr i kept getting distracted by So Many Thoughts and Feelings tm. Took me longer to read than it should’ve but rest assured that’s a positive thing!
i read the fic you based it on, and it was great! But so far im liking yours better >v>
I wanna see the rescue and the recovery! I wanna see it get worse first! I wanna see Clark attempt to raise Kon the best he can in the worst of circumstances! The love and human connection thriving even in the midst of a hurricane of cruelty— it’s so good bestie!
uhh anyway! The point of this ask: I wanna know, how did you come up with the title? “We shall be free; we shall find peace”? oVo?
Thank you!! That's basically how it came about, daydreaming about the fic that inspired it!
So I really love the fanfic tradition of using lowercase AestheticTM song lyrics as titles. Fic is already inherently intertextual, and I think it's fun to add another layer of intertextuality onto that; I named one of my other fics with a lyric mostly because 1. the lyric fits their relationship! and 2. the juxtaposition between Wholesome Radio Pop Lyric and soft d/s xeno tentacle pwp still makes me laugh.
At first the draft was just called 'horrible lex au,' and then I thought about using two other quotes before settling on the title. That's the tl;dr of it all, the rest of this is under a cut for plot spoilers for the overall arc of the entire fic, and also so, so much rambling:
The first title I was thinking about was be sure your heart is brave from Aeschylus' Agamemnon, but that quote is the chorus speaking to Cassandra right before she's about to be killed; her bravery is a heavy burden reaction to the monstrous injustices that have brought her to that point, like Clark and Kon... but then she's brutally murdered. Plus the power dynamic situation is... let's say, very different. It's an extraordinary, immortal line but the narrative arc I've got planned strays too far from the original arc, and in the end I decided I didn't want the shadow of a way better tragedy hanging over my little fanfic.
Chorus: Woman, be sure your heart is brave; you can take much.
Cassandra: None but the unhappy ever hear such praise.
The next line I was thinking about went too far in the other direction, taste a morning out there, which is from one of the best 'I Want' songs, Out There from the Disney Hunchback of Notre Dame. Quasimodo's story of being thought monstrous and being imprisoned and gaslit by a socially powerful manipulator parallels Clark and Kon better than Cassandra's, but in the end the literal line itself doesn't fit right with either Clark or Kon. Clark, at the beginning of the fic, has atrophied to the point where he can only conceive wanting for such things through wanting them for Kon, and Kon, as we'll see soonish, isn't locked up underground the way Clark is. Plus, the fic is... lighter than the Orestia for sure but a hell of a lot grimmer than Disney, lol. I do have it on my writing playlist though.
So in the end I went back to one of my absolute favorite pieces of media ever, Fidelio. We shall be free; we shall find peace is a line from the Prisoner's Chorus in that opera. The solo prisoner that sings the line invites the rest of the prisoners to begin hoping, and from there, despite the sobering reminders of the dangers they face, that they're being watched, the music swells into a yearning for freedom so powerful it's difficult to understand how it passed the censors in 1805.
First solo:
Hope whispers softly to me:
We shall be free, we shall find peace.
Chorus:
Oh Heavens! Salvation! What happiness!
Oh freedom, freedom, will you return?
Second solo:
Speak softly! Be on your guard!
[The jailer's] eyes and ears are on us.
And then - the head jailer returns, and the prisoners are brought back to reality, forced back into their dark cells at the end of the act. The temporary respite is over.
Farewell, warm sunshine - how quickly you fly from us.
Night is fallen upon us, from which no day shall break.
The simple act of hoping is like a breath of fresh air, temporarily alleviating their suffering, but it doesn't materially change their circumstances; it takes a number of outside forces to do that, which will be paralleled in the fic. Love and hope is all they have, and it's not enough, but it does make the torment bearable until Bruce/Leonora uncovers the extent of The Horrors and Diana/Don Fernando can deus ex machina everyone into the sunlight.
All in all, the line is a very succinct summary of the plot. Clark and Kon will be free, and they will find peace, but they have to find out what both of those mean, reclaiming their agency in the process.
oooor at least that's the plan. chapter 2 is about 90% edited and can probably be ready this weekend, I hit a little plot snag in chapter 3-5 so chunks of that are undergoing rewrites, but the good news there is that the rewrites are SO much better than the original draft and there will be some bats showing up earlier than there otherwise would have been. I did uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh kind of lose my job a few days after posting the first part, so updates will be slower than I'd like, especially since I'll have to move to a different state if I get the positions I'm currently applying to 😓
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For your fic writer asks:
5. What do you wish someone would ask you about "I'll try. i'll try. (but i couldn't be better)? Answer it now!
(not that I'm half obsessed with that fic or anything)
🌷 the fic: i'll try. i'll try. (but I couldn't be better) 🌷
there have been so many wonderful questions already about this fic in the comments (srsly everyone who asks me questions about it just y'all have my whole entire heart), that's why this ask was buried in my inbox for so long even though I constantly vibrate with the need and urge to talk about this story
one main theme in what people ask me is when they point out something they liked or that has them invested, if that was a conscious choice (either of mine or of steve's). and the answer to that almost all the time is, yes it is. it is debatable as to how ✨conscious✨ steve's decisionmaking is, riddled as he is by trauma, fear, grief and a semi-dissociated and growing compulsive behaviours. but me, I look at Steve allowing el to choose anything from his closet, but still putting what he thinks would work best on the bed, essentially giving her the choice to make a choice. it is, sort of, the first choice el has really made, ever. and there is a symbolism in that, her right to choose beginning and ending surrounded by all things Steve, y'know?
something I wish I would be asked but cannot and will not answer, is a question regarding the title. "I'll try. I'll try. (but I couldn't be better)". is that the title giving us a spoiler for an unhappy ending? is that why there's no tag for that? is the 1st person POV here from steve, as his POV is what makes the story? or is that title just as unreliable as steve's recounts and memories and expectations and predictions and decisions guided by fear and trauma and grief? is trying, and trying again, the theme of this story, next to all the heavy shit? is it a story about hope, first and foremost? does he doubt in his abilities to "be better" but does he try anyway (and repeatedly!)?
I know the ask said to answer that question (but technically that was multiple questions). but I will not. hehe.
you also said to to just ramble about my story, and we all know I never turn down an invitation to that. and when I write, there are many instances of what I feel are parallelisms or symbolism or hidden metaphors, y'now (decision making!!). and I yell at myself in lieu of the readers, like, did you catch that? did you notice? did you see?
do you notice that el comforts Steve by carding her hand through his hair after he did it first in chapter 7, when he cleaned her wounds and made sure she was warm and safe. and then he gave her his clothes and then he made waffles and ruffled her nonexistent buzzed hair, and what she associates with that gesture is: warmth, comfort, understanding first and foremost. for the first time in her life. gentle touch without demands or manipulation.
did you notice that Steve is going more and more nonverbal the more he tries not to think about things, the more happens to him, and the more he has to do it by himself (with el obv)? and how in chapter 8, there is this:
He closes his eyes and looks for words again. It’s less repulsive now, the thought of speaking. Less scary, not as insurmountable a task as before. Not with El, for some reason. Not when she’s the one who makes him human.
He needs to be known to be human.
and how there is no one who knows him. except for this girl, and he was so hesitant to cling to her in the beginning, but now he quite genuinely has no other option. no other choice.
do you notice that he is losing touch with his humanity in all that unprocessed grief and inconceivable burden of having travelled back in time to save all his friends? he's not only dissociating for the narrative, it's not the fuzzy "stare ahead blankly while the world moves along", he's just so far removed from the world that he can't even put words to it. he doesn't even feel human.
did you notice that chapter 9 and chapter 1 were directly juxtaposed, paralleled. did you notice the forest vs. the upside down? did you notice how there is no light in chapter 9, except for the moonlight, and then the flash of light at the end of it? symbolism.
I could go on and on. I am obsessed with it honestly. someone mentioned in a comment that it broke them, how seamlessly robin's commentary is built in sometimes, like he really still hears her voice, like she really is there, still, like he hasn't processed her death yet.
and it's only been a week.
did you notice. did you notice all of this and more, do you read the story the way I write it, do you find these things, do you connect the dots, do you do you do you?? *vibrates endlessly*
#time travel au#I could go on and on and on about it seriously I am probably being SO pretentious about it but!!! hkjsdfh!!!#appreciating you so so much as always 🌷🤍#steve harrington whump
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hey! i really love your fic but i’m just wondering if you could hint at all about how everyone will end up. right now it feels like everyone will get a nice satisfying ending or show some growth or near happiness except for tom and greg. which is kind of a reverse of the show’s ending i guess. just curious thanks!
(The fic in question : The Kids)
Oh this is an interesting question, and I suppose it depends on what you mean by a happy ending. I actually think there’s been a lot of character growth for Greg (and Tom - but he’s not a POV character in this fic until the epilogue). Greg has done more self reflection than I think is even realistic for him - all because I self-indulgently wanted to write my thoughts about him (and Ewan) somewhere.
The thing to remember is that not all character growth is positive. Connor, for example, experiences negative character growth in The Kids - but he’s perfectly happy doing so.*
For a short answer of whether Tom and Greg will be “happy” in the end of The Kids, that’s a resounding “no.” Wait! Don’t walk away!! It’s not out of malice or because I want to punish them. I’m simply following what I think would happen next, and what choices I think the characters would make next.
I would also disagree with the premise that Tom and Greg end up in a happy place in the show. I think I might be in the minority in the fandom - and certainly among tomgreg shippers - but I didn’t see the stickering as all that romantic and positive. I found it thrillingly fucked up, but not sweet.
Throughout the show, Tom is his most vulnerable and human in front of, and for the sake of, Greg. And Greg shows himself over and over again to be literally-just-some-20-something-guy, and not equipped to receive all that emotional energy. The finale brings all that to a head and, I think, cements them into an entirely new dynamic. Tom is now powerful enough to have whatever he wants - but his emotions are a greater liability than they were before. He wants to keep Greg, but for his own safety, has to compartmentalize him into an object, thus muffling his affection for Greg into the affection one would have for an object. To me, that is a fascinating place to pick up a relationship, and part of the reason I had the physical element of the relationship only start at the finale of the show. But I do recognize that most people interpreted that moment differently.
The reason the siblings have shown such growth so quickly in my fic is because the cage door opened for them in the finale.** But Tom and Greg both still work at the poison factory, and if there’s one thing the show taught us, it’s that the only way to be happy is to not work at the goddamn poison factory.
I don’t want to spoil the final chapter and whether Greg actually leaves and goes to college, or stays with Waystar - and thus Tom - but to realistically consider options:
I don’t see Tom ever leaving his CEO position without being forced out. He worked too hard to win, and it’s more important to him than his own happiness. So Tom will continue to be satisfied but largely unhappy. Sorry Tom, buddy. You’re my favorite character. But you made this prison for yourself.
If Greg goes, he and Tom are no longer together, but Greg has a real chance at happiness, if not the satisfaction of being mega rich and powerful (though he’ll still be ridiculously wealthy). This is by far the best outcome for Greg, and worst for Tom. But if Greg chooses this, he will be unhappy in the short term, and end the story unhappily.
If Greg stays, he and Tom will stay together, but they will never be open about the relationship. It will probably be an open secret in future decades, but eventually Tom will be too rich and powerful for anyone to say anything about it. They will not be happy, but they will be satisfied.
To me, character truth is the most important thing when writing a fic, and it was love for the characters that inspired me to write The Kids in the first place. So it just depends on whether you find my interpretations of the characters truthful, and if not truthful, then at least interesting.
-----
*In the next chapter, I even have a moment where Greg thinks “Maybe it was a sign that he was growing as a person that he had developed enough self awareness to realize:” and then he says just the worst, most regressive, self-own imaginable. It’s bad, but it’s still growth. It's still coming to a new conclusion based on new experiences.
**though the cage door is only open temporarily for Shiv. After maternity leave, she's doing a perfect swan dive right back into the poison vats. And she, too, will continue to be miserable. yay. :(
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20 Questions Game
Thanks for the tag, @wrathofthestag!
How many works do you have on AO3?
51
2. What's your total AO3 words count?
577,841
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Currently Check, Please!, which is also the only fandom I have fics for on ao3, but I've also written for Parks and Recreation and The Baby-Sitters Club. And I have a Black Widow WIP that I started writing for a friend and haven't found a way back to.
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
All I Want is You
Just Jack
Here Comes the Sun
I Only Have Pies for You
And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I always try to respond to comments, but sometimes some slip through the cracks.
6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Regular readers of my fic know don't do unhappy endings, but I'll say With Extra Chocolate Chips because while it's a soft, fluffy fic, the problem that exists at the beginning hasn't been resolved by the end.
7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
All of my endings are happy, lol. But I'll say And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here? because it has three happy endings. (Bitty deserves all the happy endings.)
8. Do you get hate on fics?
If people hate my fic, they have fortunately kept it to themselves.
9. Do you write smut. If so what kind?
I'm so bad at writing smut. Maybe I've written some things that are smut adjacent, but most of it is awkward and/or humorous with a lot of talking and laughter.
10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?
I've never written a crossover.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not that I'm aware.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Nope.
13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?
Years ago, between my kids being born (so...2004?), I cowrote a BSC "Super Special" fic with a bunch of people I met in the BSC thread on the old Fametracker forums. I wrote a couple of the Dawn chapters.
14. What's your all-time favourite ship?
It's definitely a tie between Jack and Bitty from Check, Please! and Leslie and Ben from Parks and Rec.
15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
Longtime followers might remember my AU where Bitty and Jack meet later in life, when their daughters are college roommates. I started writing it months before I even posted anything for this fandom. And I just haven't been able to figure it out. Part of it is that it's so complex, with two original characters (the daughters) and four different POVs. I haven't quite figured out where I want one daughter's plot to go. I've since written a fic with a similar concept (Bitty and Jack never kiss, reunite years later when they both have teenage daughters), but it's still very different from this WIP. I'd like to say I'll eventually finish it but at this point who knows.
16. What are your writing strengths?
Dialogue, probably.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Any type of description, particularly how things move or work, which is probably why I have such a hard time writing smut.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
If it works for the fic, sure, though I'm only fluent in English so it's unlikely I would ever do it.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
When I was 7, I read all of Beverly Cleary's Ramona books and was distraught that I couldn't find out what happened next. My dad told me to write my own Ramona book so I did. I think I wrote one chapter before abandoning it because I'd discovered Judy Blume's books.
20. Favourite fic you've ever written?
This is such a tough call, but right now it might be And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here? because it has a good blend of fluff and angst, three happy endings, a wild premise that still managed to be (as of its writing) canon compliant, and one of my absolute favorite scenes that I've ever written. Writing it was such a good time, and I miss when my words flowed that easily.
Tagging @cricketnationrise, @sweatersinthesummer, @the-lincyclopedia, @anyawen, @montrealmadison, @ohyoufool, and whoever else wants to share!
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Dear Heart Attack Exchange 2024 Author,
Fuuuuuuuuuuck.
Write 10k in two weeks. One week to edit. Try not to die. Exchange on Dreamwidth or AO3.
I almost have two chapters of Good Hope in hand and an authorial death wish so LET'S GO
Without further ado, DNWs, likes, dislikes, fandom-specific prompts and ravings:
DNWs
Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics | Anyone being called “Daddy” in a sexual context | Bestiality | Body Horror | Gore | Medical Experimentation | Mpreg | Mutilation | Non-Canonical Amputation | Porn Without Plot | Sadism | Scat | Torture | Vore
General Likes and Loves
5+1 Times | Alternate Endings | Angst | Backstory | Banter/Bickering | Bittersweet | Canon Compliant | Canon Divergence | Character Death | Character Death Aftermath | Character Study | Class Differences | Coming of Age | Competence | Complicated Sibling Relationships | Cultural Differences | Dark Fic | Debt & Financial Pressures | Despair | Disabled Characters | Domesticity | Different Worldviews | Enemies to Friends/Lovers | Epistolary | Examining Societal Issues | First Meetings | First Time | Fix-It | Fluff | Found Family | Friends/Lovers to Enemies | Grief/Mourning | Grumpy Character/Sunshine Character | Historical Details | Humour | Hurt/Comfort | Last Time | Laws of Magic | Living Up/Down to Expectations | Long-Distance Friendship | Marriage of Convenience | Miscommunication | Missing Moment | Obeying Canonical Boundaries (Social/Cultural/Moral) | Outsider POV | Parent/Child Relationships | Peril | Pining | Platonic Intimacy | Politics & Intrigue | Poor Life Choices | Post-Canon | Pre-Canon | Pregnancy & Babies | Presumed Dead | Protectiveness | Redemption | Religious Elements | Reunions | Romance | Sad Endings | Secret Relationships | Uneven Power Dynamics | Unexpected/Unlikely Friendship | Unreliable Narrators | Whump | Worldbuilding
Darkfic Likes
Apocalypse | Betrayal | Character Death | Character Death Aftermath | Claustrophobia | Conspiracy | Debt & Financial Pressures | Degradation | Disease | Dubious Consent | Dystopia | Fire | Forced Marriage | Gaslighting | Hauntings | Humiliation | Hypothermia | Infertility | Miscarriage/Pregnancy Loss | Murder | Paranoia | Poisoning | Prison | PTSD | Shame | Suicide | Terminal Illness | Unhappy Endings
Smut Likes
Biting/Marking | Bondage | Canon Compliant/Historically Appropriate (esp. period fandoms) | Desperate Sex | Dirty Talk | Dubcon | Edging/Orgasm Delay | Fingering | First Times | Fisting | Foreplay | Hair Pulling/Touching/Playing | Last Times | Loss of virginity (either/both/all partners) | Oral (any/all combinations/intensities/setups) | Porn with Feelings | Power Imbalance (Physical or Social/Financial/Other) | Restraint/Held Down | Rough Sex | Semi-Public Sex | Sensual Details | Vanilla Sex
And now fandom-specific prompts in alphabetical order:
1. [Safety] A Date with Death (Visual Novel)
Grim Reaper/Main Character (A Date With Death)
I don’t know what it was about this that got in my head, but it did. Over a couple of days, I played it through until I’d seen all five endings. And weeks later I still can’t hear gentle background muzak without being straight back in this game in my head.
There are so many delicious tropes in here, even if some of the kink flavours aren’t your favourite. There are nicknames, delayed name reveals, Azrael, so much flirting, canonical soul bonding/telepathy (and explicit reference, if you choose, to that being useful for sex), starcrossed lovers, and more I can’t remember.
I am extremely curious about what on earth could happen next. If you continue your relationship beyond the bet, what happens?
Does the afterlife come looking for Grim? Does that place you or him in danger?
Does he fit into your life, your apartment? Do you need to leave it?
Spending too long in the mortal realm is bad for him, tips his soul out of balance towards light and if his soul is not balanced then he dies – so how does he/you bring back the darkness?
How does the afterlife function? Are there really nine hells, or is that blasphemy and there are, like, eight or something?
Mind bridges and soul bonding – does that become regular, routine, perhaps permanent?
What is Grim’s past? How did he become a reaper? Did he have a human life?
Perhaps follow the ending where the character becomes a reaper too, in the DLC – explore the bureaucracy, the vocation, the training, your gift/nature. Do you take an oath, live by and learn the reaper code?
First times all round, both in the relationship and in life experiences.
Themes of fate/destiny.
Use elements of the bad ending even in the good ending? I bloody love angst and peril.
And what exactly are soul babies?
One virtue of the visual novel is the extent to which you can customise your experience – character, name, pronouns, compliment style, appearance, pet, decoration, etc. I have typically played with female characters with she/her pronouns and that would be my soft preference for fic, but that’s not a hill to die on and I don’t think it’s totally out there to write a fic that can be read ambiguously – but perhaps that would be tricky to sustain for 10,000 words!
2. Bridgerton (TV)
Bridgerton (TV)
Anthony Bridgerton
Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma
I just kind of want to watch Anthony suffer.
I love the mix of arrogance and angst in Anthony, the gap between what he thinks his duty is and what it actually is. I love Kate’s courage and lack of taking anyone’s shit, how secure she is until she isn’t, and when she butts heads with anyone - especially Anthony. I love Anthony’s actual relationships with his siblings and the different dynamics with each of them, and I am curious to know how Kate fits in. Is she more of a friend, a sister, a mother, a mix, something different?
Bees! Consequences of the gazebo scene! Canon divergence where the show characters have a similar outcome of the bee incident to the book! The responsibilities and duties of the new viscount and viscountess (real, imagined, fun or tedious)!
Please feel extremely free to add in or build on anything in S3 Part 1, I've already seen it one and a half times and it came out 42 hours ago.
3. Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte
Jane Eyre
Jane Eyre/Edward Rochester
Jane Eyre/St. John Rivers
Jane Eyre is an unreliable narrator.
This is one of my favourite novels ever, but I read a new story each time I read (or rewatch – Ruth Wilson 2006 version, yes) it. I had a different experience of it as a child, teenager, young adult, and so on – and with time, I’ve come to see Rochester as more of a villain, and then also as a victim of circumstances and a product of his environment, and to increasingly believe that Jane Eyre lies to us. She’s also every bit as prejudiced and superior as those she criticises, but/because she’s also a product of her world. But I still love her, and love that she says she got a happy ending. But that doesn’t mean it has to stay happy, or even that she was telling the truth.
This is a fandom where I particularly enjoy a darker edge, and a playful approach to the text on the author’s part. The novel is a first-person autobiography. Have fun with that! Jane Eyre is an unreliable narrator. The novel is her autobiography and I don’t believe that the story she told is necessarily the story that happened. What did she conceal? What did she tweak? What did she exaggerate or minimise? Is she trying to tell a moral story, and if so for whom? Does her faith endure and guide her quite as steadfastly, perfectly and purely as she says? I adore fics that play with this idea.
I am 100% on board with outsider POV; Jane does not need to be present if that works for the story.
Post-canon happiness?
Post-canon unhappiness?
Canon divergence at any point.
A missing moment from the engagement - an evening spent together, a walk, a trip out. Tension, anticipation, uneasiness, a sense that all’s not quite right that can’t be entirely set aside. Rochester trying to claim more affection than Jane is yet willing to give, with either a playful or darker edge.
A missing moment between the interrupted wedding and Jane fleeing Thornfield? What if they do have a night of madness before Jane flees Thornfield, where just for a moment she gives in? Or is coerced? (Dubcon over complete non-con please? Also: gloriously awful or happy consequences welcome.)
How does Rochester discover Jane’s missing? How does Adele find out? Mrs Fairfax? How do they all react? What is that day like? (Jane’s absence would almost be the character in this case. She doesn’t have to appear, she’s still the focus.)
What if Adele’s mother returned to collect her, or for some other (nefarious) purpose?
Rochester dies in the fire. What happens then?
Jane goes with St. John as a missionary and it doesn’t start/go/end well.
Does “real” Jane go with St. John as a missionary and the miraculous ending she writes to her autobiography is a fiction she wished had happened?
What if the first wedding isn’t interrupted? Rochester’s a bigamist and Jane a fallen woman when it comes out. (I have started writing this but not finished it.)
In this situation, why/how does she write her autobiography in the way that she does?
Does Jane come to see Rochester as a villain? Does she find herself corrupted, tarnished or lessened in his eyes in some way when he comes to marry/possess her and the sharper, darker side of his character turns on her once she’s off her pedestal?
Jane dies on the moors. (Shit… 5(+1) things of different ways one or both could die and the other find out/grieve? Oof, that makes my id throb, but it is not to everybody’s taste!)
Does Jane resent being Rochester’s carer, his eyes and hands?
Is Rochester “really” as injured as Jane writes in her autobiography? Did she provide some sort of divine/literary punishment for his sins? Or what really happened instead, did he get a comeuppance?
4. [SAFETY] North and South (UK TV)
John Thornton
Margaret Hale/John Thornton
I love this fandom so much. I have requested it many times before and as well as past letters there are many pretty gif sets under this tag for you to enjoy. There’s such a rich setting to explore here - time, place, convention, mores, differences in education and worldview…
I love the context of the place, the contrast between north and south, old and new, leisure and trade, masters and workers, masculinity and femininity. It’s Pride and Prejudice with higher stakes. (Although arguably there are three worlds – Margaret’s, John’s, and Higgins’.) There’s so much pride in all these characters, and they’re all looking down on each other, and then they start to understand one another.
And the longing looks, the touches. The “look back at me”. And the train scene. (About which I have Feelings. That is an inappropriate amount of PDA for 1850s England and they should be halfway down the aisle in about two and a half minutes. Also, wtf unmarried lady just getting on a train with unrelated gentleman, while not wearing a hat. Shocking stuff. Shameful. Tut tut.)
Wedding fic! How does their wedding day/night go? How do their friends and relatives behave and respond? (Particularly in the context of the show’s ending)
How do they pass their engagement? Do they have one? Do they write to one another? Do they keep finding excuses to be in one another’s company? Do they keep finding themselves alone in back drawing rooms?
Do they live with Mrs Thornton? How do they all get on?
Does something in their (very different) pasts come back to haunt them?
Does Frederick Hale return to England? What does he think of his sister’s husband? Does he impact Margaret and John’s life? Frederick is Margaret’s only living male relative, but they have only seen each other once in a decade – and illicitly at that, and an event that caused both Margaret and John great pain. Does Frederick have a say in her life? Does he think he does?
Do Margaret and John have a traditional marriage or a more equitable one in terms of ownership and management of the mill?
Is Thornton traumatised, or at least significantly affected, by the loss of the mill and his close brush with disaster? Does it colour his relationships with his mother, who he nearly failed, and his new wife who saved him, and/or his management of the mill once he owns it? Can he feel the ghost of his father’s failure and shame?
John and Hannah Thornton and Nicholas Higgins have tasted poverty – or at least true difficulty. Margaret might think she has, but she has not. Is there conflict there?
Victorian bankruptcy was a deliberate cruel, destructive, public, shameful process, designed to grind a man down to nothing at all. Does Thornton go through this, either during the novel or post-canon? Does he survive, or is he weighed down by grief and shame? He is so very conscious of his place in the world, his responsibilities to his peers, his workers, and his family. And a bankrupt man has pointedly failed in every one of these things – and it would all be so terribly, terribly public. (Very interested in stories about financial pressures/public shaming/private support.)
What if the riot goes wrong? Is one or both of them more seriously injured? Is there a disaster at the mill, or in the police response? Does the incident become even more infamous?
Disaster at the mill! Fire, accident, disease. Mills were a very, very dangerous place to work.
John and Margaret’s marriage, despite their love for one another, isn’t accepted in either the north or south. John is not the right sort of man in the eyes of Margaret’s southern friends and relatives – a manufacturer, not a gentleman, soiled by his engagement with trade and industry and direct work, and even more so because of his father’s past and suicide. Margaret is not acceptable to society in the north as an outsider who meddles where she’s not wanted, doesn’t understand their world, and represents an old world with no relevance to their new modern vision. She says the wrong thing, values the wrong things, has the wrong priorities in their eyes, took one of their most eligible men. Can they be happy in such circumstances? Society thinks, alternately, that they either married to avert scandal (which means scandal happened) or Thornton wants Margaret’s fortune (which reflects badly on him in the south and Margaret in the north).
5. The Song of Achilles – Madeline Miller
Achilles/Patroclus
I have just reread this for the first time in eight years, and I was just as emotionally wrecked at the end. It remains probably the most intense reading experience of my life, indisputably in the top three. I could talk for hours about the narrative voice, the imagery, the fucking ending because I knew absolutely nothing about Patroclus in 2016 and when my then-partner walked into the room just as, you know that bit, I literally threw something to get them to go away.
Could you please jab me sharply in the feels again, if you can? Whether that’s joy or angst or longing, the this and this and this motif, or… or anything. I’m in love and mourning; it won’t be hard.
This is not a fandom where I am at all bothered about smut but sprinkle it in if that’s your jam – just please note my DNW for porn without plot.
More with Briseis!
Fuck Pyrrhus with a really big stick – a narrative one if you like.
Post-canon… somehow?
Canon divergence – a happy ending? A return to Chiron? Growing old together?
In the Iliad, Achilles has a choice to gain glory and die young or live a long, uneventful obscure life – what if he had chosen the latter?
Missing scenes at Phthia, Pelion, the camp?
More/other/different prophecy?
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🦷 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're dreading to write (but is necessary to your plot)? Share a snippet or tell us about it!
ohh fun question! i have a bunch of WIPs lying around ngl, though since I've become busy with work, a lot of them I've put on the "back burner" save for like... two. Anyways!
Since ik you follow me mostly for my KKSS fic, we can focus on that!!
When it comes to writing, although I do make "skeletons" of my fics, so a very summarized bullet point list of what I want to happen, I actually plan out chapters as they happen? The minutiae is all very up in the air as far as planning goes, all I know, really, is the ending and the major shakeup's I wanna incorporate.
In the case of To Oblivion, my current (and very definitely LONGEST) WIP in the docket, I kinda have a very specific but ultimately small... anxiousness... towards a scene i've planned for the next chapter, and a much, much broader, definitely more potent dread towards the fic as a whole.
In terms of specifics? I have this scene planned where I'm going to introduce two "new" characters, one of whom will be important to the plot, from a perspective of a canon character I don't actually know (as is, and how to write) that well. I'm not sure that I can pull it off exactly correctly, and my refusal (and really, lack of time) to go cavern crawling through canon to figure things out isn't doing me any favors. Considering I could very much say the same for Sai, and that worked out okay-ish last time? Well, it's an AU anyways so!! I'll figure it out!!!
As for the broader dread... I cannot overstate this: to oblivion is NOT kind. HF is like the best most squeaky clean fixer upper version of this "AU" that i coulda come up with and to oblivion is far and away from that.
I'm gonna be blunt, I have a very certain view of the world and my views reflect very much in the way I write whether I intend it to or not,,,, so I'm kinda leaning into that for this fic, really allowing my thought process to shine through. I'm not interested on making the characters sympathetic so much as believable in how they act and react to the story as it unfolds.
Part of this dread, I'll admit, is simply because I'm not really good at plots? Actually I'm awful at them lmaooo, I don't do the /overarching and makes sense/ sorta narratives, I've just never found the inspiration to go at those so long when all I really wanna do is throw characters at each other so they can cry dramatically about their lives or whatever.
The other part is just that Naruto is a very old IP with a very old fandom and it's because of this that many of us here have a very fixed view of how characters are like, whether that's canon or simply our interpretation of them. I don't think I'm gonna be making a lot of people happy with how I plan to let the story play out - in fact, I restricted the comments from chapter one FOR A REASON! I just... I do not see a world where we finally get to the crux of why I even wrote this fic, and everybody reading will just be fine and dandy with how I make things play out.
If you think that one Shisui-POV fic /Like Stars/ is challenging and frustrating,,,, to oblivion will set your eyes on fire :\
I say this not to scare of readership but I really don't want ppl coming into the fic thinking I'm deadset on a warm, hopeful ending like I was with HF. While we're not heading towards an unhappy or even Bad ending, I just feel like it's important to set the expectation that I wrote this fic not just to challenge myself and the characters but also those who decide to read it to see my perspective of where canon went wrong with the framework of the Uchiha massacre and Konoha's handling of it. It's gonna be very hard on not just Sasuke and Shisui but Kakashi as Hokage, Naruto, Sakura, Shikamaru, Sai and basically everyone who'll end up showing their faces in the fic.
Hopefully it's digestible?????????
#fanfic#ao3 fanfic#kakashi hatake#uchiha shisui#hearthfire verse#sasuke uchiha#shisui uchiha#META?#ish#answering your writer-y questions#this is long and winded and I'm sorry for blabbing so much#to oblivion#that one ambitious fic where le writer attempts#read: ATTEMPTS#to address the uchiha massacre#and konoha's handling of it#in a post chapter 698 world#like a FOOL
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