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m-aster-of-spinjitzu · 3 years ago

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the hues of an empty sky

Missing memories, or having two of them for one moment - not quite the same, but if there's one thing Jay's leant over the last few weeks, it's that literally nothing makes sense anymore.

Or, some Skybound aftermath, Zane actually expressing emotions about his memory switch being turned off for all those years, and what was supposed to be a 'they tell everyone about the erased timeline' fic, but it turned into a 'two characters who barely interact on screen talk at like one am in the morning, and don't actually tell the other what exactly they're alluding to the whole time' fic that I wrote at like one am-

Also yeah, I realized too late that they split up to look for Wu after s7, we’re just gonna pretend that they waited a few days or something, idk anymore tbh, lol.

(I also didn't have time to edit - so please tell me where the typos are? 😂💛)

Word count: 4539

Prompt: crying, from @ninjago-bingo 's warm board.

Trigger warnings: the main character has a panic attack, and squeezes their fingernails into their hands once or twice but I think that's it.

*facepalms* also, guys, i’m so stupid - i literally just realized that this freaking CHANGES TENSE HALFWAY OHMYGOSH I- i don’t think it’s super noticeable, but ugh, apologies to anyone who actually thought my writing was good lol-

---

It's cold.

Bitterly, freezing cold.

The biting chill of the air is a bit strange for this time of year, but, heck, that's nowhere near the craziest thing that's ever happened to him - not by a long shot.

He sighs, squinting at the stars dotted liberally against the black canvas of the sky.

Cole had once joked that one of them might be the remains of their golden weapons, after they'd hurled the burning mass into the sky - in another alternate timeline; one that only existed in the memories of a certain few.

Gosh - that seemed like such a long time ago.

Wouldn't it be nice to go back to that time, when he'd still thought that their powers were the coolest thing ever - instead of despising them for all the responsibility and sacrifice that came with them? When one of his biggest worries was whether the girl he had a crush on liked him back - not wondering if his friends would survive the night?

"I did not expect to find you awake at this hour, Jay."

Reflexivity, he jumps back, his mind twisting his friend's gentle voice into the- the djin's triumphant, accented one.

You're supposed to be a ninja. What good are you if your friends can still sneak up on you?

"Geez, warn a guy before you sneak up on him! I almost fell off the Bounty!"

"My apologies. I was... surprised to find you awake at this hour," Zane answers. "What are you doing?" "Couldn't sleep. It's too cold," he confesses, not entirely a lie. Ninjago wasn't 'that' far from the Sea of Sand, but he'd grown up in a much warmer area - unfortunately resulting in his practically nonexistent tolerance to the cold. That never failed to stop Kai from teasing him about it, though. He doesn't mention the pressing weight on his chest, almost tangible - or how it constantly makes him feel. Like he's being dragged through the darkness of an empty sky, spikes of fear making everything so freaking terrifying- "You?"

"I have been analyzing my memories of Pixal, in the hope that it may lead me to her whereabouts. However, all my efforts have proved... unsuccessful," Zane answers wearily, shifting his gaze to the sky.

Oh- oh. They'd all be so caught up in the chaos of the last few weeks - hey, it's not like any of them had asked the universe to permanently be out to get them! - that they'd forgotten Pixal was still offline.

"Hey, I'm sure that she's still there somewhere," he says, earnestly. "After all - she wouldn't be your girlfriend if she didn't pull a vanishing act every now and again, eh?"

The question is punctuated with a laugh, but he doesn't say that he's a little worried about her too. They hadn't talked much, but-

I can't see one of my best friends find out that his girlfriend is dead, a quiet voice at the back of his mind points out. Well - been there, done that, wouldn't recommend, he thinks bitterly. Emotional breakdowns and frequent nightmares apply. Anxiety attacks are half off, too!

It's quiet for a few minutes, neither of them seeing a need to break the silence. The wind blows softly through the sails above them; gray wisps of cloud revealing a pale sliver of moonlight that paints the sky in its glow.

It should be a peaceful night: beautiful, calm, no one trying to kill them or destroy their city - for a change.

His hands won't stop shaking.

It should be a peaceful night, but, as usual, the world is too freaking unfair for that-

He hasn't even slept for a full night in weeks! Well, not since- since-

Don't think about it! That's only going to make it worse, duh-

"Are you alright, Jay?"

"Yeah- I- I'm good, thanks," he says quickly, ignoring the way his breathing keeps speeding up. FSM, not this-

Not for the first time, the world suddenly becomes too loud - too much. Every little thing, from trying to breathe properly or even walk- feels insurmountable, because, gosh, oh gosh, it's going to come crashing down if he even moves-

The memory starts off the same as it always does.

Rubble strewn over the temple grounds, his friends literally reduced to nothing more than statues. A shot that hit the mark perfectly, but perfectly shattered his world in the process.

A poison-splattered dress, a terrifying realization.

Her well-aimed joke, but one that never fails to sting every time. Gosh, why hadn't they just allowed her to join their team in the first place? Maybe they could've prevented this- this- whole situation, if they hadn't been so freaking egotistical-

And, again, he's overwhelmed by the sheer sense of helplessness, all his power and training and skills completely useless to one of the people he cared most about. FSM, if only I hadn't used my first w-request so carelessly! If only I'd been able to escape- or, or if only I'd been able to assemble the team faster! If only-

Despite being in what must've been unimaginable pain, she offers a strained smile - a sweet gesture that, ironically, feels like she's poisoning him, because- because FSM, this is all so wrong, it wasn't supposed to end like this-

He watches with horror as her eyes dull and she stills in his arms.

She's gone, FSM, she's gone and it's all my fault-

"Jay?" a voice asks, concern evident in their tone. Distantly, he registers that he's having a breakdown in front of one of his best friends - one of the things he'd been trying really hard to avoid.

Dang it.

"I-" he tries to say, but, great, he's breathing too fast to even get the stupid words out.

"Breathe in for four seconds," Zane says, softly.

Four seconds? Time has no meaning right now, narrowed down to, like - falling down a chasm, terrified of what's at the bottom, except the fear's all around, this- this... foreboding thing of his mind that keeps yelling that he needs to run, or fight, but he can't, can't-

Right. Four seconds.

You're okay, you're fine, no one's trying to hurt you or your friends. She's not dead.

But what if- what if they're being dragged out of this ship right now? What if it was all a dream, and she's dead anyway, because all of us were too stupid to come up with another plan, and none of us could even do anything when she-

After a little while, when he could breathe a little easier, and the fear didn't feel like it was slamming into him from every possible direction, he slowly opened his eyes. Shakily, he wiped a tear from his face - as if that would wipe away all the weeks that had, theoretically, never even freaking happened.

The sky comes back into focus - pinpricks of light against pitch black.

How was he going to come up with some sorta explanation without... well, explaining everything?

Great.

My nerves are frayed, and I have to lie to a walking lie detector - what could possibly go wrong?

"Are you alright?" Zane asks, his brows creased in concern.

"Heh heh, yeah. Probably just too many video games," he replies quickly, laughter a bit strained.

"You were muttering to yourself," his friend replies quietly. Ugh, trust the way-too-observant-nindroid to call him out on the remains of his facade. "If you do not mind me asking, what was 'all your fault'? I am sure that it was probably a misunderstanding."

You're the one who misunderstands everything, he thinks wearily, ignoring the part of him that yearns to tell someone else about... well, everything that's happened because of that stupid teapot. He's not one to keep secrets by nature, and it's been taking a bigger toll of him than he'd thought it would. Is this how Nya felt when she was still the Samurai? "It's- it's nothing, probably just nonsense."

"Are you sure? You seem... quite worried about something."

Dang it, were his hands still shaking? He presses his fingernails into his palms, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

He's talking to one of his best friends, FSM. Weren't friends able to tell each other anything?

"Do you think it's easier to forget? Better?"

He didn't even realize he'd asked a question until Zane's eyes widened in surprise.

A forest coated in snow, ice crystals dangling from the tree branches above their heads. Plenty of screaming - way too much, he reflects, couldn't they have been a bit nicer? It must've been pretty jarring to learn that you weren't human, or that your father had erased years of your life from your mind - in that weird underground treehouse. Those crazy tree monsters - and the realization that they all had much more power than they'd thought.

"N- nevermind," he stutters, fleetingly thinking of kicking the deck. "That's way too personal, you don't have to answer it-"

"I do not mind," Zane says, a bit sadly.

Oh.

Heck, his friend was way too nice.

They gaze up at the stars for a few minutes, not really seeing them - one drowning under the weight of too many secrets, the other, too many memories.

It's quiet - too quiet.

Ugh, he thinks, sighing, that sounds like something a low-budget horror movie would start with, cringey sound effects to match.

But the silence is a painful reminder of the days he'd spent tossing and turning in a cramped cell - nothing but his worries and the bruises on his leg from that stupid ball and chain keeping him awake.

He's been trying hard - maybe too hard - to avoid being alone, avoid being in a situation where they've gotta be quiet ever since then, because, dang it, his memories always seem to fill the silence, and they're always far more terrifying than they should be-

It's easier, in a way, to be mocked for his stupid jokes than it is to relive a single moment from those nightmarish few weeks.

Almost reflexively, he grasps for something to fill the quiet.

"Heh, this is a bit awkward. It's okay if you wanna leave-"

"I do not mind," Zane echoes, walking a bit closer. "It is not as if I need to sleep. But... I do not quite know what to think of your question."

There comes the answer - or a semblance of one at least, and it's the last thing he'd been expecting.

"You don't know?" he blurts out before he can even think of trying to filter the thought. Way to treat your friend who's been nothing but kind to you, Jay. "But you're- you're a nindroid! You know everything-"

"Pixal," his friend mutters softly, sighing, and the hurt, the fear, laced through the word makes something in his heart practically twist. He knows all too well what it feels like to be in that situation - even if, technically, it had never happened.

Then- "I wish that were true. But I suppose that my emotions make certain situations much more complicated than... than they need to be. Thus I cannot give my perspective on this - or, at least, without sounding quite conflicted."

"You know that you're allowed to be conflicted, right? Even the coolest Nindroids don't know everything."

"...Yes, I suppose so."

Jay frowns at the almost subconscious hesitation, eyebrows creasing in concern.

"Seriously," he starts earnestly. They're both leaning on one of the railings just above the deck now. "Just 'cause you're a nindroid doesn't mean that you've gotta chase some kind of perfection that doesn't even exist."

He doesn't miss how Zane's eyes widen in shock, their bright blue hue glowing a little brighter - and heck, if that doesn't hurt even more than the earlier realization.

"Besides - it's not like none of us haven't made mistakes before. Hate to go all Wu on ya, but they help us learn or some stupid thing like that. Even if the mistake is trying not to make 'em, you know?"

"Thank you," Zane replies, a tired smile on his face. "Even the most advanced tech is susceptible to error, I suppose."

They've all made lots of mistakes, heaven forbid if one of them is still agonizing over messing up over the crazy situations the universe constantly put them in. It's not like they were told they'd have to face more ancient evil armies than they could count, were they?

Maybe it's time to stop focusing on events that never even happened, and pay more attention to your friends. What's the point of being part of this team if you're always scared or selfish?

"Shut up," he mumbles, rubbing his temples. What's the point of fighting if your own brain is gonna fight you whenever it gets a chance? A few seconds later, he schools his face back into his default anxious grin. "Great, cause I- I- could use your advice on something." "Alright," comes the quiet reply, his friend seemingly lost in thought.

"What if you wanted to tell someone something, but you couldn't?"

His breathing starts to speed up again, but he grips the deck until his fingers are practically bruised, stark white against his tanned skin. Not this time-

"Is this what you were referring to earlier? An event that you blamed yourself for?" Zane asks, eyes flitting between the floor and the sky.

Dang it, way too observant as usual. He masks his surprise with a laugh, but the conversation definitely isn't going as planned and, oh gosh oh gosh, what if-

No, there's no way that any of them would even believe that. Besides - no one can remember stuff that they've forgotten, especially if magic's at play.

"Yeah, kinda," and he's surprised by how steady his voice sounds. It's not easy to even think about that- event, talking about it is a whole different thing. A much more difficult thing, but also - a bit, a little bit, easier. "I-" "Apologies for interrupting," his friend interjects. "I suppose that I have not been entirely honest with you." What?

"A few days ago, I discovered a number of deleted memory files buried deep within my code."

Just like that, his whole world tilts out from underneath him.

It takes every ounce of his strength to keep himself from falling into the abyss again.

Wait, what?

Has he really known for all this time? It's been weeks! Surely he would've said something? It can't be, it never even-

The rational part of his mind points out that he can remember every day of those few weeks. Well, he was the one to make the wish - magical logic is kinda stupid, but maybe that's why he had to remember it or something?

Well then, a small voice interjects, why was Nya cursed to remember everything too?

Of course, even the stupid magical logic doesn't even make sense to the one who caused this whole mess in the first place.

"They were almost entirely corrupted - scrambled in a way that I am not familiar with. However, I did realize that certain files bore dates that have not even occurred yet. I dismissed it as a problem with my code, however..."

Breathe, calm down, it's not like he was able to process them or anything-

We agreed that no one was supposed to know! What if they end up blaming us for keeping it a secret this long, or, or-

"I mean, they could've been-" he starts, but the way in which he's nervously twisting his fingers is a pretty clear indication that he's lying, dang it.

"So when you mentioned that you were unable to tell someone something - did you mean that it was because they had quite literally forgotten about it?"

Great. Fantastic. Of course the literal robot has pieced it together by now-

He squeezes his eyes shut for a minute, hoping that if he ignores the problem, maybe it'll go away.

Okay, fine, maybe he's trying to figure out a way to fix this whole mess. Doesn't mean that he's any closer to coming up with a solution, though.

"Er, yeah," he whispers, shoulders slumped, eyes still firmly shut. Because gosh, he doesn't want to - can't, can't - see the realization dawn that, yeah, he's lied to people he's known for years and years, even though they've all seen way too many times that secrets bring nothing but trouble-

"Well, then - I would say that you don't have to tell them," Zane replies, surprisingly... earnestly? That, or he's either too freaked out to understand the tone properly. Could be either.

He opens his eyes, hesitantly.

And it comes as a bit of a shock to find nothing but concern reflected in his friend's.

The almost persistent weight on his chest feels a little lighter now, like the sky isn't as quite so empty.

Well, it still kinda is. But that doesn't hold as much weight as he'd thought it did - not if one of his friends is willing to look past that; past the heaviness of holding up all those memories with nothing his single star, flickering in and out of the darkness, to try and light the unforgiving darkness of the sky.

"Why?" Jay asks, so quietly he can barely hear it himself. "Don't I owe it to them? Do you?"

"No. Definitely not," comes the reply, so full of conviction that he almost stumbles back. Why-

"My father..."

Oh- oh.

"thought it was better to spare me the pain of mourning him than for me to know who I was," Zane confesses, hesitantly. "Not that I disagree, necessarily. I just..."

He trails off, clutching the railing so hard that the wood almost snaps beneath his titanium fingers.

It takes Jay a little while to realize why - why exactly his friend, who has access to a wealth of knowledge and information, is grasping for an answer. Because- because, well, even if someone does something in your best interests - sometimes the choice isn't always up to them. Or maybe it is, but it was... difficult, to say the least, to let go of the fact that his parents had never told him the truth sooner. Not that he blames them, necessarily - it's not like they knew that his father would pass on before he'd even get the chance to meet him - but... it's confusing, and difficult, not to know why you were left at a junkyard as soon as you were born. Maybe if he'd known that sooner, he could've asked the one person who might've had answers - although it's not like hoping for the past to change will actually change it.

They don't even know that you know, a small voice at the back of his mind points out, and suddenly everything makes a lot more sense-

"You wanted a choice," he breathes, eyes widening. A choice - like one that he'd never been given, one that he stills struggles not to hold against two people who've always had his best interests at heart. Even if they did have the right to withhold that one thing, after all they've done for him - the 'what if's' still echo in his mind far more often than he'd like. "There's nothing wrong with that, even if it feels that way. I kinda get where you're coming from, dude, and it's... super confusing, but I'd be pretty mad if my memories were tampered with like that."

So would anyone, he realizes, heart sinking. Oh, great. Not helping-

"I- I suppose so?" Zane answers, but it sounds more like a question than a reply. "However, in the same vein, it would be unwise for you to give away your choice whilst you still have one." "But don't I owe it to everyone? You just said it, it's horrible to alter people's memories and I- I-" "Did we forget... whatever it was for a good reason? "I- I mean, I guess, but..." "Then you do not owe it to us to relive something that we do not even remember." The words should be a relief - and they kinda are. But some part of him really does want to explain the crazy alternate timeline, and everything that happened in it. It's just... really, really freaking difficult.

"What if- what if I wanted to, though?" Jay asks hysterically, running his hands through his hair in a frenzied sort of way. "And I still couldn't? I just, I-"

He cuts himself off with a bout of forced laughter.

Zane takes a moment to reply, the bright blue light in his eyes flickering - a small tell that he was thinking so deeply, his processors were literally sparking up a bit.

"You queried earlier if it was easier, or better, to forget. And while all situations are different, I suppose it is... well, subjective. What do you think?" Zane asks, softly.

Derailing the conversation a bit, but his friend's obviously smart enough to be leading up to something.

Sure, he'll go along with it.

"I mean, there are some things I'd rather forget, you know? I guess we all know what that feels like," Jay replies, the statement with oddly sad air to it. They're still kids, after all, and it gets a bit exhausting pretending that their superhero lives were all fun and games - when they'd just given him enough grey hair to last then lifetimes, and enough nightmares to keep him from ever getting the normal amount of sleep his mum always prattled on about.

Sleep, heh heh. Practically a foreign concept, now.

"And I know that stuff that happens, like shapes us or something - and Master Wu would probably go off on a whole ramble about why we learn from our mistakes or whatever," he laughs nervously, resisting the urge to just fall headfirst onto the deck of the stupid ship instead of continuing the conversation," and how 'our scars only make us stronger', crap like that, but I just-"

"I'm just really... tired of this," he confesses warily, shoulders slumped. "W- I remember so many horrible things, and I-" he breaks off, laughing bitterly. His voice takes on a sort of brittle quality, way too high pitched, "and I can't even talk about them, dude. If that's not the most pathetic thing ever, I dunno what is."

"It does not-"

"Don't say it," Jay mutters, rubbing his temples. "I know, I know, my feelings aren't pathetic, they're always valid, whatever, spare me the lecture-"

"That is not what I was going to say," Zane replies gently. "It just seems that you have answered your own question."

"Gee, which one?"

"I do not know how much helpful assistance I can provide in this situation, but it is understandable to wish certain events had never occurred. However, seeing as we cannot change the past, it seems unwise to dwell on said events if you can avoid it."

Jay stiffens, clamping a shaky hand over his mouth. Something seems to press down even harder on his chest, a heavy sort of weight that causes his breathing to speed up again. Don't say it don't say it there's no reason to warn them this time-

"If you would like to tell any of us about something, of course you are welcome to. It does not to be the whole story, after all. Just make sure that it is the decision you choose, not one you choose because of what you think how it will affect others," Zane finishes quietly, ducking his head as if he's embarrassed.

The stars are still white-hot, burning away some million miles above them.

"Thanks," he says, and puts his hand softly on Zane's shoulder. "I mean, I know - that all makes sense, I guess. It's just- I-"

"You want to?"

"Yeah," Jay starts, sighing, "I do. It's just- it's not just my choice. And I'm pretty much dying already right now, so, as fantastic as making it all worse sounds, hard pass."

Oops, maybe he shouldn't have said that last bit. They'd agreed not to tell anyone about it - even this conversation was cutting it way too close. It wasn't impossible for them to put everything together - they were a pretty smart group, after all, even without their resident inventor and engineer - and Jay didn't really know what he'd think if they did. Fearful? Relieved? Angry?

"That does... not sound great? Dying certainly does not seem-"

"It's called sarcasm, Zane."

"Oh- yes. My memory now accesses the fact that people often speak in that manner. It does seem a bit counterproductive, though. Why not just say what you mean?"

"Shut it, you have no clue how integral to my life it is," Jay replies with a halfhearted grin.

A few seconds later, he remembers something his friend had mentioned earlier, and the grin disappears.

"You know that you can talk to us if you're not happy, right?" he asks, earnestly. Sure, it's not like he could always do that, considering, well, a stupid djin and even stupider magic, but it's not like he needs to. It's- well- he'll be okay, probably. Maybe. Kinda.

Zane's eyes blink on and off again, blue fading in and out. "I... I suppose that I was not quite aware of that."

Okay, they've screwed up way too many times, but this... this is pretty bad. Dang it, how long does it take for them to throw self-preservation instincts at their friend before he freaking- picks them up or something?

"However, will it not hurt those who have experienced the same unfortunate events?"

Dude, not the best question to ask someone wondering the exact same thing-

"It's been... uh, nice, kind of, talking to you. So- I don't think so, and I'm pretty sure someone would say so if it did. Besides, don't we talk about our adventures all the time? It'd probably be better if we... uh, well- heh heh, nothing."

"If we talked about the less than positive elements of them? Perhaps, but I still-"

Maybe it's the fact Zane has always tried to be there for him, or maybe he's too sleep deprived to care anymore, but this is a way too familiar situation and-

Well, not ignoring the issue would be a start.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we're family, Zane. We care about each other. And, gosh, that means that we care about you too. Memories are stupid and annoying sometimes, but we have to make good ones too, right? To block out the bad ones a bit, I guess? Kinda, at least."

They both look away from the stars now, grappling for something else to say.

In the end, they leave it be with a hug and a fondly exasperated warning about sleeping, if you happen to need it.

After all, they're family. They don't have to be perfect, or tell each other everything - even if it does take them a long time to realize that, and an even longer time remembering it.

---

The next time Jay startles awake from a nightmare, the sky is still empty - painfully so, like an ache that simmers beneath the surface even when it's not able to be seen.

The hue, though, is a little lighter.

Just a little - the all-encompassing darkness of it is now a navy sort of blue, his star shining a little bit brighter.

It's still not sunrise, not even close - but he'll take it. AN: the ‘sky’ mentioned at the start and end is a stupid metaphor that i somehow ended up liking too much to trash, it’s ‘empty’ because he hasn’t told anyone about the timeline, and Nya’s not included because they never had a chance to tell each other everything significant or even talked about it or processed it on screen. so yeah! if you read this,,, not great thing, can i send you a hug or good vibes or smth? tyy🥺

#ninjago #jay walker #zane julien #skybound #ninjago fic #not the best thing i've written #actually it's not great-#but i spent too long on it to not post it so if you actually read to here i simunltaneously wanna send you good vibes & apologize profusely-#the ending is super rushed but im too tired to try and write a better one yay:/#also dang it- sorry this fits the prompt so badly i-#i didn't realize till after oops #ninbingo #ninjago jay #ninjago zane #ninjago masters of spinjitzu

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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years ago

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Elizbeth Debicki - Reunion Revenge

A/N - I love Elizabeth with everything I am, I'm sure I've said this before. I don't know why there aren't more fics about her. As always, I do not know Elizabeth, nor do I claim to: this is a work of fiction and wholly my own. I mean no disrespect to any of the careers mentioned at some point in this, just bear with. This is a set at a high school reunion, but I went to a private secondary school in England, so my experience is obviously not everyone else's. Reader has a twin brother, have fun with that. I also based this on a Tumblr post I saw, and thought that would be a swell concept to work into a Liz piece of writing: ‘never understood the whole showing up at your high school reunion revenge fantasy cause, like, really? high school?? I don’t want anyone from that time in my life to have any idea where I am or what I’m doing. do not perceive me I am dead to you and you are dead to me.' 8k.

Warnings - a little angsty, mentions of bullying, smoking, mentions of homophobia and slurs, wlw explicit smut, fingering, sex toys (strap-on), bathroom wall sex in a semi-public place, the whole shebang (literally). 18+

Summary - At first, when your brother roped you into attending your high school reunion with your wife, you hated the idea. Now, all eyes are on you, all the focus on your career, and maybe this is the revenge you always needed, of course aided by Liz's quick thinking and hidden surprises.

AT THIS CURRENT POINT IN TIME, you would more than happily murder your brother for roping you into this. And for convincing Liz to come along, which is somehow worse than your own enforced attendance, as though your presence will make any difference to the people who made the seven ‘best’ years of your life a pure living hell.

Your brother did have your back through it all, and considering that he was supposed to be the best one to succeed, he needs you there for some moral support after his career took an unfortunate nosedive that everyone is undoubtedly going to be gawking over.

You never understood the whole ‘showing up at your secondary school reunion revenge fantasy,’ but that’s mostly just because they don’t deserve to know who you are anymore. They broke you continually, and you’re past it now: the only thing that could take you back to that mindset is being back in that great hall with the gossiping busybodies. It’s not your fault that you were a closeted gay for so many years. Well, that’s another cause of concern. Notorious homophobes, and you’re bringing your wife.

“Come on, honey, we have to go inside.” Liz tells you, her long fingers curling around yours affectionately.

She has a point. You’ve been in the car park for ten minutes now, your knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Her continual lavishes of kisses to your neck seem to be the only redeeming factor of your procrastination.

“Hmm, kiss me first.” you say.

She doesn’t disappoint, curling your hair behind your ear—wearing special diamond earrings she got you on your second anniversary—and catches your chin tenderly between her polished forefinger and thumb, tilting your face up to meet hers, her lips slanting over yours, melding together perfectly.

She’s the only good thing about this situation, about any situation: the only reason your brother was able to bribe you to come. Your main qualm about today is that you don’t want anyone from that period of your life to have any idea where you are or what you’re doing. You’ve been dead to them for years, and they to you. You don’t want them to perceive you whatsoever. But maybe, with Elizabeth on your arm and a brilliant career under your belt—everything you ever wanted—you can reap revenge. No one is in touch with you, so your arrival will be such a surprise, not that you exactly care about that, having blocked out and repressed a whole lot of that time period. You wouldn’t be able to even do this without Elizabeth, though.

“Liz,” you moan when she nibbles on your lower lip in that signature way she does. “We can stay here, we don’t have to go in.”

You shift your hand over the centre console to rub over her clothed thigh, your grip more than a little suggestive, prying further up…

“No baby,” she coos, “later, I promise. We’ll be late.”

You grumble, but only momentarily. She has a point, and a thing about being on time to everything. So you load out of the car, Liz coming around to the drivers side where she offers you her hand. She’s more chivalrous than any guy you ever pretended to date, an absolute gem of a person. You don’t even get jittery on the short walk inside, not with her thumb caressing your hand, your legs brushing together.

You can’t say you’re surprised when, at first, no one even turns to look at you, though relief floods your system, Liz bending down to kiss your forehead in a conciliatory manner.

“Oh my God, y/n, I’ve been here twenty minutes! Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I was busy,” you say to your overzealous brother who is suddenly hounding you, attaching to your side.

He bristles, visibly shaking off his discomfort, before he’s linking his arm through yours and is tugging you along, out from beneath the wooden balcony, tugging you away from the shadows.

The hall is the exact same as it was both when you came and left the school, oak panelling everywhere, great glass windows stretching to the ceiling with sills too high for anyone to climb onto, a stained glass shrine above the stage. Put-me-up tables are littered around, sheathed with white cloths and ribbons with your school emblem on them, decorated with drink dispensers, mugs, wine glasses and cheap biscuits. The whole… scene brings back that awful sense of dread you got when forced to sit here, in tacky red woollen chairs, frayed and bobbled, that itched your legs, every Monday and Friday for assembly. It’s a beautiful room, truly, with a reinforced floor beneath the original boards, slightly splintering beneath your low heels, and you know every nook and cranny, every escape route, but the bad memories tarnish the space.

Liz, darling as she is, senses your discomfort, and creates small talk with your brother as you’re steered between groups of people you scarcely recognise until you reach the apex of the room, where his old friends stand, hunched over in ill-fitting suits, brooding over their brandy, no doubt complaining about their dead end jobs and lack of girlfriends.

“Hey buddy…” one of them says, trailing off once he hears a woman's voice, his eyes darting up—first to Elizabeth, then down to you. “Your sister and your girlfriend? Dude, she’s hot.”

“Isn’t she just?” Liz teases, a malicious smirk creeping onto her lips.

You haven’t even noticed, but some subconscious part of you has tucked your joined hands behind you, covered by Liz’s long, flowing dress.

“How you doing, wait, I know, don’t tell me…”

“y/n.” you snap. “Fine, thanks.”

“Well that’s good, good, isn’t it? I was just gonna call you mini y/l/n—”

“Don’t, that isn’t my name anymore.”

His eyes dart down to your left hand not held by Elizabeth’s slender fingers, instantly noting the glistening silver princess-cut ring nestled above a platinum wedding band.

“Married? Nice. No wonder the guy didn’t come,” another one chimes. You’re not entirely sure what he means, though it’s undoubtedly a dig at the fact Elizabeth is far hotter than you are.

Your brother is slowly growing angrier and angrier, the cords of thick muscle in his shoulders tensing, his nostrils flaring, his thinned eyes conversing with Elizabeth’s blues over the top of your ducked head.

“Yes, well,” you play along, and desperately look to your brother to continue the conversation.

“What are you all doing for work now?”

Everyone gives a boring answer: salesman, accountant, finishing up law school, working in an office, with one trainee chef in the mix. These men have all just done what the school or their parents expected and wanted them to do, no one has any ambition. No wonder you were always the odd one out.

“What about you?” the chef asks your brother.

“Oh, I’m on a sabbatical at the moment,” he replies sheepishly, eyes suddenly training on the floor before turning quickly, fixing on you. “My sister’s done really well for herself.”

Their surprise is palpable, seeping off them, dripping onto the floor via the loose threads of their cheap blazers.

“Yeah, I’m a translator for political and legal proceedings, you know, with cabinet ministers from all over the world, those who speak the languages I do, at least.” you answer pridefully. Your talents always were overlooked when you were at school, apart from by one special teacher, whom you haven’t actually seen yet.

“She’s marvellous, really,” Liz says, and you can’t help but feel a hint of guilt from neglecting her for so long, so you squeeze her hand a little tighter, and rub your thumb over her wedding ring. “I’m gonna get us some drinks, babe. What do you want?”

“Red wine would be lovely. Unless you want me to drive home?”

She pecks your lips, “Of course not, enjoy yourself. You want anything, mate?” she turns to your brother.

“I’m good, thanks.” He mock-salutes.

“Don’t be long,” you warn her, swinging your hands out from their cover with a sudden flush of courage, and detaching them.

She looks down at you curiously, but her smile quirks into a smirk the second you pinch her hip and lean up on your tiptoes, capturing her pretty pink lips with yours, swallowing the small surprised gasp that escapes her. You can feel eyes on you all over the room, the situation genuinely feeling as though everyone besides your brother is staring upon you with disgust as her lithe arms wrap around your body, her one hand straying lower than you were prepared for, arching into her chest as she nibbles your lip again, your one hand cupping her flushing cheek.

A moment later, she’s releasing her hold and strutting away, all eyes then glued to the sensual sway of her hips, her long legs carrying her across the room faster than they thought possible. Then again, being 6-foot-3 as a beautiful woman is quite the surprise to people, they all expect her to be garish, uncoordinated, and though she’s clumsy at times, she’s certainly better at general levels of human functionality than you are.

“Dude, stop staring at my wife’s ass.” you hiss to the first man. If only they were worth your bother or time, you might have remembered their dreary names.

He splutters for a moment, bringing a ring-less left hand up to loosen his lilac tie. “Wife? What the fuck? How are you married to a woman before we are!”

What a mystery.

“You gay or something?” the trainee lawyer chimes in again.

“You got a problem with that?” your brother accuses, puffing up his chest pompously.

“Well, no… just surprised.”

“Astonished.” another pipes up.

“Isn’t that a big word.”

You showed the tell tale signs of being a lesbian for years, the popular girls all pretended you were preying on them in the changing room, calling you a d*ke for years until you reached the point of just changing in the bathroom to stop yourself from snapping at them. They must’ve always had a hunch, and why ever they thought Liz was your brother's girlfriend is beyond you. Men truly are more trouble than they’re worth.

“Yes, I’m gay. Yes, Elizabeth is my wife. I didn’t realise this would be earth shattering information.” You cast your eyes up to the ceiling, erected like a great old Church steeple, and shutter them for a moment, gathering your bearings. “I’m going to find Liz, little man. Told you I shouldn't have come.”

“Don’t call me little man!”

“I’m ten minutes older than you, I’ll call you what I like.” you tease, sticking your tongue out childishly, receiving a sarcastic sneer from your brother. Right now, all you want is Liz. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you all again, but then we’d all be liars. Goodbye.”

They gawk in a greatly uncouth and infantile manner as you stride away, pep in your step as you approach your stunning wife, wrapping your arm around her stomach as she waits for her tea—English Breakfast, naturally—to cool down.

“Hey beautiful,” you greet.

“Hey, you. What happened?” she asks, instantly noting the sallow bags that have swiftly formed beneath your eyes.

“They were being arseholes, c’mon, let’s just stand in the corner until it’s socially acceptable to leave this hellhole.”

“We can go now if you’re uncomfortable, baby.”

Ever the forward, sympathetically thinking wife.

“No, no. I came here, I’d better make it worth my while.”

She tangles her fingers with yours, “Okay darling. Say the word, we leave.”

There aren’t words for how safe you feel thanks to Elizabeth, even just with this fractional amount of contact from her. She’s the answer to all your prayers and more, the thing in life you'll never deserve. Her love for you is endless, her affections infinite, and every day, you fall more and more in love with her, especially when she’s as kind as she is now.

It barely takes five minutes, the two of you hugging, kissing, leaning against a broad oak pillar, half shadowed, for someone to approach. One of the girls you despised, costume jewellery on her wrists, a self aggrandised smirk painted onto her fake lips. Martha? Mabel? Maddie?

“I heard you were here,” she starts, placing her tackily manicured hand onto her hip, “it’s so good to see you! How are you?”

“Great, thanks.” you say blandly, keeping your attention on Elizabeth’s hand entwined with yours.

“This is your… friend? Why did you bring a friend to this?”

She laughs mirthlessly, such a fake sound—like this cow's boobs—it makes your primal instincts flare. Elizabeth holds you impossibly closer, her arm around your waist tightening as you seek solace in her.

“y/n and I are married, thank you. I don’t appreciate the homophobic, disrespectful insinuations.”

She stifles another laugh, “You’re punching above your weight a bit aren’t you, y/n.”

“Don’t rise to it,” Liz headily murmurs in your ear, sending pleasant, calming vibrations throughout your whole body.

You gulp down as much air as you can, curling tighter into Liz, before saying what you thought all those years ago, “I’d rather be ‘punching’ and married to a woman I love rather than be a Goddamn trophy wife going nowhere, leeching off daddy’s money. People like you will never change. I’m happy, and I have a good feeling that’s more than the likes of you and your sad old minions can say.”

“Sweetheart, come on.” Liz whispers, and her hold on you increases until it begins to pinch, not that you mind, and then she’s thankfully tugging you away.

You barely make it out the door, Liz leaning down to kiss you heartily, passionately, before people are clamouring over you, what’s-her-faces friends, people you used to be in fair acquaintance with, all speaking together, their voices overlapping in what you can only believe to be expressions of acceptance.

“Um, thank you, I’ll just be back in a moment.” you say to those who bother to listen. Next thing, you’re darting out the way you came, tugging Liz down the great stone steps in front of the behemoth building, and then are leaning against the old wall, almost crumbling with rubble on the exterior at least, not as well preserved as the inside.

She joins you not a moment later, ferreting around the pockets in her skirt for the spare cigarette and lighter she slipped in earlier. Liz doesn’t condone your smoking in any way whatsoever, and in fact she’s the main reason that you quit, but she knows that when your anxiety is high during times like these, one can’t hurt. She always comes prepared.

She is definitely the most consistent, reliable thing in your life by a long shot. Naturally, you two have your fair share of ups and downs, and on the occasion you get your periods at the same time, you’re a complete dichotomy of furious fights and condoling cuddles, while the rest of the time you find yourselves in sheer throes of passion. You may be a dependable couple bound to stay together forever, but that doesn’t mean that the flame of lust once born there has even momentarily flickered: it’s why you work so well. Men are awful in bed, from both of your experiences. Only a woman truly knows how to please another woman. And in the many ways that Liz is a home-body and sticks to the safe side of things, sex is not one of those areas, and you frequently wind up in another one of her barmy—though blissfully pleasurable—experiments. Her daring never goes amiss, and you can’t help but pray that she has something up her sleeve (besides the cigarette) to dull the ache of the day, and also the growing desire pooling between your legs upon seeing have such a naturally demanding power, and looking so Goddamn stunning in her maxi dress. And the lip nibble, God—

“Before you ask, I’m not shagging you out here.” she says, lighting your cigarette with steady hands.

You inhale the smoke, allowing it to form dark halos around your head once you puff it out through pursed lips, hoping it obscures your sheepish smile and averted eyes from Liz’s view.

“I wasn't thinking about that.”

“Yes you were. You forget how well I know you.”

You shoot her a sardonic smile and take another deep drag, the bitter taste pouring into your senses, filling your lungs, calming your mind before you let it go with one long, shaky breath. The smoke has a way of revealing the air, making an artistry of its swirls and flow, something you’ve always been able to appreciate. Ever the wise one, Liz just sees the poison it’s creating within your body, and will do anything to make you stop.

The sick, intrusive thought that you might be disappointing her by this simple act alone rises a cough to your throat with the next puff, but in reality she looks so nonchalant, her eyes closed, a simple smile playing on her perfect lips as she revels in the moment, in your presence, her pinky finger looped just over yours against the crumbling brick wall. Nonetheless, the uneasiness is enough for you to stub the cigarette out under your shoe before it’s even half-way smoked.

“Baby, you okay?” she asks sympathetically, turning to face you so that her shoulder is pressed to the wall, her spare arm flying around to brush against your upper arm, thumb caressing the flesh there through your clothes.

“Yeah, course. Can we stay out here a bit, though?”

You expect her to wholeheartedly agree, because you could tell by the subtle sensing of her limber body and the sudden snap attitude she had that she was just as uncomfortable in there as you were, perhaps more so. Her reflexes may as well be yours with how used you are to them. That’s exactly how you know that she’s going to refuse your request by the almost imperceptible crest of her nails into your supple skin.

“Your brother texted, he asked you to come back in: people won’t stop badgering him about you.” She pauses, but upon hearing you huff, hurriedly leaps back in. “I mean of course we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, this is about you, not your brother…”

But it is about your brother. You agreed to come here today to be of help to him. And besides, Elizabeth has almost as much loyalty to your brother as she does to you, the two of them having been friends before he introduced you to her. That certainly didn’t have the outcome he was expecting, but you’ve all remained close nonetheless. Mentally, you give yourself a shakedown. How could you be so selfish? Today isn’t about you, not really. Sure you’d like to make peace with your past and your old tormentors one last time before leaving and never seeing them again, but the main reason is support.

“No, you’re right,” you say after a long moment of lamentation.

“That’s a first,” Liz snorts.

You smack her playfully, “Watch it, you.”

“Hey, who’s the pillow princess around here?”

Your cheeks instantly flush. “That was one time.”

“More like five,” she umms and ahhs, but grasps your hand a little tighter regardless.

It’s a fair comment on her part: Liz does wield the majority of the power in the relationship, and is definitely more of a top that you are, but you ensure that you pleasure her just as much as she does you, it’s only fair. Apart from those few times you decided to try something new… you got tired of that pretty quickly, though, since you couldn’t go too long without tasting her while you were in bed. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, no matter how many mind-blowing orgasms you receive, your desire for her is never quite quelled. Frankly, you hope it never is.

“Stop thinking about fucking me, babe,” she scolds, and pulls you up fully standing from your temporary reprieve against the wall. “Later, I promise. Not here.”

Embarrassment heats your cheeks at the fact she so easily deciphers your filthy thoughts, but then again, she always has. She leads you back inside, and all but hands you over to your brother, practically jumping with impatience at the door to the hall.

“Thank God you’re b—” he cuts himself off, moving closer to you, imperiously sniffing your clothes. “Did you smoke again?” You nod. “Fucking hell, well, there’s another conversation topic, we’ll talk about this later. Can you believe this lot didn’t know you were gay? What morons…”

“Hey, I’m not that obviously gay, am I?”

The dead silence that envelops you gives you the answer you weren’t too keen on receiving in the first place.

“But!” Liz helpfully adds in her most cheery tone. “If you hadn’t been so obviously gay, I probably never would’ve asked you out.”

She beams even as you roll our eyes, “So endearing, babe.”

“Hurry up, this lot are arseholes.”

“I know.” you deadpan. He sends you a snarky smile.

Following him through the small clans of people meandering and congregating amongst themselves, all with some sort of beverage in their hands, you feel your hand grow clammy in Liz’s. Your mind doesn’t get the chance to run away with itself or whirr on for too long, though, before you’re pulled into a group of people—all three of you—and are all welcomed with enthused hugs and professions of well wishes.

“Oh how are you? You look so well, I hope you’ve been doing good!”

Well, you think, if they cared enough they’d have contacted you. Half of them are your brothers Facebook friends and he’s often posting pictures of you hanging out, or childhood throwbacks, and tagging you in them in plain view. Thankfully, your page is private, and Elizabeth doesn’t even have social media. She’s smart.

You engage in conversation—well, they do, you just listen and hum when you’re supposed to, making surprised faces at the right parts—about one classmate who couldn’t be here because she married a mobster and isn’t allowed to discuss her lifestyle. She isn't. She got pregnant straight out of school and is going through her second divorce: your brother saw her recently. Who are you to deny them gossip when you really couldn’t care less?

In minutes they seem to have exhausted all possible fascinating subject matters, or at least make it appear that way as they turn all eyes on you.

“So, y/n, we hear you have a girlfriend!”

Not again.

“Wife; this is Liz.”

“How are you.” she says, more by way of greeting than having any regard for them.

“Oh my God,” one woman clamours, “are you Australian? My boyfriend is Australian! Maybe you know him?”

Liz’s face breaks into a wide smile, the first one of the event. Who cares that it’s at the expense of another person's intelligence, or lack thereof? You and your brother struggle to stifle your own laughter as you loll your head against his broad shoulder, too.

“Australia is more than seven and a half million square kilometres. In context, the UK is only two-forty-two thousand. We have a population of 25 million. I’d be more likely to meet the queen and the president.” she quips. Ever the fount of useless knowledge; as are you both.

“Oh,” says the woman, casting a sheepish gaze away.

“But, um, yeah, I am Australian.”

“You’re tall,” another blatantly observes, “you look Dutch.”

“Polish-Irish. Not far off.” she says again, fixing a smile of nonchalance.

People turn to you for something to say. You have nothing: nothing to say to these awful sycophants, so you’re half relieved and half angered further when your name is called from somewhere behind you.

“y/n y/l/n!”

Great, another bellend. Star of the football team. You settle yourself after a sudden wave of dizziness from spinning on your heel to see just who was calling you, and you’re not particularly surprised, but not glad either, when he’s excited to join the dull circle.

“Actually,” you correct, “it’s y/n Debicki.”

Silence cools around the circle. What, have these people been living under rocks for the past God knows how many years?

“Oh, why?” he asks.

“I got married and took my wife’s name.” you grit out just barely, balancing from foot to foot, the wooden floor creaking around you. Some more wine would be really good right about now, but instead you just settle for an intoxicating peck from Liz’s lips, the chiffon of her skirt shifting again to reveal your held hands and glistening wedding rings.

“Oh!”

The silence is agony. Why can’t the ground just swallow you up already? Your brother's getting angry, his fist clenching, picking at his nails, while everyone else in the group is exchanging anxious eye contact. Liz and her insanely long legs could probably give you a leg-up to one of the immensely tall windows as a quicker, though slightly more problematic escape route…

“By the way, that’s totally fine.”

“Yeah,” someone adds, you can’t be bothered to look who. “We totally accept it.”

“It’s like you’re not even gay, but straight, and normal. N—not that being gay isn’t normal, just that we don’t see you any differently.”

“You’re the same y/n you always were.” one smiles at last.

Your brother is going to lose it in three… two… one…

“Oh yeah? The y/n that you all relentlessly picked on and victimised for years? The same y/n who was forced to hide her identity and everything she wanted to be for years just because you back-thinking bastards didn’t want a lesbian in the class?” he shouts, flailing his arms madly about, hissing one of the broad, tree trunk pillars in the process. He doesn’t flinch. Turning to you, he starts in a softer voice, “I never should’ve asked you to come here, I’m so sorry y/n, I was so selfish to bring you back to this hellhole. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to come with these dipshits tossing around! And Liz, you don’t deserve this either. Please, do us all a favour, and take y/n home, never bringing her back here. You were right all these years, sweet, it’s the place nightmares are born. And you scummy lot should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

His breath is ragged once he’s done with his rant, his forehead glistening with sweat, his knuckles white with tension.

“Liz, could you get him some water, please?” you whisper into her ear.

She nods affirmatively, and breaks from your grasp, steering your hunched, tense, seething brother in the direction of the drinks table.

“Thanks, I guess,” you begin, kicking your heels into the splintering oak floor, your wine long forgotten, “like, for the acceptance and stuff. But I’ve always been this way, he’s right. It’s not some earth shattering revelation, I was just too shy to come out because you all tossed slurs around like it was okay.” You take a deep breath, and in that time, Liz has returned and stuck herself to your side, your brother happily alone in the corner with a cold glass of water as you cast a glance over your shoulder. You comb your fingers through Elizabeth’s coiffed blonde hair to relieve some anxiety, and are further reassured when she presses her lips to your earlobe, glistening with the diamonds she gifted you. “Besides, this shouldn’t be a thing you have to zealously profess to accept, it should be just as normal as one of you walking in with your heterosexual partner.” As some of them have done, and no one’s batted an eyelid.

A din of agreement sounds out from them, but you know they’re all more than a little meek after being scolded like schoolchildren by your big scary brother. He’s a teddy bear, really, but when he flips, he flips.

When you arise no cohesive response from anyone, you rest your head on Liz’s shoulder, and ask, “Did you see that article on the BBC yesterday morning?”

You have no idea what article you’re on about, but one leaps in with something about climate change, and one about a rise in violent crime in the area. Thank God you don’t live there anymore.

“I forgot about that one!” you gasp with feigned surprise.

Liz looks down on you warmly, chuckling at the mischievous glint in your eye. She knows exactly what you’re up to. But after today, you can walk away from this place, despite the stunning old architecture of the gorgeous building, the beautiful panelling on the walls and the window you spent so many hours gazing at while daydreaming wistfully through assemblies and exams, never to return. Frankly, after this shit show, you’d have it no other way. The teachers will be arriving soon, and in the hopes you see your favourite old teacher, Mrs Alleman, you decide it can’t hurt just to stick around a little bit longer, even if you don’t listen to anyone's conversation. It’s not like they want to involve you.

Before you know it, ten dreary minutes have passed, and as each second slips by, you’re losing the will to live. Even these people are bored to death by the sound of their own voices, unsurprisingly. You’ve just busied yourself the whole time by playing with Liz’s long, slender fingers and her glistening silver ring. She’s becoming more and more antsy, though, so you’re unsurprised when she moves to stand away, speaking only when there’s a brief intermission of silence.

“I’m heading to the loo, honey. Which way is it?” she asks politely.

“Out the door we came, but on the other side of the corridor is a closed door, down that corridor it’s the fourth on the right, up a couple of stairs.”

Her eyes widen, “This place is a maze.”

“I know,” you chuckle, and lean up to peck her lips. “They’re the staff ones, down a cohorted route in a forbidden corridor so we wouldn’t use them.”

“You,” she shakes her head, bending down to kiss you again from her standing position, though she does practically double down, and has to press a hand to her chest to prevent her dress from falling, “are so randomly knowledgeable.” It’s really more of an awkward stowed away memory, but you take it anyway. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As she draws away, she catches your lip in her teeth. Again. If it wouldn’t arouse suspicion, you’d be after her like a bullet, but, well… So you just sit there, counting the minutes, the seconds until she returns and you’re able to make a quick exit, barely making an agreeable sound or two when someone deigns to involve you in the deathly boring conversation they’re having about the FTSE or something, but she doesn’t return. It’s only after five minutes—you meticulously checked your watch—that you realise she’s probably gotten lost, your heart fluttering into your throat.

“I think Liz is lost, I’m gonna go find her,” you say, not that anyone exactly notes your absence or offers you as much as a nod, so you stand and stroll away, not caring about your knocked over glass as you stalk out of the great hall, breaking into a slight jog as soon as the doors are closed behind you.

You could swear you catch your brother winking across the room as they close, but you can’t be sure, not with how crazy you are after Liz did that thing she does every single time she instigates sex. You’ve been together for more than four marvellous years, and yet it still brings fire into your veins, butterflies into your stomach, and lust into your mind.

She’s not in the foyer, or down the ostentatious portrait corridor, so you burst into the pristine white and purple bathroom, only to find Liz leant against the wall, a slight bulge in her dress.

“God, I was wondering if you’d ever get the message, I’ve been waiting for ages.” she huffs, slamming her mouth onto yours impatiently.

You gasp, winding your arms around her neck, not complaining in the slightest when you hear the door lock and you’re lifted high against the wall. Your hand flies down on instinct, and you’re not disappointed when your hand wraps around something long, hard and thick.

The squeak of surprise that leaves your lips only spurs Liz on more. “You wore the strap.”

“I went and fetched it from the car, thought we could have some fun, make this worth your while.”

“I love you so much.” you breathe, no time for courtesy.

Crashing your lips down onto hers, you lick filthily into her mouth, your tongue skimming her teeth, but your control barely lasts a moment before she’s overpowering you, nipping at your lip as she busies herself otherwise with gaining access to your throbbing, drenched core.

“Liz…” you moan. When she skims her fingers over the lace edge of your panties.

“So wet already baby,” she taunts, her breath hot on your ear, “have I done all this? Such a dirty girl…”

Her voice holds a gravelly quality, down to lust you’d wager. Her accent becomes so much more pronounced during times of passion, too. Her voice alone sends another wave of wetness gushing through you, soaking Liz’s fingertips as she slides them under your panties and into your folds.

“Oh poor helpless baby,” she croons, biting down on your neck harshly. “I don’t even need to use lube today, do I?”

You can’t respond, can’t even try to. She’s so intoxicating you could cry. All that’d come out is senseless babble. You can barely muster a breath with her gaze of such intensity burning into your fucked-out face. In all fairness, she doesn’t usually have to, since she makes you gush with a single glance, but the sensual jibe does make you a little embarrassed.

You can’t think straight when she plunges a single, long digit deep within your velvety walls, stroking at a torturous pace.

“F— fuck, faster, please.” you stammer.

“Only because my baby asked so nicely.”

Her hand begins to move faster against you, the rustle of clothes nothing compared to the sounds of your wetness. She adds another digit daringly, and pumps within you faster, her technique impeccable. If she’s not careful, you’ll be falling apart around her fingers in little more than a moment. Over the years she’s learnt how to bring you to mind-shattering climax embarrassingly quickly.

“Lizzie…” you moan when she hits that special spongy spot that makes you see stars behind your eyes.

Quick thinking as ever, she clamps one elegant hand over your mouth, her pale fingers digging into your cheeks, the metal of her rings cool against your lips. You can’t help yourself, your tongue darting out to lick the band of her wedding ring, skilfully wrapping your wet muscle around her. She can never resist when you do that, and her own knees begin to buckle, but her pace speeds up.

“Baby, I’m close,” you hiss against her hand, words muffled.

Your shoulder presses painfully into a ridge of the wall, but you can’t care, not when her wrist is flicking so quickly, yet somehow each thrust is deeper and more pleasurable than the last, the pads of her fingers catching all the right places within our quivering walls, continually hitting that spot. The heel of her palm keeps hitting your clit with a voracious intensity, needing to bring you toppling over the edge.

You come unravelled with a cry of her name, your legs unable to even partially hold yourself up as she settles you down gently on the floor, forcing you to lean heavily against the countertop. Stars and fireworks erupt to create images of Liz behind your eyelids, in the front of your brain. And the noise you made… After that, you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall knows what you’re up to, and somehow, that only fuels your need for Liz further.

“How do you get hotter every time you do that?” she husks.

Purple glittery potpourri on the window-sill prickles at your upper arm as you shuffle backwards, reaching out to Elizabeth with grabby hands. Her petite chest heaves with heavy breaths, her hair sticking up a little in cute blonde spikes.

“You wanna sit, babe?” you ask breathlessly.

Your own vision is a bit blurred from riding on cloud nine just moments ago, your juices running down your legs, glistening in the harsh bathroom light.

“You’ve always got a seat with me.” You wink, and wet your lips with your tongue. “Come sit.”

She chuckles at you, instead moving to kneel between your open legs on the edge of the counter, hovering over you

“Wait until we get home,” she teases, pressing the cold rings on her hand to your inner thigh, “I don’t trust myself, I’ll never leave if I sit now.”

Her lips lace with yours filthily, and you find yourself unable to stop your legs reflexively bolting out to wrap around her hips again, hand coming up to cup her cheek and neck with a bruising hold. Her hips rock against yours, and with your core already opened and revealed to her, all it takes is a slight fidget and a particularly harsh rut of her pelvis, and the priapic extension of Elizabeth—attached, thankfully, by a harness—is buried to the hilt within you. Your gasp is silent, your mouth opening in an inaudible ‘o’, a soundless plea for more. She’s prepped you well as always, and sought to open you up fully, which means that only a moment later you’re tapping her shoulder to signal for her to move.

The bulbous tip of the toy gains your attention rather swiftly as it grazes that heartily stimulated spot that Liz was so focussed on just minutes earlier. Her hips move with such grace even in such an ungainly act, her years of dance training aiding her elegance. God, she’s just so perfect in every way.

“Fuck, baby, I think I’m close—” she murmurs in your ear.

She begins to suck hickeys into your jawline, rendering you utterly speechless at the onslaught of pleasure you’re receiving all at once. Your boobs are bouncing as she pounds into you harder on the counter, the base of the strap now hitting your clit.

“Me too,” you eventually garner to choke out.

Your own pleasure can wait, take a damn backseat, because sweat is beading on Liz’s forehead as she wrecks her knees to fuck you more furiously, delivering you all of the pleasure you could ever want. But Elizabeth? She deserves it far more than you do after everything she’s done for you today.

She bites her lip, probably to keep a moan down the same way you are by biting your tongue, and she proceeds to hook her willowy arms around the crooks of your knees, thus tugging your legs up onto her shoulder, allowing her to hit an even deeper angle than before.

You can’t help the obscene whimper that escapes you, shrill and so pleasured, “Baby, keep— ohmygod please!”

Your head falls back against the hard porcelain rim of the sink, knocking some sense into you. This is your chance, while her eyes are still closed and the veins and ridges of the fake plastic cock are driving deep inside you, squeezed by your clenching walls. Slipping your own arm down her body and between the two of you, you find your way beneath the strap and onto her throbbing pearl.

“Shit!” she squeaks upon the first spark of contact, her body temporarily seizing, but she falls back into her previous pace within moments.

You rub circles on her voraciously, suddenly darting up to capture her lips in a sloppy kiss as a cry threatens to spill from her lips. But then you feel it coming, and your entire body tenses in anticipation, your eyes flying wide open to watch heaven crash right before your eyes.

First, her shoulders tense, followed by her eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbone without her even being aware, then her legs try to involuntarily clench around your hand, her clit throbbing with anticipation as you speed up your movements. Her knees go next, then her arms, and she’s unable to hold herself up, but her hips don’t stop once. That’s when it happens.

“y/n, y/n, y/n.” she repeats like it’s her prayer of salvation.

Every muscle in her body quivers, her lips parting, her nose scrunching. Her teeth then catch your lip in the kiss you’re mixed up in, and her hips still. It doesn’t matter, since you’ve reached your own climax just from watching her fall apart at your very own mercy, your own legs falling from her shoulders, open wide on the counter as you chant her name in as quiet a whisper as you can muster.

Heavy breathing resonates through the small room, the stifling air now reeking of sex.

“C’mere,” you coax.

The counter is cold beneath you, the sink uncomfortable as you lie down flat, but when Liz crawls feebly into your arms, it matters a whole lot less. The comfort she provides is, and always has been, incomparable. Ethereal is the only way to describe her this way, too, blonde hair ruffled as she curls into your side, burying her nose into your shoulder, her arm slung over your waist.

“Do you think you got your revenge, babe?” she asks in a quiet voice, husky, laced with sex.

“Definitely. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.”

“Probably more than what most of those has-beens have got in years.”

You meet her twinkling eyes, and dissolve into a fit of giggles together, gripping her even tighter. It always was a secret fantasy of yours to do something like this, but you never imagined you’d be here nearly a decade later, fucking your wife in the staff bathroom. That’s just… beyond, but so hot.

“Ready to blow this place?”

“More than,” you answer, “but safety first.”

She gazes up at you, pouts and grumbles, but slips off you and into the left hand stall anyway, while you take the right. Once she emerges, the strap is safely stowed away in a discreet bag—one you purchased specifically should a chance like this ever arise since you’re not fans of handbags—and she turns the tap on. You wash your hands in a contented silence, and fix each other's clothes and hair the same way, until you’re at least half way presentable (though still more than mildly dishevelled) in order to just escape to the car and then hope at long merciful last.

“Should we text your brother?”

“I’ll do it when we reach the car,” you tell her, taking her hand as you unfasten the lock and pelt out into the corridor. “Wait, one minute.”

She watches you peculiarly as you pull out perfume from your pocket, spritzing it around the room, before re-entering fully and cranking the window open. At least this way the scent of sex is partially masked.

“Ever the resourceful one,” she chuckles, following your lead down the corridor, her long legs bounding beside you.

Your giggles carry around the high ceilinged building, bumping and bouncing off every wall so it seems, and once you're out into the foyer, she ensures to kiss you loudly, bending down to meet your height, just to test if your kisses have the same effect.

You don’t get to test that, however, before an all too familiar voice snaps you out of your trance, and suddenly, you’re fifteen and being told off for late homework again.

“y/n!”

You scurry to hide Liz behind you, as if that’s of any use whatsoever, and almost melt into tears when you see Mrs Alleman.

“Oh dear, how good to see you.” she professes, and before you quite know what to do with yourself, she’s standing right in front of you, wearing the same stylishly sensible shoes she always did.

“And you, Miss.”

“Who’s this?”

Glee forces a wide smile onto your face, standing aside to allow Elizabeth’s full beauty to be appreciated.

“This is my wife, Elizabeth,” you say, the proudest thing you’ve said all evening. “This is Mrs Alleman, my language teacher. She taught me everything I know.”

“Oh stop it,” she plays coy, but is gasping and gawking joyously beneath it. “Mr Smith owes me a tenner now. I predicted you’d come here with a female partner of some sort, he said you’d just come as an out and proud lesbian but single.”

Your jaw drops, and you can see Elizabeth’s chest rattling a little with swallowed laughter.

“I’m sorry, what? You had a bet on me being gay?”

“Oh yes, it first started when you were in year eleven and so helplessly queer, we couldn’t help but keep placing bets on how long you’d stay in the closet.” She places a gentle hand on your upper arm, noting the evident flush about you, and turns towards Liz. “Anyway, hi Elizabeth. You treat our girl well, she was a great student.”

“Always, Ma’am.” Liz answers dutifully, squeezing your hand even tighter in a silent promise. “She’s the most wonderful thing to have ever happened to me, and I’m glad she had an influence like you among all that lot of bogans.”

Mrs Alleman is impressed, you can tell since she’s wearing that same delighted expression she did when you told her you got into your top choice university with the results you aimed for, thanks to her teaching. “Tall, out, and Aussie? She really does have it all. And as much as I’d like to argue, you’re totally right, that year was a damn nuisance.”

“Somehow, no one has matured since we left?” you comment with feigned shock.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” It didn’t surprise you either. They were a fat lot of use, the whole lot of them. At least you and your brother were able to do good on your promise to get away from them all. “What are you doing now?”

“Oh, I work in translation for the home office and cabinet ministers.” Though your statement doesn’t hold as much pride as the one about Elizabeth being your wife did.

Her eyes grow wide, “That’s brilliant! I know you always wanted to do something like that.”

“I did, and I actually enjoy it.”

Mrs Alleman’s face softens, “I hoped you would. But promise me you’ll never become a teacher.”

You loose a chuckle, saying, “Never,” before stilling to a beat of easy silence.

“I love those earrings, by the way.”

“Oh!” You twist them subconsciously. “Anniversary present.”

“Y’know, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to get inside and make a speech,” she grumbles. “Drop me an email, I’d love to catch up and properly see how you’re doing. Bring this tall drink of water if you’d like,” she adds with a wink.

“I’d really like that Miss, thank you.” you say, flushing a little.

Mrs Alleman was always one for affection, so you’re not entirely surprised when she approaches you with wide arms, her court shoes muffled on the foyer carpet. You accept the hug, and you’re surprised when Liz does the same. You say your goodbyes, agree to meet again, and let Elizabeth lead you back to the car, your fingers woven together.

“Was that worth being dragged out of the house for?” Liz asks.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Perhaps shoving that strap down my throat will make it a little more worthwhile,” you say with a smirk.

“I heard that!” Mrs Alleman shouts from the top of the stone steps, gazing at you disapprovingly despite the laughs tumbling from her.

You cling to Liz, pressing your lips into a thin line when you feel your phone buzz, your brother's name popping up on the screen.

‘Everyone knows what you were doing. Don’t come back.’

‘We weren’t planning on it,’ you type back. Not now you’ve reaped your revenge, at least. You shut your phone after adding to the message, ‘Drinks at ours tonight.’

These people from your past are insignificant, Liz is your future and your forever.

#night manager jed #elizabeth debicki #liz debicki #elizabeth debicki avatars #vita & virginia #elizabeth debicki imagine #elizabeth debicki fanfic #elizabeth debicki x reader #elizabeth debicki smut #elizabeth debicki fluff #elizabeth debicki angst #elizabeth debicki x you #elizabeth debicki tom hiddleston #wlw imagine

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arahul-abyssia · 3 years ago

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Festive

Writing number 4 for Nintember (@starprincesshlc , @jklantern )! To hopefully escape the pit of Emotions™ that was the first three stories, here's some hopefully much much much lighter, more slice-of-life-ish fare.

This does correspond to prompts 16-20, but I got caught up in Real Life for a while, so it's going up mega-late, and also it's kinda... abridged from its original concept, and less polished. 'Tis the way the cookie hath crumbled this year...

~~ Horse, Color, Hats, World, Music ~~

Layna awoke to a loud and repetitive hooting in her ear. She blearily turned her head to the side to find a pair of black-framed bright red eyes staring at her with interest. It took several moments of staring before she was mentally present enough to avert her gaze, sit up, and look out the window at the horizon. As she had expected, the sun had only barely risen fully above it.

She turned back to her greeter. “Relos! How many times do I have to tell you not to wake me up?”

Relos merely, and quite literally, hooted with laughter and flew off out of her room. Layna knew it was futile to keep telling him not to wake her, not because of any obligation or the masterful internal clock of his, but because he knew she didn’t like it and he was a mischief-mongering imp.

Normally, she’d roll over and try to get a few more minutes of sleep, but that day was the first of one of the best weeks of the entire year, and she didn’t want to miss a single moment. She quickly pulled herself from her bed, cleaned and dressed herself, grabbed the pack she had prepared the night before, and hurried downstairs, hoping to get through the delightfully aromatic kitchen and out the door before--

“Aaaalwaaaalrwaaa!”

Standing between Layna and the door was the soft pink-and-cream form of Infra, who was gazing up at her with strikingly accusatory eyes, her hands on her hips.

“Yes, Infra, I know I haven’t eaten.”

“Laaalruuwaar!”

“It’s the first day of the festival and I want to do as much as I can! I’ll get something from one of the vendors.”

“Luulrwarraalyaaa!”

“Ugh…! Fine, if it’ll make you happy.”

Begrudgingly, she returned to the kitchen and sat at the table, as Infra went to the stove, gingerly placed an assortment of breakfast foods onto a plate, and set it before Layna, smiling at her with fairy-pink eyes that had nary a semblance of her previous visage. Unlike the rest of Pokémon in her family’s home, who were all quite content to leave the human part of the family to do as they pleased, the Audino practically operated like another mother to her, as if she needed a third one on top of her human two (who also were often subject to Infra’s mothering). Somehow, she had learned how to do a whole plethora of human home tasks and chores, and she never let Layna leave home in the morning without ensuring that she’d eaten. An outside observer might wonder why a Pokémon was apparently her morning caretaker, and not either or both of her mothers, but with both of them having jobs that began long before dawn, it was simply how things were in their house.

She had to admit that Infra was a surprisingly good cook. This evaluation, however, was not based upon the food that she was at that moment rapidly stuffing into her mouth, but rather upon the numerous meals from days where she wasn’t dead-set on going elsewhere as soon as possible. That morning’s breakfast, while certainly of Infra’s normal calibre, was given no time to rest upon Layna’s taste buds, and may as well have been tasteless for all she cared.

As soon as the last bite of egg left her fork, she jumped to her feet, practically threw the plate and silverware into the sink, and darted for the door, calling out as she left, “‘Kthankyoubyyyyeeeeee!”

Infra was not impressed with her, as projectile kitchenware was dangerous and eating that quickly would likely give her a stomachache, but she’d have time later to worry about such things. Her next task was to prepare food for the rest of the Pokémon scattered about the house, who all were beginning to come to consciousness, probably due to the clatter of cutlery, and she set about with the same dutifulness and joy she always did.

Layna, of course, hadn’t even a single neuron focused upon Infra’s judgment, as she was far more concerned with sprinting down a steep road with wanton abandon, the countless colors and lights and tents and tarps of the festival visible in the distance. It had already entered full swing, always beginning with the dawn, and she wanted to explore as much as she could. She had considered bringing along some of the Pokémon, but not long later decided to bring them along later in the day instead. She did not know why she made this decision, nor did she care.

The streets that had been blocked off for the festival were already bustling with people and Pokémon alike, almost each and every one nearly as energized as Layna was. She promptly began to wander the streets, turning and spinning and looking about enough that she ought to have made herself sick, but this had not lasted for even five minutes before she was drawn to a larger vendor stall by an overpowering floral and fruity aroma.

As should be expected, an impossibly wide variety of flowers and fruits were on display, some having been made presentory and others still being attached to their plants, with countless more options upon the boards hanging from the awning.

��Well, hello there, young miss!” said one of the farmers behind the stand. “How can we help ya?”

“Oh, I’m just looking right now, sir.” She paused a moment, then was overtaken by a rather sudden curiosity. “There are so many flowers and berries here, how do you manage to pick and move them all?”

The farmer chuckled. “We have a lot of help, ‘specially around this time of year. Lot of it comes from extra hands, but it would still be impossible without the help of all our Pokémon, like ol’ Sitrus here.”

At this, he gestured to a Mudsdale beside him, which Layna had somehow managed to miss entirely.

“She’s lovely! And so… big…! I’ll bet she must be really strong, too!”

“More ‘n any of us could’ve expected! And she’s friendly, too; wanna pet her?”

Layna’s eyes immediately lit up. “Would I?!! I mean, uh, if she’ll let me…!”

The farmer laughed and brought the horse forward, and Layna tentatively reached up and placed a hand on her face. Sitrus took a moment to consider her latest contact, then, judging her satisfactory in that esoteric way few can ever decipher, leaned in to her touch. She giggled and stroked her a few times more, noting her fur’s strange combination of roughness and softness, before pulling her hand away. Sitrus, in turn, snorted a puff of hot air at Layna’s face before backing into the shade again.

“Aw, that means she likes you! Well, let me or any one of us know if ya want anything.”

“Will do, thank you!” Layna had no intention to buy anything at that time, not when there were countless other things to do and find and see at the festival. She proceeded to bury her face in several of the flowers around the stall, enveloping herself in their different, yet undeniably pleasant, scents, before scampering off to find some other point of interest.

She could have easily checked the maps of the festival area, which were scattered on boards and holographic signs all about the city and even available online, but this sounded boring and unfun, so she did not. Upon her winding, meandering, unfocused path through the streets were innumerable stalls and stands and attractions to take note of--more fruits and vegetables, tickets to special shows on later days, a ferris wheel to ride with someone else later, foreign cuisine and sweets--but it was not until she overheard the faint but unmistakable sound of music that she was drawn in once again.

Upon the boardwalk was a small stage with a frighteningly energetic group of musicians, surrounded by an even more enthusiastic crowd. They seemed to be in the middle of a rendition of a song Layna heard on the radio nearly every day, an anthem for Trainers detailing their goal to “Catch ‘em All.” She never saw the appeal--both of the song and of the objective--but it apparently spoke quite well to most others.

As they finished their performance--and on a much more somber note than the original song did--their main singer pulled the microphone from its stand and began pacing the stage. “I hope you folks are enjoying the show! Now, however, I’d like to take a break from the hype, and sing something a bit slower, something that’s… rather close to my heart.”

Layna watched as a Toxtricity--which had evidently been playing with the rest of the band, but which, just like the Mudsdale, she had failed at first to notice--stepped forward and began playing a slow guitar piece. The lead singer waited a moment, then began to sing a ballad in a tongue Layna could not understand. It was one she was certain she had heard before, but could not manage to identify it any way beyond that it was not the common tongue known by almost everyone across the world.

She tried to stay and listen, but immediately found that, beautiful though his singing was, she was not in the mood for slow music. Along with a small chunk of the band’s crowd, she turned and left, and returned to her aimless wandering and exploration.

Eventually, she found herself in a quarter rife with food vendors, most of whom had one or two individuals calling out and offering free samples. By the smells and descriptions alone, she was greatly tempted to take every single one she could. Of course, her mothers would likely have tried to limit how many she took so that she wouldn’t spoil her appetite for lunch, and Infra would surely have balked at the notion for the same reasons; also, most of the food in the area was rather far from being healthy. Indeed, she had significant reason to not do what she wanted to do.

However, none of those individuals were here to remind her, and as it turned out, the aromas were very persuasive. Layna marched forward and nabbed every sample in sight, only barely stopping to enjoy them before moving on to the next, and only doing so because of the crowds and lines slowing her down.

Her frenzy ended not fifteen minutes later, and as she looked about to find her next target of interest, she realized she had wound up on the very same street she had started on. Obviously, this would not do, as there were so many other, more interesting circles to walk in the festival’s streets.

However, with home being so near once again, she had half a mind to return to grab something to combat the rapidly rising sun, whose rays were just beginning to take too much precedence over the comfortable morning breeze…

“Twee-tweeoo-twrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

Or maybe I won’t have to after all!

A black-and-brown blur was barrelling toward her from the sky, making a frankly obscene level of noise. She stood firm and faced it, staring unblinking at the rapidly encroaching avian, before ducking at a perfect, precise, and repeatedly practiced moment. Like clockwork, Layna’s vision was shaded by an off-kilter hat (which she quickly adjusted), and the feathery form of a Taillow alighted upon her shoulder, whose face she began to delicately stroke.

“Thank you for bringing me my hat, Lond! Wherever would I be without you?”

“Twrrrt-t-twiii!”

“Wait, no, don’t tell me: Infra wanted me to not burn in the sun and you wanted to not be stuck inside with Relos.”

“Twrr-twrr-twrr!”

“I thought so… well, now that you’re here, how about sticking with me for a bit of exploration? I’m sure there'll be plenty of stuff to try!”

Lond pretended to think for a moment, then gave another enthusiastic chirp.

Layna giggled. “In that case, we mustn’t waste any more time! Onward!”

And with no decay to her exuberance, she sprinted off into the festival once more.

#nintember #fun note: i don't really like the whole 'pokemon say their names thing' so i went with Other Sounds instead

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3pirouette · 4 years ago

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Fic: Iterate (1/1)

Title: Iterate By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: Up through Endgame. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 2953 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Summary: Steve lived through the 21st century twice, the second time hurt much more than the first.

A/N: I literally made myself cry today on the way to work while I was working this out in my head. It was SUPPOSED to be FLUFFY. I’m not exactly why I decided on this format, all I know is that it felt right. I hope you enjoy. Steggy is just mentioned, more Steve-centric.

It was supposed to be a stupid, fluffy story about Old Steve living with his granddaughter and being a LITTLE SHIT to her all the time because he’s 100% comfortable with modern things and it drives her nuts. I’m sorry.

Also, please pay attention to vague time stamps. Certain details are changed for impact. Hence, AU (Even though I FULLY BELIEVE that once the stones are placed back there is only ONE main timeline where Steve lived, was Peggy’s husband, and that’s how he showed up at the end of Endgame. Fight me.)

AND I’M SORRY.

~*~ October 2023

He supposed he’d always been waiting for this day. Steve knew he’d be around for it, one way or another. At least, he’d always assumed that, though he’d thought he’d experience it in a very, very different way.

He didn’t know the exact time, just a vague recollection that it was early afternoon, that there had been sunlight they’d blocked out with the blast shields, that they’d tried to eat lunch but they were all too nervous.

Funny. Same thing happened to him today. He couldn’t manage to get anything to slide down past the lump in his throat, couldn’t fill his stomach to calm the butterflies. He tried coffee first. It was warm and robust but had no effect.

He pulled out the tin from the back of the cabinet and made a cup of tea from one of the few remaining bags there. He sipped it and imagined Peggy sitting across from him, telling him off for using old tea that would be bitter and teasing him for how much sugar he put in it.

He drank a beer and wished to god that he had just one flask of whatever it was Thor used to carry around. He needed something to calm his nerves.

He caught his reflection in the window over the sink. For just the briefest second he saw his young self, so broken by so much, not knowing that today would be the day he’d be put to his greatest test. But the sun shifted and he could see every wrinkle in the refection, every grey hair, the haziness to his eyes that the doctor said was the beginning of cataracts.

A lifetime ago this day had changed everything for him without him knowing. Today, he was just as eager for the moment when Banner would put on that glove, this time for very different reasons.

~*~

In the end, Steve Rogers managed to live a fairly normal life.

Once back with Peggy, he kept away from the spotlight. Unsure if he’d created a parallel timeline or if he was living in his own, he did his best to avoid changing things.

Because even when he wanted to change things, he realized very quickly, he couldn’t.

He became enamored with sci-fi and fantasy that included time travel, with physicists who wrote books on the subject. He wanted to understand it, to know the unknowable.

He eventually decided that he was prescribing to the Doctor Who Theory of time travel: that it was all very, very complicated but that some things, no matter what, had to just happen in their own time and some things were simply fixed and would always happen the way they were supposed to. He’d seen this first with Zola- as he’d tried to get the man and his influence away from SHIELD they only dug their heels in deeper and kept him. It was later reaffirmed when, despite every effort, The Winter Soldier escaped him and Howard and Maria were left for dead in their car, young Tony devistated.

After that day, he stopped trying so hard to avoid squishing butterflies and focused instead on enjoying what he had.

What he had was, after all, quite a lot: A wife, two young boys, and a second chance at the life he’d missed while fighting other men’s wars.

~*~

Despite knowing all that laid ahead for him and his friends in the future that was now his past and yet somehow once again his future, Steve eventually started longing for the new millennium as decades past him by. He missed the technology, the ability to have whatever kind of entertainment he waited at the tips of his fingers. Though he’d known a good portion of what would happen from history books, once he’d gone back, he’d lived an entire lifetime full of surprises, experiencing things like the moon landing and the Vietnam war first hand. But now, as he grew older and he knew his days with Peggy were numbered, he longed for the small comforts of familiarity, for e-mails and smartphones and heated steering wheels on cars that parked themselves.

As the 2000’s arrived, he felt himself get more and more comfortable with the things around him: the news, the events he’d already experienced once and would again in a different way. It felt good to feel at least on solid ground with the world around him, knowing what was to come for him.

His home was lonely after Peggy was gone, and he made his only granddaughter an offer she couldn’t refuse: free room and board if she helped him keep up the house. An elementary school art teacher, Maggie was happy to step in for a little financial relief as she tried to navigate the churlish economy.

If he never told her that he was perfectly capable of taking care of the house by himself, it didn’t quite matter. The company was more than enough. And if when she smiled she looked just a little like her namesake and it warmed his heart… well, that wasn’t a bad thing, either.

The best part, he’d found though, was that it was hilariously funny to drive his granddaughter crazy. He’d lived through the early decades of the 21st century as a young man. He’d learned how to navigate the internet, interface with the most complicated technology there was to offer, and listened to music that wouldn’t be written for years to come. He loved watching her face as he sang along to Billie Eilish on the radio or realize that she didn’t have to explain to him how to use an iPad or Facetime.

~*~

She yelled at him the first snowfall. Skidded her car (all-wheel drive, thank goodness he’d convinced her to get the newest model) into the freshly shoveled driveway and tore out of the driver’s seat, yelling at him a mile a minute.

They’ll think I’m some kind of self-centered princess letting a centenarian shovel this and try to kill himself! She’d yelled, trying to take the shovel from his hands.

He was still stronger than he should be, and held his ground. I don’t want you hurting yourself on this stuff.

Me? She’s screeched, and he’d laughed. He couldn’t help but smile and find her concern at least a little comical. Deep down he understood, knew that he should be trying to sell his age a little more, be trying to hide that he was still strong and fast and in better shape than some of his middle-aged neighbors.

As much as he’d like to push her off, tell her to go inside, he couldn’t. She wasn’t a self-centered princess, but she was his princess, and he bent to her whim like a branch in the wind. He’d kissed her on the head and finally handed her the shovel, leaving her the last bit of the path to her to clean up, and promised to take better care of himself.

She didn’t know that when she left for work, he still went down the basement and bench pressed 225 on an easy day.

~*~

She teased him about his record collection. Even though records had come back in style, she still thought it was silly to have a whole wall dedicated to them when she could access nearly all of musical history on her cell phone. He showed her his own digital playlists and popped in his airpods when he was reading sometimes, but he loved the sound the needle made when it hit the wax.

One night, when he couldn’t listen to her teasing anymore, no matter how good natured it was, he played dirty.

You know, there’s a new song coming out by one of those artists you like. WAP? Heard it’s a cover of a song your Nana and I used to dance to all the time.

Two weeks later, he heard the familiar opening bass to the song Barton had played incessantly in the gym while he was working out and had quoted for months, the song that he hadn’t been able to get away from even in the past with random phrases like macaroni in a pot popping into his head at the most inconvenient times.

Barely half a verse in she’d either shut it off or turned the music way lower. At dinner she couldn’t look at him.

That was not at cover, Pop Pop. And I don’t want to think about you and Nana like that… ever.

~*~

She cried when she came home, a year after Peggy’s death, to see Peggy’s beautiful vanity had been moved into her room, Peggy’s jewelry box on it front and center.

What did you do? She’d kept asking him, tears in her eyes.

She’d want you to have it. He knew it was the truth. He hugged her tight as she sniffed and knew he’d made the right decision. He remembered Peggy sitting with Maggie on her knee on the small stool, letting the girl paw through her necklaces and play with her big fluffy make-up brushes. Maggie reaching for her eyeshadow and Peggy deftly pulling it away. Peggy being just a little too slow with the lipstick and the toddler bouncing around the house, proudly showing off the circle on the bottom half of her face to anyone who would look at her.

They’d loved their boys, but Maggie had both of their hearts in a way they hadn’t been prepared for.

Steve had to make up and excuse to leave the house the next morning when Maggie came down to breakfast, wearing the single pearl drop necklace he’d gotten for Peggy on their 25th wedding anniversary and her signature red lipstick. It was a good pain, but the first time he saw her in her grandmother’s necklaces, it was pain none the less.

~*~ Spring 2018

He knew the date it was supposed to happen. He’d kept up enough to know that it would, too. His other self was out there, somewhere, fighting what would become the biggest battle of his life.

Steve decided to focus on the small things. He kept the house stocked up with food and drinks, nonperishables that would last months and even years, toilet paper and paper towels. He ordered big metal shelves for the basement and made sure there was enough for multiple people for the long haul.

He didn’t know what would happen to his family in the snap- who would make it and who wouldn’t, but he was going to be sure whoever survived would be set for the following months where there was chaos, food and water shortages, and fear.

It would be a long five years for anyone that was left.

Even though she was home most nights, he asked Maggie for a standing Thursday night date. Some nights he showed her how to keep the house up: where the water main was, how to shut it on and off, where the gas line was, what to do if the roof started leaking. He made notebooks full of lists of things to do, how-to’s for the house and for life, and even, when he was awake in the middle of the night, wrote her letters so she wouldn’t be lonely.

Somehow, he just knew it would be him this time. He had survived the first snap, but if there were two of him and one survived, the other, statistically, did not. Thanos was very clear on how half worked.

Maggie, at first, had been scared. His family knew he had a knack for predicting the future, but didn’t know quite why.

Are you dying? Maggie had asked, fearing the worst when she started to realize that their Thursday night take-out and movie date was about more than just spending time together.

No, he’d said so very often, I just want you to be ready for anything.

Despite all of her questions, she went along with it.

When the day came, he couldn’t quite keep the sadness out of his eyes. Couldn’t quite smile at her. They ate pizza in front of the TV, watching a comedy Maggie had picked. He kept his eyes on his watch. It was coming.

His fingers itched. Like he could already feel his cells pulling apart.

He reached out, taking her hand in his and covering it with is other hand. “Maggie, you know I love you, right?”

She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She’d sensed his anxiety all day. “Of course, I do. And I love you, Pop Pop.”

He looked away and then back at her. “I promise you, whatever happens, I’m alright, and I’ll be back.”

“Pop Pop,” her eyes filled with tears, “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head, “I’ve left you everything you’ll need, and I promise I’ll be back.”

A tear fell from her eye as she squeezed his hand tighter. “But where…”

It was as if the world went silent as it started to happen. Though the television droned on in the background, he could swear the air was stiller. He started to see the dust fill the air and tried not to breathe.

But it was wrong.

It wasn’t him.

Her hand was falling to nothing in his, the fear in her eyes haunting as the skin of her cheeks flecked into the air, swirling before falling along with the rest of her into a pile on the couch.

It was so fast. So fast.

And it wasn’t him.

“No…” The word fell from his lips as a whisper, sobs starting to form in his throat.

~*~

He wondered, nearly every night for five years, if Thanos knew. If it had somehow been a conscious choice to keep him alive, to make him suffer just a little more. To make him watch his other self on television trying to promote healing.

Sometimes, he realized that this was a blessing. His sons and granddaughter were safe while they were snapped, protected by the fabric of the universe. Bucky had told him that he didn’t remember anything from being snapped, didn’t feel any different when he woke up than if he’d taken a long, heavy nap.

Somewhere, his family was taking the universe’s longest nap without him.

But they’d be spared these memories. They’d be spared lonely nights of missing loved ones and too little to eat while the world sorted out the jobs that were suddenly empty to keep things running for those that were left behind.

They’d be spared the fear of the gangs that started roaming the streets of half abandoned cities, looting for food and clothes in stores that had never officially closed but also couldn’t open with their owners simply gone.

They’d be spared the rolling blackouts and the contaminated water scares.

They’d be spared the fear of the country as the government suddenly found itself missing elected officials and the infighting and the rhetoric that came with martial law and hasty elections.

They’d be spared so, so much pain and loss.

Every day, he relived it all, twice over.

He counted every day for five years, making his way through each week and month motivated by only one thought: they were coming back. He needed to be ready for them, for her.

He helped his daughter in law keep their house, managed his other son’s apartment in DC and kept his things ready and waiting, made sure Maggie’s things were safe and in working order, made sure her bank account stayed open and her phone bill was paid. He’d never, not once, considered he’d be the one left behind, and the logistics of all there was to do left him busy for the first few weeks.

Everyone told him his hope that the dusted would return was infectious, but after the first year, people stopped listening. He knew, for a fact, they’d come back, but everyone else didn’t. Even the past him was operating on the idea that they’d never be back.

Some days he didn’t make it out of bed. He laid there, talking to the ceiling, whispering to Peggy, wishing she could talk back, wishing she could be one of the ones brought back. He missed her with a ferocity that hadn’t changed since the first time he’d been in this time, but had only been tempered and strengthened by a lifetime together.

As the days drew closer to the five-year mark, he began to make arrangements.

~*~ October 2023

He cleaned the living room and set it to the way it had been that night. He pulled out every note and letter he’d written Maggie and his children and put them in the kitchen, ready and waiting.

He sat on the couch, facing the blank television, a new, piping hot, pepperoni pizza sitting in front of him, untouched.

He still couldn’t eat.

He still didn’t know if this was the right timeline. As he’d gotten closer to this day his faith had wavered. What if all he’d come to believe wasn’t true? What if this wasn’t the one fourteen million? He wanted to believe, but he didn’t know for sure.

He looked at his watch, watching as the seconds ticked by. What were a few seconds to him? He’d lived more than one lifetime, and that had been enough. He had barely made it through these five years the first time. The second time had almost truly broken him. He was ready for this to be over. He was ready to stop having to deal with loss and to be able to live whatever time he had left with the family he loved.

He held out his hand, and waited.

#3P's Fic #so sad #I am so sorry #yes #that's the end

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reversecreek · 4 years ago

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✵ zloane , bravier , nyla and sean

ZIGGY & SLOANE

their first impression of your muse:

sexy. tugged on her hair literally the first time he saw her hadn’t even had a conversation bt was just like target? located. going? ✈️ annoy her. probably initially just thought she was only at the skate park bc sean was n was like 🙄 then she cld actually skate n he was like 😏 liked that she gave him shit. found it funny pushing her buttons. liked her eyes. probably was like wtf is in the fuckin water in this town yo why all my friends got hot sisters that shit aint right tryna make me a dog....... not that he was even. phased by betraying those boundaries bt. still. i won’t lie his main first impression was probably jst damn bit hot when she glares at me like that. KJHFSGKSJHGKGHSFKGH

current impression:

knows her a little more than he likes to know people. favourite person to argue w. can possibly skate better than him bt if she said so he’d be like “ur off ur fuckin tits man” n then practice secretly on his own for hours that night n get 9457295 scrapes. doesn’t like talking abt her dad like him so one time he put a firework in his mailbox n never admitted it was him. has reactions to youtube videos tht make him snort. quite funny in general rly. drinks a lot not that he can judge it’s just sometimes he notices n once he even snatched her cup n drank the rest so she couldn’t. played it off as their typical fuckery bt he isn’t sure what that feeling was. hasn’t been concerned often enough to know it by name. finds her hot at inappropriate moments like when a movie chara’s dying n he’s meant to be sad. finds her hot when she pisses him off too. thinks mayb she likes the excuse to hold onto him when she rides on his vespa but he kind of likes it too so he’s not about to call it out bc “he isn’t about that deep shit”.

are they attracted to your muse?:

KFJHGKJGHFGKFHSGKSHGKSFGH. imagine i was jst like no <3... yes. he likes to act like he’s less so than he is bt it’s obvious.

something they find frightening about your muse:

i wouldn’t say it frightens him bt sometimes he catches her looking at him a certain way n it unsettles him but he doesn’t know why. usually just pretends he didn’t catch it.

something they find adorable about your muse:

he likes her short hair he’s always ruffling it n tugging on it. whenever she hs bumps n scrapes n bruises from falling off her board n getting back on over n over again jst never giving up or giving a fk. when she acts like she isn’t jealous.

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:

umm. no. he’s an asshole. KGJSHFKGHSKFHGSKFGHKGH. sighs.

would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic:

no..... sees that as dangerous territory wouldn’t wna blur the lines. looks away.

one word my muse would use to describe yours:

baddie. FKGJHSKGHFGSFHGSKGHSFKHG. demonic (when they’ve had a fight).

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no. he loves to argue w her but it never feels that Real u know... more like flirting. even when they’re rly pissed off. wld never enter that territory he hates shit like tht w a passion. cue round of applause from the audience for this absolutely low bar.

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

i feel like they’re not rly huggy people...... ziggy probably puts his arm around her a lot tho he loves doing that. hs kissed her more times than he can count too n doesn’t plan on stopping

BRADLEY & XAVIER

their first impression of your muse:

funny. mean in a more digestible way than she was used to. he had barbs n she liked the way people winced when they tried to swallow his company. when she got paired w him for a class project she met his eyes across the room n he didn’t quickly look away like most ppl. something abt that intrigued her. a sharp fingernail inside her head kept having to itch at something n she realised it was the urge for him to call her a bad name. this weird craving to hear an angry word inside his mouth just for her. she used to think that’s what someone wanting her was like. still does sometimes. this both pissed her off n caught her attention which is a bit of an accomplishment fr someone who gets bored by everyone n everything.

current impression:

his heart’s more good than she expected. it felt a bit like having a cat drop a dead mouse at ur doorstep that u don’t know what to do with when she realised that. she felt uncomfortably like her mother when she couldn’t get out of his bed bc she was too depressed n that rly made her feel like. ill honestly. he did all the right things but suddenly she just felt sick abt the whole situation which is Not the normal reaction to ur bf caring about u but bradley doesn’t understand ppl caring abt her. felt more like pity. she thinks he’s better off. she misses him sometimes bt then she reminds herself she doesn’t miss people. does a good job of believing it. one of the best ppl she’s dated not that she’d say it.

are they attracted to your muse?:

yes..... ws probably. unhinged n rabid when they were dating. very good at hiding it now however. cold at the drop of a hat.

something they find frightening about your muse:

that he witnessed her being vulnerable............ literally grosses her out so much like she’d rather die than. anyone see her like that. when they were dating she’d get paranoid her dad wld somehow find out too n smthn wld happen to him for it. it ws definitely weird for her like the fact she even cared enough to consider tht.

something they find adorable about your muse:

adorable is rly not a word that fits into bradley’s vocabulary GHSFGHSFKGHSFKG bt hm. maybe if he ever tried to tell her what to do one time even casually. she’d b like awww..... u think i do what anyone tells me? that’s so fucking sweet.

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:

in most cases no :/..... however if it was smthn to do w the guys that work for her dad then ya she’d put herself in danger to avoid him being in it.

would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic:

i mean she has in the past bt bradley’s idea of dates is like. starting a bar fight together. getting thrown out of a club n both falling over into trash cans in a dingy back alley. stealing a car. breaking into a random house n fking in a stranger’s bed. fking in the bk of a movie theatre w a horror movie screening. definitely not dinner or anything like tht. she wldn’t now........ they’re not exactly in a place fr that.....

one word my muse would use to describe yours:

ex. whatever. i know it’s not one word but “some guy”. FGHSKGHFGKSHG >_>

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no. she’s a violent person bt not xavier.

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

NO hugging...................... she fronts like she wldn’t kiss him bt like. if a discussion got heated n they were in each other’s faces who’s to say.

NYLA & SEAN

their first impression of your muse:

strange little fella which is a very high compliment. kind of reminded them of an animated turtle come to life in the human realm altho they honestly don’t have an explanation for that it’s just the way their brain works. they love the turtles in finding nemo tho so maybe there’s some sort of correlation. very nice face. they kind of wanted to hold his head like a bowling ball just so they could examine it properly. i feel like when they first met him they probably reached out n smoothed a sticky label onto his forehead that said ‘catfish in chernobyl’ n they had one on their forehead that was blank n then they just wafted a pen mid air n were like ‘wanna play guesses?’ even tho that isn’t the name of the game. as if that was just. a completely normal introduction to someone. FGKHSKHGSFKGHSFKG. feel like sean wld have rolled w that tho so nyla was like :P i like.... if they played another round they’d give sean another sticky label that said ‘the loneliest whale in the world’ n then it’d start a whole conversation abt how nyla thinks they can speak whaleish. (whale spin on elvish).

current impression:

sean makes them think of that artificial blue raspberry flavour some popsicles have n how it’s always rly fun when they stain ur tongue. sweet n exuberant n leaves a bright impression. he lets them ride on his skateboard sometimes rolling along being lead by them holding his hand n nyla likes to shut their eyes like they’re a bird sailing above the clouds. one of their favourite things to do especially when the sun’s out. bc of this nyla thinks sean was a bird in his past life but not a greedy one like a seagull or a plain one like a pigeon. maybe a bluebird bc of his eyes. he makes them laugh a lot. they entrusted him to babysit their children (as pictured) in his hair for a whole day and night once n they had lots of fun with him so nyla thinks he’s very trustworthy and kind. he also is rly easy to talk to like they cld randomly be like “i’ve been thinking lately that maybe homer simpson could’ve been a good figure skater” n sean wldn’t look at them like they’ve lost their marbles he’d just go w it. they like his company a lot.

are they attracted to your muse?:

😏

something they find frightening about your muse:

ummm nothing in particular altho one time when they were rly tripping out bc his eyes are blue n it got them thinking abt the ocean n they always think they can talk to ghosts underwater so they were kind of like. thinking abt ghosts whenever they looked him in the eyes. maybe covered their own w their hands n if sean asked why they told him abt it. suddenly he shut his eyes to make them feel better n it turned into a whole thing where nyla had to lead him around the party like a guide dog.

something they find adorable about your muse:

his nose. watching him talk to his siblings. his hands.

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:

😌 yea

would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic:

yes............ feel like they’d have fun if they went anywhere tbh........ cn imagine them at a fair eating from the same cotton candy n chattering as they point out things. nyla trying to do that hammer game where u make the meter reach the top n lifting the hammer in the air n falling backwards bc it was heavier than they anticipated.... sean yelling like man down man down..... mayb they take a tab n suddenly the fair is so scary they’re like 😳 we’re in danger...

one word my muse would use to describe yours:

silly (affectionate). sailor (also term of endearment). gnome (same thing again). cool.

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no ur sick....

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

ya to both. jst suddenly had a vision too of nyla being cold one time n clinging to sean from the front like a bushbaby in a hug as he carries her around. suddenly this mode of transportation hs happened more thn once (godmod) (contact my lawyers if u dare bebe) (bitch) (i take it back) (it wasn’t right alli it jst wasn’t right) (pelase forigev m eim shakign)

#juvinile #ziggy | sloane #bradley | xavier #nyla | sean #drugs tw #abuse tw #mayb implied fr some briefly mentioned aspects of bradley's mindset #this was such a bertha bt i did it as special treat for allison my beloved.....

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beauzoleils · 5 years ago

Text

ABIGAIL COWEN , CISFEMALE , SHE / HER → according to the school records , NATALIE LUCILLE BEAUSOLEIL has been attending sacred heart for the past three years . i last saw them hanging around the john bracken library ; i think they were working on writing her novel . at twenty - one years old , natalie has been studying english literature and get this , i heard that she’ll zone out while writing papers for class and come to surrounded by pages and pages full of archaic languages she doesn’t speak — figure it’s true ? everyone around here always associates them with a moonlight sonata echoing through empty halls , seats in the back row at the opera , and dead flowers pressed between the pages of an old book . in the time since these strange happenings , they have encountered unexplained occurrences .

HI , hello . i’m hannah n this is like . the only thing i’ve been thinking about recently , aka i’m so excited . ok anyway ! i’m 20 , kickin it in the est ! i’m a full time student ( majoring in being a dumb bitch n gay rights and i’m at the top of my class baby . . ) and i’m ALSO a preschool teacher so if i’m ever Not here , i’m with my babies ! ! but that isn’t the reason why ur all here . . ur here for an intro post ! so !

let’s talk abt my girl . . . 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐈𝐋 !

okay . so . first thing’s first . i have some Real Things prepared for my girl , including but not limited to :

a pinterest board !

a stats page !

and what i call NATALIE : A TRAGEDY IN THREE ACTS . it’s kind of a bio , mixed in with some stage directions here and there . it’s a quick read n rly gives you that Natalie Flavor if you know what i mean . . so if you feel so inclined n wanna take a look . . but full disclosure it rly does hit different than just reading this intro

anyway ! i’ll give a more condensed version of her bio here n some info abt her personality n some random headcanons . . etc !

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 : 𝑨 𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀

alright SO . our girl natalie was born on april 13 , 1952 to michel and colette beausoleil . it was a thursday , and it was ALSO eleven weeks before colette’s due date , so we all know that can’t be good

( spoiler alert : it wasn’t )

natalie was supposed to be a twin , but the other baby ( a boy named pierre ) didn’t survive . they didn’t think that natalie would , but she did ! unfortunately , her parents were too wounded by the loss of their other baby and it was all grieving and no celebrating .

also . there’s more info abt her parents n how they met in the bio but , a sparknotes version is that michel was a playwright in paris and colette was a ballerina / his muse and they rushed into a marriage

michel made it rly big a couple yrs after natalie was born and so they decided to use that $ $ $ to send natalie away to an expensive boarding school in london called our lady of sacred suffering . it was , of course , a catholic girls boarding school and natalie hated it there

but they hated natalie there bc she was just the WORST catholic school girl of all time , so it was mutual

meanwhile , her relationship w her parents is . . very complicated . her dad is just kind of The Worst across the board , very reliant on drinking , definitely got into drug use at some point , had lots of affairs with the young actresses in his plays . and colette was just . . very sad and very absent so the support was Minimal

natalie has a lot of issues that are all rooted in her childhood tbh .

somewhere along the way , she found a deep passion for Writing and developed this sense of purpose and for a minute things were going very well

which we all know means things are about to get WORSE .

on her eighteenth birthday , natalie receieves a card in the mail from her mother for the First Time Ever . and she immediately is like . huh . well . something is Wrong .

she’s right .

( tw : nondescript mentions of car crashes & death )

a week later , she receives word that her parents were involved in a serious car accident at the pont de l’alma tunnel in paris and her did not survive the accident .

( end tw )

her mother’s family is not convinced that michel should walk away from this without blame and decides to take legal action against him and get him convicted with a more serious charge than just manslaughter .

they promise to keep natalie out of it as much as possible but when it comes time to testify as to whether or not michel had a history of not caring about colette’s life and well - being , the only one who can speak to it is natalie .

so she testifies and it’s her testimony that is the metaphorical nail in the coffin .

( tw : suicide mention )

michel knows it , too . that’s what natalie thinks . he turns up dead in his jail cell the day before he’s supposed to be sentenced . she never knows if he deserved the life sentence he was going to be given .

( end tw )

so then ! she’s an orphan ! but she does gain control over everything that her parents left behind , which turns out to be a lot .

she sells their house in paris , goes to wales to begin university , and hasn’t gone back since then . but like , she grew up in london for the most part so she’s not exactly sad about being away from paris and all the ghosts there .

and now she’s at sacred heart , working on writing her debut novel , which is the ( albeit , dramatized and fictionalized ) story of her parents !

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈 : 𝑨 𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀 .

so basically , she’s got issues .

fictional character inspo includes : jo march , alaska young , cheryl blossom

if you know anything abt astrology . . she’s an aries sun , mercury , and venus . . and a scorpio moon and mars . . and a gemini rising . . i’m so sorry JKDSFM

she’s very emotional but does a super good job of hiding it and keeping all those emotions ( esp the intense n darker ones ) buried away . . deep down where no one could see it

the minute that ppl kind of ? ? but two and two together n realize who she is ( bc . . in my head . . her dad’s whole trial was kind of . A Thing that the public knew abt . ) they’re probably rly concerned w Little she shows any real emotion to the whole thing .

rly she’s just the queen of compartmentalizing n repressing !

she’s very . . Assertive . like , when she wants something she’s going to do whatever it takes to get her way

very Very reckless . she’s like . . so fucking impulsive that it physically Pains me sometimes .

she’s very smart but like . More So , she’s very clever and very sharp with her words . a very fast thinker and a very loud talker

someone please . . tell her to stop yelling . she needs to Relax .

she’s very charming i’ll say it . n like ? seems cool ? the kind of person that you meet and immediately want to hang out w them .

very flirty , has always used that charming smile of hers to get ppl in her corner and she’s not gonna stop now ! she’s very good at making ppl feel special

but like . she means well most of the time sdkfj her heart is in the right place okay

big time trust issues . big time commitment issues . painfully independent and refuses to let anyone know how much she cares about them until she’s like . . Really sure that they aren’t going to hurt her

also very afraid of hurting people , which is another reason why she struggles to get attached to people . she definitely has this deep - rooted fear that Bad Things follower her and she doesn’t want to drag ppl into that

it’s literally a toss - up as to whether she’s going to seem like she’s demanding ur attention or entirely disinterested in it . bc she’s all over the place .

but like . i’m an emotional BITCH so she’s probably going to end up being 100000% softer than i intend bc i project too much soft bitch energy onto my characters Always .

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 : 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺 .

so many things . literally , anything . just a disclaimer , if u read thru this and had An Idea then like . yes Pls tell me , i want it xoxo

but here are some i have up in the old . . noggin .

EXES . please , please . . for the love of GOD give me some angsty exes nonsense . do you need someone who broke ur characters heart ? consider natalie UR GIRL . she’s Emotionally Damaged and has the capacity to be the angstiest ex of all time , okay ?

give her a weakness . she needs someone who she’s Actually vulnerable around and actually sees her have emotions and knows she’s not just this huge Mess all the time

i rly want someone that is like . from the same ( ish ) bg as her in the sense that like . . they also were surrounded by nice clothes n expensive private schools n Luxury but like . they Thrive in it the way natalie used to wish that she could . n just . i think it would b a super interesting dynamic bc they would just ! clash ! so intensely ! ! n tbh nat would probably b lowkey jealous Still n . spicy !

@ all those ppl who are into theatre : i’m Dying for some connections of ppl who knew / knew of her father n would know what happened w him perhaps on a deeper level than ppl who read it in the newspaper a few yrs ago . . ( bonus points if they lowkey idolized / looked up to her dad bc thats a Big Mess and could b spicy as fuck to explore , u know ? )

idk if any of y’all have characters who grew up in / around paris ? but if there are . . then Perhaps someone who knew her in her youth ?

okay . not to be Trash but like . i rly want her to have a dynamic that’s jo x laurie adjacent ? do they have to be in love w her ? no ! i just want someone that has that genuine bond w her and they care abt each other n goof around n like . . i’m already getting soft on main , huh , ,

she’s soo fucking messy that like . . all the messy fwb / frenemies with benefits / one night stand type of plots . . yes pls

i always want there to b a badass girl squad like . a group of ladies n theydies that take no shit n get in fights for each other n rly truly ride or die w each other . . we can workshop the name ok but for now ? my girl squad is open for applications

okay . let me cut myself off right there but i’ll leave you with my WANTED CONNECTIONS TAG n also again i’m 10000% okay to just brainstorm out something else completely if its what ur feeling !

if u read all / any of this . . i love u . <3 either hmu on discord ( let's go 𝓁𝑒𝓈𝒷𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓈 ! #6227 ) ksdjfskm OR ! like this n i will come to u ! okay , that’s all , bye

#heretics:intro #part 1 part 1 !#im so sorry for this

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fanta-ceo · 7 years ago

Text

Spontaneous Combustion

pairing: Jongin (Kai) x Reader

genre: Comedy, romance, fluff, highschool!AU

word count: 3,789

warnings: casual mentions of suicide

description: Sometimes, the consequences of your actions result in spontaneous combustion or instant death. You’re pretty sure this is one of those times. And Jongin’s gorgeous, smirking face and hysterical laughter isn’t helping.

A/N: The main character is SUPER DRAMATIC. We’re not trying to be offensive, just comedic. Please please please don’t read if suicide talk is a trigger for you.

-Jongecca

~*~

You were so tired. That meant you were seconds from passing out, and you really would be, except that you were absolutely furious.

M: Wow, y/n, I can’t believe you’re so shallow.

You responded as one possessed.

Y: There is nothing shallow about love, Mijin. What kind of pessimist are you?

M: What IS there to love?

Y: Mijin, I’ve already told you!

I said a lot of things!

I’ve been explaining it for an HOUR!

M: Y/n, it’s been 20 minutes.

And those things you said clearly weren’t very convincing

Y: I’ve explained how he has the world’s best smile and how when he laughs, his entire face lights up!

M: Shallow

Y: He’s SO NICE! He’s always helping me!

M: Y/n, you’re SMARTER than him, what could he POSSIBLY help with?

Y: He helps me stay awake in class! YOU don’t even help me stay awake in class!

M: I think you deserve to suffer the consequences of your actions.

Y: See! He’s nicer than YOU, and you’re my best friend! You should be happy that I’ve found someone so nice!

M: Alright, so far, we’ve got that he keeps you awake and has a cute smile. Is that literally all you’ve got

Y: No! He’s such a cute person! He’s always so happy when he teases people!

M: Why do you like bullies

I don’t understand you

First there was Jinhun—

Y: I DIDN’T KNOW HE WAS A BULLY MIJIN

I DIDN’T KNOW

HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW

M: we all TOLD YOU?

Y: JONGIN ISN’T LIKE JINHUN

M: you’re right. Jongin likes to mock people mercilessly

Jinhun liked to mug people in alleyways

Y: OKAY, stealing people’s lunch money in the hallway is NOT mugging people in alleyways

and Jongin DOESN’T MOCK PEOPLE MERCILESSLY!

Mijinnn why are you doing this

Jongin is a good person

He’s amazing

I love him

Like he’s great

You wondered why Mijin wasn’t responding. You took this as your golden opportunity.

Y: He acts reserved but really he cares about people a lot

And being around him makes me so happy

I’ve never liked a guy so much

And I’m serious I’m in love with him

Your studied your texts, pleased. The texts were read, but Mijin wasn’t responding—good. She was probably astounded by your incredible reasoning. You had finally won. You locked her phone and leaned back. Your adrenaline was beginning to fade, and you were beginning to fall asleep again.

Your phone vibrated.

M: Like seriously I don’t get your taste in guys

You stared at the text in confusion. How was that a response to what you’d said? You unlocked your phone to view the text. You stared at the conversation. It made no sense.

Y: JONGIN ISN’T LIKE JUNHO

M: you’re right. Jongin likes to mock people mercilessly

Junho liked to mug people in alleyways

M: Like seriously I don’t get your taste in guys

Your heart began to pound. Oh no. Who had you sent those texts to?! No one knew you were in love with Jongin! You clicked back to view all your texts. No.

No. No, this couldn’t be happening—your thumb was shaking when you clicked the conversation.

J: You still awake?

No. No. No no no no no no—

Y: OKAY, stealing people’s lunch money in the hallway is NOT mugging people in alleyways

No. You did not do this—

Y: and Jongin DOESN’T MOCK PEOPLE MERCILESSLY!

This was a dream.

Y: Mijinnn why are you doing this

Jongin is a good person

You were going to wake up now. You had to.

Y: He’s amazing

I love him

Like he’s great

Why hadn’t you stopped there? Why?

Y: He acts reserved but really he cares about people a lot

You felt like you were moments away from throwing up.

Y: And being around him makes me so happy

Or screaming. You could feel it building up in your chest. It was 2 AM, and your family was asleep, but that didn’t matter.

Y: I’ve never liked a guy so much

You stopped breathing.

Y: And I’m serious I’m in love with him

You screamed. You threw yourself onto your bed, wailing into your pillow. “Why!” Because the name at the top of that conversation wasn’t Mijin. You hadn’t sent it to Mijin! You’d sent it to Jongin! You had literally told Jongin you were in love with him!

You stood up. You had to kill herself. There—there were knives down in the kitchen—it wouldn’t be a fast death, but it would be fatal, and—you collapsed onto your knees, bruising them, and your vision was clouding with spots. Dimly, you heard your phone vibrate. Your stomach was heaving. You curled into fetal position.

You had been in love with him since you were basically five. You had that conversation with Mijin probably a hundred times—how could fate be so cruel? How could you be so stupid? Why hadn’t you noticed you were responding to Jongin instead of Mijin? Were you the most stupid person in the universe?

You passed out on the floor. You didn’t want to sleep in bed like a normal person. You wanted to die. You was just…too depressed to get around to it.

~~~

“Y/n, you’re going to be late,” your sister yelled into your room.

You stared with glassy eyes up at your ceiling.

“Y/n, you’re not even asleep. Why are you just laying there?“

You had contemplated multiple ways to kill yourself through the night.

“Y/n, class starts in fifteen minutes.”

You were too much of a pansy to follow through with any of them.

“You have three tests today.”

Except for one—

“You think I’m going to let you just lay on the floor, comatose?”

You could lay here until you starved to death.

“Y/n, get up now.“

You would basically cease to exist.

“Y/n.”

You would never have to face Jongin.

"I will hit you with this bat.”

You shrieked, bolting upright. Your sister was wielding a baseball bat threateningly. “Get to school now,” she said.

You sat there for a moment, miserably contemplating your options—in theory, at least. In reality, you were hoping your sister would just disappear, and then you could go back to ceasing to exist.

Your sister lifted the bat threateningly.

You squeaked and scrambled to your feet. Your phone was still on your desk. It had about thirteen unread messages on it. You refused to check them. As long as you didn’t see them… you didn’t have to check if Jongin had replied or not. You didn’t have to gauge his reaction.

It was basically like it never happened.

You sobbed while you brushed your teeth. And gagged on your toothbrush.

~~~

As you walked up to the doors of school a half hour late, you seriously contemplated diving into the bushes and hiding there for the rest of your life. Of course, you probably should have cut school, except that your sister would have beat you when you came home. You couldn’t handle physical pain on top of everything else.

So, logically, hiding in a bush wasn’t really an escape. It was just thoroughly tempting. Your eyes were beginning to prick again with miserable tears. Why was your life like this? You couldn’t even tell Mijin what had happened because you couldn’t check your phone in case Jongin had responded. Just thinking about it made your face flush with hot misery.

You would have to go to Orchestra and pretend your life wasn’t falling apart, to play your cello like your world wasn’t ending. You’d probably start crying, and you’d have to squint through the tears to see the sheet music. Your stand partner Jinsoo would be terrified.

Maybe you should just go to the nurse’s office and feign a headache—your sister would still beat you when you returned home a decided quitter, but that was okay. You were beginning to understand that anything was better than facing Jongin.

The security guard rounded the corner of the building in his douchey golf cart, and you immediately began to walk as normal. His squinty eyes followed you into the front office, where you signed in and dutifully headed for class. Your back was stiff as a board. Detention meant a beating from your sister. Detention meant suffering. Detention wasn’t an option. And so—you walked to the beginning of your doom.

~~~

You didn’t cry while playing. Because you didn’t really play. Your professor seemed more concerned than anything as you sat there, comatose, with your cello in your arms while everyone else played. He didn’t tease you or call you on it—probably too freaked. Mijin and Minah were mouthing at you from around the room, but you couldn’t decipher their words from the two seconds you had glanced at them, and you felt too dejected to respond.

When they began to pack up, Minah was at your side instantly. “What is wrong with you? Are you okay?”

“Nothing is okay,” you mumbled.

“Did someone die? Are your dogs okay? Is Lyla—”

“No,” you said. “No, Minah, it’s so much worse—”

“You look like a zombie!” Mijin said, popping out of nowhere. She looked identical to her twin in that moment. And a lot of other moments, honestly. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing’s dead,” Minah asserted quickly.

“Did you even sleep last night?” Mijin asked.

“Have you been crying?” Minah demanded.

“Mijin, I made the biggest mistake of my life,” you explained dully.

“What?” Mijin asked.

“I’m here too,” Minah said, ruffled.

The burden of life and consequences was too heavy on your shoulders to care about slighting Minah. You spoke only to your bestest friend in the entire world, staring straight into the eyes you trusted more than anyone else’s. “Mijin. When I responded to you last night on why I love Jongin, I didn’t send it to you.”

“What?” Mijin blinked, confused.

“Y/n—“ Minah began.

“Guys, I sent it to Jongin.”

Mijin and Minah were stunned silent for about two seconds.

Then they burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny!” You shrieked. “Guys, I told him I was in love with him!”

“Y/n, how?“ Mijin snickered.

"He texted me! I opened it on accident and didn’t realize I wasn’t responding to you! I was just—so angry—”

“I guess this is what you get for your anger issues,” Minah snickered.

“I don’t have anger issues! Guys! How do I face him?” You demanded desperately.

“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” Mijin laughed. “Maybe you’re being overdramatic. What did you say exactly?”

“Can we look at it?” Minah asked. “What did he say?”

“No! I don’t know! You can't—I haven’t checked my phone,” you said. “Guys, I literally want to die.”

The bell rang.

“We’ve got to pack up,” Mijin was still laughing. “C'mon. You’ve got class with Jongin next.”

“I’m not going!” You said, but you were already walking towards your case. And you were pretty sure you were going to class—you were terrified of your sister’s wrath. You were just also pretty sure that you weren’t going to live through the class. Jongin’s rejection would cause you to implode, or explode, which would be pretty gruesome, or your heart would shatter into jagged shards and stab your internal organs and you’d bleed out from the inside. You’d turn blue and purple, and then blood would leak from your nose and ears and eyes—

And then you’d die.

Your graphic vision of death was somehow comforting. It got you halfway through the walk to class.

“You need to check your phone,” Minah was lecturing. “You can’t go in there blind.”

“I’m not going to,” you said. “I’m just not going to.”

“Y/n,” you said with exasperated amusement. “You can’t not check it. You have to.”

“I can’t,” you said. Your voice sounded distant to your own ears, but firm with conviction. You would die if you looked at your phone.

“He’s going to have responded! You’re going into this blind!” Minah was beginning to get frustrated. You didn’t answer. Minah huffed. “Okay, then let me check it—” her hand dove for your back pocket. You slapped her hand with the ninja-like reflexes you hadn’t known you possessed.

“No! Minah, I can’t check!” You insisted, stopping by your class. “This is me, so go.” You were so desperate to be rid of Minah, you forgot for a moment that you were about to see Jongin. You paused in the doorway, glancing in, and the room was half empty. Jongin wasn’t there yet.

Your heart exploded into a racing, pounding rhythm. You might really die of a heart attack. Nobody’s heart was meant to beat like this. It was going to jump right out of your chest, or climb out through your throat, or beat so quickly, the friction would ignite a fire within. And you would burn alive. You’d be charred to a crisp before Jongin even got here.

The thought was comforting. The scenario was also impossible. Your stomach heaved.

“This would be a lot better if you check your phone,” Minah sighed. “See ya after class. I’ll be right here to find out how it goes.” Minah began to walk away then.

You irrationally wanted to grab your friend’s arm and lock her in place. You didn’t want to go through this alone. But Minah was already walking away, and your arms were glued to your sides, and even if you wanted to, Minah was already out of arm’s reach. You felt your throat beginning to close up, a telltale sign that you really were about to throw up.

You had to sit down before he came in.

You dove into a seat in the back, setting your backpack on your desk as an enormous barricade. You buried your face in it. There. It was like the world around you didn’t exist. Your pounding headache eased for a moment, but your heart continued to race. And your palms—they were dripping, and your entire body was so overheated with nerves that you were sweating.

You should be dead. You shouldn’t be here right now.

“Headache?”

You gasped, looking up to connect eyes with the most gorgeous guy in the entire world. You forgot how to breathe. You loved his face because you loved his face, but you also loved him, and your brain was making no sense. Because he was just sitting next to you, smirking at you, but he didn’t look like he hated you or like you disgusted him. You were completely thrown.

“You always get migraines when you don’t sleep well, right?” He continued with a conversation prod.

You stared at him dumbly. There were no words. Suddenly, you wished you had checked your phone—desperately. “Did you get my texts?” You blurted out.

Jongin’s eyes sparked with amusement. “I did.”

“I sent them on accident,” you clarified stupidly. “I was talking to Mijin.”

He was grinning. “I know.”

Your tongue felt like sandpaper. But at the same time, this wasn’t as bad as you’d imagined. You hadn’t exploded into flames, or dropped into a crevice in the earth, and Jongin was still smiling at you. “…I do have a headache,” you admitted.

“I bought you tea,” Jongin handed a bottle to you. “Because I care about people a lot.”

Your hands froze around the drink. You stared at him in horror. That sounded… like a quote. Like he was directly referencing your confession.

“It is very inspiring,” Jongin continued. He looked like he was biting back a laugh. “That someone can see past my reserved exterior.”

Was this really happening?

“Some people say I mock people mercilessly,” Jongin said. “But it is good to know I am understood by you.”

“Jongin,” you blurted out in a desperate whine.

He leaned towards you. His smirk was akin to the devil's—and it was heartbreakingly handsome. You wanted to hug him, even as he basically ruined your life. “You’re in love with me.”

“You’re not supposed to bring it up!” You whined.

“But you didn’t respond last night,” he leaned back, laughing.

“It’s rude to bring it up so casually!” You accused.

“I bought you a tea,” Jongin was trying to seem offended, but he was laughing too hard. “You should be grateful to me!”

“Not when you’re torturing me,” you complained pitifully.

“I was going to ask you last night if you wanted to be my partner for this research project,” Jongin said mirthfully. “I had inspiration last night. I couldn’t wait until morning. I’m glad I didn’t.”

“You need to be nicer to me over this,” you whined. “You can’t just bring it up so casually!”

“That’s why you should have picked up your phone last night,” Jongin laughed. “I called you three times. I was worried.”

“Well, I was dying,” you whined. “You should have had more sympathy.” So those thirteen texts hadn’t been texts at all. They’d been three phone calls and a text. You must have been delirious while you’d counted.

“Do you see that tea?” Jongin laughed, leaning his head on his desk and looking at you with eyes that positively glowed. It just made you love him more. “I bought that tea out of concern. You’re the one who seems uncaring.”

“If that’s what you think, then you’re not being sympathetic enough,” you insisted. “I’m having a very hard time.”

“Ah. Confessing unexpectedly—this can be very burdensome,” Jongin muffled his snickers into his arm.

You reached over and hit him. “You’re so mean!” You whined.

“But amazing and great, right?” Jongin checked.

You found herself laughing despite yourself, and it had nothing to do with what he’d said. It was just that he was laughing, and that always made you laugh. “Stop quoting me!” You whined.

“Alright class, quit talking,” the teacher barked from the front of the class, and you deflated into your seat, but Jongin shot you one last smirk before turning to face the front. He fiddled with his pencil absently, and you laid your chin on your backpack slowly. You should probably drop it on the ground—the barricade was ineffective and now unnecessary. But you were tired. You would probably fall asleep.

This teacher was not the kind that allowed restful sleep. You’d probably get detention. You were willing to take that risk because your survivalist adrenaline was beginning to fade.

Somehow… you weren’t dead.

Somehow, things were okay between you and Jongin. You’d told him you were in love with him on complete accident after years of silence, and for some reason… Though he was torturing you, you were still alive. He was still smiling at you. He’d even bought you a tea from the vending machine because he’d anticipated your sleepless night.

You unscrewed the cap of the tea—your favorite flavor—and took a sip in awe. The caffeine did little to ease your headache. But it was still sweet. And it was basically a Pity Tea, but that was okay. You were okay. You were alive.

~~~

Throughout the day, Jongin referenced your confession roughly every other sentence. Seeing as your confession was about eight lines long, that meant it got fairly redundant fairly quickly. And everyone seemed to know about it—probably because it was the first thing that was brought up in conversation whenever you were around.

“Ah, y/n is in love with Jongin?” Chanyeol had boomed at lunch. “I had no idea! This girl is so subtle,” he had shot you a thumbs up.

“I could tell the whole time,” Baekhyun said from beside him and across from you. “I thought it was cute.”

“No, Chanyeol is right!” You insisted frantically. “I was incredibly subtle! No one knew a thing!”

“Ah, did you really?” Chanyeol asked. “When was it obvious?”

“She got very moody when he began to date Soojung,” Baekhyun shrugged.

“Wah! But that was in eighth grade!” Minseok said. “Has she had feelings for so long? But she dated Jinho last year!”

“I’m not jealous,“ Jongin confided. "She said she’s never liked a guy so much.”

“This is cute!” Baekhyun gushed.

“Stop!” You said in desperation. “Talk about something else!”

Everyone had laughed, but had nonetheless complied. You sighed in relief. You were hopeful that by tomorrow, everyone would have gotten used to your deepest secret’s exposure, and in about a week, the novelty of it would have worn off for even Jongin.

“I want to work on the project today,” Jongin nudged her. “Do you want to go to the library after school?”

You blinked. “Why? We never start on projects this soon. We always wait until literally the night before.”

“But this one is a big grade,” Jongin coaxed. “Besides, they have really good cake at the library. I’m craving it.”

You frowned. “Then let’s just go buy a cake at Walmart.”

“Then we can watch Interstellar,” he said. “Since this is a space project, it will give us inspiration.”

You didn’t like Interstellar. It put you to sleep. But cake at Jongin’s place and falling asleep on his couch certainly held its appeal. “Okay,” you said. Jongin grinned at you in response before shoveling pizza into his mouth. It was adorable. He struck up a conversation with Kyungsoo, and you turned back to the main conversation.

~~~

Around last period, you got the text from Jongin to meet him at his car. It wasn’t the first time they’d left your car at school—it was closer to his house than yours, practically on the way home, so it made more sense for him to carpool and then drive her back to your car when they were finished. At least in theory. You had a feeling he just enjoyed riding in the car with you.

He would let you put on your weird songs and laugh when you sang along—probably because you were offkey and had zero control over it, but also because the songs themselves were bizarre. You loved them though. It was one of the many, many reasons to love him that he let you share it with him.

“I was thinking we should make cookies,” Jongin said excitedly when you met up with him. “I don’t want the cake anymore.”

“Why don’t we buy cookies?” You blinked.

“I want to cook with you,” Jongin flashed you a charming grin.

“But last time we did that, I dropped your bag of flour and it exploded over half the kitchen and your family was pissed—”

“So I will handle the flour this time,” Jongin promised persuasively. “C'mon—it will be so fun.”

You considered this. “Will you follow the recipe?” It was very important to you that recipes were followed. Otherwise there was no guarantee of deliciousness.

His cute smile widened into a grin. “Would that make you happy?”

“Yes,” you said.

“Okay,” Jongin said. “After all, I am great and amazing.”

“I should have used better words,” you groaned. “Those were so two-dimensional. If I’d known they’d get repeated a hundred times today, I would have been way more eloquent.”

“I think they’re perfect,” he flashed you a dazzling smile.

“Let’s just go,” you whined.

Jongin laughed as he headed to the driver’s side.

~~~

You weren’t crazy about rules, or restrictions, but that piece of paper could tell you how to make your food any day of the week. Jongin was not playing fair. He told you he wouldn’t change the recipe—but everything you did, he was trying to challenge that special piece of paper. Changing the recipe always demanded a lengthy conversation, one that made Jongin laugh into his hands while you defended the original recipe relentlessly, but somehow the dough was purple and you’d added allspice.

And soon, you were curled up under a mound of blankets beside him, and he was switching on the movie. His family was curiously absent, but Jongin explained that Eunhee was staying with her millionaire boyfriend in the Bahamas, and his father was on a business trip. You were okay with it. Your sleepless night was getting to you, and after two of your violet cookies you were getting pretty sleepy. The music to Interstellar was pretty jarring, but despite yourself, you began to doze off. Just as you’d predicted.

Jongin had laughed into your ear. You’d cracked your eyes open before letting them fall shut. “You’re sleeping already?” He murmured. You could feel his arm around the back of the couch tighten around your shoulders. “Ahh. Perhaps I teased you too much today? You must be so tired.”

In your exhaustion-fogged state, it felt like he nudged your shoulders again in a way that made your head slip into the crook of his shoulder. And it felt really, really nice. And he didn’t seem to care.

“I wanted to tell you here, in my house,” Jongin said. “Because it seems like you haven’t figured it out, and I wanted to be alone. But you’re too tired right now, aren’t you?”

“Tell me what?” Exhaustion slurred your mumble, and Jongin chuckled.

“Let’s lay down,” Jongin suggested. “You’re very tired.” He slowly pulled you down, arms falling to your waist as you both adjusted into laying on the couch—yours automatic, and his deliberate. It felt a lot like cuddling. You sighed, nuzzling his chest.

“You’re comfy,“ you mumbled. He didn’t respond, and you figured he was watching the show—which was fine, except… "What did you want to tell me?” you asked, eyes shut.

“We can talk about it when you wake up.”

That sounded like a pretty good idea to you. You lost consciousness.

~~~

You woke to a blackened room—the TV off, the lights out, a blanket on your shoulders, and—you lifted your head off of your muscular pillow. Jongin snored softly.

You gaped.

What time was it? You began to shake Jongin frantically. “Jongin! Jongin—what’s going on, how long have I been sleeping—”

Jongin groaned pitifully, and his handsome face contorted with adorable disgruntlement. “Mmm,” he mumbled unintelligibly.

“Jongin!” Your voice spiked with panic. “Jongin, I didn’t even tell my sister about this! She’s probably calling the cops!”

Jongin groaned but didn’t open his eyes.

“Jongin, I can’t move. You’ve got me pinned.”

Jongin finally opened his eyes, groaning. “Ah… I can’t feel my arm,” He laughed sleepily.

You blinked. “I can’t feel mine either,” you admitted. It hadn’t exactly struck you as a problem until now—of course, once the blood re-entered, you would possibly start crying, but you had felt so perfect tucked into his side that it hadn’t even factored into your list of concerns.

Jongin unhooked his arm from beneath you and slowly sat up, rubbing at his eyes with adorable exhaustion. He picked up his phone and laughed. “Ah, you are going to be angry with me—it is two in the morning.”

“I’m already dead,” you decided, sitting up slowly. Your arm began to throb, and you winced. “I’m sorry I fell asleep—I didn’t mean to.” You’d totally meant to. You just hadn’t meant to sleep that long. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I got tired,” Jongin said. “I just turned off the TV. Sorry.”

“I would have done the same thing,” you admitted. “You can’t always wake me up, right?”

“I’m glad you woke me up, though,” Jongin turned to her. The shadows rendered his expression unreadable. He leaned forward on his knees, but his head was turned towards her. You leaned towards him unconsciously, mirroring his position. His voice was rough with sleep, and his eyes were hooded with exhaustion, and it was adorable. He always was.

“Yeah,” you said, but you weren’t really sure why he was glad you’d woken him up.

“I wanted to talk,” Jongin laughed. “Two in the morning is a good time for us, isn’t it?”

You grimaced, and that only made his smile widen. “Don’t look so unhappy. Haven’t you figured it out yet, what I want to talk to you about?”

You considered this. You hadn’t really thought about what you wanted to talk to you about because he’d only mentioned he’d wanted to say something when you’d been seconds from passing out. And even though that had been more than six hours before, it felt like about five minutes for all you’d been conscious. “Uh…” you wracked your brain desperately. “Uh, I’m in love with you?”

Instead of laughing at you like you’d expected, Jongin reached and brushed your hair out of your face. His lips twitched with a smile. “Your hair is crazy right now, and I love it. Your bedhead is cute.”

Your heart throbbed. Cute. Did he just—? “Thank you,” you whispered, reflexive.

“I feel like it’s so obvious, how I feel,” Jongin cocked his head at you. His fingers lingered on your cheek before sliding into your hair and resting at the base of your neck. You swallowed hard. “I feel like I’ve been shouting it at you for months now. Can you figure out what it is?”

Your mouth was dry as sandpaper. Your heart was thudding unevenly in your chest. Your stomach was swarming with butterflies. All you could think about was how handsome he looked, about the fire he’d trailed with his fingertips across your cheek, about his hand on your waist, how your shirt had ridden up and his fingers grazed bare skin and oh my gosh does he know what he’s doing to me, and your breath was coming out in short, desperate inhales and exhales. You were pretty sure you were going to die if he didn’t kiss you, even though you felt so nervous and scared you couldn’t function.

He slowly, tortuously lowered his lips to yours. Time stopped. He brushed his lips against yours once, twice, before taking your bottom lip fully in between his. His hand tightened across your waist, shifting your shirt up, and—yep, you just whimpered at the back of your throat. Jongin deepened the kiss, his arm pulling you closer, and your fingers dug into his shirt, feeling hard muscle beneath your hand. Jongin growled, and you felt hot, so hot, and his teeth sank into your bottom lip—gentle but, oh, and you gasped, soft and shallow. You lost yourself in him, lost in every touch and wanting more, wanting him closer, wanting him, wanting everything.

When he pulled back—it had to have been him because you did not have the self control—his eyes were smoldering and both of you were breathing unevenly. You were still holding his chest, one hand sliding up to grip his shoulder, and he closed his eyes. It took you a really long time to realize—wait, what? “What?” You squeaked out.

He chuckled, rough, eyes burning into yours with an intensity that shuddered through you. He swallowed. “I’m so nervous. Fuck, that felt so good. Y/n…” he wet his lips, his fingers tightening around your waist, and it occurred to you for the first time that Jongin was nervous.

“Jongin?” You whispered. You don’t know what possessed you—clearly, his kiss burned you from the inside out and destroyed your logic—but you found yourself reaching to brush his hair out of his eyes.

The words came bubbling out, fast and a little desperate. “I love you,” he said. “I—fuck, I’ve been holding it in. I didn’t think it would be so hard to say.”

This wasn’t even fair. You were still just hoping he’d shut up and kiss you, you could barely—"You love me?“ You squeaked back.

His lips twitched, and it was such a Jongin look that it snapped you from your daze. You laughed into his chest, shaking your head.

"You tortured me!” You accused.

Jongin grinned down at you, pressing his forehead against yours. How was he so hot—? You thought that, being this close to him, it would be about the emotions and him but somehow, the way he was holding you meant just as much. Yeah. I must be 17. “You are too easy to tease,” he grinned, then leaned down and pressed a kiss against your jaw. It was very distracting. But not unwanted.

“Mijin was right,” you whined a little breathlessly, struggling to concentrate. “You are mean… But you make me so happy,” you confided in a whisper.

“And you are adorable,” he pressed his lips against your cheek, “and beautiful,” and then he kissed the corner of your lips but not quite and he was driving you insane— “and I’ve wanted you for what feels like forever,” Jongin murmured. “I love you.”

Okay. You felt that one. Hearing those words felt like you had just been drenched in warm honey. Does that even make sense? You couldn’t think, only feel, and you were very happy. “Why did you wait?” You whined, breathless.

He laughed again, and you loved the sound. His voice was quiet, so intimate as he pulled back to look into your eyes. He didn’t look nervous anymore. “I wanted it to be the right moment. And—I was so happy, knowing how you felt and that we were okay, even though you didn’t even seem to realize I felt the same way.”

“I had no idea!” You complained, laughing at yourself.

“Do you forgive me?” His lips twitched, and his fingers gently stroked circles on your waist, reminding you instantly where his hands were.

You stared into his eyes and swallowed, spellbound. Instead of answering, you leaned up, hesitant with your heart exploding in your chest, and you pressed your lips against his. You’d never kissed someone like Jongin, and you felt so nervous, but his lips were so soft—and he took control as he kissed back, thumb sliding across your cheek as your eyes slipped shut. This kiss was gentle, and deep, and you sighed against his lips.

You’re pretty sure he was the one to break the kiss again. It was silent and dark, and you tried to regain your sanity while you calmed your breath. “I love you,” you whispered. “Even though you’re mean and you really are merciless.”

His lips curved into a smirk, but his eyes stayed shut. He looked so cute and so content and… pretty hot. Her stomach clenched. “I love you,” he said, speaking slowly as he slowly moved his hand up and down your side, and your breath hitched, “because you’re gentle…and you’re kind… and you love me anyway.” He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die.

Why did he get to run his hand up and down under your shirt? Could you casually, somehow—pah, you had to focus. You looked at your hands smoothing across his shoulders, mesmerized. Then, your eyes locked back into his. He was waiting, watching you, and you shook your head to hide the emotions welling up inside of you. “I love you even when you don’t wake me up,” you quipped, and he barked out a laugh, surprised but delighted. “And even though you waited for me to confess instead of doing it yourself, and even though you tortured me all day for literally no reason—”

Jongin began to laugh helplessly, burying his face in your neck again, and it felt so good. “You have such hard feelings!” He teased. “I thought you forgave me.”

You snorted. “Why, because I kissed you? It’s going to take more than a kiss.”

“Ah, I see,” Jongin’s lips twitched, and you tried to ignore that the only way you knew that was because you could feel it against your skin. “You are not so easily bought. I will have to buy you a lot of tea.”

“Or you could kiss me a lot,” you suggested, breathless, and he laughed, low and husky. You tried not to blush. Damn it. It wasn’t working. “That would be a lot cheaper.”

“I will do both,” Jongin promised. He kissed her collarbone. Not fair at all.

“I’ll be mad if you don’t,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck to turn this into an embrace. “Because you’ve just promised it. I have high expectations now.”

“Deal,” Jongin whispered, nuzzling you to make you giggle.

Sometimes, you fall in love with your best friend at age 5, love him for over a decade, awkwardly profess your love for him on accident, and he laughs about it and tells everyone you both know, and you somehow don’t die. Somehow. It helps that he loves you back, even if he’s a little shit who turned everything into a joke—and for some reason you love that and you love him anyway.

It helps that he loves you back. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s an amazing kisser.

Written by: Baekbek

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