#I have a paid internship lined up for the summer and I really like working on the youth rights blog

[glittertimes]

I turned 24 yesterday and I think this is the first time I’ve been excited to be older rather than terrified of it

[vaultdwellerbarbie]

(Bet We'd Have Really Good) Bed Chem

cooper adams/f!reader (4.2k wc)

summary it probably wasn't good that your first instinct upon hearing that your hot neighbor got a divorce was immediately seducing him, but what's the worst thing that could happen?

content warnings eventual smut (not in this part sry), pining, age difference (reader is between 23-25), lowkey oblivious reader, kinda soft cooper but he's not in murder mode here <3 he's nice when he's not in murder mode we all know this <3 , basically au in which rachel actually believed he was cheating

important notes this was going to be one part but then i was like no... more parts. why i did this when i start classes tomorrow?? i don't know. also important to note that it's kinda ambiguous if cooper is actually like seriously interested in a relationship or if he just needs to have a functioning normal civilian life for his brain to be happy, but that'll become clear eventually. this isn't going to be super long! probably like five parts max.

There were a million things that you would rather be doing than agreeing to accompany your younger sister to meet up with her friend Riley for the entirety of one of your seven days home for the fall holiday. Getting your master’s degree with wholly frustrating and difficult, and perhaps it would have been less of a bother had you not gotten home the night before after riding a delayed Amtrak for 13 hours because you were faced with the decision of taking a long train and having groceries, or taking a flight and coming home starving. 

Realistically, you probably had a way out of going. Certainly, one of your parents could have indulged an argument that was brewing in your head. You were an adult, you surely didn’t have to do something that you didn’t want to do. You had also just finished an exam, and you were certain that they could empathize since you were just doing what was best for yourself and seeking higher education. You’d also been frugal, and you perhaps would have been less tired if you were more financially irresponsible. Plus, and here was the kicker, you found out on the phone that Riley’s father was going to be there to watch her as well; your sister was going to need someone to take her home, but Cooper Adams had always been very kind in your experience, so you didn’t think that he would be opposed to driving your sister home if you raised that idea with him or your parents. In fact, you were certain he would be understanding of your issue. 

Yet, it was the fact that he was going to be there that convinced you to not raise a single argument that you had thought of during the early morning when you were finally speaking about it with your parents. 

From the moment you met him, you’d been incredibly attracted to Cooper. Some part of you was remiss that you only knew him for a few months before you went to college, but your parents had moved while your younger sister was still young enough that she could make new friends and you had just graduated, so you wouldn’t have to make new friends during your senior year of high school. It was thoughtful, but it also meant that the man who your father worked with at the firehouse who had told him about the house on his street becoming available was someone who you only saw on holiday’s. 

However, a larger part of you was grateful that things had happened like they did. You were eighteen when you met Cooper, and had you been any younger you were certain that your attraction toward him would have been incredibly inappropriate. More inappropriate than it already was given the fact that he was a happily married man. Or, you were pretty sure that he was a happily married man at the time.

Last summer had been a big let down in terms of coming home for the off-season and seeing Cooper. You’d lined up a paid summer internship in downtown Philadelphia, so you were often not home during the day. Cooper himself was typically not home during the day, since he worked at the firehouse. But, sometimes he worked late into the night - he’d been working late into the night more that summer from what you’d heard. At some point, about a week before you returned to campus, your father had grown incredibly worried for his friend since he seemingly ‘hadn’t been himself’ as of recent. He had been picking up a lot of hours, and seemed to just not want to be at his house. 

The week you returned to campus you found out through your father that Cooper was apparently going through a divorce and didn’t want to share that information with anyone. Around that time, his wife moved out and throughout the early fall period it seemed like he wasn’t working quite as much because he was dealing with custody and divorce proceedings. Of course, you weren’t there for any of that. All you knew was that your family had been watching their children a lot more than they ever did before, and that Cooper had been having them over for dinner more than he ever did before. At the very least, he seemed to be doing better now that Rachel was out of the house and people actually knew what was going on in his life. 

It wasn’t the most moralistic thing to be almost relieved that the man was divorced. But this was going to be the first time that you saw him since the divorce, and you’d always just overall considered him off-limits. He was considerably older than you, he already had two children, and most importantly: he was married. The first two statements were still very much true, but now that he was divorced, those statements didn’t bother you all that much. It wasn’t like you were a teenager, you weren’t even freshly twenty anymore. There was no real reason why you couldn’t try to pursue him other than not wanting to make him uncomfortable. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? It was about his comfort, because that man wouldn’t flirt with you at any point before this. If it was some situation of a creepy older man hitting on a younger woman, that wouldn’t be the case. You were the one interested in him, and he was no longer in a relationship that would make it morally reprehensible for you to do something about that. 

That’s not to say that you intend on coming right out of the gate swinging. Afterall, you’re only going to be home for a week before you have to go back to campus. Theoretically, you could continue your efforts when you come home for a longer period in December, but some part of you feels predominantly interested in trying to get this done now. 

Cooper, of course, had called to let you know that he was fine with everyone taking his car rather than riding separately. Truthfully, that should have been enough for you to rationalize that you really weren’t needed at all on this expedition, but you were both distracted by the fact that he had called and interested in going solely so you can see him. But, additionally, since you really didn’t get to spend much time with your sister. The age difference did make it difficult for you to see her very often, and you were a lot less tired than you were the night before since you had made sure to go to sleep early since you knew that you were going to be busy throughout the day. 

So, you ended up walking with your sister to meet him at his car. The younger girls occupied the back seat, while you took the passenger seat with Cooper. It dawned on you that this was - to the best of your recollection - the first time that you had been in a car with Cooper.

“We’re headed to the mall, right ladies?” Cooper confirmed with the girls in the back, who broke their conversation to inform him that his memory didn’t fail him. As he pulled out of the driveway, you couldn’t help but wonder what the actual plan was. Were you both going to follow the younger girls around? Probably not, that’s not usually how this went. What was more likely was that you were going to end up sending them on their way with some cash (cash that your parents had already given your sister this morning), and you were going to presume that you were going to be alone with Cooper for at least a little while.

Realistically, you probably should have realized that before you agreed to this. But there was no backing out of it now, and you really didn’t want to. 

You were quiet for most of the car ride, Cooper was engaged in speaking with the girls in the back and you were engaged in checking your emails for the last time before you were (hopefully) able to stop worrying so much about that for the rest of the week. Of course you interjected here and there, but you were happy to just listen to the girls talk - you remembered being their age, and you typically preferred not having people interrupt you while you were talking to your friends too much if you could help it. 

Once you arrived, the girls were sent on their way with the agreement that they would meet yourself and Cooper every hour just so you were both sure that they were okay. Cooper seemed to be incredibly attentive to making sure that the girls were safe, but you couldn’t blame him. There were plenty of dangerous things going on in this city, there was no reason for him to not be concerned about the wellbeing of the young girls. Especially considering everything that he was going through, assuredly he didn’t want to have to add anything to his plate when he had already gone through as much as he had. 

“I don’t think I got to ask you how getting your master’s degree has been.” Cooper stated, giving you his full attention for the first time since you had gotten into the car. 

“It’s harder than undergrad, so far.” You admitted, walking alongside him in an aimless direction. You weren’t really sure where you were going, but it also probably didn’t matter all that much. “Definitely sucks being a little bit further away than I was before, but it’s okay. So long as I don’t think about how long I’m going to be stuck on a train at the end of the week.”

“Your dad mentioned that you took the train, how long was that?”

“Thirteen hours, but it was delayed so if you count my time in the station it was about fifteen.” You replied, internally cringing at the memory of it. You were lucky that you had your phone and computer, you weren’t sure what people did if they were stuck for that long before - even reading didn’t seem viable, an especially dense book in a somewhat loud place wasn’t possible, and any other book would definitely be finished before that time was over. But, you really didn’t need to think about that. “I was sorry that we didn’t have enough time to catch up last summer, it seems like there was always something going on or I wasn’t home when you were.” 

“That was more my fault than yours.” He admitted, but seemingly didn’t want to dip into the subject. “But we have plenty of time to catch up now, Riley… she’d be at this all day if we let her. I’m sure you don’t want to stay out too late though.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Won’t see you or them for another month after this week and after that… you know.” You would be home for a few days in the spring, outside of that you wouldn’t see anyone back home for quite some time and at that point you were going to self-isolate for a week in recovery from finals. But he knew that, you were always the same when you returned home after taking finals. Cooper himself had once made the mistake of trying to break your isolation when coming over to grab your sister since she was spending time with Riley, needless to say, he didn’t make that mistake again. 

“I was surprised you came along, I assumed that you would want some rest after traveling for so long yesterday.” 

“Yeah, well-”

“Guess you really wanted to catch up with me.” His tone was teasing, but you still couldn’t figure out if that teasing was anything more than platonic. You believed that it was platonic, Cooper surely wouldn’t cross that line without you doing something first. In theory, trying to pursue him seemed easy. In practice, you were having a difficult time figuring out where to begin. 

“Would it be sad if I said that’s like… ninety percent of the reason why I came?” 

“Not sad at all, just makes me feel special. What’s the ten percent though? I need to figure out who my competition is.” Still, a joke, but it was also a dad joke. Cooper had always been very good at dad jokes, you knew that much about him. 

“I don’t think it’s fair for you to try to compete with my twelve year old sister, there’s probably some inequity there.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, you haven’t seen her this year on the soccer field. That girl is a fighter.” 

“Oh, I’ve seen her, trust me.” It was just about every week that you were sent long videos of your sister on the field, but, you were always remiss to not be able to see her in person. “I do miss home, you know, I’m glad that I’m away and getting my education but it’s just… hard. Not seeing my younger sister grow up, I guess.”

“I get that, being away from home so much last summer was a lot for me. I was still seeing Riley but not as much as I would have liked.” 

“If you don’t want to answer, that’s totally fine, but… I have been curious about how things have been going. I’ve heard bits and pieces from my father, but it’s not like he’s spilling his guts about your personal life.” 

Cooper finally stopped aimlessly walking to sit down at a nearby table, which you joined him at. You had to sit somewhat close to him since it was loud in the food court - both with the other people chatting and the preemptive Christmas music that you were sure had started playing on November 1st - but you tried not to let that get to your head as you waited for him to respond to your question.

“It’s been difficult.” He replied, seemingly looking for the right words to explain what was actually going on, but not wanting to dump too much on another person. “Rachel hasn’t been very active with the kids but seems to want sole custody of them, or, at least she doesn’t want them to live in the same house as me.” 

“That’s really awful, Cooper, I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you, I- honestly, I’m not sure exactly what it is that she wants from this.” 

It would be worth noting that Cooper, not even once, has told anyone why the divorce was happening to begin with. He mentioned irreconcilable differences, but not what those differences actually were. 

“She thought that I was having an affair, but I wasn’t having an affair.” It was very much true that he was not having an affair, it’s just, arguably, not as bad as what he was actually doing. But, Cooper wasn’t going to express that… obviously. 

“Why would she think that?”

“Because I was out late, she said. Because I was coming home with jewelry, but I thought that I was just being nice.” 

“If it counts for anything, I don’t think you’re the kind of guy to have an affair.” Some part of you was nervous to say even that, especially so when he finally met your eyes after having been looking at his hands. You’d always been taken by his eyes. From time to time, he zoned off and seemed to be deep in thought about… something. But when he actually looked at you, when you held eyes with him - and when he looked at his daughter - there was always a softness in his eyes that made you feel incredibly comfortable around him. 

“You know,” Cooper started, finally letting some of the serious tone in his voice slip away from him as he addressed you. “If you were so curious about what was going on with me, you could have called.” 

“I wasn’t sure if we had that type of relationship.” You admitted, though it had crossed your mind to call him on more than one occasion. Though you were, obviously, incredibly attracted to him and jut wanted to hear his voice, you were also curious about how things were going with him after hearing about the divorce. Sure, it had a lot to do with wanting to seduce him, but you also understood that Cooper was a human being who was going through something incredibly serious and life-altering. “But I did want to reach out, make sure that everything was okay. Not like I could’ve offered much help from so far away, but… something, I guess.” 

“You should always feel free to call.” Cooper’s tone was warm and inviting and you weren’t sure if it gave you too much confidence or just the right amount of it. At some point, you were going to have to figure out if you actually had the guts to go through with trying to seduce him or if you were just going to end up going back to your dorm with a new invitation to call him whenever you wanted and a curiosity about how you could possibly twist that to work in your favor. 

But, there was also the key driving force behind your need to try to seduce him quickly. It wasn’t because you believed that he was looking for a rebound, that type of thing was difficult when he already had children. It was because you knew that he was incredibly attractive, and tall, and that people liked speaking to him. There was a reason that, when the station did firemen calendars and other sorts of fundraising efforts he was front and center. Everyone knew that he was good looking, and everyone knew that men who looked like him and were as easy to talk to as him were difficult to come by. The idea of coming back at some point and having missed your chance lit a fire in your belly to do this as quickly as possible - if possible - but you just weren’t sure how to approach it. Anything too far could be detrimental since he was friends with your family, but you weren’t sure just how subtle you could be without your efforts entirely flying under the radar and not really being considered efforts at all. 

“Is this the only day I’m going to see you this week?” Your voice was as casual as you could muster, but you weren’t sure the question that you had asked was particularly casual. It was curiosity, but it was evidently more than that. Even though Cooper probably took notice of that, he didn’t do anything to deter you from your line of questioning.

“Actually, no. I thought your parents would have said something, but your dad felt so bad about me spending the holiday alone with the kids that he invited me over.” His response was surprising, you had not yet been informed that Cooper and his children were going to be spending Thanksgiving with your family. It made sense, though. From what you remembered, he usually joined Christmas and Thanksgiving with his parents because it was easier for them, but you weren’t sure if that was going to change since he no longer needed to worry about Rachel’s family. 

“But outside of that…”

“Two days isn’t enough?” If his tone wasn’t light, you might have been embarrassed by him catching onto the slight clinginess. But, he continued speaking before you could get in your head about something like that. “You can come to my house, if you want to. Not tomorrow, the day after tomorrow.” 

“That’s… Tuesday?”

“Right.”

“Okay, Tuesday’s fine. Wednesday I’m… doubly busy now.” You always took part in cooking and baking for the holiday’s, but you weren’t actually anticipating cooking for more people than usual this year. There was no protests in your head, though. You wanted to spend time with Cooper, and you were surprised that he was inviting you to spend more time with him without your family around. This was all under the guise of co-babysitting, but that was something else entirely. Well, unless he was inviting you to co-babysit with him again. But what reason could there be, truly, for Cooper to invite you over like you were casual friends? He’d never done it before, but- wait- were you missing some signs? 

“Great! It’ll just be us, though. Grandparent day on Wednesday since the kids are out of school. If that’s alright, of course.” 

Finally, after perhaps not even beginning to think that there may be signs for the entire time that you were sitting down, you could see in his eyes that the warmth had somewhat changed. There was something different behind his eyes from what you had ever seen from him before, but it wasn’t that dark look that he got when he zoned out. It was something new, something that made you certain that you had definitely been missing the signs that there was something going on here. 

“Cooper, are you flirting with me?”

“Depends on if it’s working.” 

Just as he opened his mouth again to seemingly go on some sort of rant about not wanting to make you uncomfortable, you spoke again. “I kind of agreed to come here today because I wanted to flirt with you, so it’s definitely working.” 

“Huh. And here I thought I was the clever one.” 

At some point, you had to do something about how erratically your heart was beating. Instead, you let him take your hand for a moment. This definitely wasn’t exactly how you anticipated your afternoon going, but you weren’t complaining whatsoever. Still, there was one particular thing on your mind. Spending the day with him Tuesday, alone in his house, definitely the last time that you’ll be alone with him before you go back to your campus for another month before you can actually see him in person. You, afterall, had needs. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” You’d expected a dad joke, but you were fine with the semi-distracted expression in his eyes.

“Can you kiss me?”

“Oh, sure.” 

The words alone weren’t the enthusiastic response that you were hoping for, but the feeling of his mouth against yours mere seconds after you said anything was definitely what you were hoping for. Cooper didn’t mind as you brought a hand to the back of his head, your fingers tangled in his hair and holding him close. He, in fact, deepened the kiss in response. But, he did pull back. He had to, you were in public - it was indecent to make out in public, plus there were two young girls that you knew you were going to be meeting up with soon enough who were definitely prone to saying things that they maybe shouldn’t be saying to people who maybe shouldn’t hear them. 

While you played with his fingers, he finally took the opportunity to stand back up. 

“How about lunch?” 

The day went by quicker than you would have wanted it to. You spent it with Cooper, keeping up normal appearances when you were in front of the girls but keeping your hand on him somehow when you were alone again. It was important, for now, that nobody knew that something was going on - even if neither of you were actually sure what that thing was - since you were certain that it was going to make things incredibly awkward for you both back home. In close communities like the one you lived in, people were prone to talk. Not only were people prone to talk, but your family alone might feel some type of way. But, that didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy it even if some part of it absolutely didn’t feel real. 

When you did part with him later in the evening, he was sure to make sure that nobody could see what you were doing when he kissed you again before you left. And, he was sure to remind you that, in fact, your theories about being alone with him in his house was definitely going to not be so… innocent. Which, in turn, kept you twisting and turning in bed for the entirety of the night. 

At some point, you would need to confront the fact that you had no interest in being a rebound, if that was what was happening, and that your father was definitely going to be at least a little bit offended to find out that you were sleeping with his friend behind his back. And Cooper, of course, was going to be a lot better at keeping his little secret from you than he was with Rachel - who, admittedly, still seemed to be under the impression that he was cheating on her and not that he was secretly the killer that everyone was on the hunt for. That point was not a seven-day-vacation, but it would certainly come at some point. 

For the time being, you were happy to sneak around with someone. It gave you some type of rush, especially since you’d been attracted to him for so many years at this point. Cooper, too, was happy to be able to have his secondary, happier, life which was so rudely disrupted by the prior divorce; even if it was in a different capacity.

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy, part iv, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // For fear that you'll find out, how I'm imagining you

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, cursed dinner party, toxic family dynamics, Targaryen men being the worst

Words: 5700

A/n: Also available to read on AO3. And I made a Series Playlist :)

Over the last two months, finishing her thesis, taking exams, sending off masters applications and keeping track of a boyfriend has left little room in her mind for Aemond Targaryen.

For the last month or so she’s hardly even seen him. On the weekdays she gets up early and spends all day in the library. On the weekends she goes to Cregan’s place in central. He goes to the gym with Jace on Saturday morning and on Sundays he usually has a rugby match. Between that they watch movies in his room, go for drinks with his friends and sometimes she drags him around her favourite museums. 

The sex is good. For a bulky guy with a nose piercing and sleeve tattoos of wolves and weirwood trees, Cregan is surprisingly gentle. He makes her cum on his tongue, then he leans over to fuck her with his hands pressed into the mattress, looking between her eyes and the space where their bodies meet. He doesn’t say much, a few strained “oh Gods” and a grunted “fuck” when he comes. When they’re done he falls into the bed beside her, throwing an arm around her while he rambles about whatever happens to be on his mind, exams, internships, summer plans…

She’s happy to rest her head against him, listening to the humming of his chest as he speaks, letting it lull her as she slips into her own mind. Sometimes she still feels a little empty when it’s over and doesn’t have the energy to go for another round. She puts it down to stress. Or hormones. Or something. 

Now, being on the other side of everything she realises time is passing too quickly for her liking. 

Joan Jett blasts through the car speakers while Alys and Cregan go on about the season finale of some drama series she’s not kept up with.

Alys loves Cregan. Everyone loves Cregan because he’s a people person. He speaks to everyone he meets like they’re already lifelong friends and he has a remarkable talent for finding common interests. If she were cynical she would say he’s palatable.

The weather has been perfect so far, bright and sunny but with enough of a breeze that the heat isn’t unbearable. Ideal for the graduation ceremony.

She looks through the recent photos in her phone. She took a few nice ones of the Sept, the nave lined with columns and towering statues of the Seven watching over the cohort of students in red and black robes. She keeps swiping through photos of her and some of her classmates on the front steps tossing their hats in the air, a few of her and Joanna, one of her and Cregan, and one of her and Alys. 

Sometimes she thinks she looks nothing like her mother, but when they smile they look strikingly similar.

Everything had paid off in the end, the study dates with Joanna, the all-nighters, the last minute breakdowns crying over the kitchen counter with Alys. But she’s proud that she did it all on her own. Especially given how helpful Aemond had been last year. Just thinking about it makes her heart sink.

He’d been living with them for a few months by then. They were comfortable with each other, existing in the same spaces, eating dinner and watching movies together when Alys was out or working late. 

Sometimes he’d put his arm around the back of the sofa, letting her lean into him while they watched 90s thrillers, leaning into her every so often to make a joke or a profound observation. They could analyse movies forever, staying up late until their eyes were tired, leaning in closer and closer and never really realising it.

And then when exams came around, the stress just got to her. “It’s half the suffering,” Alys insisted, “you’re not doing yourself any favours, so don’t do it.” Easier said than done. 

There was one particular module on Conflicts in the Modern Era that was chipping away at her sanity. It was her last exam of the year and every time she went over her notes she just felt hopeless.

Aemond offered to help her study. He had loads of notes and old assignments on his laptop from his undergrad and his masters. They spent hours in the dining room, going over readings and practice questions.

He would sit next to her, leaning over every so often to read through what she was working on. Every hand on her shoulder, every reassuring “hmm,” or utterance of “good girl,” when she got something right sent shivers down her spine.

She knew it was wrong, but she didn’t exactly want it to stop.

The exam ended up going a lot better than she anticipated. She opened the paper and instantly saw that, by some miracle, there were a few questions similar to the ones she had done with Aemond.

She came home ecstatic. Alys was at work but Aemond was home, loitering in the kitchen. She practically leapt into his arms when she saw him, telling him every detail she could think of with a huge smile on her face.

Aemond’s hands settled on her waist. He leaned into her until all she could see were his bright, blue eyes. “I’m so proud of you baby,” he said in a voice that made her breathless.

He leaned in further until his lips were on hers, soft and warm, kissing her tentatively. She thought it might be over quickly, until she reached up, teasing her fingertips over the nape of his neck while his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper.

When they pulled away, both a little breathless, he rested his forehead against her and smiled. She smiled back.

But she snaps out of that trance when she realises they’re pulling into the driveway.

She looks across at Alys for a moment, laughing at something Cregan just said.

Her chest feels like it might crush under the weight of it all, but time presses on and things seem to be moving forward for the better. She’s happy with Cregan. Who wouldn’t be? He’s funny, smart, maybe a little over confident at times but she can forgive that. And she’s got the whole summer before she starts her masters. With Cregan in the picture she figured she might as well stay at KLU. He’s been trying to convince her to move in the flat with him. There’s no reason not to, it’s close to campus, his flatmates are nice and they seem to keep the place clean. She keeps saying she’ll think about it.

He reaches for her hand as Alys leads them through the front door.

The house looks immaculate and it fills her with dread. 

Alys has decided to use her graduation as an opportunity to host a family dinner. Maybe she’s intending it to be a grand offering of peace, maybe she just wants to show off, or maybe she’s just lost her mind because putting two halves of a warring family in the same room seems like a disaster waiting to happen. Not to mention she’ll have to introduce everyone to Cregan. 

The dreamy rhythm of a Mazzy Star song drifts from the kitchen. Aemond is leaning over the counter, in a black shirt with his sleeves rolled up, prepping a rack of lamb. She tries not to look at his hands as he takes pinches of salt, pepper and spices between his fingers.

Alys heads straight for the vodka, offering a round of martinis before the dreaded guests arrive.

She and Cregan both decline politely, and when Alys turns to Aemond he purses his lips. “I don’t drink vodka martinis.”

Alys rolls her eyes. “Thinks he’s so sophisticated,” she says to Cregan. 

Cregan chuckles and plants a light kiss to her cheek, muttering about taking a shower and disappears down the hall.

Her eyes meet Aemond’s for a moment. He smiles sincerely. He’s playing one of her favourite songs.

She tells her mother she’s going to get dressed, and feels Aemond’s eyes following her as she heads upstairs.

When she gets to her room she puts her graduation robes on a hanger and lies on the bed in the black slip dress she wore underneath. Something’s pressing awkwardly into her back, Cregan’s jeans and t-shirt. She tosses them across the room and falls back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling and listening to the hum of the shower.

Is it unfair to hate someone for listening to a song? Did he remember it was her favourite or was it a lucky guess? Maybe he was trying to tease her, or else it could have just been a coincidence, but that doesn’t seem like him. Aemond rarely does anything accidentally.

Cregan saunters in with a towel around his hips. He looks down at his clothes on the floor in front of the door. “Not where I left them,” he mutters.

She pretends not to hear him.

He gets dressed quickly, all he has to do is put on his jeans and clean white shirt. 

“How many people are coming tonight?” He asks, spraying some perfume on his pulse points.

She keeps her eyes on the ceiling. “Viserys, Alicent, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jace, Baela, Aegon and Helaena.” Luke and Rhaena were going to stay home with Joffrey, and Daeron would still be in Sunspear until the end of the month. Just as well, there would already be too many people to keep track of.

“I hear some of the family stuff from Jace,” Cregan says, “sounds like a mess.”

She hums to herself. “Oh, you have no idea.”

She takes her hair out of its low bun and fixes it into a more casual look, leaving it mostly loose but out of her face. Her makeup has managed to survive the day pretty well. She touches up her blush and wipes away her lipstick, applying a sweet tasting cherry lipbalm instead.

When they reappear in the kitchen Alys is nowhere to be found but Aegon and Helaena have already arrived. 

Aegon and Cregan pair up nicely, swigging bottles of beer while Aemond pours out three gin and tonics.

She compliments Helaena’s patterned skirt and red boots. In return she admires her dress. “You two are matching,” she says, as Aemond hands them both their drinks.

He raises his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth are tight. “Happy coincidence.”

“Black’s not exactly a fashion statement,” she adds, taking a sip. 

Aemond hums in agreement.

She takes a breath to relieve the tension in her shoulders. “How are you doing?” She asks Helaena, “didn’t get much of a chance to talk to you at the wedding.”

Helaena’s doing a PhD in Etymology at Highgarden, between that and her various art projects she seems happy, but something’s off. She’s never exactly been outgoing but she seems particularly timid, wide eyes darting constantly to Aemond and Aegon. She’s nervous, but in all fairness they all are. Or they should be.

While Helaena goes on about species of butterflies, she finds her attention almost completely on Aemond, his hand gripping his glass in the corner of her eye, the sound of his breath, those well timed hums and the smell of his aftershave. She takes another sip of her drink to steady her nerves, hoping neither of them notice her hand trembling as she brings the glass to her lips. 

Eventually Alys waltzes in with Rhaenyra, Daemon, Baela and Jace following behind her. That seems like a good opportunity to escape. She goes to hug Jace and Baela, and follows them when they go to stand with Aegon and Cregan. 

The tension is palpable, Alys having a stiff conversation with Rhaenyra, Daemon lurking at the edge of the room with a glass of whisky, and Jace stealing glances over her shoulder, at Aemond and Helaena.

She catches whispers of their conversation but nothing tangible. 

“What’s your problem?” Baela hisses to Jace. 

He tuts. “He’s staring daggers at me, fuck’s sake.”

Aegon’s lips thin. He excuses himself curtly and joins his siblings by the glass doors to the garden. 

Their little group falls to an uneasy silence. 

“Well done, dickhead,” Baela says, rolling her eyes.

Cregan gives her a confused look. She puts her hand on his shoulder and comes onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “I’ll show you the powerpoint presentation later.”

Somehow the mood only gets colder when Viserys and Alicent walk through the door. It’s almost pitiful, watching Rhaenyra and Daemon trying to win his attention while Alicent keeps her hand on her husband’s shoulder, muttering into his ear whenever she can.

Not speaking to Aemond has meant she’s mostly been out of the loop, but she can guess they’ve not moved past the dispute over Viserys’ will.

Helaena and Aegon both go to greet their parents. It’s cordial at best, light hugs and pecks on the cheek, and Viserys shakes Aegon’s hand like this is the first time they’ve met. Aemond doesn’t go near them.

The lack of warmth is only more noticeable when Viserys greets Jace and Baela with open arms and a pleasant smile. He hugs her too, congratulating her— after all that is why they’re here— and shakes Cregan’s hand firmly.

She catches Aegon’s eye over his father’s shoulder. He frowns, almost comically and goes to find another bottle of beer.

Before long Alys ushers them all into the dining room.

Alys and Viserys sit at the two heads of the table and the others fill in around them. When they see Alicent has taken the seat to Viserys’ right, Rhaenyra and Daemon move to the other end of the table. Helaena sits next to her dad and they both smile vaguely. Aemond, rather diplomatically, takes a central seat between Aegon and Rhaenyra. 

In an attempt to avoid sitting across from either of his uncles, Jace settles next to Alys, and once Cregan sits next to him, the only free seat is directly opposite Aemond. She sits down without a fuss.

Once everyone is a bit more settled, Aemond and Alys go back to the kitchen to bring in small plates of salad and seared tuna.

It starts off with smalltalk. Cregan and Jace are muttering to each other on her left, while Baela and Helaena have a friendly catch up to her right, leaving her to prod at her starter, waiting for an appetite to appear.

She doesn’t dare to look up past the space in front of her plate, or the pair of eyes she can feel burning into her.

Once they’re finished, the plates are whisked away and Aemond presents them with lamb chops, fondant potatoes and summer greens, while Alys pours out glasses of red wine. 

Viserys’ knife scratches against his plate as he carves into the meat. “Really excellent lamb, Alys.”

“Aemond did the food,” she says.

He pauses, looks down at his plate and carries on eating.

She hears Jace whispering something into Cregan’s ear and they both grunt in amusement.

“Something funny?” Aegon asks sharply, reaching for his glass.

She finally looks across the table. Aegon’s face is a dangerous mix of anger and anticipation.

“Just admiring Aemond’s culinary skills,” Jace muses, spearing a cut of lamb on his fork, “didn’t realise he’d gone domestic.”

“Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra hisses.

Aegon huffs but keeps his mouth shut with a stern look from Aemond.

Viserys’ attention suddenly latches onto his grandson. The rest of the table falls quiet while he asks Jace about his exam results. 65 average. Just a few marks off a first.

Aegon nudges his brother but Aemond doesn’t react. 

Their father seems to notice. “Jacaerys is shadowing me for the summer,” he says pointedly. 

Aegon finishes off his glass and immediately refills it.

“Not coming to Dragonstone, then?” Helaena pipes up in a brighter tone, leaning to look at Jace.

The ancestral home of the Targaryen family, a beautiful estate along the coast outside the city. It’s more of a castle than a house really, passed down the generations over centuries. They use it as a holiday home now.

She went with the Strongs one summer. Ten weeks of beach trips, reading by the pool and fresh seafood for dinner every evening. It was the first time she really remembers meeting the Targaryen siblings. Aemond seemed so quiet then, always with his nose in a book. It feels like a lifetime ago now. 

Cregan’s voice in her ear takes her by surprise. “You alright?” He asks, stroking his hand along the silky black fabric on her thigh. “You looked a bit lost there for a moment.”

She can see Aemond looking at her in the corner of her eye. “I’m fine,” she says, pushing Cregan’s hand away.

“We’re just a little busy at the moment,” Rhaenyra says, “work is… hectic.”

Alicent visibly bristles. 

“Might make it down for a few weeks, if the boss lets me off,” Jace says.

“I’m excited to have you,” Viserys says, “good to get him used to the order of things nice and early.”

“Yeah, amazing what you can do when you have everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter,” Aegon says, casually taking a long draw from his glass.

Alicent and Rhaenyra look horrified. Daemon and Viserys are both clenching their fists. 

“He says as if Otto Hightower didn’t have to buy him a place at KLU,” Jace retorts.

Aegon shrugs. “So what if he did? Got the degree, didn’t I?”

“And what have you done with it?” Viserys says in a scathing voice, “bought a flat with my money. Drank and screwed your way through life with no concern for your career or your family.”

Aegon tuts. “The fuck does that mean, family?”

“Leave it,” Aemond mutters and the table settles into an uncomfortable quiet.

“At least Jace has some direction,” Viserys says, breaking the silence. For a moment his eyes dart to his wife.

Alicent’s brown eyes are wide and glassy. “And my children don’t?”

She watches Aemond’s lips flicker into a sneer before he composes himself and goes back to staring vacantly at his untouched glass.

“That’s not what I meant, love–”

Daemon chuckles quietly. “And yet…”

Alicent slams her knife against the table with a jarring clatter. “Maybe they would have amounted to something more if you had shown even the slightest bit of interest in your own children!”

A chair scrapes against the floor and Helaena’s silver hair billows behind her as she leaves the dining room.

Baela grabs her wrist and pulls her to stand. “Excuse us,” she says sweetly. Not that anyone will hear her over the shouting match brewing between Alicent and Daemon.

They find Helaena in the lounge, on the sofa, picking at her nails.

“Hey,” Baela whispers, coming to hold her hands so she stops.

Helaena looks up at them with glistening blue eyes and a trembling lip. It’s the first time she’s really seen the resemblance between her and Alicent.

Raised voices echo from down the hall. By the sounds of things Aegon and Viserys have joined in too.

Helaena releases her hands from Baela’s and presses her palms to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she says, taking a few shallow gasps. “I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Baela hums in agreement.

Tears start to trickle from her eyes. “I used to love hanging out with you and Jace and everyone. I don’t understand… what did we do wrong?”

She isn’t sure what to do. She feels so helpless just watching Helaena as she starts to cry. Baela sits next to her and puts her arm around her shoulders.

And while the arguing persists, Helaena eventually starts to calm down a little, wiping her tears on her sleeve and leaning into Baela. “We missed dessert,” she sighs.

“We have ice-cream in the freezer,” she says, “strawberry or vanilla?”

And just like that her face lights up. “Both.”

“Noted. Baela?”

Baela smiles sympathetically. “Strawberry please.”

She catches fragments of the insults being thrown around the dining room as she walks past. “Hightower leech”, “spoiled cunt”.

She sees a figure in a black shirt through the frosted glass door to the kitchen. She holds her breath as she opens the door.

Aemond is leaning over the counter, fiddling with a packet of cigarettes. He looks up as soon as he hears the door. She lets it close behind her and leans against it.

He stares at her with a tight jaw, a sad little pout on his lips and a slight scrunch in his nose. Despite everything she can’t help but feel sorry for him. 

She tuts to herself and goes to place two bowls and two spoons on the counter, avoiding Aemond’s gaze.

Not my problem.

She goes towards the freezer and hears Aemond sigh heavily behind her. She hovers her hand over the handle.

Not my problem. Not my problem. Not my problem.

“Is it stupid of me to ask if you’re alright?” She asks, turning to fave him.

One of his wide plams is pressed against the counter, his legs crossed casually at the ankle. “No.” 

“And are you alright?”

His nostrils flare as he takes a slow breath. “I told her this would be a bad idea,” he says, tapping the box against the counter. “But what do I know, it’s only my fucking family.”

The way the light shines on his face makes the scar over his left eye seem like a shadow. She’s never asked about the details of what happened, but then he doesn’t like to talk about it. 

Two months ago she would have held his hand or pulled him into her arms when he was this anxious.

But things have changed now.

“Aemond, I–”

“Babe?”

She whips her head round to see Cregan and Jace standing in the doorway. Guilt twinges in her chest and she doesn’t know why. A conversation is nothing to be ashamed of, surely? She hadn’t even heard the door open. 

“Baela and Helaena are in the lounge, right?” Cregan asks.

“Yeah,” she says, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

They both glare at Aemond before they leave. When she turns to face him, he’s looking back with a cold indifference.

“He seems nice,” Aemond says once they're gone. “Palatable.”

She starts to drag her teeth over her bottom lip but stops herself. Aemond’s eyes are so intense, glaring from across the room with a dangerous look of fury and sadness. That’s exactly how he looked at her, the night of the wedding, when they were in her hotel room. When he asked her about Cregan then she liked how it made him jealous. 

Her blood starts to simmer, a feeling that cuts deeper and hurts more than hate. “Is this it then?” She says.

His brows scrunch into a frown, but his wide eyes seem more bewildered than anything. “What do you mean?”

It’s like a switch clicks in her brain and something in her heart dies. These last few weeks, even with things going so well with Cregan, she’s carried Aemond with her, hoping that one day she’d wake up and things would have worked out differently. It’s what she’s been doing for the last year anyway, she just never managed to break the habit.

It has to end somewhere, the lying, the guilt, and the naivety that she meant something more to him than a pretty face and a convenient fuck. 

She needs to let go and she’s known that for a long time.

“Forget it. You’ve made your side of things clear,” she says, her voice starting to tremble. “This was never going to end well and I should have thought about that before I led myself on.”

She takes a step towards the door but he’s in front of her, keeping her between the freezer and the counter.

“Do you love him?” Aemond mutters, quickly and quietly.

She can feel her heart beating in her throat.

“Do I… what?”

He takes advantage of her hesitation. His hand clamps around her wrist as he moves to the door. It takes a few moments to realise he’s dragging her with him.

The door to the lounge is shut. She hears Cregan’s booming laugh on the other side as Aemond leads her further along the hallway.

And suddenly they’re in the downstairs bathroom. She stands in front of the sink, staring at her own reflection as the lock clicks.

She watches Aemond in the mirror. The room is small and narrow, even when he’s standing by the door he’s close. Then he starts to close the distance between them with slow, taunting steps until he’s standing over her.

She can feel him and smell his aftershave, the bitterness of gin and the sweetness of red wine.

There’s that dark look in his eye again, determined, and hungry.

“Did you really think I’d let you keep up this pathetic little act?” He murmurs, eyes fixed on hers through the glass.

“What act?” 

She lets out a little gasp when he places a hand on her hip and pushes his hips against her, grinding a growing hardness against her so subtly he might not be moving at all.

He leans into her but no part of him makes contact with her skin. She shudders at the heat of his breath running over her ear, neck and shoulders. “I said you were needy, didn’t I?”

Her shoulders flinch when a single fingertip touches the nape of her neck. He draws it gradually along her spine as she desperately resists the urge to cry out at the tingling sensation it brings, arching against him because her body has nowhere else to go.

“And so sensitive,” he says and stops just as he reaches her lower back. “It was all for me, wasn’t it? The crop tops, the staring, even Stark, you just wanted a reaction.”

She’s always been a good liar but when she opens her mouth to reply she finds she just can’t do it. She doesn’t want to, not when he places his hand on her side and traces over the curves of her waist, her hips, the pouch of her stomach and her thighs. It’s been so long since they’ve been this close, and it’s not close enough.

“You stopped wanting me,” she breathes.

“Stupid little slut,” he says, leaning his chin over her shoulder. He starts dragging both hands down her thighs, taking the hem of her dress with him as he moves back up. “How could I ever stop wanting you?” His voice is harsh and hypnotic all at once. Cold and unforgiving. It sets her skin alight and leaves her wanting more.

But it doesn’t make sense. He was the one who left the hotel room. 

“I don’t understand… this isn’t fair.”

“But you and I both know you don’t like to play fair,” he rasps, tracing circles over the tops of her thighs, occasionally brushing over the hem of her panties.“I just know these last couple of months have been fucking unbearable without you.”

She bites down on her lip to stop herself whimpering at his touch.

He groans as his head falls against her neck, hands still pawing at her legs and the dress hitched around her waist. “Let me fuck you,” he utters in that low voice that means it’s taking every ounce of effort to hold himself back. “I know what you need. Just be a good girl and let me fuck you.”

Anticipation floods her body. She can feel her self-control slipping. She can’t think straight, can’t think past him or a world beyond this moment.

She wants it too much to feel guilty, for now at least.

“Please,” she utters.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me.”

Suddenly his soft touches are gone and he yanks her panties down to her knees. One hand slides between her legs, prying them open enough so he can circle her clit with the pads of his fingers. The other snakes up her body and takes a gentle hold of her throat.

He finally brings his lips to her cheek. They graze over her skin as he mutters, “you said something to me, that night. What was it?”

She scoffs. “You’re such a cunt.” She can hear how weak her voice is as she says it.

“Mouth on you, baby,” he coos, “come on, I know you remember.”

She shakes her head fervently, hoping she can focus on the movements of his fingers, the pleasure building and building inside her. 

“I want to hear you say it, baby.”

She lets herself melt against him, clinging desperately on his arms, breathless but defiant as she meets his eyes in the mirror.

With a short huff he withdraws his hand, but keeps her against him by her neck. He easily undoes the buckle on his belt, bringing his trousers down just enough to free his cock.

She bucks her hips on instinct as he slides the tip through her folds, gathering her wetness, and smiling when he realises responsive she is to him.

“Have you always been this restless? Or have you just missed me?”

Her head hangs slightly as he teases between her entrance and her clit. She can feel how thick his cock is, how hard he is and she already knows it’s going to make her feel so fucking good.

The grip on her neck becomes firmer, demanding her attention back to the mirror. He holds her gaze as he slides into her tight, slick cunt.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, “look at how well you take that.”

He’s right. The sight of her pleading face and parted lips as he holds her and pushes deeper inside of her only adds to her arousal. 

He fucks her slowly, precisely, placing a hand on her stomach and pressing into her while the impact of his thrusts are muffled by fabric. 

“Can you feel that?” He whispers, “can you feel how tight you are? Can you feel how deep that is?”

“Ah— fuck, yes…” she chokes, savouring the burn and the stretch of his cock as he drags through her walls and hits her sweet spot. When his fingers come back to circle her clit it all becomes so light and perfect and deliciously overwhelming.

“I knew you still wanted me,” he pants between the gentle kisses to her cheek. “Say it.”

“No,” she manages to whimper.

“Say it.”

Her orgasm comes as a sudden burst of warmth and Aemond isn’t far behind, suppressing a grunt as his hips still and his cock throbs inside her.

A few moments pass and he turns her head towards him, keeping his eyes on her lips. He leans in to kiss her and she twists her head to the other side.

“Fucking brat.” 

Suddenly he brings her to face him fully, effortlessly lifting her by her thighs to rest her against the edge of the sink. 

There’s no teasing this time, no pretence, just need. He pushes himself into her in one cruel snap of his hips.

He’s too impatient to give her time to adjust before he starts to fuck her, fiercely and without mercy, hands digging into the flesh of her rear, pulling her in over and over again. He brings his forehead against hers, glaring into her eyes like he hates her.

But like this she can wrap her arms around his neck, hold him even closer and lose herself in just him.

“All you need to remember is you’re mine. You’re fucking mine and you know it.”

Tears well in her eyes and she can only take what he gives her. “Fuck… Aemond...”

Her climax builds until it’s almost excruciating, and then it tears through her, a release unlike anything she’s known for months. She keeps her arms tight around him, burying her face into his neck as her thighs shake and her whole body tenses and trembles.

Aemond doesn’t stop, fucking her through it until she’s writhing with the overstimulation.

“Too much,” she whines, “fuck it’s too much!”

He clasps a hand over her mouth to muffle her protest, dangerously echoing on the tiled walls and floors. He comes again, gnawing at his lip to keep himself quiet and spilling deep inside her as tears stream from her cheeks.

He admires the mess they’ve made as he pulls out, her cream on his cock and his cum leaking from her quivering cunt. His eyes flicker back to her face, his expression softening and his lips curling into a half smile.

Dazed and still desperate she leans into him, but her lips barely get to  graze his before he pulls away.

“Oh now you want to kiss me?”

She frowns, which only seems to amuse him.

By the way he grabs her jaw she doesn’t need to be told what to do. She offers him her tongue and swallows when he spits into her mouth.

A satisfied groan rumbles in his chest and her belly flutters in anticipation, as if he hasn’t just made her come twice, as if she can’t feel his spend starting to drip down her thighs.

He slips her off the sink and kneels down to pull her panties up her legs. Then he fixes her skirt, smoothing down the fabric with his palms.

“You’re going to be civil,” he murmurs, one of his hands coming to fix her hair. “You’re going to go back out there, kiss your boyfriend on the cheek, but I want you to think about me. Think about how good I make you feel. Do you understand?”

She nods.

“Words, baby,” he says as his hand comes to cup her jaw, stroking his thumb over her flushed cheek.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s my good girl,” he says softly, leaning in to plant an almost chaste kiss to her lips.

She tries for more but he steps away, eyes roaming over her to make sure she’s presentable.

With a vague “hmm,” he carefully unlocks the door and slowly steps out. He shoots her a quick wink before he closes the door, his footsteps fading down the hallway back towards the kitchen.

Her legs almost give out underneath her and she clutches the sink to keep herself standing. 

That certainly wasn’t how she was expecting this evening to go.

She’s not sure how she’s supposed to show her face and go about pretending like nothing’s happened in front of their families. Maybe she’ll rediscover her ability to lie, kiss Cregan on the cheek and play the part of the sweet girlfriend, but what kind of person will that make her?

She looks at her reflection, at the glimmer of blissful tears and sweat on her face. 

A familiar laugh drifts down the hall.

How is she ever going to look her mother in the eye again?

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3

[fragilecapric0rnn]

🔁 ronance please and thank you 😌

anything for you my louseph friend <3

FINALLY a song that is not sad!!!

relistening to this one and am reminded how fun and chaotic it is and was, once again, metaphorically hit over the head with an idea:

Ronance workplace rivals to friends to lovers AU! if i'm remembering correctly i used this song on a playlist many moons ago for a rivals to friends to lovers au i wrote (and have since orphaned oops)

Set in the political sphere, both working as staffers for the same US Congresswoman, a prolific, controversial member of the House of Representatives. An office known for being nearly impossible to infiltrate.

Nancy, cut-throat workaholic. Constantly burning the candle at both ends, her desk should be considered her first home rather than her actual home. She worked her ass off.

Starting in high school, piloting the high school Democratic club for her high school and then rocketing it up to the most productive high school chapter in the region, regardless of none of the members could vote. Taking undergrad by the balls and squeezing as hard as she possibly could. Scoring internships the summer after her Freshman year and bypassing incoming Seniors that by the time SHE was a Senior she had a better resume than most seasoned political staffers. Three internships on The Hill, two years of being president of her colleges Dem club chapter, staffed over a dozen political campaigns for various Dems across the political spectrum. All while maintaining a 4.0 GPA and writing guest articles for the University's school paper. Nancy Wheeler made name for herself, stepping into her glory as one of the youngest staffers in DC at just 22 years old. Younger than some interns. But carrying herself with the confidence of someone with decades of experience under the belt.

Robin, on the other hand, kinda fell into politics. It was the summer right before her Senior year of high school. An election year. She never paid much attention to politics before this, her parents were hippies, they were obviously liberal. Naturally smart, never having to try that hard to keep her GPA high, but also knowing that they didn't have enough money to send her to college, but made too much money to qualify for a lot of assistance, and she never excelled so well that she earned a full-ride anywhere, community college was the only reasonable option for her. One day, she's packing up her trumpet at the end of band practice, one of the few stragglers in the gym, when people in suits start setting up the gym. In walks the Democratic candidate for her district. Curious, especially when she noticed the line forming outside to hear her speak, she decided to hang around and see what the big deal was.

She was captivated. Big promises fighting for people like her, really like her. Multiple references to her partner, another woman, Robin felt this itch in the back of her skull, spread to the rest of her body. Something more than curiosity, something that motivates her to wait even longer and approach this candidate, arguing with staffers and whoever she needs to, just to get a word in with the candidate.

She ends up fighting with half of her staff, making some sort of impression on the future Congresswoman, who makes time to talk to her. Robin leaves that night with a new passion, and a new (unpaid) position working on the campaign.

Once the election was won, Robin spent most of her time in community college working for the Congresswoman in her district office. Taking night classes and getting involved in the community college's Dem club, but her first priority was to this office.

Politics was a natural arena for Robin. A schmooze by nature, witty and personable, she made the job look easy. No one would know that she spends most of her time in her car, working two jobs to save money and trying to maintain a good GPA to get into the local State College. The Congresswoman made her promise to finish her degree, not get wrapped up in the career path that politics has to offer. And in exchange, she had a position waiting for her in the DC office as soon as she graduated.

Nancy and Robin start in the Congresswoman's office on the same day. Nancy see's Robin as competition. Robin see's Nancy as a stuck-up rich kid with no loyalty. They're at each other's throats. Nancy constantly trying to one up Robin, Robin easily charming the pants off of anyone in her path.

Robin taking work home with her, but Nancy thinking that she's a slacker. Nancy living at her desk, making Robin view her as a show-off.

It all comes to a head during the first campaign event of the election cycle. And it starts and ends at the open bar.

send me a 🔀 and a pairing, and i’ll shuffle my playlist and make an au based on the first song that comes up

[eponymous-rose]

I'm gonna do this again because it turned out last week kinda went off the rails without it and the little bit of accountability is super super helpful.

Monday!

It's a busy week! It's also my birthday week! Let's do this!

E-mail with coffee: sent a prospective grad student a congratulations on her admission to our program. I'm really hoping to hire her, but I do need to consider whether I might want to admit two students for this position and just get the extra funding for the second one elsewhere if both decide to come. Hmm. Confirmed coffee on Friday with the wonderful admin I've been wanting to befriend for a while - finally we'll interact outside of paperwork! Sadly Wednesday's seminar speaker is ill and won't be able to present - I'm leading the seminar so that does add up to a little less work for me, which is the silver lining there. One of my student groups is struggling to grab data from the weather station they built on the roof because the dang software doesn't work on Macs - managed to coordinate getting them a loaner PC laptop from the department, whew. Completed two letters of reference for an undergrad student applying to internships. Somehow managed to double-book a meeting and gave one a heads up to cancel. Showed my availability for scheduling a PhD defense for a student whose committee I'm on. One of the speakers for my seminar series sent a somewhat passive-aggressive e-mail to the department chair to let him know his info's not up on the website yet. Department chair forwarded it to me, I replied with, essentially "hold your dang horses, your talk isn't until mid-March". He replied back with a sheepish apology. All good.

Formulated my list of essential stuff for this week:

finish Wednesday's (and next week's?) lecture(s?)

prepare next week's homework & key

work on grant proposal

work on commissioned review article

So excited that we're finally to the part of the class that I have taught before in past years! Great lecture today about statistical data analysis. Hurt everyone's brains with the Monty Hall problem. Showed a lot of XKCD comics, got some laughs. Good times. Answered some student questions on the homework assignments, looks like everyone's on track to ace this one as well. This is a really strong class and I'm very proud of them!

On to a virtual meeting with my peer mentoring group! We talk about how utterly wild it is that different departments manage research funding in completely different ways. I vent a bit for the umpteenth time about having to rely 100% on grants to pay my grad students (bigger departments often have student funding provided if they TA, but we just don't have enough classes to sustain that). Easily the biggest source of stress in my life right now is running out of funding for my students: "in order to pay your graduate students, you have to receive a major grant" "cool! how likely am I to get one?" "success rates are about 1 in 15" "uhhhh" "also the applications (if you manage to find a perfect match for your research) take about 40-60 hours to plan and write and it's not work that's looked at formally as part of your tenure review so you're actively taking time away from research" "uhhhhhhh" "and you won't find out if you have been awarded the grant or not before you have to make the decision to hire a student so you just gotta gamble on it" "UHHHHHHH" "you don't get paid in the summer either unless you pull in 2-3 grants that can each cover one month max of salary so I hope you're not putting well over 50% of your take-home toward rent in one of the worst markets in the US or anything haha." It's A Lot. But it's very helpful to talk to people about it!

Realized I left my half-finished Wednesday lecture on my computer at home so I can't work on it during my break between meetings. Shoot, guess that's a tomorrow problem. At least I can work on the homework assignment! This one was an absolute nightmare last year but I think I've come up with a way to simplify it while still hitting all of the learning goals. It's complicated but hopefully very satisfying and builds on everything they've learned thus far. Even with the simplification, I'm definitely expecting some traffic in office hours next week. Opted not to include the more tedious section of the homework because I've tested that particular skill amply in the earlier assignments this quarter. Ran through it once on my own, sent myself the key, then posted the homework and the submission portal for their online module for next week, so all I'm missing now is the lectures.

E-mail break! A professor at a small university nearby wants to bring in a grad student from my group to talk to her class about tornadoes! I have someone in mind (who is both a great presenter and also could use a little confidence boost to get back on track with his research), but of course he's working remotely on the other side of the country, so it's time for a quick check to see if a remote presentation is possible. Checking in on my seminar speaker for next week - project title and abstract up on the website, phew. She's a grad student, so I should find out if her advisor can introduce her or if they want me to do so (and if so, I gotta do some digging for fun facts to share!). Got an invite to a lunch with the faculty & chair where we're going to be brainstorming our next faculty hire, so I gotta be there for that (also because free food)! Surreal to think that we might be hiring my colleague for the next 30 years. It's... kind of intimidating and I definitely want to be in the room for that discussion. Aha! A reply already: virtual talk is fine, so I put the professor and my grad student in touch.

Nice virtual meeting with my former postdoc advisor - we commiserate for a while over his recent illness, but he's feeling better now so we quickly jump back to talking research. The small grant I was awarded recently actually dovetails with some of the broader research ideas he and I had been talking about, so I'm gonna keep him in the loop on that!

Up next: a meeting with my two undergraduate research interns. They're coadvised by my colleague who is flying research aircraft on the other side of the country right now so it's just the three of us. Due to holidays and conferences, this is actually the first time in 2023 we all managed to meet! We go over some paperwork to make sure they get college credit for this research. They're spinning their wheels a little bit but I had them shoot off a couple emails while I was there to start them getting their data ASAP. We then chatted about severe weather we'd all witnessed. One of the students mentioned she's been saving the candy from my office candy bowl for whenever she forgets to bring lunch to campus and now I'm realizing I should maybe get some protein bars or something for some variety.

All good stuff. There's a seminar in 15 minutes but it's a chemistry seminar so... I may just sneak home a bit early.

Tomorrow: no meetings (maaaybe one remote meeting), so work-from home! Should be able to get the last bit of coursework done for the week so I can start on my research to-do list.

[penvisions]

dev's big gurl update

hello hello, i am back from stepping away for a little. i made some career decisions and altered the field in which i am looking for employment in for the time being. i love cooking and baking but it seems like everywhere around the city is either no hiring or only hiring part time. as someone with 9 (!!) credits left for undergrad, i need something full time to help me in this final haul toward graduation. i am meeting with my advisor on friday to talk about the last three courses i need, i know i need one more that is required for my religious linguistic minor and then the other two are just filler courses to meet the credit requirements for my arts and human sciences degree. i am so terribly excited and nervous. i have been working on this for years part time and out of pocket after taking some time off school for personal and family reasons.

i also applied for a paid internship that would give me the opportunity to temporarily relocate to chicago this upcoming summer. i am really excited for that and i hope so much that i get it! it will be paid, i will be provided housing, food credits, and an experience unlike any other i've had so far. i also have family in the outer chicago area and it would be nice to spend some time with them and explore a new city! i really hope i get it, it would be amazing

with that being said, i am delving back into bartending. i have a few interviews lined up for this week and hear back from one today about an interview i had last week, so fingers crossed that it's a good, busy day with all of that and classes this afternoon / evening. my schedule is all over the place with just classes going on right now and then throw in late nights and long hours into the mix and my writing updates may change. but i am still here, still writing, still trying and i love you all very much ♡ 

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 4.5 OR Chapter 5

➜ Words: 4k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

You miss Seokjin.   You know that you shouldn’t, but in the middle of the night while you’re unable to sleep, you pick up your phone again. And you send him a text.   2:03 am. Y/N: hey   The bright screen stares back at you, illuminating your face and blinding your vision in the darkness of your quiet dorm room. Your messages are lined up in a row, the same exact text left unanswered. Ones you sent from a week ago to two days ago.   The radio silence makes the realization sink in — he broke it off. Jin really has no plans of communicating with you again, of giving you an explanation other than telling you that it’s run its course and that you’re not the one at fault.   It doesn’t sit well with you, so your thumb moves, quicker than you can list the consequences for. You call his number. It dials. But instead of hearing the tone ring, you hear an automated message.   Seokjin changed his number.   //   It’s morning while on the way to class with you hiding beneath the hood of Jin’s sweater that you end up catching sight of someone familiar walking towards your direction. It’s your only strand of hope, but you step forward before the opportunity is lost. “Hani?”   “Y/N?” Hani stops and greets you with a smile. She’s a friend — well, Seokjin’s friend. But she still regards you with the same warmth as she gave to you for the past two years, albeit the atmosphere is awkward.    The both of you know what happened, know it’s looming over your heads. But no one speaks about it, no one dares to broach the subject. “Hey, how are you?” And her question is asked at a higher pitch, cautious as if you were a wounded animal that she was afraid of scaring.   “I’m...fine, how are you?”   “I’m okay.” Hani nods and gathers the courage to approach the issue that you’re skirting around. “I...heard about what happened. It’s a real shame. I hope you’re holding up well.”   “Trying.” You muster a smile, shrugging your shoulders.   Yet in spite of her friendliness, you can still feel it — the distance.    Like you thought, they sided with him. They’ve chosen him with no plans of getting between you two and involving themselves in the conflict. “Well, I should go. I might be late. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”   You nod and she brushes past you. But then you twist on your heel. “Hani?”   “Yeah?” She spins around.   “Did,” you hesitate, “Jin say anything about me?”   “No, he didn’t,” she says, quietly and sadly.   You bob your head again, meeting her eye. “How is he?”   “He’s okay.”   You wonder what that means — if he never really cared, if he’s already over this. But you’re also glad that he’s okay. You’ll never have any ill wishes against Jin. You still love him.

Jungkook and his friends have a system, if one could call it that — a shitty system of crashing each other’s dorms. Sometimes they’re crowding around Taehyung’s gaming consoles, other times it’s Jimin’s computer. Or Jungkook’s flat screen that he spent his entire summer job’s savings for. Or even going to Hoseok and Yoongi’s apartment to raid the fridge and be as loud as they want without getting noise complaints.   Hoseok and Yoongi didn’t like the dorm life, so they were willing to raise their living expenses and pool their money together for an apartment off campus. And that’s where Jungkook finds himself this evening.   They’re watching a soccer game, but the only person invested is Taehyung who actually knows the teams and who is who. Hoseok is preoccupied pigging out on the snacks, Yoongi sipping his drink, and Jimin is playing a game on his phone.   “Can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks out of the blue, smacking his lips after taking a swig of the beer. He can’t wait till Taehyung gets curious and drinks some — he’d probably gag from the taste.   Yoongi looks up. “What?”   “It’s not about me, but I have a friend of a friend and this friend of theirs was...dumped pretty badly and now they’re depressed and not talking...at all….and they don’t really have friends anymore because all their friends were my friend’s friends, so it really sucks for them.”   “Uh-huh.”   “So what would you hypothetically say to my friend’s friend to make them feel better or like what would you do?”   “Well, for one, I’d take Y/N out,” Hoseok pipes up while chuckling.   Jimin lifts his head and Taehyung looks over. The two of them exchange expressions and burst out laughing. Jungkook sighs in irritation. “Who said this was about Y/N?!”   “We’re not total idiots, dude.” Jimin grins. “Sometimes.”   In the meanwhile, Taehyung leans down to give a punch to Jungkook’s arm and winks. “Trying to slide into her DMs now that she’s single, huh? I see you, Kook. Still got game. Can’t say I’m not impressed. Go get that puss—”   “As if.” Jungkook scoffs. “I just feel bad, alright? Forget I asked. Whatever.”   But Yoongi isn’t ready to drop the subject quite yet. His cat-like eyes narrow in on him as he sips on his drink. He puts the bottle down on the coffee table with a clank. “Since when did you start caring about her?”   “I don’t—”   “You don’t have to get defensive,” Yoongi deadpans boredly. He isn’t that interested, merely stating a fact. “I’m just surprised.”   “She’s going to be my internship partner whether I like it or not in a few months.” The youngest sighs. “I don’t want to make it awkward. And I thought it would be better in the long run if we become friends now. It would be nice to have each other’s backs. Or at least be civil enough where she’s not trying to rip my head off every other second.”   Yoongi appears mildly understanding and nods. “So it’s a diplomatic thing.”   “Yeah.”   “Invite her to our game night,” Hoseok says from the kitchen.   “Don’t do that.” Yoongi scoffs, expression wrinkled like he bit into a lemon. “It’s our thing.”   “Are we ten? Boys only?” Hoseok argues, “We already have our thing every single night anyway. Plus, it might be a nice change since Jungkook always wins.”   “Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Do whatever you want.”   “That actually sounds kind of fun!” Taehyung grins, tearing his eyes away from the soccer game. Jungkook’s amazed that he had half a mind to pay attention to the conversation. “But I wonder if Y/N is any good at board games or if she even plays.”   “Is everyone cool with me asking?” Jungkook looks around — Hoseok and Taehyung are enthusiastic about the prospect while Yoongi is passive aggressive at worst and apathetic at best.   It’s Jimin who looks uncertain.   “She’s….intimidating,” he mutters. “But….I think you’re right. Y/N looks like she’s having a tough time and if we can help, then we should. At least then we know we tried.”   He nods. There’s only one issue left. “I don’t even know if she’ll even accept…”   Knowing you, you might just laugh in his face and then spit at him for even making such a suggestion. Then again, with how you’ve been acting lately, you might just start crying from gratefulness and freak him out. Both scenarios are equally horrible.

The pair of you bake alongside each other as the teacher watches for technique and the order of the procedures done. Jungkook works on the dough while you focus on the custard filling. It’s surprisingly perfect teamwork — you’re in sync with one another and assemble the final cake together.   And when the teacher returns to eat it, he’s astounded that it’s been exactly replicated. From the taste to the presentation.   You leave the room with a ninety percent grade, having absolutely aced the midterm.   “That was pretty good, huh?!” Jungkook grins, putting his hand out. You muster a small smile, and high-five him back.   “Yeah.”   “Man, all our hard work paid off! Did you see the look on Mr. Chu’s face?”   He was over the moon, especially considering that napoleon cake isn’t all that easy to make under strict time constraints. But when Jungkook glances at you, you don’t seem very happy over it. Your eyes are on the floor with your downcast head.   “Hey.” The doe-eyed boy pokes your shoulder until you look up at him. “Do you wanna…”   “Pardon?” Your brows furrow. His voice became so quiet, you couldn’t hear him.   Jungkook clears his throat noisily. “I asked how you were holding up?”   You shrug. “Fine. I don’t know. Do you really want to hear about it?”    You doubt he would trouble himself with your problem, but what catches you off guard is that he stops in the middle of the hallway and nods. You stop with him too. “Sure. Shoot.”   “Really?”   “Yeah, I don’t see why not. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”   You inhale a deep breath. It catches in your throat. Your fist tightens, nails digging into your skin. You swear you wouldn’t cry again. “I texted Jin, even though I know it wasn’t a good idea and yeah, it wasn’t. He changed his number.”   “Oh….shit.”   “And I talked to one of his friends yesterday and she said he’s doing fine. He hasn’t really talked about me. And I don’t really know what any of that means. I haven’t seen him around either. I think he’s avoiding me and I can’t help thinking about what I did that was so wrong for me to be treated this way. I don’t….I don’t think I deserve this.” You exhale a shallow breath, eyes stinging painfully.   Jungkook suddenly plops his hand on the top of your head. You frown at him and he realizes what he’s doing and withdraws his hand awkwardly. “That really...sucks.”   “Yeah, thanks, I know.”   “Sorry, I don’t really know what to say.”   “You don’t have to say anything,” you tell. “Thanks for not laughing, I guess.”   “Why would I laugh?” Jungkook asks, genuinely confused. You shrug.    You always thought Jungkook would be the first to applaud your misery — he’d goad you and cheer you when you’d cry. You guess you severely misjudged him. “Are you free tonight?”   “Why?”   “My friends and I are doing this thing.” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck and diverts his vision elsewhere. “We meet up to play games sometimes. It’s really Taehyung’s thing cause he’s the one who likes games, but if you’re free, then you should come along. We’re in need of new players actually, cause it gets boring when it’s the same people over and over again….”   “Would they mind?”   He swallows hard, taking in the way your head is quirked to the side, your eyes big and glimmering with hope. It seems like you’re taking him up on the offer or at least considering it and he’s pleasantly surprised. “No, no, they wouldn’t.”   “I don’t want to make it weird or anything…”   “No, you wouldn’t. Trust me. They’re just a bunch of lame dorks, and you kind of already know Taehyung and Jimin. They’re nice guys. So if you wanna come, you should. No pressure whatsoever though.”   “Sure.” The corners of your mouth lifts.   “Really?”   “Yeah. That’s….okay, right?”   “Totally. Yep. I’ll text you where and what time.”   You never knew one day you’d be going off campus to some random apartment for a night of game boards, much less with Jeon Jungkook. Part of you is skeptical about his offer, envisioning that he’s catfishing you somehow, that there isn’t actually anything happening and he’ll text you ‘sike’ after making you wait hours.    But then you remind yourself that he hasn’t been exactly an asshole lately and that you’re not in the cruel world of High School anymore. Jungkook would have to be sick to prank you in this state.   You can already hear the boisterous noise on the other side of the door before you even knock. But after some hesitation, the sounds taper off when you do.    The door swings open and Jungkook greets you with his doe eyes and messy dark hair flopping in different directions. He’s in a black shirt and loose, gray sweatpants, casual unlike how he usually dresses for class and the kitchen.   “Hey!” He reaches in to give you a quick hug. You stiffen and he lets go. “Come in!”   “Finally, she’s here!” Hoseok stands from the couch with his beer and moves to the table Taehyung’s setting up.   “Sorry, am I late?”   “Right on time actually,” Jimin says with a gentle smile.   “Beer or cooler or wine?” Yoongi suddenly asks, twisting around from the fridge.   “A-Any.” It’s fast paced, but they’re welcoming. There’s not a moment for awkwardness to settle in. Yoongi comes over with a beer can, tosses it, and you catch it with both hands. “Thanks.”   “We usually start with a game of good ol’ Janga.” Taehyung grins from his spot at the table. “Usually the person who goes before the loser gets to pick the next game, but since you’re our guest of honour, you can pick. There’s a whole shelf of them over there.”   He gestures towards the living room and you head over to look at the boxes that are accumulating. There’s a ton of boxes stack on each other on the shelf — The Game of Life, Risk, Twister, Battleship, Monopoly, Connect Four, Snakes and Ladders, and even CandyLand.   “What’s this?” you ask, pointing at the bottom shelf with a huge bin. There seems to be small bags inside, place mats, and books too.   “It’s stuff for D&D,” Jungkook clarifies with a sigh, popping a can of beer open to drink. “Dungeons and Dragons.”   “Taehyung’s been wanting to get us to play,” Jimin tells with a smile.   “I’m a great DM,” Taehyung chirps, “It would be so much fun, but we don’t really have time for a whole campaign. Otherwise I’d pull together official content and stuff from Unearthed Arcana and run a module from Wizards of the Coast—”   “Alright, nerd.” Yoongi sighs after a swig. “I’m not trying to re-virgin myself and remain abstinent for the rest of my life, alright? You can do that by yourself.”   “Don’t hate on my game, bitch,” Taehyung spits as Jimin and Jungkook laugh. A smile comes to your face and it isn’t one you have to muster for once. “Wait till the day you come to me and ask me advice on what kind of spells a halfling bard should have at level six.”   “Over my dead body.”   “Okay, can we not argue for once? We have a guest.” Hoseok intercepts with his hands out, literally standing between them. “Let’s try to not scare her off?”   You go back to looking, but you can’t seem to decide what game to play. “There’s a lot.”   “It’s not ours,” Yoongi pipes up again, wearing a friendly smile that is more like a smirk. “This is Hoseok and I’s place. Taehyung just always finds a way to put his shit here too.”   “Hey! That’s cause no one else has a big table like this at their dorm, plus my place is too messy to store my precious games there. They’re expensive, you know.”   “All I know is that somehow I always come home to furniture and clothes on my bed that I swear I didn’t purchase….”   “Alright, alright.” Hoseok intervenes for the second time, having enough of this nonsense. “Is the game done being set up or what? Y/N come sit, you can choose the game later.”   You gather around the table with Jungkook beside you. He leans in while the others are figuring out who gets to start and what direction to go in. “Sorry about that.”   “No, it’s okay,” you say and mean it too. “Your friends are a lot of fun.”   Yet the moment the game begins, there’s a shift in the atmosphere. It goes quieter, less fooling around as it intensely dials down. There are half-lidded stares across the table, snarky remarks exchanged. They’re a competitive group and you feel a lot of pressure to perform well.   Jimin seems to go for the easy blocks. Hoseok tries to make it more difficult for the next person. Yoongi is the designated asshole, going for the second top layer while Taehyung argues that it isn’t even allowed. On the other hand, Jungkook somehow flicks the Jenga block with his middle finger and thumb. He’s cocky about his technique, leaning back as his arm drapes over the back of your chair. He runs his tongue on the inside of his cheek with his brow lifted.    You remember why you fucking hated him now. He’s so unbearable sometimes.   “What?” He looks at you when he finds you staring.   You frown at him. And for a second Jungkook gets a glimpse of the bitch he remembers — the one he misses. “Why do you have to be so extra about it? Who are you trying to impress?”   “Right?!” Taehyung stands up and the entire stack of blocks nearly topples over. “I keep trying to tell him that! It’s so goddamn annoying! You won’t even believe it!”   “Watch it,” Hoseok shouts, “You’re going to make it tip over.”   That’s when you become fired up. You’ve never felt this kind of motivation surging between your veins before. But it’s not a thirst to win — it’s a ravenous hunger to beat Jeon Jungkook.   And you do.   After playing to Hoseok’s tactic and being an asshole, you risk it all to remove an important block and it collapses on Jungkook right as he tries to remove another.   Then there are screams — hoots, hollers, like your country won the damn world cup. You stand up and everyone cheers. Hoseok chest bumps you. Taehyung lifts you up and spins you in a circle. Jimin starts to record the moment on his phone and even Yoongi pats you on the back.   “God, why are you guys making such a big deal,” Jungkook moans, still seated at the table, embarrassed from all the teasing.   “Maybe because you’ve never lost anything in your life!” Taehyung laughs in his face, rubbing his loss where it hurts.   “Say something for the camera.” Jimin sticks his phone right between Jungkook’s eyes, and dodges with giggles when Jungkook tries to slap it away.   “Hey, send me that.” Yoongi points. “I’m going to post it on facebook for my grandma to see.”   “Has Jungkook really not lost any game we’ve played before?” Hoseok questions, the realization finally hitting him and the gravity of the situation sinking down onto his shoulders.   “I don’t think so,” Jimin says after sincerely contemplating for a long moment.   “Oh shit. You’re our lucky charm!” Hoseok slings his arm over your shoulder, giving you finger guns and winking.   It’s ridiculous but you’re beginning to believe it too — especially when the game you pick is Uno and it ends up with a similar outcome.   Somehow, someway, Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok and Yoongi finish their cards and the only people who are left are you and Jungkook. The tensions are high and you see the sweat accumulating at his hairline. It’s apparent that he’s never even been second last in a game before.   You’re so close to victory, you can taste it. You’re down to a single card while he has three more.   Jungkook slowly places down a wild card. “What colour do you want, Y/N?”   “Hmmmm.” You rest your chin in your palm, arm propped up on the table. You glance at your card before looking straight at him, locking your gaze together. “Would you even choose the colour I pick?”   “I just want to hear what you want.”   “Fine. I want yellow. Please?” You bat your lashes. “Pretty please, JK?”   The ass smirks. “Red.”   “I knew you’d say that,” you sigh. Your fingers reach down to the pile to grab another card, but then your other hand slaps down — slamming a red four onto the pile. Your arms shoot in the air. Again, it triggers cheers. “I win!”   Jungkook throws back his head and groans. He tosses his one red and one blue card left onto the table. What’s worse is the way you gather with all his friends — the five of you huddled together with arms around one another, like you’re preparing for a football game. But instead, you’re all hopping and cheering while belting out the national anthem.   You’ve stolen his own friends from right under his nose.   But despite how the loss is rubbed in his face, Jungkook’s happy that it seems like for a moment, you’ve returned to yourself again.   Eventually, the games go so much into the night that you have to bid your goodbyes. You didn’t know Jungkook’s group of friends were so easy to get along and get comfortable with. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the time passed so quickly and you’re sad to leave.   Hoseok and Taehyung hug you until Yoongi has to help you pry them off.   “I’ll miss you so much,” Taehyung fake cries. “You and the way you absolutely demolish Jungkook.”   “Oh please.” Jungkook rolls his eyes.   “I’ll come back...if you’ll have me again.”   “Are you kidding? Of course!”   “You have to come back,” Jimin insists with a sheepish smile like it should be obvious. “You’re good at Monopoly, right?”   You shrug. “I’ve been told I’m decent.”   “You better be.” Yoongi grins. “I’ll expect you to win against Kook.”   “I’ll try my best.”   “Let me walk you back,” Jungkook says as you grab your coat. You look at him and he elaborates, “It’s a long way back to the dorm and I’m tired too. Gonna call it an early night.”   “Oh, okay.”   The two of you get ready to leave, and at the doorway, you turn around one last time. “Thanks for having me.”   “No problem.” Hoseok smiles. “Come back soon.”   You think this is the longest time you’ve been without crying for the past month. It went by too quickly — you wish you could do it all over again. But you consider how lucky Jungkook is. He has great friends and surrounds himself with great people. You’re jealous.   The night is silent except for the sound of your shoes against the cement of the sidewalk. You’re illuminated by the lamp posts above you and you watch your shadows alongside Jungkook’s.   The air is cold enough that you can see your breath as you exhale. Jungkook’s own hands are dug into his pockets, but the chill makes you feel alive.   “Sorry about them. I know they can get a bit much.”   “It’s okay. They’re really nice actually.”   “Yeah, they are.”   “I had a lot of fun.” You steal a glance at him.   Jungkook’s doe eyes widen, the corners of his mouth quirking. “Really? I’m glad.”   “It was a lot of fun destroying you.”   “Wow.” He laughs. “Okay.”   It makes you giggle too.    You know what he’s been doing. From him listening to everything you have to say and doing more than necessary during the midterms. From that time he called you over in the dining hall to sit with him to tonight, bringing you over to play games with his friends….   “Thanks, Jungkook.”   “Hm?”   “Thanks,” you repeat, looking at him, and he meets your eye. “For helping me. I don’t think I’ve said it yet. But I really appreciate it.”   “Yeah, it’s not a big deal, really.”   “It’s a big deal to me.” Your gaze softens. At the moment you had no one, he was there. You didn’t know you would find such an unlikely friendship during such a hard time, but you don’t mind at all.   Jeon Jungkook is your friend.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

mistletoe & california snow - t. meier

Here’s the first of the things I’ll be putting out for the Christmas and holiday season! I’ve been working on this for the past few weeks, it’s pretty long - bear with me - but I am proud of it and how it’s turned out. As always, I read all the tags and love seeing and hearing people’s thoughts, so please let me know what you think!

word count: 7.6k+

warning: sexual content (light & brief, but no one under 18 please!)

Timo came into Noemi Silva’s life when she least expected it. It’s a cliché saying, one that had been around since time immemorial, but it was true. He wasn’t looking for anything serious, and she had just gotten out of a relationship a few months prior. But then she had gotten an internship with the Sharks social media team in winter of her senior year of college, and the more time she started spending around the players, the more he realized he wasn’t able to stay away from her. Not in a bad way, but in the kind of way where he simply noticed how radiant she was and wanted to do whatever he could to get to know her, to be around her, in whatever way she’d let him. So colleagues turned into friends, turned into him asking her out two weeks before playoffs started. She didn’t say yes right away, but it wasn’t because she didn’t know, and it wasn’t because she wanted to make him sweat it. She was worried about what people would think; an intern dating one of the team’s star forwards, worried that the office gossip would turn into arguments that she didn’t earn her job, or that she was trying to get people to go easier on her. After a long conversation with Alise, one of her best friends, then her older sister, then Timo, she finally agreed. Them being together wasn’t as big of an issue as she had thought, a few meetings with HR and some paperwork and they had the green light, as long as they kept things professional at work. And then she was offered a full-time job after her graduation, and now, almost three years after they had first met, she was days away from marrying the love of her life. 

He had proposed at the very beginning of the year, on a weeklong trip to Switzerland courtesy of the Sharks’ bye week and a very well-timed nonstop flight to Zürich. Noemi wasn’t an overly sentimental person, she thought as she curled next to her fiancé on their living room couch, watching an episode of Gossip Girl. She never had been, but even she would admit without hesitation that there wasn’t a single thing she would have changed about their engagement. 

---

Noemi’s parents were out of town on a weekend getaway to wine country, so they weren’t able to drive her and Timo to the airport for their bye week vacation to Switzerland. Everything had lined up perfectly that year, and Noemi almost couldn’t believe their luck. She had accompanied the Sharks’ delegation to the past two All-Star Weekends, one the year prior and the other only the weekend before. So they both had a full week off for the first time since the offseason. The Christmas break was great, but it wasn’t nearly enough time to travel anywhere, let alone somewhere outside of the country. They had both been worried about the flight time — for a while, the only option was nearly twenty hours with a seven-hour layover in London — but thankfully, a nonstop flight from San Francisco to Zürich had opened up that they had booked just before the holidays. 

All leading to the current moment, with Noemi, Timo, and their bags in the backseat of Kevin Labanc’s SUV as he pulled up to the curb of Terminal G. “Hope you guys have fun in the Alps, getting snowed on and freezing your asses off while I relax on the beach, getting—”

Noemi cut him off, arching an eyebrow. “Freezing your ass off, Kevin. It may be California, but I think you’re vastly overestimating how warm Santa Cruz beaches get. Have fun, though,” she quipped. 

The corner of his eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Meier, did you know that your girl can chirp better than half the team?” 

“One of her many talents,” Timo said, shrugging as he hefted their bags out of the trunk. Noemi was the first one to hug his teammate goodbye, and then Kevin pulled Timo into an embrace. 

“But seriously, guys. Have fun. Good luck,” he said, looking back at Timo. 

“What did he say good luck for?” Noemi asked, her brows furrowed as they walked through the sliding doors to the check-in counter. 

Timo made a noncommittal noise. “Not sure. Maybe he meant to say good flight?” And it was a good flight, they were both able to get a few hours of sleep in before breakfast was served just as they were flying over Scotland. 

Noemi wrested her back from under the seat before slinging it onto her shoulder and flashing a grateful smile at the flight attendants as they disembarked. She shivered as the cold air hit her on the jet bridge — as soon as they made it out to the gate, she made Timo stop so she could grab a jacket out of her bag, zipping it up all the way to under her chin. Timo snorted; she glared at him. “We weren’t all born with snow in our veins, Timo.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.” 

She had been through the airport once before, but once was nothing compared to the she-didn’t-even-know-how-many flights Timo had taken. He gave her a kiss on the cheek as they reached passport control, moving towards the automated gates as Noemi stood in the line for non-Schengen nationals. “See you on the other side.” 

Timo had already been waiting for ten minutes by the time Noemi got through. Though, all things considered — especially when compared to the hour-plus lines they were both used to trying to get back into the United States — it wasn’t bad at all. “You get through okay?” he asked, kissing Noemi as she came up to where he had settled by a coffee shop. 

She nodded. “Yep, no issues. Asked me why I was here, I said I was visiting family with my Swiss citizen boyfriend, asked how long I’d be here for, I said a week. She told me welcome to Switzerland, stamped my passport, and said to have a good trip.” She tucked her passport into her purse, zipping it closed. 

Timo bent down to kiss the top of her head as she leaned into him, her hands wrapping around his waist. “Let’s get going, then.”

---

The day before they were due to fly out of Zürich, they decided to go into the city. By they, it was really Timo’s decision; before they left San Jose, he had shown her pictures of Zürich in the winter and mentioned the zoo. It was an easy sell, she loved getting to see the lemurs. They had done the zoo in the morning and the national museum in the afternoon, before the sun set just after 5 PM. 

The beer garden he took her to for dinner didn’t have any more indoor seating — something Noemi didn’t have a preference on, but Timo seemed concerned about — so the couple settled outside, warmed by a heating lamp and a well-placed fire pit off to the side of their table. “I feel like a lizard,” Noemi remarked, glancing up at the lamp. Timo laughed, holding her hand and absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over the top as he scanned the menu. “Now, it may come as a shock to you, but I happen to be less-than-fluent in Swiss German, so you’re going to have to help me out here,” she said as she read the menu. “Pictures are only getting me so far.”

He chuckled, leaning over the table “Do you want the raclette or the fondue?” 

Noemi’s brow furrowed. “Raclette?” 

Timo pulled out his phone, quickly navigating to Google. “The best way to describe it is like warmed, bubbly cheese that’s like scraped onto the food. Potatoes, meat, that kind of stuff. As opposed to fondue, which is obviously just fondue.” 

She looked at him, bewildered. “How many ways do the Swiss have to eat cheese?” 

“We’ve been perfecting it for 700 years, No.” 

The raclette was incredible, as expected, and the saison their waitress had suggested paired perfectly. It was nearing eight by the time they had paid the check, and they had an hour long drive back to his hometown, but the night wasn’t over yet. Some of the Christmas lights were still up, and a short walk around downtown led them to a little art gallery that was still open, Timo purchasing a gorgeous oil painting of the city, the clock tower of St. Peter in the background. 

“Belated Christmas present?” he asked, grinning at Noemi, as he arranged for it to be shipped back to California. 

She rolled her eyes. “If you say so.” 

“Merci vielmal,” Timo said to the curator. “Come on, there’s one more thing I want to show you before we leave.” 

Noemi blew on her hands before she stuffed them back in the pockets of her down jacket, following him out the door. She had gotten it a few months after she had been hired by the team full-time; there were a few different people on the social media team, so she didn’t go on every road trip, but it had become an invaluable addition to her wardrobe. She had made the foolish assumption that a November in Calgary couldn’t be too cold, and had only brought a fleece and a raincoat on one of her first trips with the team. It had been one of the worst mistakes of her life, and she had ended up having to run out to a Canada Goose outlet during her lunch break just so she wouldn’t freeze to death. 

Noemi wasn’t sure where they were going, but supposed that she wasn’t in a place to be very skeptical. It was only her second time in Switzerland — she had flown out the summer prior to visit with him and his family — and she certainly wasn’t an expert, so she followed her boyfriend down the street and around the corners of tiny stone-faced apartments and old churches, a light sprinkling of snow dusting itself on her beanie. They walked for a few minutes before coming to the banks of Lake Zürich, where icy water would normally be lapping at their toes, even in January. Noemi hadn’t taken much of a look at the lake on the drive in; if she had, she would have noticed that it was completely frozen over, with couples walking and children playing tag even at the comparatively late hour. 

He squeezed her hand as he stepped onto the ice. “Come on, babe.” 

Noemi bit her lip. “Are you sure it’s safe?” 

Timo nodded. “I called and asked a friend of mine the day before we left, it’s been frozen for almost a week and the weather hasn’t gotten any warmer. It should be at least nine, ten inches thick. Plenty safe.” So she let him take her hand, pulling her out to step gingerly on the ice, one foot in front of the other. 

“Does it freeze often?”

Timo shook his head. “First time since ‘65. You’re getting something special here, No.” The snow gave their feet some purchase on the ice, and it was only a few minutes before they were standing where the middle of the lake should be, looking up at the jet-black night sky. “Can you see Cassiopeia?” Timo asked, looking up to the sky, his hands jamming in his jacket pocket, playing with what Noemi could only assume were his keys. 

After their first date, dinner and a comedy show, they had driven to a stunning viewpoint on the outskirts of the city, bringing a blanket and laying outside stargazing and lazily kissing until they had to go to sleep sometime after midnight. “I could stay here for hours,” he had murmured as she lay against his chest. “Don’t think Boughner would take too kindly to you being late for morning skate,” Noemi had said. But she wasn’t arguing; she would have stayed there the rest of the night if they could. And Cassiopeia had always been her favorite constellation, the first one she pointed out to Timo that night, and one she loved just as much almost two years later. 

It took her less than ten seconds to find it, the familiar “W” beckoning her just like it had a hundred times before. She looked back to where Timo had been just a moment before, mouth half-open, ready to show him the stars. 

But he wasn’t there. Well, not standing, at least. He was kneeling on the ice, a blue jewelry box with a ring inside it balanced in his hand as the other reached out gently for hers. She gave it to him, of course she did. “Noemi Francisca Silva, you came into my life when I least expected it. I didn’t think I wanted a relationship, you weren’t sure either, but somehow after a few months of trying to be ‘just friends,’ we realized that just friends wasn’t going to work. And God, am I glad we figured that out. You’ve somehow fit in my life so perfectly that I have no clue how it ever worked before you were there. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, but even more than that, you’re so full of joy, you’ve always got a kind word to say about anyone, and you’re the best person anyone could ever ask for to have in their corner. I’m so glad you’re in mine.” He paused for a moment, looking back up at her with a half-smile on his face. “You asked what Kevin wished us good luck for back at the airport. Well,” he shrugged, “this is it. Noemi, it’s been the honor of my life to get to love you, and I can only hope you’ll let me do it for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?” 

For as worried as she had been about the ice not twenty minutes before, Noemi barely paid any mind as she crashed down next to him, their foreheads touching as his shaking hands slid the ring onto her wedding finger. It was the easiest answer she’d ever given in her life. “Yes.”

 --

As Noemi straddled Timo in the driver’s seat of his SUV two days before their wedding, the bags of falafel having long since been abandoned in the back seat, she thought that she had never been so grateful for tinted windows and early sunsets. “The milkshakes are going to melt,” she gasped out as his fingers started to trail up her shirt, playing with the line of her bra. 

“We’ll throw them in the freezer when we get home,�� he said. Well, there’s not really any way I can argue against that, Noemi considered. So she let him pull her shirt off, undo the buttons on her shorts, and grab a condom from the center console — he had made damn sure to clean it out before filming a “what’s in my car” bit with the video team earlier that week — and slid into her as she tried desperately to keep her moans in check. “It’s okay, baby, let it out. I want to hear,” he said. 

And she was in no place to argue. So she gasped and whimpered while he moaned underneath her, the seat tilted back just enough for him to hit her just right. And Timo knew almost everything about Noemi. You don’t get to be together with someone for over two and a half years without learning about them. He knew she liked waffles over pancakes and hated having to get up early and how she almost cried the first time she got sent to the principal’s office in third grade. He knew her body better than she did, how to send her crashing into an orgasm that left them both breathless with tired, goofy grins on their faces after. 

But as Noemi steadied her breathing, looking out the window — the parking lot was still mercifully empty — she thought that maybe she’d leave out the fact that they had just fucked right across the street from her childhood church. At least we’re not trying to get married there, Noemi thought. I’d take up the whole damn time for Confession just for the past month. 

---

Noemi stuck her head out of the door of her seventh-floor hotel room. The coast was clear. It was the end of February, ten months after they had gotten together, and the team was in the middle of their last big Midwest sweep of the season. Going through the Central Division — plus a stop in Toronto — was incredible and Noemi was shaking herself awake every morning, realizing that this really was her job, but it was also exhausting, and as much as it may have seemed counterintuitive, lonely at times. Well, lonely in a particular way. She had the rest of the social media team, and she was friendly with most of the athletic training staff, and she saw the players pretty much every day, and she was friends with most of them. But the team was a little more than halfway through the trip, and she’d barely gotten to spend any time with Timo. Sure, there were meals, and the few off hours they got had been amazing — when they played the Preds, it was her first time in Nashville, and walking around Music Row had been the highlight of her weekend — but it wasn’t the same as if they were back in San Jose. 

Okay, if she was being totally honest, she missed the sex. It obviously wasn’t like she was finding it impossible to go without, she had dealt with it just fine when he was on a roadie and she was back home, but knowing that they were so close but couldn’t quite get there was a special kind of torture. Until now, when Timo had texted her just five minutes before. Kevin’s just gone out for a run, says he’s getting food after, some baked potato place or whatever. Idk. He’s weird. Anyways, coast should be clear for an hour or so 👀 

Noemi had initially rolled her eyes at the message, not even sure if she’d text him back, but the more she thought about it, the more she was tempted. Fuck it, she thought, texting him that she’d be right over. Which is how she found herself trying to sneak the 50 feet over to Timo’s room without being seen. Everyone knew they were together — they had for months — but the last thing she wanted was to have to explain to Erik Karlsson that the reason she was out pushing curfew was that she just really, really wanted dick. The poor man didn’t need to know. 

So she barely had to tap her fingers on Timo’s door before he swung it open, walking her back towards the bed while holding her around the waist. His knees hit the edge of the bed. Thank God there were two; she wanted him, sure, but even she wasn’t about to cross the line that was having sex in her friend’s bed an hour before he was set to sleep in it. She fell on top of him, sighing as his hands wandered under the hem of her oversized Santa Clara t-shirt, a mainstay from her college years. “Gotta get this off of you,” he mumbled. 

Noemi let out a breathy laugh. “Good things come to those who wait.” She barely had time to let out a gasp before he flipped her over. “It’s only been, what, a week?” Noemi asked, giggling. 

“Too long,” Timo replied, his lips trailing down the column of her neck. Her shirt was quickly forgotten on the floor, his following after a few minutes. She had gotten so worked up over the past week that he barely had to spend two minutes between her legs before she was pulling his mouth back up to hers, her hands fumbling with his belt buckle before finally getting it undone. “Fuck, one second,” he breathed, half-falling off the bed as he stumbled over towards his suitcase, zipping open the inner pocket before pulling out a condom. “You ready, babe?” he asked as he rolled it on. 

She nodded quickly. “Get over here.” He had just pressed into her when the door opened. 

“Brought back some fries to share, thought it would be nice since you didn’t get a chance to—” Kevin hollered as he walked into the room, while Noemi tried frantically to grab anything she could to cover herself. “Oh God. Jesus. Were you two just fucking?”

“In a manner of speaking?” Noemi said, pulling Timo’s dress shirt tightly around her. 

“God, why would you two? I’m not even going to ask. I don’t want to know. You two are gross,” he said, though he had the tiniest of smiles on his face when he finally brought his hand away from his eyes. “I’m going to, I don’t know. Go down to the lobby, and...Watch CNN or something. Be done when I get back.” 

He was gone just as quickly as he had walked in, and Noemi fell back on the bed, her face buried into the nearest pillow. “We’re never going to be able to live that one down, will we?” she asked hopelessly, already knowing the answer.

“Nope.”

---

 A month or so after he proposed, when the post-engagement glow had begun to fade and the equal parts excitement and apprehension about planning a wedding began to set in, they had to figure out how they actually wanted everything to work. Where and when and how and how many, things neither Timo nor Noemi had ever even considered went into planning a wedding. Things like figuring out if their vendor provided linens or if they had to rent their own, things like what to do with the flowers after the reception was over and how to reserve a block of hotel rooms. Enter Mohana. Noemi had been an art minor in college, focusing on watercolor  and digital design, so she sent over bits and pieces, links to Pinterest boards and concept art, and then handed off the responsibility. 

It was important to Timo that the wedding be during a time of year where the team would be able to make it; sure, summers were free, but everyone had vacations to go on and family to visit and he really didn’t want them to have to go to the expense of flying back to California just for a weekend. Even though he knew without a doubt that they would. And neither he nor Noemi thought it was a good idea to do it in spring — spring meant the playoff push and their schedules being filled even more than usual, and they didn’t want it to turn into just one more thing to worry about. Which meant fall or winter, but fall could be hectic with the season starting and most of the weekend dates for their venue had already been booked up. Which took them to December. Her own parents hadn’t really cared, but Noemi’s grandparents hadn’t been exactly thrilled when she told them she wasn’t having a church wedding. They got over it pretty quickly, though a lengthy call from her mom might have had something to do with that. 

Noemi wasn’t initially a huge fan of having a Christmas wedding. Though, really, it wasn’t even a Christmas wedding — it was on the 22nd — she was worried that people would have already settled in with their families, that she’d be disrupting plans and dynamics and traditions, that everyone’s toes would freeze off during the ceremony and suddenly their plans would be waylaid by having to take half the bridal party to the hospital to be treated for frostbite. She might have been exaggerating on the last one a little bit; even Bay Area Decembers rarely dipped much below 50º in the afternoon. But the winery they had chosen as their venue was available, and Mohana loved planning winter weddings, and Timo’s family had already been planning to fly over to spend the holidays with them. And red was her favorite color. So, all things considered, it was an easy sell. 

Planning the wedding itself turned out to me more difficult than either of them had anticipated. The Sharks’ season ended abruptly in the Cup finals that year, so they both got what planning they could out of the way before leaving for Switzerland. Cake tasting was done two days before leaving, and she had ordered her dress in March. Facetime meetings with Mohana were usually done in the California morning, which meant that more than once, she had been explaining vendor costs and asking if they preferred peonies or poppies as they were cooking dinner in his parents’ house. Noemi headed back to California in late August — she would have stayed longer, but was limited to a ninety day stay in a six month period without a visa and didn’t feel the need to go through the trouble when Timo was following a few weeks after. It wasn’t ideal, and she missed him more than she wanted to let on at times, but a month came and went and they were reunited. 

--- 

A soft knock came on the door of the bridal suite. “Everyone decent?” the voice asked.

“We’re good!” Emily called back. It was a no-brainer for Noemi to pick her sister as her maid of honor, who had nearly cried when she asked her early in the summer.

Patrick stepped into the room, closing the door gently behind him. “Can’t have him see you before,” he said jokingly. 

“Wouldn’t want that,” Noemi said, smiling softly. Patrick had stuck around after his retirement, working with the player development staff during the season. Everyone was the better for it, and they were all so grateful to have him still be a part of the family. Even apart from his consistency and dedication on the ice, he had always been a natural leader of any locker room he was in, mentoring younger players without being asked and always being there for anyone who needed him. “It’s what the team dad does,” he always said. 

So it was only natural that Timo and Noemi had wanted to find a place for him in their wedding. He had been all too happy to step up and help them with last-minute preparations the morning of, checking in with their wedding planner Mohana and helping to get all of the organizational details squared away — he had even driven back to the hotel the guests were staying at to pick up one of the groomsmen’s shoes when he had realized he had brought the wrong pair. “You feeling good, kid?” 

Noemi looked at the clock on the wall: half an hour until the ceremony started. She gave him a nervous smile. “Definitely got some butterflies, but they’re good ones. I’m excited.” 

The corner of his eyes crinkled. “Good, I’m glad. I remember when Christina and I got married, I was nervous, sure, but I knew. Knew she was the one, knew she was it for me. I’m glad you and Timo found each other, Noemi. A piece of advice?” She nodded. “Don’t get so caught up in the nerves and feeling like you need everything to be perfect that you forget what the day’s about. It’s about celebrating you, and him, and this marriage that you’re going to be building together. The photos will turn out great, nobody’s going to get food poisoning, and you won’t trip walking down the aisle. So don’t overthink it.” 

“Patrick, I just put my makeup on,” Noemi said, dabbing under her eyes with a napkin. “You can’t just say things like that and not expect me to cry.” 

He bent down, kissing her on the cheek. “You look beautiful, Noemi. This is your day. Enjoy it.” 

Patrick opened the door to the guy’s room just as Timo finished fastening his cufflinks. He looked up. “Were you just with No?”

 Patrick nodded. “She looks amazing, Timo.”

“Course she did,” he said, like it was the easiest answer in the world. ”How was she?” 

“Good. Nervous, but good. She’s with the girls, they were all drinking mimosas or something while they did their makeup,” Patrick said, sitting on the arm of the couch. 

Timo’s eyebrows lifted. “Was she in her dress?” 

“No,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes. Well-meaning though he was, he knew that Timo had been pestering Noemi to show him at least a glimpse of her dress, to no avail. She had ended up keeping it at her parents’ house when his bothering got to be too much. She loved it though. “You’ll see her soon.” Not soon enough, Timo thought. 

“You here to impart some sage wisdom, Patty?” Kevin asked, poking his head out of the bathroom as he straightened his tie. Red for the groomsmen, a subtle plaid for Timo. 

“As a matter of fact,” Patrick said, “I did have some things I thought about if you’d like to hear them.” 

Timo nodded quickly. “Of course.” It wasn’t just that he respected him for his role on the team and his former place in the locker room, it was his dedication to his family and healthy marriage that made him immediately tune in to whatever he had to say. 

“I know you’ve probably already figured this out already, having been together for as long as you have and living together now, but in case you haven’t. When you’re in a relationship, a marriage especially, you’re on the same team. You’re going after the same goal. Happiness and comfort and strength. Remember that. You’ll have disagreements, you might fight, but don’t let that overshadow the fact that whatever issue you two are facing, you’re meant to go at it together. Two,” he ticked off on his finger, “you’re going to have to compromise, probably more than you realize. Whether it’s what kind of take-out you’re going to get or where you’re going for vacation or what you’re going to do when you hang up the skates, listen to what she says, think about your priorities as a couple, and talk it out. And sometimes you’re going to have to learn when to let it go and let her win, regardless of if you think you’re right or not.” 

“I’m learning that one,” Timo said as he finished tying his dress shoes. 

Patrick smiled. “Good. Last, and probably the most important one, this is your priority now. Your marriage is your priority, she’s your priority. You said you guys talked about kids, yeah?” Timo nodded. “When you have kids, then, your family comes first. Your kids come first. I know it’s sometimes hard for people in our positions to wrap their brains around, when your whole life has been nothing but going to the rink and going to the gym, but there’s things that you’re going to need to prioritize over that, and that’s okay. The team understands it, everyone understands it. If you miss an optional skate to drop your kids off at school, or take off the gym for a week in the summer to go on vacation. If you’ve got to miss a game because your wife’s having a baby, or you take a call in a meeting when you shouldn’t because it’s Noemi and she needs you, that’s okay. Balance doesn’t come naturally to hockey players, hardly ever, but it’s something you’re going to need to learn, even better than you might think you know now. You do that, and you’ll be alright.”

There were less than ten minutes until Noemi had to leave, and Emily had just finished fastening the last button on her dress. Noemi took a deep breath, smoothing over the lace at her hips and straightening the edges of the three-quarter sleeves. “God, it’s really about to happen, isn’t it?” she asked in awe. 

Her mom squeezed her shoulder. “It is.”

“You need me to drive the getaway car?” Alise, her best friend from college asked, eyebrows raised, one hand playing with the skirt of her crimson bridesmaid’s dress. “I like Timo, I really do, but I love you more.”

Noemi let out a snort. “Thanks, Alise, but I think I’m going to have to pass on this one. We put down a fat deposit on this place and I wouldn’t want to lose it.”

“Pity, I just got the tank filled.” 

One of her other bridesmaids brought over the veil, gently tucking the comb in right above Noemi’s low bun. Noemi brushed her fingers over the comb’s pearls and clay flowers, remembering when Timo presented it to her as an early wedding present. “I was thinking it could be your something new.” Her late grandma’s pearl earrings were her something old, a ribbon from her mother’s wedding dress was wrapped around her bouquet, and a blue-edged handkerchief was pinned on the inside of her dress. Needless to say, it was gorgeous, and as Noemi slipped on her heels, she couldn’t help but think that it had all worked out better than she could have imagined. 

Mohana poked her head in, pushing back her dark hair as she smiled at the room. “Everyone ready?” 

“Bridesmaids are good,” Emily said, looking around. “No?”

Noemi nodded, taking yet another deep breath. “Good to go.” 

“Bouquets are outside, I was just with the guys and everything’s perfect, ties are all tied, boutonnières are all in. The second shooter got a few really sweet pictures of Timo’s mom putting his in.” 

“God, I almost forgot about the pictures,” Noemi said, even though the photographer had been in the room while everyone was getting ready. 

“Alright, let’s go get my bride married!” Mohana beamed. She handed everyone’s bouquets to them as they exited, ending with Noemi. She had designed the bouquets herself, white poppies and red roses and eucalyptus branches all tied together with her mother’s ribbon, but the florist had really outdone herself. A perk of working with the business end of the team was that it took her almost no time at all to get the vendor contacts that the team used for all of their formal events, and a perk of being a WAG was that it took her one text in a group chat to get the number of one of the South Bay’s best wedding planners. And Mohana Kaur had been nothing short of a lifesaver. She had taken Noemi’s vague sketches and fabric samples that she had picked up at Michael’s and turned it into what could only be described as a winter paradise. 

The flower girl, Noemi’s niece Elle, grabbed her basket of petals, looking back at her with delight. “Flowers, Auntie No!” 

Noemi nodded, beaming back at the little girl. “Very pretty flowers, El-bear. You remember what to do with them?”

“I go after Tobias,” Tomas’ son was their ring bearer, and had honestly occupied most of the attention at the rehearsal, not like she minded, “who goes after Mommy, who goes after Auntie Emily. And then I throw the flowers while I’m walking.”

“Perfect, sweet girl,” Noemi said, bending down — as much as she could in her heels — and gathering up the youngest Silva in a hug. She loved her four-year-old niece more than just about anyone, and it was moments like this that made her that much more excited to have children of her own someday. Mohana had silently gotten all of the bridesmaids in order, looking at Noemi as soon as she stood up. “Showtime?” Noemi asked.

Mohana gave her a wide smile. “You know it.” After giving her attendants one last cursory look, she laid a gentle hand on the space between Noemi’s shoulders, left bare from her open-backed dress. “You look gorgeous, Noemi, and the wedding’s going to be incredible.” With a nod of her head, she led the wedding party down the halls of the winery, stopping at the oaken set of double doors that stood as the only barrier between Noemi and the rest of her life. She could hear noise behind the doors, the chattering of the people most important to her in her life. 

Emily turned back towards her sister, squeezing Noemi’s hand. “I love you, No. You picked a good one.” She stepped off to the side as the doors opened, and one by one her bridesmaids walked out, then Tobias, then Elle, until it was only Mohana left. She gave Noemi’s veil a final adjustment, and then the music changed. A gorgeous acoustic version of Coldplay’s Yellow, one of Noemi’s favorite songs and one that had become something of a theme in her and Timo’s relationship. It was playing in his car the night of their first date, she was wearing a yellow dress when he told her he loved her for the first time, they had gone to a Coldplay concert at Levi’s Stadium the summer before the wedding, just after he had flown back from Switzerland. 

Noemi took a deep breath, looked down at her ring, and stepped out the door. Some of her friends had been surprised when she told them she’d be walking down alone. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her dad, or wasn’t close to him — the opposite was true. She just felt that there wasn’t a need to feel like someone was “giving her away.” Nobody but herself had the power to do that, so nobody but herself needed to be a part of that element of the ceremony. It was the same reason she had chosen to hyphenate her name instead of just taking Timo’s. She had always loved the idea of a family having the same name, of everyone being easily identifiable as being connected to one another in that sort of way, and she didn’t like the seeming disjointeness that would happen when they had kids, even if if wouldn’t matter to anyone but her. But she also loved her name, loved how it sounded and what it meant and the connection it gave to her ancestors. So Silva-Meier it was. 

Her veil trailed behind her as she made her way down the aisle, past the rows filled with 200 of their friends and family who had proven invaluable resources and support over the nearly-three years of their relationship. She risked a look at the end of the aisle, just off to the side of the eucalyptus-and-rose edged wedding arch. Where her fiancé was, the last time she could really call him her fiancé. Timo wasn’t necessarily more stoic than most of the other men she knew, and he was actually a fantastic communicator, but he wasn’t always one to show his heart on his sleeve. No such uncertainty today. The corners of his eyes were glassy with unshed tears, a few of which threatened to escape down his cheek. Kevin tapped him on the shoulder, handing him a handkerchief. I hope the photographer got that, Noemi thought distractedly. 

It sometimes was hard for Timo to outwardly show his feelings, especially at the beginning of their relationship; Noemi loved Timo wildly, and there was no doubt in her mind that he felt the same, but Switzerland was never known as a particularly warm-and-fuzzy country, he was still an NHL player with all of the expectations and influences of hypermasculinity that came along with that. There were three times in their relationship where Noemi could remember seeing him cry. Eight months into their relationship, when her mom, Katherine, had had a stroke, he sat with her in the chapel of O’Connor Hospital as she sobbed harder than she ever had in her entire life, and he cried with her. The second time was when he proposed, and when she said yes. The third time was the May before, when the Sharks had gotten within one game of finally hoisting the Stanley Cup but fell to the Capitals in Game 6. At home. She had seen him lose games, seen him lose playoff series’, but that had been a whole new kind of hurt that she had never seen from him, and one that she never wanted to see again. 

This was the fourth, and as she reached the end of the aisle, Noemi couldn’t help but think that if she reached up to her eyes, they’d be wet too. Noemi handed her bouquet off to Emily, and reached over for Timo. “Your hands are shaking, No,” he murmured as the crowd settled back down, their officiant extending a welcome to the crowd that the two barely paid attention to. The introduction, the invocation, all went by in the blink of an eye. “Timo, would you like to go first?” the officiant asked. Noemi had been so caught up in the surrealism of the day that she barely realized it was time for the vows. 

“Of course,” he said, giving Noemi’s hands one last squeeze before beginning. “I always thought it was cliché when people say that love comes into your life when you least expect it, or when you’re not looking for it. A 23-year-old in the NHL usually isn’t looking to settle down and get married anytime soon.” Noemi gave a watery laugh. “But with you, I quickly discovered how right that was. Noemi Francisca Silva, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted and, somehow, you fill parts of myself I didn’t even realize were missing until you came along. I could go on for hours about how much I love you, everything about you. I love how whenever Hozier comes on the radio, you turn the volume in the car up so loud I can’t hear anything else, even when you’re singing along. I love how you never wrap a present without curling the ribbons yourself, no matter how many times I tell you we can buy bows. I love how you don’t even have to ask me what kind of pizza I want when we order anymore, because you already know. But most of all, I love how you’re my partner, my best friend, the person I love the most in this world. And in a few minutes, you’ll be my wife. I love you, No.”

“You had an unfair advantage,” Noemi said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m calling a foul.” She took a deep breath. “When I look back on our relationship, from the first time we met, to our vacations, to our anniversaries, to the day you proposed, there’s one theme that I keep coming back to. It’s the first thing I thought of when I sat down to write these weeks ago. It’s how you never fail to make me feel so unbelievably loved. It doesn’t matter where we are, or who we’re with. We could be at one of the fundraisers, where you’re meant to be schmoozing with Silicon Valley tech execs, or at a party with our friends. You hear me, you see me, and when I’m with you, I feel like we’re the only two people in the room. The biggest piece of relationship I ever got, from my vovó, was to marry someone who makes you want to be a better person. I’ve never met anyone who does that as well as you do, Timo, and you don’t even have to do anything. I’m a better version of myself, the best version of myself, just from being around you.” She paused, going over the words that she had been rehearsing in her head for two weeks straight whenever her fiancé was out of earshot one last time. “Du bosch mine Schatz, und Ich lieb di Bis dass de Tod eus scheidet.” 

Timo’s breath caught in his throat at her words. He knew that Noemi had been trying to pick up bits and pieces of Swiss German, but he wasn’t always there to help and it was a notoriously tricky language to pick up. That she had done it on her own made it all the more meaningful. “Timo, do you take Noemi to be your lawful wedded wife? Do you promise to love and cherish her, in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better for worse, and forsaking all others, for so long as you both shall live?”  He spoke without hesitation. “I do.”

“And do you, Noemi, take Timo to be your lawful wedded husband? Do you promise to love and cherish him, in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better for worse, and forsaking all others for so long as you both shall live?” Giving her answer was as easy as breathing. “I do.” 

Her nervous hands slid Timo’s wedding band onto his left ring finger, and he moved hers into place above her engagement ring. “Now that Timo and Noemi have given themselves to each other with vows, the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” 

Noemi had had a lot of kisses in her life, more than she could count. There was her first boyfriend, and senior prom, and college parties, and everything in between. But when Timo’s lips met hers, underneath the sprig of mistletoe that hung from their wedding arch, as he became her husband, she knew without a doubt that this was her favorite one.

[hale-13]

Syncope

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 18 Prompt - Collapse

Peter Parker was weirdly magnetic. He was also an absolute dumpster fire of a person much to Tony’s chagrin.

Words: 1552, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner

TW: Fainting

Read on AO3 of below the line break.

Tony would be the first to say that Howard Stark was a pretty shit parent. He would also be the first to say that, when he met Peter Parker and drug him off to Germany to fight the Avengers that he could be considered to be a pretty shit mentor. He was determined not to repeat the sins of his father if it was the last thing he did which is why, after Peter turned down his spot on the team, Tony groveled to May Parker and, finally, offered the kid a real, bonafide Stark Industries internship.

Tony tried to remain professional – just some tinkering with the Spidey suit, the chance to play with some cool tech – but Peter Parker was oddly magnetic and, well, could you really blame Tony for quasi-adopting the kid? Once their weekly meetings evolved to twice a week and then into movie nights May Parker set up what she coined ‘co-parenting lunches’ and gave Tony a very firm talking to on what his behavior better look like going forward.

He resolved to never introduce her to Pepper after that conversation – he’d never survive.

That was months ago, though, and things were going pretty swimmingly if Tony said so himself. Peter was over increasingly often and had his own room in the penthouse, May had started to warm up to him more due to their bi-weekly lunch dates and Ross was – for once – off his ass.

Yeah everything was coming up Tony.

“Hey kid,” he called as the music in his workshop cut down and the doors slid open to admit Peter. “Be with you in a sec!” He was so close to finishing this segment of his repulser – it had been a right pain in the ass the whole day and he was ready to just be through with it. Peter didn’t respond but he sometimes didn’t when he could tell that Tony was super busy so he just carried on, finishing about ten minutes later with Dum-E’s… assistance… and he dropped his precision tools with a sigh and a pop of his back.

“Sorry about that buddy,” Tony called as he turned around. “You wouldn’t believe how long that’s been – what’s wrong with you?”

Peter ducked his head quickly but not fast enough to keep Tony from seeing his bright red cheeks, pale features and gigantic eye bags. He was wearing the MIT hoodie Tony had given him (definitely a comfort item whether Peter wanted to admit it or not) but also subtly trembling. Peter let out a suppressed and hoarse cough and muttered a unconvincing ‘Nothing,” that had Tony rolling his eyes.

“Yeah sure,” Tony agreed, standing from his stool and coming to stand in front of Peter, reaching out with the back of one hand to feel the kid’s sweaty and clammy forehead – Peter failing spectacularly at dodging and nearly falling off his stool in the process – and grimacing at the clear fever he could feel. “Your brains melting a little there kiddo.”

“I’m fine,” Peter insisted, his voice cracking and nasally doing nothing to assuage Tony’s concern. “Seriously I am,” Peter said after shirking under Tony’s raised eyebrow. He followed this up by sneezing violently three times and then having the gall to try and paste an innocent look on his face.

Teenagers. Gremlins the lot of them.

“You’re really doing great work making me believe you,” Tony told him pointedly. “I mean look at me – totally convinced.”

Peter deflated a little and pouted, full on sulking now. “You don’t have to rub it in,” he groused and Tony chuckled at him.

“Want to actually tell me what’s going on? Or do you plan to just suffer? That’s a Gen-Z thing right? Suffering?” Peter ignored his jabs and coughed Welty into his elbow before wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt making Tony crinkle his nose in disgust.

“Just a cold,” Peter tried, not even trying to meet Tony’s eyes. Guilty. Oh so guilty.

“Uh huh. A cold,” Tony nodded. “And how long have you had this cold that comes with a… uh fever check FRI?” He called out to his AI, making Peter whine in protest and drop his forehead down to rest on the lab table where he was seated.

“103.1 Boss,” FRIDAY called out in her soothing lilt and Tony winced a little in sympathy.

“Thanks dear. A 103.1 degree fever apparently. Jeez kid please tell me you didn’t go to school like this,” the set in Peter’s shoulders, however, told Tony all he needed to know and he let out a put upon sigh. “So you went to school like this. Great. You’re in luck – Bruce happens to be around today to take a look at you. Come on – up!”

“Noooo,” Peter griped, not picking his head up from the table or making any effort to stand at all. “I said I’m fine! I don’t need to go to the MedBay!”

“You’re resting temperature is usually around 96.5 so, yes, your fever alone qualifies you for an all expense paid visit. Don’t make me drag you – neither one of us wants that.” Tony said firmly, poking the side of Peter’s head insistently. Peter groaned again and clumsily batted Tony’s hand away before going to stand up. Halfway to his feet Peter’s eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped like a lead weight, Tony only barely able to catch him before he knocked his head on the side of the table.

“Should have expected this,” Tony grouched, lowering Peter carefully to the floor to rest with his head on Tony’s thigh. It wasn’t the first time the kid had fainted on him and Tony was regretful to say that he was old hat at it now. Tony cared about the kid but, Lordy, if Peter wasn’t an absolute magnet for danger and problems. “FRI?”

“Dr. Banner has been notified. He says to bring Peter up when he regains consciousness,” FRIDAY relayed and Tony nodded, expecting as much.

“Alrighty then. Time to wake up Pete, this isn’t a good look. You don’t want me to have to call May at work do you?” Tony threatened without heat, he would be texting May an update later but there was no need to pull her from work, rubbing the ridges of his fist against Peter’s sternum to stimulate a response.

“Ugh,” Peter groaned, pinching his eyes shut further and flinching away from Tony’s hand. “Stop,” he grunted, turning his face into Tony’s stomach to block out the light.

“No can do kid,” Tony told him, tapping the side of Peter’s face with a couple fingers to keep him awake and alert. “You just took a lovely little nose dive so no sleeping until Brucie looks at you comprende?”

“I passed out?” Peter asked, confused but cracking his eyes open to slits and looking more irritated than anything.

“Oh magnificently,” Tony confirmed, slipping an arm under Peter’s shoulders and lifting him up to sit, leaning, against the leg of the desk. “You feel dizzy or anything? Gonna faint again if you stand?”

“I’m good,” Peter said, swaying for a moment before listing into Tony’s side. It didn’t inspire much confidence.

“Sure you can,” Tony sarcastically mumbled with an eye roll before slipping one arm under Peter’s knees and the other under his back, lifting him into his arms with a grunt. Peter groaned out his displeasure but made no effort to try to escape, solidifying Tony’s decision to just carry him upstairs.

Bruce, to his credit, didn’t seem too surprised by this turn of events and was well aware that Peter was a little human disaster with no self-preservation instincts at all and was quick to get Peter situated on the exam bed much to the kid’s obvious displeasure. “How long have you felt sick and what are your symptoms?” Bruce asked brusquely, rolling a stool over to sit next to the bed, StarkPad perched precariously on his crossed legs.

“It’s just a cold,” Peter told him prompting yet another eye roll from Tony and a put upon sigh from Bruce. Peter rolled his shoulders inward and crossed his arms over his chest in submission. “Since yesterday,” he admitted.

“Symptoms?” Bruce prompted, typing something onto the screen of the tablet.

“Coughing and sneezing for sure and I’m assuming a headache as well. Obviously the fever and the fainting. Am I missing anything Pete?” Tony asked, answering for the kid when it was clear Peter wasn’t going to himself without them literally pulling teeth.

“That about covers it,” Peter said, staring into the corner with his arms still crossed over his chest.

Bruce nodded like it was all to be expected. “Probably some sort of virus then,” he said. “Not a cold but we’ll do the normal battery of bloodwork and cultures to be sure. I’ll send a nurse in to get everything in a few minutes.”

And with that the man bustled out of the room, leaving Tony to perch on the abandoned stool next to Peter’s bed. “Can we just agree to have you tell me the next time you’re sick instead of passing out on me?”

Peter just groaned and tried to smother himself with one of the pillows while Tony laughed – at least he wasn’t stabbed again.

[softspideys]

The Right Person (Tom Holland x reader)

summary: when your ex shows up to the same party as you, you ask tom to be your boyfriend for five minutes

warnings: none

word count: 3.2k

pairings: tom holland x reader

a/n: this is my first fic in a WHILE so I hope it’s not too rusty! enjoy:)

As soon as you locked eyes with the guy across the room, you knew it was going to be a long night.

You turned away and tried to melt into the crowd, pushing past everyone and trying not to spill your drink until you managed to locate Zendaya. “What the hell, Z?” you hissed. “Why did you invite Anthony?”

“I didn’t!” she insisted, sounding just as alarmed as you felt. “I didn’t even know he was here!”

There was a cough behind you. You turned around and saw Harrison standing there, scratching his nose and looking unmistakably guilty.

“Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this,” Zendaya said, a murderous expression on her face. “Tell me you did not invite her ex-boyfriend to my party.”

“Listen,” Harrison began, and you groaned. “Look, Jacob asked if he could bring some people and I didn’t realize that Anthony would be one of them! I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s obvious,” Zendaya mumbled.

“I’m really sorry,” Harrison said, and he seemed sincere. “Do you want me to ask him to leave?”

The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene or make it seem like you weren’t over the relationship. “No, it’s fine,” you said with a sigh. “It was an honest mistake. I just don’t want there to be any drama tonight.”

“Look, don’t worry,” Zendaya said, rubbing your arm comfortingly. “I won’t leave your side. I promise. He won’t have the balls to come up to you if I’m there.” This was true; Anthony would never try to talk to you if you were with someone else.

Unfortunately, as well-meaning as she was, you also knew Zendaya wasn’t going to hang around you the whole night. She probably wasn’t going to even hang around for the next five minutes. There was always someone else: some guy who wanted to talk to her, some girl whom she hadn’t seen in ages, and soon she was lost in the party, only to be seen again at the end of the night. You loved her, but you knew her well.

“Okay,” you said now, forcing a smile. “Great.” Harrison came back holding a shot and you snatched it out of his hands, downing it quickly.

“Hey!” he complained. You made a face as it burned going down your throat.

“That’s what you get for inviting my asshole ex-boyfriend to a party,” you informed him before looking around the room. “Where’s Zendaya?” In the ten seconds you’d been distracted, she’d vanished. You sighed.

It was almost like being a secret agent, spending the night ducking and sneaking through the house, trying to avoid Anthony as best you could. You weren’t really sure why you didn’t want to see him, exactly; it had been almost six months since the two of you broke up. And he’d never cheated on you or beat you up or yelled at you. He was just . . . well, he was an asshole, plain and simple. There was nothing wrong with not wanting to talk to an asshole.

An hour later, you were exhausted and still hadn’t seen any sign of Zendaya. This was her apartment, for God’s sake, and it wasn’t even that big. Where could she possibly have gone?

You stumbled into the kitchen for another drink and almost collided with Tom Holland. Great. Was this party Douchebag Ground Zero or something?

“Nice to see you’re classy as always,” Tom said with a roll of his eyes, and shit, you’d said that last line out loud.

You and Tom had gotten along for maybe the first three seconds after you met. And then he tried to hit on you with a slimy, cocky pickup line he’d probably used countless times before, you got pissed and called him a dick, he got pissed and called you a bitch, and the rest was history. Long story short, the two of you hadn’t had a nice exchange in years.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded.

“Zendaya invited me,” he said, looking at you like you were an idiot. “Because, you know, I can actually play nice with other people.” Despite your feelings about him, everyone else in your friend group got actually along well with Tom. Harrison was always inviting him to hang out, insisting the two of you would like each other if you just tried harder. It was very annoying.

“Fuck off,” you said, but the usual bite wasn’t there. Instead, it just came out weary. You hoped he wouldn’t notice.

He did. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” you said with a sigh, scrubbing one hand down the side of your face. “It’s just . . . it’s been a long night.”

“Hmm,” Tom said, knitting his eyebrows. “Care to elaborate on that extremely vague statement?”

“Not to you,” you said. Something different flashed across his face for a second, but it went back to the usual annoyance so fast you wondered if you imagined it. It almost looked like hurt.

Before you could contemplate that further, his eyes strayed to look at something over your shoulder. “Uh, if I’m not mistaken, I think your ex-boyfriend is making his way over here.”

“What?” You turned. Sure enough, you could see Anthony across the kitchen, elbowing his way over to you. Your heart started to pound, like all of your senses had suddenly shifted into high gear. You had to think, and fast.

You looked back at Tom, surveying him as objectively as you could. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Nice teeth. Decent manners. Kind of funny.

Were you really about to do this?

Clearing your throat, you said, “I need you to be my boyfriend for five minutes.”

“What?” Tom echoed. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe!” you said. “Look, Anthony is coming over to talk to me and I can’t handle it on my own so I just really need you to be cool for once and do this for me, okay? Please? Five minutes?”

Tom stared at you for a second, his expression unreadable. Before he could answer, a voice behind you said, “Hey.”

You turned around to face your ex. “Hey,” you said, plastering a smile on your face. “Anthony. Hi.”

“You look well,” Anthony said. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you said, as Tom ever-so-slowly slipped his arm around your waist. You tensed at the unfamiliar feeling at first, but forced yourself to relax. “Yourself?”

“Good,” Anthony said, immediately zeroing in on Tom’s hand on your hip, on his thumb that was just barely slipped under your shirt, rubbing the skin there almost absent-mindedly. “It’s Tom, right?” You tried to remember how much the two of them had interacted before. Hopefully it wasn’t much.

“Uh-huh,” Tom said. He didn’t say anything else, and an awkward pause followed.

“Nice to see you again,” your ex said finally, his eyes still occasionally flicking down to your waist. “Not sure if you knew this but, uh, we used to date.” He jerked his head at you.

“You graduated, like, last spring, right?” Tom asked abruptly.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Cool. Why are you still hanging around on campus?”

You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Anthony’s eyes narrowed at the blunt question, like he was trying to figure out if it was rude or not. Tom looked unbothered, wincing a little when you subtly stepped on his foot.

“I’m not,” Anthony said finally, his voice noticeably cooler. “I’m just visiting Jacob for the weekend, and he said there was a party tonight.”

“Ah,” Tom said, nodding. “Got it.”

“Anyway,” Anthony said. “Are the two of you dating, or . . .?”

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat. “We are.”

“Funny,” he said. “I always thought you didn’t like each other.”

You smiled, hoping he couldn’t tell how nervous you were. “Uh, yeah, well, one day we just kind of realized we . . . didn’t.” It was a lame thing to say, but when you glanced at Tom you saw his eyes were already on you, a strangely soft look on his face.

“When did you get together?” Anthony asked, like you were at a police interrogation and not a college party.

“Couple months ago,” Tom said breezily. “It’s been good so far, right babe?” He smiled down at you.

You blinked, a little taken aback by how casual he seemed. “Uh, yeah. Really good.”

“Cool, cool,” Anthony said, focusing back on you. “So, senior year, right?”

“Yup.”

“I’m a senior too,” Tom cut in helpfully. You coughed, trying to stifle a giggle that randomly came out of nowhere.

Anthony ignored him. “Are you working anywhere?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Still at the student co-op, but it’s been going well. I actually—”

“Still?” he repeated. “I thought you were looking for something else.”

“Well—”

“You know, especially since it’s your last year now, it’s good to have an internship under your belt. A real resume booster.”

“Um, I was looking around,” you said quickly before he could get another word in, “but things just didn’t . . . pan out.” You’d had a minimum wage job over the summer at home, along with doing some part-time work here and there for a company you were vaguely interested in, but other than that you didn’t really have much going for you.

“Where’d you look? Were you limiting yourself to working just within your major? Because, you know, sometimes you gotta cast a wider net.”

“I was, but I—”

“Did you call back after you applied? Or send thank-you emails? Job recruiters really pay attention to those little details. It shows you take initiative.” Anthony shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “I mean, unless you’d rather be selling books and supplies at the co-op for the rest of your life.”

You swallowed, feeling your face and neck start to get hot again. You’d forgotten how pushy Anthony could be, how he seemed to take delight in making you feel inferior. Back when you were dating, he was always dropping hints about you being lazy or not trying hard enough to look for a better job, often comparing your career at the student co-op to his paid internship.

You wanted to tell him to fuck off, but the words just wouldn’t come out. It was like he was six feet tall, and you were only six inches.

Suddenly, Tom’s arm tightened around you. “Actually, she just got promoted to assistant manager of the co-op,” he said, his words sharper than glass. “And she was employee of the month three times in a row. And she’s got an interview for that internship in the city over winter break. Right?” You nodded wordlessly, wondering how he knew all that.

“She works damn harder than me, or any of us for that matter, and it’s paying off. So I’d say selling school supplies at the co-op is going pretty well for her,” Tom finished. “Not that it’s any of your business though, mate.”

Anthony seemed surprised for a second, his eyebrows raised. “Alright man, chill out,” he said. “I was just making sure she’s pushing herself. Sometimes she had a problem with that when we were dating.”

“Huh,” Tom said pleasantly. “Well, maybe she’s just found the right person now.”

You’d been taking a long sip of your drink, but now you nearly spat it out everywhere. Anthony’s jaw clenched. “Right,” he said, nodding. “Well. Think I’m gonna go see where the boys went off to.”

“You do that.”

“It was good to see you, Y/N,” he said. “I’m glad you’re happy. The two of you really deserve each other.”

“Thanks,” you managed to say finally. “It’s nice to know that you haven’t changed a bit, Anthony.”

With one last scathing look, he left you alone. Tom relaxed instantly, letting out a long sigh. “Jesus, I forgot what an asshole that guy is,” he said. “How long were you with him again?”

You were staring up at him like you’d never seen him before in your life. “How did you know all that stuff?” you asked. “Like, about the job and the interview and whatever? How did you know?” It was then that you also noticed his arm was still around you.

He noticed too, taking a step back and scratching his nose. “I just pay attention, I guess.”

“To—to me?”

“Yeah, of course. You know . . . Z tells me stuff about you and I—I listen.” It was true that through casual conversation, you knew Tom’s birthday and what he was studying at school and whatever problems he happened to be going through at the moment. But it never occurred to you that he might be committing facts about you to memory the way you did with him.

“But . . . why? You don’t like me.”

Tom smiled thinly, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “If you listened, you’d know that I actually like you very much.”

Your mind was racing as you processed all of this. There was no way that Tom actually meant that—was there? You hated each other; you always had. But then why did it make your heart pound to hear him say those nice things about you? Why did your entire body feel warm when he touched you? Why did you pick him to be your fake boyfriend in the first place?

“Oh, fuck it,” you said suddenly. You grabbed his hand and set off through the apartment, dragging him with you. Ignoring his confused protests, you didn’t stop until you were in front of the door you were looking for.

You jiggled the doorknob and were relieved to find it open. You pulled Tom inside before closing and locking the door behind you.

“Why are we in the bathroom?” Tom asked. “Have you had some sort of mental break?”

“Shut up,” you said, grabbing his face and pulling him down into a kiss.

Tom stayed frozen with shock for about five seconds before he jerked back, staring down at you with wide eyes. For a second neither of you spoke, and just as you were afraid you’d made the entirely wrong move here, he leaned in and connected your lips again.

A small part of your brain still couldn’t believe this was actually happening, but mostly you were just thinking about how good it felt, and how much you wanted more.

Tom pressed you against the bathroom counter, and you let out a small yelp as your body collided with the hard marble. “Shit, sorry,” he whispered, even though no one else was there and the music was loud, thumping through the closed door.

“S’okay,” you answered, cracking a grin. He returned it, and soon the two of you were giggling like kids. He leaned in again, but you stopped him. “Wait. I just have one question.”

“Okay.”

“So, all this time . . . you liked me?”  

Tom raised his eyebrows. “I mean, yeah. Basically.”

“Then why’d you act like you didn’t?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. I thought you hated me, and if the only way to get to talk to you was to fight, then . . . so be it, I guess.” He let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “Sounds pretty corny now that I say it out loud, but there it is.”

You swallowed, taking in his dark eyes, the curve of his mouth as he watched you shyly, waiting for your reaction. “I thought you hated me,” you said finally. “God, are we really that stupid?”

He snorted. “Seems that way. I guess we have Anthony to thank for all of this.”

“More like Harrison,” you mused. “He’s the one who invited him.”

Tom grimaced. “Idiot.” A beat passed. “So, uh, can we . . .?”

“Oh! Oh, God, absolutely,” you said, laughing as he grinned, moving closer. He let your noses brush for a second before he kissed you again. There was something different about it this time: it was softer, more deliberate, like he was testing the waters.

You were aware of the seconds and minutes ticking by, but none of it seemed to matter anymore. Everything was just Tom: the smell of his cologne filling your nose, his eyelashes brushing your face, his hands traveling down your body—

In one swift motion, Tom’s hands wrapped around your thighs and lifted you onto the bathroom counter. You squeaked at the movement, clinging to him reflexively.

"Good?” he asked, and you nodded. You opened your legs readily, hauling him back in for another kiss. You leaned into it and were rewarded when his mouth opened up against yours, your lips sliding together as your fingers wound themselves into his hair.

The kisses turned messy and urgent, your bodies pressing flush against each other. Tom’s hands slowly slid up your thighs, slipping underneath the hem of your shirt. You couldn’t help the groan that escaped you as his fingers left feather-light strokes on your sides, your back, just exploring the skin there.

If you had told yourself a day ago, hell, even an hour ago that you’d be hooking up with Tom Holland in the bathroom at Zendaya’s party, you would’ve thought you were crazy. And yet here you were, and here he was, your lower lip caught between his teeth.

You rocked your hips forward, and the noise Tom made against your lips sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your thoughts began to travel away from this bathroom and towards your apartment, in your bed, where you could spread him out and take your time—

A loud pounding on the door suddenly startled you apart. You looked at each other with wide eyes, your heart slamming against your chest. Oh, right. You were in someone else’s bathroom.

“Uh, occupied!” Tom said quickly as the doorknob rattled.

“Are you almost done? I really gotta pee-ee,” a voice whined on the other side. You burst into giggles as Tom shook his head, annoyed but amused.

“Be right there!” you called. Tom reluctantly stepped back and helped you down from the counter.

“What now?” you asked.

“Uh, well,” Tom said. “I’m gonna need a second to, um, make this go away.” You pointedly did not look down. “But then I figure we could . . . get out of here? I’m down to just figure things out as we go if you are.”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. That sounds great.” You opened the door and went out into the hallway. You’d only gone a few paces before you nearly ran right into Zendaya.

“There you are!” she said, relieved. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Oh,” was all you said as Harrison appeared over her shoulder.

“Did everything go okay with . . . ?” Zendaya trailed off as she took in Tom hovering right behind you, at his messy hair and your flushed cheeks, at the matching smirks on both of your faces. “Oh my God.”

“No way,” Harrison said, letting out a sharp bark of laughter. “Tom, well done, mate!”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know how this happened,” Zendaya said. “But I guess you were able to get rid of Anthony?”

“You could say that,” Tom said.

“Good.” She raised her eyebrows. “And . . . you’re both sure this is right?”

You smiled as Tom squeezed your hand. “Yeah. I think it is.”

[karajaynetoday]

everybody's got their demons, even wide awake or dreaming | part one

Photo credit: Jess Gleeson 

Hello friends! Hope you’re having a lovely day wherever you are in the world. Thank you to everyone who voted in my little Google form thing on what they’d like to see me write next. Here’s Part One of my 5SOS x music journalist story. It’s a little angsty, and as the first chapter this is a lot of introduction to the OC and her story, but I hope you like it! It’s the first time I’ve written an OC into a fic, so I’d love to know your thoughts and if you’re interested in reading more about Lizzie and her adventures interviewing 5SOS.

Shout outs to @wheniminouterspace and @calumrose​ for helping me sense-check this concept, and @spicycal for giving me feedback on it in its draft stages. You’re all gems! 

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: Fem!OC, minor swearing

More writing here | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here | if you’d like to be on my taglist go here

Lizzie Lawson was having a bit of a day. Her train had been late, she dropped her coffee moments after receiving it from the cute barista downstairs (and broke her favourite keep cup in the process), and her work computer had decided to run updates the moment she sat down at her desk. Maybe she shouldn’t have bothered to get out of bed this morning.

Her colleagues were tapping away at their keyboards, answering phone calls, and discussing upcoming story ideas with each other - the usual tasks, especially for a Monday morning. Lizzie, computerless and caffeine deprived, had to settle for a cup of instant coffee from the kitchenette, and had taken to tidying up her desk while her computer was restarting over and over again but still somehow not ready for use. She was on the floor, sorting through the snacks in her bottom desk drawer (crackers that were two months’ past their expiry date, some gummy worms, and what seemed like hundreds of cans of tuna) when James, the music editor, stuck his head out of his office and called for her.

“Lawson! Where are you?” James sounded confused. He could’ve sworn he’d seen Lizzie at her desk moments ago, and then suddenly she popped her head up like a meerkat.

“Jimbo! Here. What’s crack-a-lackin?” Lizzie responded, standing up and brushing herself off as she headed towards where James was standing in his office doorway.

“Got a pitch for ya. Step into my office, if you’re finished with your spring clean.” James chuckled as he stepped back inside and sat down on the couch opposite his desk. 

A number of journalism awards were displayed on the shelf above the couch, and the floor to ceiling window overlooked Sydney’s CBD and its tall, grey buildings, with a glimpse of the harbour ocean in the distance. Lizzie had to admit she’d imagined herself in James’ desk chair more than a few times; the music editor of one of Australia’s leading youth and pop culture publishing companies, regularly travelling the world to interview award-winning artists, and assigning and guiding well-crafted investigative pieces on the entertainment industry and those within in. 

But, in reality, Lizzie had only recently worked her way up to being in the music department, after a couple of years on the news desk and a series of casual internships at different publications around the place. But music journalism, and the passion she had for live performances and watching artists grow and develop their sounds and aesthetics over their careers, was where Lizzie had always wanted her career to go. She was grateful to James for having her on the team, but she also knew that he didn’t recruit just anyone - so her writing must’ve been strong enough to get her here. James was a good boss, salt of the earth, always had his team’s back, but he was also a little mysterious, and this morning’s meeting was one of those where his face was giving absolutely nothing away as Lizzie joined him on the couch in the office. 

“So, what’s up?” Lizzie said, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice.

“Well, Lawson. You’ve only been on deck for a few months, but turns out my gut instinct about you has paid off. That profile you did on the 1975 last month has gotten some good feedback and traction out and about.” James spoke in a measured tone, pulling his laptop off the coffee table and opening it.

“Oh! Well, that’s… good, right?” Lizzie still couldn’t figure out exactly why she was in James’ office. Or why she was so nervous. 

“Correct, it is good. It’s been great to see you come into your own a little bit, and develop your interview style. I also really appreciated you stepping in to cover the Matt Corby interview for Hannah the other day, when she had that stomach bug.” James continued, seemingly searching for an email or something on his laptop as he spoke. 

“No worries! Hannah’s notes were really thorough, plus I definitely had a Matt Corby phase when he was on Australian Idol back in 2006! Oof, that fringe, you know?” Lizzie cringed internally when she heard herself starting to babble. 

James snorted, before clearing his throat. “I’m sure Matt was glad the 2006 hairstyle didn’t take up too many words in the final profile piece. He was pretty happy with it though, and his management were too, according to the label. So happy, in fact, that they’re requested you to profile another one of their artists.”

James had Lizzie’s full attention now, and she still couldn’t read his expression. “Really? Me? Who’s the artist?” She asked, trying not to get too excited too soon.

“Yes, indeed, you. 5 Seconds of Summer, or 5SOS. They’ve got a new album due out in a month or so, and their publicist is keen to fly you out to LA for a few weeks to follow them around while they wrap things up in the studio, and do a profile piece on their journey to date. Are you familiar with their stuff? They’re offering us an exclusive, something about the album being linked to their homeland or something, so they wanted to go with an Australian media outlet first.” James set his laptop back down on the coffee table and angled it so Lizzie could see an email on the screen that had a few lines of text and a photo of a band onstage.

5SOS. Was Lizzie familiar? Oh yes, she was familiar. Lizzie Lawson hailed from the western suburbs, and 5SOS was the area’s biggest success story. Aussie boys made good, with millions of albums sold, billions of song streams, thousands of concerts played all around the world, that was their career to date. But for Lizzie, 5SOS were always a bit closer to home. She’d attended the same high school as three of the band members, and Michael Clifford was someone she called her best friend, once upon a time. Ashton had also befriended Lizzie’s older brother Lachlan when they’d worked together at KFC. That was years ago now, and they’d all fallen out of touch, because sometimes that’s just the way the universe works. You grow up and you move on and you don’t keep the same friends, because sometimes they move to the other side of the world and get super famous as successful musicians. Or something like that. Even if they know your deepest secrets, or biggest fears, or hopes and dreams, or you trust them more than anything, sometimes they still leave you. 

Lizzie’s previous state of intrigue quickly became panic, because what if she wasn’t actually being chosen based on the merit of her work? What if the 5SOS team knew about her connection to the band, and were going to use it to manipulate her writing in some way? What if it was all a ploy to get her and Michael in the same room so he could finally call her out on what had gone down between them all those years ago? What if - 

“Lawson! You on planet earth still, or wait?” James snapped his fingers in front of Lizzie’s face to get her attention. She shook her head to clear it, and wrung her hands together in her lap.

“Yep, I’m familiar with their work. A little fuzzy on the most recent work, but I have a bit of knowledge on a lot of their early stuff. And Youngblood, of course. Everyone knows Youngblood. ARIA song of the year, a billion streams, etc etc.” Lizzie spoke, meeting James’ gaze as he cocked his head at her curiously. He knew Lizzie had a tendency to get a little nervous when she was put on the spot, but there was something about her right now that was a little more unsettled than usual that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Good. Well, if you’re down, the label will cover three weeks accommodation in Los Angeles. Labels don’t usually do that kind of thing, but their manager is super keen for you to get enough quality time with the band to build up a solid profile piece. We’ll cover your daily expenses, I’ll send you instructions for the claiming app, and then we just need your passport to get the flights booked. Sound okay?” 

“Y-yep. Yes. Okay. Right. When would I be leaving?” Lizzie pinched her thigh through her jeans to double check that she wasn’t dreaming, and that yes, this was actually happening. 

“Friday midday. We’ll put some feelers out in LA, and see if there’s any other interviews you can do while you’re there, but your focus will be on 5SOS because they’re picking up the bill for your stay. But that being said, don’t let that sway what you write. They’ve requested you because they like your deep, detailed, open style of profiling, so don’t be afraid to ask some curly questions to get the answers that will craft the right piece, you know?” James spoke firmly, looking pointedly at Lizzie who quickly nodded in response.

“Right, well, I’ll cc you into this email chain with their publicist and manager, and we’ll go from there. You can hand over your other pieces to Hannah, you’ll need to spend the next few days prepping for LA and doing whatever research you need to feel ready. You’ve got this, Lizzie. I know you can do a great job.” James was trying to be encouraging, as he stood up and opened the door to his office, but Lizzie’s heart was pounding with nerves and she barely hear his words. 

She walked back to her desk in a daze, and Hannah had to literally poke Lizzie in her side to get her attention and ask what James had said in the meeting. A few excited squeals and a bear hug later, Hannah was off and running talking about lists of things Lizzie needed to organise before her international adventure was due to begin in a few days’ time. Lizzie, on the other hand, still couldn’t believe it. What the fuck was happening?

--

The next few days flew by in a haze of emails, life admin, last minute shopping trips and a lot of deep breathing on Lizzie’s part, and before she knew it, she was wrangling her suitcase out of an Uber and into the international terminal at Sydney Airport. Lizzie, as a generally anxious person, had arrived the full three hours early for her flight, but her parents had treated her to a flight lounge guest pass (because they wanted her to know they were proud), so she was able to deal with her nerves by eating far too many complimentary croissants and hash browns. 

Soon enough, the time to board the plane arrived, and Lizzie was grateful that she ended up in an empty row of seats, by some miracle. Praise be to the airline gods, or whichever higher power had decided she’d be able to at least try and get some sleep in the next fourteen hours. She’d set her phone and watch forward to Los Angeles time, so she could try and adjust her body clock accordingly, which meant that she’d have to stay up for a few hours at least.

Lizzie tried to be productive, and tapped away at her research notes on her laptop for a little while, before she found herself opening up the band’s instagram page in her browser. The four men staring back at Lizzie through the screen seemed a million miles away from the gangly, excitable teenagers she’d known all those years ago. There was an interesting intensity about them in the photograph, steely gazes and defined bodies under carefully selected clothing, but there was also a peacefulness in their poses beside one another. Like being together, in this moment captured minutes before heading onstage, was the most natural thing in the world. Lizzie found her eyes drawn towards Michael; his dirty blonde hair swept across his forehead (not dissimilar to the style he’d had in their high school days, to be honest), and it was accompanied by some scruffy facial hair and a dangly cross earring in one ear. His grey-green eyes seemed to peer right into her soul, and Lizzie involuntarily shivered at the thought of seeing him again in person in a day or so. 

She was still anxious about whether or not this entire thing was a scam, but nonetheless, she was going to try her darndest to be a consummate professional, and write the best profile story of her life. In her research, Lizzie had reviewed some previous 5SOS interviews, and she’d cringed her way through their Rolling Stone interview from many years prior. She remembered reading it at the time it was published, unable to believe some of the words attributed to the boys she’d once called her friends, and the intense aftermath that followed. Understandably, they’d avoided in-depth profile interviews since, so Lizzie was incredibly curious as to why they’d changed their mind. Why now? Why her? She closed her laptop and drifted into sleep, curled up across three airplane seats and tucked under a thin blanket. 

Lizzie’s shoulders and neck were stiff when she awoke, an hour or so before her flight was due to land. She used the in-flight wifi to check her emails quickly, and noted a new one from 5SOS’s publicist Danielle, which welcomed Lizzie to Los Angeles and explained that she should catch a taxi to her accommodation at the address listed, and that she should give her a call once she was checked in. Right. That seemed straight forward enough.

LAX customs were intimidating as ever (god, Lizzie was so nervous), but Lizzie made it through without incident and was able to quickly make her way into a cab with a driver who seemed familiar with her accommodation address. They drove her to a boutique-looking hotel, and when Lizzie checked in and made her way up to her room, she was pleasantly surprised at how nice it was. A queen-sized bed, a good desk for working at, a nice view from her balcony of the Hollywood Hills, a small kitchenette with a fridge and microwave, and a glorious bathroom that had a very enticing bath tub in it (Lizzie’s shoulders and neck were already thankful for the idea of being able to soak in some nice hot water for a while). 

After checking the room for serial killers (better to be safe than sorry, right?) Lizzie had a quick shower and changed out of her travel trackies and oversized hoodie into a pair of jeans, a clean shirt and a blazer, before opening up her phone and scrolling down to Danielle’s contact. A few deep breaths were required before Lizzie built up the courage to press “call”.

“This is Danielle!” A cheery American accent answered on the other end of the line.

“H-hi Danielle, this is Lizzie, from Junkee Australia. You said in my email I should give you a call once I was all checked in, and I am, so…” Lizzie found herself giggling nervously and facepalmed.

“Lizzie, of course! How was your flight? Long and boring?”

“Yep, that about sums it up!” Danielle’s enthusiasm made Lizzie feel like she had to perk herself up a bit in conversation.

“Well, I’m sure you’re gagging for a nap, but we’ve got to get you adjusted to the timezone so we can make the most of your time here. I’m just finishing up something in the office, but I can swing by your hotel in about 45 minutes, and we can go over your story pitch and the band schedule for the next few weeks, and figure out your interview time slots and other things you can go along to observe, if that works for you?” Lizzie could hear Danielle’s keyboard clacking as she spoke.

“Sure, well, you have my number now, so just text me when you get here. I’ll try my best not to nap in the meantime.” Lizzie’s somewhat dry response got a laugh out of Danielle, who agreed and bid her farewell, ending the call.

Placing her phone down on the bedside table, Lizzie looked around the hotel room that was set to be her home away from home for the better part of the next month, and spotted a coffee machine on top of the mini fridge. If she was really going to keep her no-nap promise, caffeine was definitely in order. 

True to her word, Danielle arrived at the hotel within the hour, and soon Lizzie found herself sat beside Danielle on a fancy couch tucked in a corner of the hotel lobby. Danielle had opened up her laptop, and also pulled a plastic folder of documents out of her tote bag.

“Okay, so… I’m sure you’ve done your own research, but here’s a few hard copies of the band bio, album press release, and a few other tidbits from the label, along with a hard copy of the band schedule. It’s all confidential and coded, the electronic version I’ve emailed you will have the proper locations for everything, but I thought a print out might be handy anyway. The boys are recording some stuff at the studio Calum has at his house tomorrow, so I figured we could introduce you there and then after that figure out what else you’d like to get done. There’s an industry showcase for some of the new songs at the end of the week, and then they’re doing various promo and album prep things, finalising mixes, photoshoots, etc, so there’s a bit of variety for you. Any initial thoughts on how you want to do the interviews for your profile?” Danielle rattled off, gazing at Lizzie expectantly when she finished speaking.

Lizzie blinked at her a few times before collecting herself. “In my research, I found it really interesting to hear the band and some of the fans talking about how 5SOS has evolved into the collective effort of four individual artists, not just the band as one artistic music entity, so I was hoping, if possible, to interview them individually, as well as observing them as a group. Would.. Would that be okay, do you think?” 

Danielle pursed her lips, before breaking out into a smile. 

“I think that sounds exactly like something the band would be willing to do. Damn, Matt Emsell was right - you do know your stuff.” She chuckled, handing the folder of documents over to Lizzie and pulling out the schedule that was on top.

“So studio at Calum’s tomorrow from 10am, I’ll swing by and collect you so we can do introductions, I’ll stick around for a bit just to make sure you’re all good but otherwise I’m just going to let you do your thing. The band have been doing this for long enough now, they don’t need their publicist hovering.”

The curiosity was killing Lizzie. She couldn’t not ask. 

“Danielle, I’ve got to ask this, sorry. Do the band… know me? Know that I’m the one coming to interview them?” Lizzie managed to get out, avoiding eye contact.

“What do you mean?” Danielle cocked her head to one side, clearly confused at the question. “I sent them the Matt Corby piece you did, and they liked that, so that was one of the reasons we asked you out here. So they’re familiar with your work, if that’s what you’re asking?”

“No, um… oh god, I’ve made this super awkward now.” Lizzie laughed dryly, wringing her hands together. “I mean, I know them. Personally. Or at least I used to. I’m from Sydney, and I went to school with Luke, and Calum, and… Michael. So I was just wondering,  um, if they realised that it was me and that was part of why I was asked to come to LA for this…Not really sure why that would make them choose me, but I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page before tomorrow.” Lizzie finally dared to look up at Danielle, whose expression was unreadable.

“Hmm, well, that is interesting. As far as I know, that wasn’t a factor at all. We all genuinely liked your writing style, so whether or not the boys made the connection, I have no idea. They’re not super keen on any irrelevant personal life stuff making it into this piece though, so if this is going to be a problem for you, we should deal with it now.” Her tone was slightly less warm than before, and Lizzie could sense the protective publicist side of Danielle kicking in.

“Definitely not a problem. I entirely intend to be fully professional, and like you said, my writing will speak for itself. Just wanted to put it all out there. Not a problem for me.” Lizzie spoke up, willing herself to sound more confident than she felt.

“Good. We have no problems here then. I’ve got to run, but text me with any questions, otherwise I’ll see you at 9.30am tomorrow for the drive to Calum’s!” Danielle’s tone was nice and bright again, as she shut her laptop and gathered her belongings, patting Lizzie’s shoulder in what she assumed was some sort of attempt at calming her nerves.

It didn’t work though. Not a problem for Lizzie? Bullshit. Not a problem for 5SOS, and Michael in particular? Seemed unlikely. 

--

Lizzie was worried she’d have a restless night’s sleep because of her overwhelming anxiety about the next day’s reunion, but the exhaustion from her travelling overtook her and she almost slept through her alarm. A quick shower and a shot of espresso later and Lizzie was downstairs waiting for Danielle to pick her up to head over to meet the band.

“Morning! How’d you sleep?” Danielle chirped as she rolled into the car park, her car window down. 

“Very deeply, thank you! The room is really comfortable. Thanks again for organising.” Lizzie mentally urged herself to keep up the small talk as a way of hiding her nerves.

The car ride over was mostly quiet, but when they pulled up outside of what Lizzie assumed was Calum’s house, she definitely felt like she was about to vomit.

“Just so you know, I flagged our conversation last night with the band. About your pitch around the individual interviews, and also about your little… connection to them. Ashton didn’t seem to think it was a problem, so it should all be fine.” Danielle mused, as she opened her car door and hopped out. All Lizzie could do was nod, because her throat was dry and she was starting to panic. She blindly followed Danielle through the front gate and around the side of the house to a building in the backyard, Lizzie strained to hear what sounded like raised, male voices floating towards them as they approached. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it didn’t entirely sound positive.

Danielle knocked loudly on the door and shot Lizzie a reassuring smile, before the shouting subsided and it swung open. Calum Hood stood in the doorway, and Lizzie sucked in a breath. It’d been eight years, maybe more since she’d last seen Calum, and even then, had they spoken? She couldn’t remember. 

Calum smiled at Danielle, and then his eyes flickered over to Lizzie, not quite carrying the same happiness, but not entirely losing it either.

“Morning, ladies. Welcome to casa di Calum, come on in.” He spoke with that scratchy, deep voice of his that Lizzie had reacquainted herself with when watching hours of interviews during her research. 

Danielle stepped passed Calum into the room, and she indicated for Lizzie to follow, which she did. Lizzie could feel Calum’s gaze on her as she brushed past him, but the minute she stepped inside, any sense of warmth or welcome she’d felt before vanished. 

Luke and Ashton were standing over by the sound recording panel, turning to look at Lizzie and Danielle as they entered. Lizzie thought she saw a hint of a smile on Luke’s face (they had survived Year 8 Maths together, after all… that had to count for something, right?), but Ashton was unreadable.

Entirely obvious, though, was the look of bitter disdain on Michael Clifford’s face when Lizzie finally spotted him hunched over on the couch along the wall. Those grey-green eyes were staring her down with a harsh glare. It had familiarity about it, Lizzie realised, but not in a good way. 

Danielle cleared her throat in the silence, and turned to Lizzie.

“Well, I believe introductions might not be required, but in the interest of professionalism and courtesy - “ Lizzie didn’t miss Danielle’s pointed glance towards Michael, who was still scowling silently towards everyone - “Lizzie Lawson from Junkee, I would like you to meet Calum Hood, Ashton Irwin, Luke Hemmings and Michael Clifford, also collectively known as 5 Seconds of Summer or 5SOS.” 

Lizzie waved, and then immediately cursed herself for being so goddamn awkward.  She received a nod of recognition from Ashton, and small smiles from Luke and Calum. From Michael, more scowling. This was going to be a long three weeks. 

“So, Lizzie, why don’t you go through the pitch for the profile that we discussed yesterday? The boys already have a bit of an idea, but I’m sure they’d love to hear it from you.” Danielle was being overly encouraging, but it worked, and Lizzie took a deep breath before speaking.

“Thanks, Danielle. And thank you to you guys, honestly. I know this is a little strange for all of us -”

“Fucking oath it is.” Lizzie heard Michael mutter under his breath, but she continued, undeterred. 

“But, I’m really excited to have the opportunity to interview you and pull together this story. Especially on behalf of the Australian music media. I know they haven’t always given you the recognition you deserve, but I think this piece is a chance to overcome that. Anyway, the specific pitch I’d love to go with is reflective of you as individual artists, as well as the collective band group. If it’s suitable, it’d be great to have the chance to speak to each of you one-on-one as well as a group, to give a holistic view of your journeys as people and as musicians and what you’re trying to achieve with this album. So… yeah…” Lizzie trailed off nervously, clenching her hands at her sides.

“I love it. We’re happy you’re here, Lizzie. I really loved the Matt Corby piece Danielle sent us, and like you said, it was really important for us to have the perspective of an Australian journalist for this story and where we’re at right now.” Ashton’s calm voice broke the silence, as he nodded at Lizzie in agreeance. Luke and Calum nodded too, and Lizzie tried not to look towards Michael because no doubt he was still glaring at her.

“Great! Everyone’s on the same page. I have to dash off to a meeting, but Lizzie has my number if she needs it, otherwise all of you please behave and don’t scare her off, nor say anything that means I’ll have to destroy her tape recorder. Sound good? Good!” Danielle rattled off quickly, moving out the door and shutting it behind her. 

The tension in the air was thick, and it was all seething from Michael’s direction towards Lizzie. She closed her eyes for a moment, before reaching into her bag and pulling out her phone, notebook and pen. She spotted a chair behind her, and turned back towards Luke and Ashton.

“Well, where do you want to start? A group sit down, some general thoughts on the journey so far and what the album experience has been like?” Lizzie offered, trying to make herself sound enthusiastic, but also in control and like she knew what she was doing.

Luke, Calum and Ashton all murmured in agreeance, and moved themselves over to sit by Michael on the couch, while Lizzie dragged the chair she’d spotted over to sit facing them.

“Right. All good if I audio record this?” She asked, hitting record on her voicenotes app after three heads nodded at her.

“So, the album. Where did it begin? Did anyone or anything influence or kick off the sonic direction or the start of the exploratory process?”

The conversation was flowing quite well, Lizzie though. Ashton dominated most of the responses to her questions, but Luke and Calum chipped in their perspectives throughout. Michael didn’t say a word, even when Calum poked him in the side, and instead of glaring at Lizzie he was now staring blankly at the wall over her shoulder. An improvement, sort of, but still not ideal from a journalist and interviewee perspective, let alone when the interviewee was someone who used to be Lizzie’s best friend. 

Before she knew it, an hour had past, and Ashton stood, remembering a meeting they had scheduled with the label and their management team, and bringing the interview to a close. 

As Lizzie was packing up her equipment, she cautiously brought up the topic of the one on one interviews. 

“So, does anyone in particular have free time in the next few days, so I can start on the individual profiling part of the story?” Lizzie asked, her tone hopeful.

Michael’s response was to push straight past her and walk out of the studio, muttering to himself and slamming the door as he went. The loud noise made Lizzie flinch, and she realised her heart was racing and her hands were a little shaky. 

“I’ve got time, LL Cool J. I’ll meet you at Joan’s on Third for lunch, say 1pm?”  Lizzie smiled at the pld nickname Calum slipped into his quiet response to her question. 

“Works for me, C Dizzle Swizzle. Thanks again for your time today, I really appreciate it. Not to sound like a broken record, but I’m really excited for this piece and the chance to tell your story.” Lizzie found herself grinning like an idiot as she met Calum’s warm gaze, and noted that Ashton and Luke were also smiling at her.

“We’re excited too, Lizzie. Even if… some of us might not quite be as enthusiastic as they should be. But, don’t worry. He’ll come round.” It was Luke that spoke this time, his striking blue eyes somehow staring straight into Lizzie’s soul as he looked at her. 

“Here’s hoping.” Lizzie tried not to sound too dull in her response, but it was a challenge. 

Because honestly, how the fuck was she going to do a profile on all four members of 5 Seconds of Summer, if one of them could barely stand being in the same room as her?

Time will tell, Lizzie thought to herself as she walked out of the door to Calum’s studio and into the warm California sunlight. Time will tell. 

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[breadcaaat]

part seven

jeongguk x hybrid!reader

| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven

words: 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of rape and revenge porn

“I wasn’t born in Seoul. I’ve actually only lived here for a couple of years.”

“Where were you born?”

“Busan.”

She nodded, as if she knew where that was. He bypassed explaining Korean geography and continued.

“Anyway, I came here for college three years ago with Da Eunae - my high school girlfriend. She was studying to become a teacher and I wanted to get into videography… ” He picked at his fingernails. Move on, he thought. It was a bittersweet subject. He had little to no possibility of pursuing that career now. “Anyway, about half-way through my freshman year - I’d just been meeting all sorts of new people, you know, and I realized that I didn’t really love my girlfriend anymore, so I broke up with her. I wanted to explore, and she was too possessive. Like - if I talked to anyone female she was immediately suspicious, but she wouldn’t outright accuse me, if that makes any sense. She’d just give me the cold shoulder, but also be super - super clingy at the same time. I mean - clingy isn’t bad, though! It was just the wrong type and so…” Move on, move on.

“Right, I explored. There was stuff I was curious about - different scenes and people and stuff - and I’d also been questioning my sexuality for a while at that point and decided to just kinda… put myself out there. Had a whole new friend group in two months and they were awesome. That’s actually when I met Hobi-hyung. There was a dance workshop second semester, and he was in his senior year so he introduced me to a lot of people. Everyone likes Hobi.”

“Is this the one you went out for drinks with?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded, and he felt himself relaxing a bit. Freshman year had honestly been great, even with the angst of letting his old girlfriend go. It’d been a relief, with time.

“During the summer after, I did a photography internship with a local journal and spent some time back in Busan - pretty uneventful. Fun, though. And at some point I decided to really,” he cleared his throat, and the tips of his ears dusted pink, “explore, and I started… sleeping around.”

Y/N nodded, chin propped on his shoulder. She seemed unperturbed.

“Boys and girls,” he clarified. If he was expecting a reaction he didn’t get one - besides a little cock to her eyebrow as if asking And?

He couldn’t help but prod. “That’s not weird?”

She shook her head. He seemed hesitant to let it go though, so she clarified. “My lover in the cages likes boys and girls, too. I’ve slept with other women. Thought it was normal. If you wanna have sex with someone then… you wanna have sex with them, and that’s it.” A small pause, and a little furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “Is it weird?”

Jeongguk hadn’t stopped processing the first statement yet. “You had a lover?” 

She nodded, looking a little puzzled now. The spotlight was supposed to be on him, not her. “Yeah; an ex-stripper.We shared a cage and were pretty tight…” Then she shook her head, focusing back on the subject at hand, “I’ll tell you about him later, though. I still don’t know what - this was all about.”

He nodded and cleared his throat. Right, yeah. He’d pursue that line of questioning later.

But, honestly… he’s still not sure what happens next in the story. The effect on him, yeah. The result, sure. But the cause?

He still has no clue.

“And then, I dunno.”

“You don’t know?” She seemed thoroughly confused as to the connection between this history and his anguish about it.

He sighed, heavily. 

“I don’t know. I started sophomore year, and then suddenly there was this huge following online where people posted… videos and stuff. Of me having, um, sex. I didn’t even know videos had been taken. And most of the videos were with the men I’d slept with. They got posted to this porn website and a couple people from the college got ahold of them and they circulated - and then that was that.” 

He was silent for a second. The turbulence of his confusion then affected him even now. When he next spoke, it was quieter.

“The only people that stuck around were Hoseok and Eunae. I think my friends couldn’t look at me without seeing what they saw in the videos, you know? I don’t… blame them. It’s weird.”

She was silent for a minute.

Then she got huffy.

“I do. And fuck your ex, dude.”

Finally, he turned around. “What?”

“I know my hearing is better than yours but you can’t have that shitty a sense of - ”

“No, what do you mean by what you said?”

“I meant to say fuck your ex, she sucks.”

There was a long moment where she looked at him expectantly. Like whatever connection she’d made was obvious.

He gave her a look.

“… You really don’t see it, huh?”

He shook his head.

The deep inhale she took he could then feel against his back, and the two of them swayed with it. It was heavy. She was preparing to say something just as heavy.

The breath came out in a rush. Her head tipped forward and tapped his shoulder. Mutedly, he noticed how soft her hair had become. It cheered him up a little.

“When - when you get turned into - into… a hybrid. Like me, um…”

The stutter was something he hadn’t heard in a while. He watched in surprise as her ears folded back against her head, as she curled in on herself - almost hiding behind him. It was her turn to avoid eye contact now. It made him apprehensive, but he was focused on her more now than he had been all day.

“Go on,” he murmured. She nodded against his shoulder.

“The way it works is you get, um, commissioned. Somehow, before it all, you catch someone’s eye - someone with money - and they get in contact with Sheepdog, and then they commission you. They describe what animal they want you to be, and look like, and act like, and how they want you trained and… you lose everything.” 

Her voice was so quiet. He felt like the whole world was contained in just this flat. 

“They take your memory, and they keep taking it - I don’t know how; they don’t tell us. But the lab is where you feel like you’re born. I really don’t know how to describe what it’s like being - being born as an adult, but… that’s how it is, and you’re sensitive and vulnerable and everything hurts. You want someone to take care of you and coddle you and protect you and - and touch you, so badly it physically hurts. Right in your chest. It’s like a, a twist. But there’s no one, and every time you reach out for comfort it’s denied. It hurts every time. It never stops hurting.”

As tender as he could manage, his fingers wound into hers where they were still kneading at his hoodie strings. She relaxed a little.

“And then your owner comes. They throw open the door and sweep you away to a place where there’s food and luxury and nice clothes, and they act so nice and they - they touch you. They worm their way under your skin while you’re still like that - all, all innocent and scared - and they seem like saviors. You think that everything will be better and that it’s so good you’ve left that dark, scary place, but ultimately…” 

She scrounges up the courage to look him in the eyes then. 

And for the first time since they’ve met, it really hits him just how scary her life has been. He understood that it was dangerous, but not scary. Not like the dark is to a child.

“Ultimately, your owner put you there.”

She finishes, and seems to hold her breath. She’s looking for that click behind his eyes. He has to see the connection now. She hopes he does, and that he sees how he’s been wronged. That he spots the parallel.

And really, he doesn’t get it - until he very suddenly he does. 

The click she was looking for happens, and he feels sick. The few bites of ramen he had were craving a return to the open air. 

It was no secret Eunae wanted him back. And no secret that she was competitive - it was one of the things he thought was attractive about her in the beginning, because he is too, and also one of the qualities that eventually drove him away. After he dumped her, she must’ve felt like she’d lost somehow. And - lemon juice in the wound - to men. She’d always had a problem with that, too. Boys kissing boys and girls kissing girls. She’d always said it was gross. He never bothered to correct her.

So, it was plausible. 

It was plausible that she’d wanted him back so bad that she’d engineered a “dark place” - paid off or convinced or whatever’ed some of his partners into filming him when he wasn’t aware, and then got her hands on those videos and posted them. The result: he lost his friends. And she made a now obviously convenient return into his life, open-armed and honey-tongued.

Ultimately, she put you there.

A new flavor of bile.

It’s bitter. Tinged with some emotion he can’t quite place. Something primal and angry and feral. He’s lost so much because of some girl’s - what, pride? Jealousy? He lost basically everything because of an ex?

But take a step back. She may also… not have. He might still be the unlucky victim of some - admittedly - very coordinated bullies.

And when it came down to it, it never mattered who did this to him. The result would still be the same no matter where the blame lies. He still lost everything. He lost his friends, and his college, and his career… his family. They left him, too -

“You’re crying.”

A finger brushes his cheekbone, wicking the water away. He’d been so in his own head for the past few minutes he hadn’t realized.

“There’s more?” she guessed.

He sighed and scrubbed at his eyes with too-scratchy sleeves. “Yeah. Yeah, there - ” his voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and went on, “ - there is.”

“Tell me.” Gentle. Firm.

Another long, too-long pause.

“One of my professors saw my videos.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, but - he didn’t, like…” Another sigh, this one frustrated. “It hadn’t reached my family yet, so he blackmailed me.”

He didn’t elaborate further. Whatever it was seemed more painful than the rest.

She prodded anyway. “Into?”

“Into letting him fuck me.”

She blinked.

“He just… really liked what he saw in those videos, I guess. And someone got a picture! And it got into the news and then the school ousted me and then - !“

“Breathe,” she reminded him. More tears were budding at his lash line, and she wiped them gently away. They spilled and rolled over his cheekbones.

He sucked in a breath, then continued. It was like he’d opened the floodgates. Now he had to get everything out or he felt like he’d die. “And then my family learned about it anyway. My parents were never rich. We were relying on my uncle - he’s got a lot more money - to help me out financially. I was already on thin ice before for my major. And then it came out that I was - I was fucking guys and getting fucked by guys and sleeping with my professors and coaches and whatever the fuck else and that support was yanked out from under my feet like a rug. And then I had no job, so I was completely broke, and then I broke the phone I had and… “

“And?”

“And I’d never memorized my parents’ numbers. And they don’t know how to use the internet well, even when they have access, which they usually don’t. So I haven’t talked to them in…” He used to keep count of the weeks; he used to remember. It hurt to, though. He’d stopped.

“… In a long time. And that’s all. That’s my fucking - sob story, so, uh, take it or leave it I guess.”

She doesn’t speak for another long, long minute.

“Does talking about this at least feel any better?” she whispers.

“I don’t know what to feel.”

So she grips him tight, leaning to the side so they both topple over into the pillows. 

He’s not usually the little spoon.

… It feels nice.

“How would you feel?” he asks after a minute. The cuddling is soothing, and he’s feeling braver now.

“Hm?”

“Like, if all this happened to you and you were me, how should you feel?”

“Well, is this a would or should scenario?”

He chews on that for a second, before answering, “Would.”

“Angry.”

“Should?”

“Angry.”

He scoffs. “Don’t you lose the moral high ground, then? Anger is all… evil and stuff.”

“Bullshit. Anger is perfectly moral.”

She doesn’t explain further, but he’s curious now. Perhaps he does feel a little better.

“… How so?”

“Here, roll over.”

“Huh?”

She loses her patience very quickly, gripping him by the waist and rolling him over herself. They’re face to face now. His nose is almost touching hers, and it makes his breath catch in his throat.

(Her face is really pretty.)

“Anger is perfectly righteous, and you wanna know why?”

Suddenly feeling very shy, he just nods. But that’s a bad idea because it makes their noses brush and he can’t help but imagine a different flavor of the sleepy mornings they share. Mornings where instead of blanket tug-of-war and nipped ears there’s just the gentle press and slide of soft lips and -

She must sense he’s not completely there, reaching up to pat at his face. He needs to hear what she has to say. He deserves anger. He blinks.

“You deserve anger.” Good start. “You deserve it because - because you’re worth it. You - you’re worth something, and because of that, you deserve to feel anger over how you’ve been mistreated and stepped on because everything that’s been done to you is wrong. Any moral standard that doesn’t allow you anger doesn’t allow you to defend yourself.”

Her hand’s stayed on his face. She lets her thumb brush the reddened rim of his eye, hoping that her fingers are cool enough to help with the swelling. She doesn’t like seeing him cry.

“And I understand that you gotta fight for the ability to feel angry for yourself but I - I just… that’s why I would and should be angry, if I were you. You deserve that anger.”

The urge to close his eyes and lose himself to the weight of her palm on his cheek and the gentle brushing of her palm is a strong one, but he forces himself to keep them open and look at her.

“I’d get angry,” she repeats. Her voice is a whisper. “And I’m angry for you.”

He doesn’t know if he agrees with her; at least not at first. But he tries to take it in the context of her life. Anger is what she’s learned it to be, not what society has said it is. So to her, anger is a different entity.

To her, anger must be justice. It’s her drive for justice. 

And he’s on board with that.

He’s angry.

A/N: of course, now that im seven chapters in, im starting to dislike the chapter style. im thinking of - when this is all finished - doing one last collective post with all the parts in one, so its just a ~40k beast

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[kekekentyuh]

Tomorrow, Today

Jinyoung heard the engine die down abruptly as the old pick-up truck came to a short pause, prompting him to tear his eyes from where he was looking out the window to look at his friend by the driver's seat, said friend's hands still clenched against the steering wheel.

"Is there a reason why we're stopping?"

Jaebum just blinked, in obvious awe with his surroundings, closing his gaping mouth as he replied, "Let's hang here for a bit."

The expression in the former's face shifted almost instantly from confusion to pure disbelief. "This is the middle of nowhere."

Jaebum turned around to push the handle of the creaky pick-up truck door open. "I'm well aware."

"The car is parked in the middle of the road."

"I can see that, too."

"The lodge is still, like, a half-hour away." Jaebum stood a few inches from the car's front end, looking up at the soaring pine trees around them in what looked like genuine curiosity in his eyes; Jinyoung rolled his own, feeling his irises strike the top of his eyelids, and pushed his car door open and stepped out, figuring his friend was far-off to hear any call, judging by both his distance from the car and the way he looked at the trees, not tearing them off of them even for a second to look at him.

They’d stopped in front of a red-and-white flared sign at an intersection, four angry arrows pointing to both their left and their right, seemingly mocking them with that angry hue and insulting warning: CROSSROADS AHEAD. Jaebum had stopped the car a few inches from the white line that marked the end of the road, had stepped a few feet beside the signs to stare at the fine wisps of pine above him, through mountains and mountains of trees cascading as fas the eyes can see, his blue shirt and chocolate trousers seemingly blending in with the bright, unreal colors of everything around them. Jinyoung continued to look at him like he was crazy, like he always did, and sighed in extreme exasperation.

“This is insane. We can’t stop now, Jaebum. We’ve been traveling for a day straight just so we can catch up. I bought a shitload of snacks to stuff the backseat so we wouldn’t have to stop driving. We even scheduled our bathroom breaks so we could make it for the rehearsal dinner.” He could hear Jaebum’s steps on the pavement, like fading echoes as the distance grew. “We’re going to be late.” 

Jaebum backed up a few steps, tilting his head some more, eyeing the tips of trees, which were a luscious shade of mint green, cool to the eyes, a sight of relief for the brightness around them. Jinyoung looked at him intently with both his eyebrows raised, unable to understand why he was so distracted. “Were you even listening to me?”

Jaebum squinted his small eyes in an attempt to disregard the distance. “Woodpeckers.”

Jinyoung blinked. “What?”

“There may be woodpeckers up the tops of those trees.” His tone was hushed but factual; silent but guarded and sure. “You can see the leaves rustling.�� Jinyoung immediately snapped his head to the direction he was pointing at, finding, sure enough, a subtle small rustling within the crevices of the leaves that could indicate the presence of a small, wood chipping bird, then snapped his head immediately back, mentally slapping himself for letting Jaebum distract him in the middle of an interrogation.

“We need to go,” he asserted, looking directly at his friend with the best piercing gaze he could muster. “Let’s get to the car.”

Jaebum continued to inspect the trees, dragging his feet along the deep gray pavement. “We’re not in a rush.”

“We’re wasting time.”

“The rehearsal dinner doesn’t start for another four hours.”

Jinyoung glanced at the black leather-strapped watch slung around his wrist. He hated it when he was right. “We haven’t really arrived yet.”

“The cabins are not too far from here. It’s just over the pond and across the big, green rice field, and we’re there. And besides—” Jaebum looked over at him, the first time he’s looked since he left the car, “—I’m driving.”

Jinyoung, who was still yet to learn how to drive a car, let along ignite the engine, grimaced. “I paid for the gas, asshole.”

“You won’t need gas when you’re not driving, dumbass.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jinyoung snapped back, very evidently beginning to lose his patience. “We need to go. Get in the car.”

“We still have time, Jinyoung.”

“But we’ve not yet dressed appropriately, we still need to cha—”

“I’ll get us there faster.”

“But—”

“God, Jinyoung! C’mon! Calm down!” Jinyoung bit back the complaint at the tip of his tongue, his mouth left agape as he stared at Jaebum in disbelief. “It’s fine. It’s not like we still have the rest of the country to cover at this point. It’s just a small break. We’re not in a hurry.” 

Jaebum looked back at his friend, whose nostrils were flaring at arms were crossed firmly around his torso, ears red in frustration. “And besides, it’s not like my sister’s going to mind if I show up late. And my mom really couldn’t care any less.” He sighed. “Trust me. If we get there early, we’ll be lying on the sofa beds reading dusty old books because the dingy ancient television set doesn’t work anymore. I’d rather we get there late.”

Jinyoung side-eyed him, which was the only thing he could do without bruising him, or slapping him, or inflicting any sort of damage to his face before his sister’s rehearsal dinner. His line of sight was almost cut off by the shining sun, peeking beneath the shade of the trees in a beautiful shade of color he can’t quite make out, feeling it against his skin, like it was kissing him. He’d been to Jaebum’s family’s log cabin farm way back since they were children, and it’d always been beautiful and mesmerizing, with a breathtaking view of the mountaintops by the balconies and lakes that shone like diamonds during sunny days; it was no question why Nayeon would want to get married there. 

But it never occurred to him how much more the way there had to offer.

“What exactly do we do here, then?” 

Jaebum turned to him, with an unsure look on his face as he stood there, savoring the sunlight, too. But, almost immediately, he smiled, and turned away. “I told you. We’re here to take a break.”

The guy placed a palm on the pavement, as if feeling the earth beneath it, knowing its temperature, and, in less than a split of a second, was lying down, one arm behind his head, the other resting quaintly on his stomach, eyes closed to the endless shower of sun dust in front of him.

“You’re crazy,” Jinyoung went, his eyes wider than an owl’s. “You’ve gone mad. You stopped driving at the middle of a road in an Edward Cullen-like Twilight pine tree forest just so you can lie down on the pavement?” Jaebum’s lips curved into a small, slender smile, his eyes tightly bound shut, letting out a small, hushed chuckle. “You’re insane.”

“You’re welcome to join me, you know.” Jinyoung almost laughed. “It’s only the two of us here. Edward’s probably not coming.”

“I am not lying down at the middle of a highway, Jaebum.”

Jaebum nodded. “Suit yourself. But can you scoot a little bit further? Just right by your left. You’re blocking my sunlight.”

Jinyoung felt his nostrils flare, his jaw clench, and his veins stretch, almost to a popping point. He didn’t know why he was doing this, and he didn’t understand its actual point, but the minute he realized it, he was lying down perpendicularly to his friend, both his hands resting on his chest, after grunts and groans, his cream jacket and newly-steamed khaki bottoms now scrubbing against the pavement. God, Jaebum is so stupid.

“See? Not so bad, now, isn’t it?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

For a while, none of them spoke; Jinyoung found it peaceful, like the kind of momentous peace he didn’t know he needed. The serenity spoke to him in volumes — it was just him, Jaebum, and the forest, with its scaping, singing pine trees that danced in the wind, its bright, still sunlight that caressed their cheeks, and its distant whistling summer breeze, laying him peacefully against the earth. Something like this actually felt nice — to empty one’s head of all the thoughts and worries, and just be within a moment, peaceful, serene, and settled, not letting anything pierce the glass that kept you from reeling back to reality. And with the way he knew Jaebum was getting some rest, too, after driving since dawn, he wished time could pause until they both felt like continuing the journey — but it couldn’t.

Jaebum’s voice then came at the hushed tone he’d heard before, the same hushed tone he uses when he’s thinking and wants to know something. “How’s uni?”

Jinyoung looked up at him to see his legs now crossed in the air, his eyes still squeezed shut. “What do you mean? Like how’s everything there? Or how is it going for me?”

“You know what I mean,” he replied without moving his face, keeping a still, serene stature.

Jinyoung resumed his original position, looking at the tips of the pines that poked the sky, subtle shadows reflected against his forehead. “It’s all going well, I suppose. I’m working towards raising my GPA. You know, so I can become valedictorian.”

“Sounds like a plan,” his friend mutters, the subtle pride and contentment evident in his voice. “You’re going to do great.”

“Hope so,” he replied with the exact opposite energy: unsure, and confused. “How about you? You still at that internship with the big-shot producer?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“They didn’t mention it being a coffee-making job. I could’ve stopped by a Starbucks and asked for a job and they would’ve given me the same shit. But at least I’d get paid.” Jinyoung almost laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “But, you know, it’s tight. I’m learning a lot. This is more studio time I’ve experienced in my life. It’s bomb.”

Jinyoung smiled. “Glad it’s working out for you.”

Then the question popped in his head, even though he knew it wasn’t supposed to. It was one of those questions that took more energy to keep than to ask, and, knowing himself, he wouldn’t survive a minute without having to let it rip.

“Have you ever thought about what you’re going to do next, Jae?”

“Oh, easy. I’m going to get up, walk to the car, check the gas and turn the eng—”

“No, not that, you shit.” Jaebum snickered, a laugh Jinyoung hadn’t heard in a while, and was glad to have heard. “Like, after your internship ends. Do you know what you’re going to do?”

Jaebum was silent, and for a moment, Jinyoung thought he’d taken it too far. Jaebum wasn’t one to share his thoughts with anyone, even with him, who was his best friend for seven years, even if there was a gun pointed right at the side of his head. All of it was hot water.

But he replied with a frank “No.”

“You don’t?”

“No fucking clue.” Jinyoung fell silent as well, trying to think of the next best thing to say. “What about you?”

He hesitated for a moment, biting his lip to avoid embarrassing himself, but quickly reminded himself that he had nothing to lose with Jaebum. “I have no fucking clue, too.”

“Really? Well, that’s new.”

Jinyoung looked up at him again, curious. “It is?”

“Yeah. You’re Jinyoung. Park Jinyoung. You always have a plan. Nothing comes through without a plan, right?” Jinyoung redirected himself to look at the blue sky, unsure of what to say next. He knew he was Jinyoung — he didn’t need to be told twice — but he didn’t feel like himself anymore. Something was missing. 

“You know, when we were still in school, everyone said you’d do great things when we grew up. You’d become a doctor, or a lawyer, or all that good stuff. You always got the stars, and always got the first option in desserts because you always shone in class. All of the teachers I knew loved you.”

Loved, Jinyoung thought. The keyword here is loved.

“That was years ago, Jaebum, we’re not kids anymore.”

“Yeah, but not much has changed, right? You’re still doing well in school, consistently doing well with academics, and balancing work with your clubs and groups. You’re veering towards becoming valedictorian and being groomed for medical school because they know you’re going to be one of the best they’ll ever know.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re the most intelligent, talented, most gifted person I have ever met, and I’m always going to be proud of you for it.”

Jinyoung stays silent as Jaebum stopped, letting him flow out of his mind uninterrupted. He knew the past few weeks had been rough for him, as he struggled incessantly to keep so many aspects of his life together, and he consistently had to do it alone. This, Jinyoung figured, was the first time he was talking to anyone about it.

“Meanwhile, I was just your friend.”

Jinyoung’s face froze, his eyes blinking tensely. “What?”

“You know. Growing up, I was always just your friend. Jinyoung’s friend, the guy he hands out with. The one who looked like he could cut a snake up and tie it around your neck like a choker.”

He knew not to laugh at this remark, even though it seemed like Jaebum wanted him to laugh. “Jaebum, that’s not true.”

“It is,” he replied, with no inch of anger evident in his voice. “People always wondered why I hung out with you, or why you chose to stay with me, because so many thought you were too good for me, or you had more things to do with your time than waste it with me. You had a bright future ahead of you, and I was just some runover waiting to throw his life away.” Jinyoung couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Guess they were right.”

He snapped his head up, felt his legs graze against the rough surface as he punched his friend’s arm with all the might he could muster, said friend groaning in response. “What was that for?”

“Your breath was starting to smell like bullshit.”

Jaebum’s eyes both widened and narrowed in confusion. “What?”

“You were my friend because you were kind to me, Jaebum,” Jinyoung began, looking him dead in the eyes. “You were one of the only people who I could be friends with my whole life that didn’t want anything from me, who didn’t want to cheat off me for a test or get something from me because they knew I knew. You were one of the only people that ever entered my life that never told me what I had to do with my life, like what I wanted for myself was more of a choice than destiny because you saw me past my skills.” Jinyoung felt his lip tremble. “You were true, Jaebum, and that’s more than what I needed.”

“Jinyoung—”

“Everyone expects me to make the right move, the right decision because they say they know I’ll do great things one day, even though they clearly don’t know anything about what I want for myself. I’ve always hated anyone who said that, and hearing that from you stung way more than it could have ever gotten.”

Jaebum sat up, not breaking eye contact, and sighed. “I’m sorry—”

“I’m not perfect, Jaebum. I do well in school, but I’m not perfect. I haven’t figured out what I really want, because all my life, people have hounded me and pushed me towards paths they say will be great for me. But now that I get to decide if I really want to become something — something other than this doctor they expect me to just breeze through — I can’t, because I never truly understood what it meant to know myself.” Jinyoung’s lip trembled with every word, and Jaebum couldn’t come any closer. “That’s something you get to do that I’ll always envy. You’re brave, Jae. And you know yourself more than I could ever do myself.”

Jinyoung buried his head beneath his arms, his legs tucked towards his center as the silence befell on them once again. Jaebum stared at him intently, letting his glances dance from the light color of the white lines that decorated the center of the stretching road, to the light color of Jinyoung’s shirt, that gleamed ethereally under the sunlight. He amassed himself to speak again.

“Y’know, I’m kind of glad we’re sitting down here in the middle of the road.” Jinyoung slowly picked his head up, an exasperated, distinct type of sadness evident in his eyes, staring straight into Jaebum’s. 

“Why?” he asked, in a toned-down version of his anger from before.

“It’s kind of telling me something.” He stood up, kicking the underside of his friend’s shoe in the process, signaling him to stand up with him, but he went on before him. “I’ve never once looked at this beautiful road before, even though I’d been coming to the cabins my whole life, and it’s always because I’m too busy minding my shit, or looking forward to what’s ahead. I spend a lot of time spacing out to think about what I’m going to see when it’s not even there, and I’m really not even ready to see any of it yet.”

He looked back to see Jinyoung, hair disheveled and hand stuffed in pockets, socked feet together, staring back at him again. “You get what I mean, right?”

Jinyoung raised an eyebrow. “You’re too young and built to be a wise old man.” He nodded slightly in affirmation. “But I do.” 

Jaebum offered him a smile, the kind, genuine, it’s going to be okay one, and the other rolled his eyes a little bit before smiling as well, stepping forward to stand beside his friend, looking at the side opposite of where their vehicle was facing: the long, winding road they’d already taken, the bumps and cracks they’d passed and survived, all the signs they’d seen and ignored and ones they’d seen and thought about ignoring, but didn’t. It was a lot.

“If there’s one thing we both need to hear,” Jinyoung said, brushing himself and Jaebum off from the sidewalk gravel on their backs, “it’s that we’re right where we need to be, always.” Jaebum smiled and nodded. “We’ll cross the bridge when we get there. And we’ll get there soon.”

“Yeah, we will.”

[someonexsomeone]

Oddjob!Mark

Guide for the wildlife tours

He’s always been fascinated with animals, ever since he was a kid

His parents thought they nailed it with his birthday present on his 10th birthday, a dog that was full of energy, but Mark thought it was just...okay

Not that he didn’t love his dog

Of course he loved it with all his heart

But it wasn't...a tiger, a lion, a bear (oh my!) 

Mark went through all the phases a kid goes through - pirate, cowboy, princess, athlete - but nothing really stuck

That is, until, he went into the third grade and his teacher had a collection of books on safari animals

There was just something about them that enamoured Mark to the extent that everything in his life was revolved around the jungles and deserts that inhabited creatures of every kind

From that day forward, Mark knew he wanted to grow up and work with animals

For a while, Mark thought he wanted to be a veterinarian

Got as far as college before he realized that he really couldn’t handle being around sad and sick animals

(and really couldn’t stomach the thought of having to tell someone their pet has passed away)

So he dropped out of that, much to his parents dismay, and transferred to a safer business major

Turns out, he has all the charm for presentations, but absolutely no idea when it came to delivering numbers

Math in high school was fun for him, but how the heck was he supposed to prove this product was worth it based on calculations alone?

His advisor was kind enough and sat down with him for over an hour trying to figure out a good major for him, one that was connected to animals

Unfortunately, zoology was ruled out pretty quick as Mark detested the idea of having to stay in school long enough for a PhD

By some stroke of luck, Mark was finally able to pick communications as a degree

He loved his classes, his natural charisma really coming in handy

He also, accidently, completed both a history and environmental studies minor by simply taking all the classes on animals that he could find

It was a strange collection of skills he had developed through his years in college, but an even stranger series of events that would somehow utilize everything he learned

On a random post-college road trip with some of his friends, they decided to visit this seemingly kiddy zoo just for fun they happened upon

They had plenty of time on their hands - no jobs, significant others, or classes were waiting for them, why not spend the whole day at the zoo?

Mark had to admit that the city they were in was pretty cute, full of people of all ages, and even a small private college to fill the space

The zoo was pretty impressive for the location, and full to the brim with families and friends just enjoying their summer vacation

Mark couldn’t help but note the small note on the corner of every map, hidden in the plea for any donation money, that this zoo also acted as a sanctuary and rehabilitation center

The boys spent their day enjoying everything the zoo had to offer, including the nasty sugared sweets shaped like the different animals throughout the park

The longest line by far was for a tropical boat ride, signs posted all around the entrance promising up close and personal interactions with animals, all from the safety of a small motorized boat. There was even a tour guide aboard to detail the experience!

Did he feel bad making his friends wait in a too long line on a hot day? Yes. Did he feel silly by how giddy he got? Possibly. Did he regret it? Absolutely not.

Within the first five minutes of the ride, Mark just felt something click

That tour guide looked like he was having the time of his life, despite the fact that this was probably the hundredth time he’s don't this exact speech

He even got just as excited as everyone else when the tiger, visible through the glass pane to their right, leap from his tree on to a rock to lounge

For the first time ever, Mark felt like he knew what he wanted to do

He couldn’t stop himself, despite protests from his friends, as he walked towards the tour guide after the tour was over

“So...uh...I really liked the show today. How do I get a job like that?”

The tour guide, whose nametag read Eric, was more than happy to tell him all about his job, the qualifications, and the amazing things he gets to do with animals during his shifts

He even got a monkey to land on his shoulder once!

Mark was completely starstruck

Within the hour, he was handing in his half-hazardly made resume (completely hand written on the back of a disposable map he found because who knew he was going to find his dream job on his stupid road trip?)

Mark has an inkling that Eric put in a good word for him, because the next day, when he was already hours away from the zoo, he got a call for an in-person interview

After ditching his friends, taking a bus back, and somehow scrounging up a presentable outfit for his interview, Mark was agreeing to his new job

And who else happened to be there, applying for an internship in the marketing department - you!

You sat beside Mark, both your legs jittering up and down as you waited in the silent back office, just waiting for your interview

Mark sat beside you (you only knew his name because he was kind enough to introduce himself when you sat down), fidgeting with a rather hideous tie

He was pulling on the ends of it, trying to get it to lay down straight but nothing he seemed to do made the fabric behave

After watching him struggle for a moment, you giggled quietly

“What’s so funny?”

“Your tie. You did it wrong.”

Mark couldn’t help but flush in embarrassment

“I haven’t really had to wear a tie recently. I’m kinda out of practice.”

“Did you want some help?”

He nodded sheepishly

It was almost romantic, the way you leaned over and redid his tie for him, fingers trying to move quickly despite how the trembled slightly

Mark tried to look anywhere but you, but your concentrated face was so cute he couldn’t help his eyes as they drifted over your features

Your blushed cheeks made you even cuter

Mark watched as you finished, your hands resting on his chest lightly as you made eye contact

Only the clearing of the interviewers throat made you two jump apart finally

She was staring down at you, a teasing smile on your face as she called you to her office for her interview

“Good luck,” he called quietly

The smile you gave him made his knees weak

Of course he got the job, and of course he was amazing at it

He was just a natural performer, entertaining the crowd

Every passenger could easily sense his passion for the things he was talking about, and it made them enjoy it that much more

(it also helped that he was extremely easy on the eyes)

Despite being able to talk and get to know people, be with animals all day, and get paid for basically being a kid again, Mark still thinks the best part of his job is seeing you every day

You make sure to pop into one of his tour every once and awhile, sitting right near the front so you can oogle at him all you want

Mark still remembers the shock of seeing you getting on his boat on his first day on the job

You looked up at him with those big ol eyes and made his heart melt

This of course did not go unnoticed by Eric, who had basically become his mentor of sorts

All it took was a single pep talk from him to get Mark off his ass to ask you out

Of course you said yes

It was obvious to everyone the minute you started dating, but who cares?

Nothing was more entertaining than watching you two sitting together and munching on the overpriced and bland cafeteria food, looking at each other with hearts in your eyes

[docholligay]

Pharah/Mercy!

This is really, largely, about a lot of what Pharah and Mercy see in each other, and what makes them so perfect for each other, and how that has to do so much with everything that came before int heir lives. Anyway I really love them. 2,200 words! I hope you enjoy

Ordinary, Routine, Typical

Pharah and Mercy were boring. 

Every Friday night, they had a quiet dinner together before Mercy headed off to service. Every Sunday morning, Pharah brought Mercy coffee and a pastry and they sat in bed reading the newspaper or a journal or some book they had picked up, commenting one to the other from time to time on a point of interest. Every other Sunday night, they went to Winston’s for a family dinner, and, on the third Saturday night of every month, they went out on a date, nearly always the little Italian place, with the corner table, and Pharah always got the bolognese, and Mercy rarely strayed from the alfredo, and the waitress now brought the bottle of rose from the middle of the menu as soon as they sat down.                  

Their life was a series of mile markers on the highway, each as likely as the next, only the odd exit for snacks and a pee break in the form of a trip to Spain, a battle in Paris, the unspeakable daring of a new restaurant. 

Every Valentine’s Day, Pharah brought her the same bouquet, with a card written of her virtues, and a small box of Swiss chocolate, with the dipped oranges she liked best. 

Mercy did not think on this, often, but Tracer had teased her about it the day before, and left her thinking. Tracer was not this way, not at all. She had her pub, of course, and her family, anchors that she returned to when she needed a bit of grounding, but Tracer thrived on the novelty of it all. She was always taking Emily to exciting new bars with passwords and smoking cocktails, hip restaurants that she obtained entrance to by reminding them she had saved London, whisking her away for a weekend in Scotland, a school break in Iceland, anyplace with a landing strip and a hotel was open for consideration. 

Mercy had moved from place to place after her parents were killed. Medical school in Zurich, internships in countries all across Europe in the summers--Italy, Sweden, Germany, and one very memorable summer in Ireland-- residencies in top-rated hospitals, never in the same place, and then a highly-regarded fellowship at a cutting edge hospital in California. 

She had done it all by the age of twenty-five. And she had not been home since she was thirteen. 

Oh there were places she lived, of course, sometimes for a few years at a time, and she had been in Zurich plenty, but home had disappeared for her on the day, replaced by a winding and twisting backroad of uncertainty and newness at each glance. Overwatch had changed none of this, only upped the ante on the whole operation, sometimes in a different place from month to month, always new people. It didn’t help that Mercy was, in some ways, very solitary--all those years being a teenager in medical school had taught her that it was normal--and so she spent most of her time in her lab, or her office, or checking on patients, consulting on cases. 

She’d hadn’t even known she wanted to come home again until she had been walking through Boston one day with Fareeha Amari, and the light turned golden, and she felt a sudden shudder of fear that she would know loneliness again. That constant was no longer a comfort. No longer a little nitpick. 

Pharah would be making dinner tonight, and it would be lamb, with pilaf and a burgundy wine. 

Pharah and Mercy were boring. Well, that is not precisely how Pharah would put it. Mercy was a woman who worked very hard and so of course had little time to plan things or come up with ideas. Pharah would simply say: Pharah was boring, and Mercy paid the price for it. 

She tried, sometimes, to do things that were impulsive and exciting, but she was a woman of routine, a woman of planning and order. They liked the Italian restaurant. The food was both good, and something they rarely ate at home. The service was excellent, and they knew Pharah and Mercy’s preferences. She wanted Mercy to know that she would be there every Sunday morning, bringing her coffee and a pastry she liked. 

Whenever Pharah’s mother had shown up, it was always a surprise to her. Ana did important work, her grandmother had told her in a clipped, efficient way, the way she herself had as a younger woman, and so there was no sense in crying for her. She could feed Pharah breakfast just as well, and take her to her first day of school, so what did it matter what country her mother was in? Her aunt could take her in other times, depending on if her grandmother was needed at a meeting. There were family friends she could stay with. She would always be fed, and clothed, and helped with homework, but where and by whom was a bit more of a question. Amaris went where they were needed. 

Pharah was the dedicated sort, even as a child, and so, not being given a framework to grow around, she built her own. She cooked her own breakfast as soon as she could reach the stove, her beans and eggs simple but nourishing, every morning. She pressed her school uniforms and kept them straight, and she kept her shoes shined and neatly lined. She cut her hair to one and a half inches exactly above the shoulder at eight, and had it trimmed every six weeks. She became a hall monitor, a student leader, a team captain. While her mother wandered in shaky loops and quick darts, Pharah raised herself up in a fine, strong line, where things were assured, whether Ana showed up to share dinner or not. 

She had been so proud of her diligence, of how reliable and steady she was. But staring down at the lamb in her cart at the grocer’s, she wondered if she was too dull for Mercy, who had such a life of excitement and travel before she met Pharah. If the chocolate and poorly-arranged roses and daisies and card were too predictable. 

Tracer was not this way, and everyone loved her, didn’t they? Tracer was exciting, you could never know what she would do or say next, where you would go to, and Emily seemed so pleased whenever Tracer sprung something upon her. Tracer was creative and impulsive and charming. Pharah was the filing cabinet, she thought, and this was not what she wanted for Mercy.

Pharah loved Mercy. Mercy deserved excitement. 

Mercy wore the same pink dress she had worn on their first date, like she did every year, with a little purple wrap for the chill, and came downstairs. There were no candles lit on the table, and lamb did  not fill the air, and Mercy was confused for a moment. Pharah had been so busy with trying to get Overwatch on track here in London, sending out releases to world governments, meetings. It would make sense that she might have forgotten, and still Mercy could not believe it. Her Pharah was steady as the tides. 

Pharah came out of the kitchen in a red velvet blazer, a dark shirt with a burnout pattern on underneath it. She had pulled her hair into a pompadour for the occasion (or rather, had Dva do it, it not being on the list of three practical hairstyles Pharah had taught herself well) and stood smiling in front of Mercy. 

For a moment, Angela Zeigler did not recognize her wife, or perhaps thought, even more briefly, that there had been a sort of Freaky Friday situation, and that Tracer was simply doing a very poor job of imitating her wife, who would be staring at a Tracer with her hair neatly parted in a presidentially blue suit with the same look on her face. 

“You don’t like it.” Pharah’s voice was tinged with embarrassment, and Mercy saw her then, her kind and steadfast love desperately trying to be something new for Mercy. 

“No, I--” She walked toward her, “I am thinking I have never seen you this way.” 

Pharah nodded, and took a deep breath. “I managed to find a club for us. A private booth, with bottle service, and dancing.” 

Pharah did not mention that it was Tracer’s sparkling sense of patter and complete lack of shame that had gotten it. Mercy would know anyhow. Hopefully she would see the love in asking Tracer for help. 

“Oh,” Angela giggled, “so new! I am not in the clubs very often” 

Pharah took her hand. “And there is a restaurant, with food I think neither of us could know. I am sure that I think they know. It seems very experimental.” 

Angela nodded gamely. “I am a scientist, after all.” 

“This will be a different Valentine’s Day,” Pharah brushed at her shiny, loud blazer, “I want--I want to make things exciting for you.” 

“Fareeha, I am never wanting you to be exciting.” It was soft, when she said it, and I bit mumbled at the edges, and she hadn’t realized until she said it that it was true. 

Pharah was dedicated in all areas of her life, and never more did she want to do well than in this. She had gone too far, and become silly, but--

“I can do this better.” 

Mercy shook her head and put both hands in Pharah’s. “No. I--” she stumbled over the words, “Fareeha, my life has been too exciting. You are not doing badly. I only want that…” she looked away for a moment, “I only want that you are, how you are. I love your shoes lined up and you are like a calendar. I feel safe, knowing that I can set my watch to you.” 

She looked back at Pharah, and the honesty and love in her eyes was almost more than Pharah could bear. Even in these years that they’d been married, it surprised Pharah that someone could love her so much for what she was, rather than in spite of it. 

“Tracer--” 

Mercy laughed. “I had my chance to be with Lena and I was so quickly saying no,” She put her hand on the back of Pharah’s neck as she looked at her, “She is different to you. Not better.” 

Fareeha Amari had not realized, until that very moment in time, that sometimes she could be truly jealous of Tracer. Tracer was jealous of her, and admitted to it fairly often. Pharah was tall, Pharah was focused, Pharah was a legacy Overwatch leader, Pharah could remember where she put her keys three minutes ago. Tracer expressed all these things Pharah was, that she wished she were, and Pharah had never expressed the same. Tracer was charming and easy to like, Tracer was funny, Tracer had a constant sense of her family and her place. Yes, Pharah knew, she was just as jealous of Lena Oxton as she was of Pharah. 

“Beside that,” Mercy smiled, “I am boring, too.” 

Pharah chuckled. “No, you traveled--”

“I moved so much, and there I would eat delivery food always and the same box of wine, and read my medical journals, Fareeha, I am not fun, I just wandered.” 

She said it with a sense of sadness and amusement, as if she could believe how silly she was for herself, not to mention saying all this to Pharah. 

Pharah stroked her hair, in the same bun, with the same little enamel flower pin in it, the one Pharah had given her from the Cairo market. 

“We are boring.” 

“Yes,” Mercy stepped closer to her, nose to nose, “together, we are very boring. I like it. I am always knowing where home is.” 

Pharah kissed her, and knew this is what she had always wanted, a wife who was always there, a little bit of a mess but who reveled in Pharah’s sense of structure, who loved the steadiness of her, who saw the same things Pharah saw in the routine: A sense that she would always be caught. That some things could be counted upon. Mercy was the constant person Pharah had always sought, a light at the end of a long journey that still sometimes seemed like a mirage. 

“I will cancel the club,” Pharah nodded, “We are too old.” 

“We are.” 

“But!” Pharah smiled and gave a decisive nod, “We will go to the restaurant. Even boring people like us, should be exciting sometimes.” 

“I am feeling very brave,” Mercy offered her arm, “If you are.” 

Pharah and Mercy were boring. They went to the same restaurants, ordered the same things off the menu, and spent the weekends in the exact same way. They did their chores on the same days, and settled in to read the same magazines and papers with their matching reading lights at night. Their routine rarely changed, only side stops on the larger highway of their lives. They were so very dull, so very steady, and so very predictable. 

And so very at home, and so very, very happy.