#i remember someone posted how much that leather jacket cost and it was LITERALLY more than what i'm paying this year

[katya-goncharov]

i bet jensen ackles's green blazer would pay for my entire postgraduate degree

[uglypastels]

Slide In // Frat!Tom

(a/n) I’ve never written this au before, in like a full fic i think, so i have no idea if this is good, but i had this idea in the middle of the night and yeah. I hope you guys enjoy. this may or may not have been inspired by a certain post @duskholland made about Tom and his mirror selfies <3 how amazing that he literally just posted one today lol

word count: 16.7k

warning: drinking, mention of drug use (weed), school, social anxiety, some smexy innuendos. i made some big last minute changes, so i hope its all coherent. 

DEEPFAVE: Liking a photo (or any post) from over a year ago.

It was a cloudy morning, and it was early. Really really early. Not even the birds felt up to it, it felt like. The campus was slowly awakening or going to sleep (depending on if you had been to last night’s Delta Kappa party, of course). 

It was cold, and the leaves fell off the branches with each huff of the morning breeze. The grass was wet from the previous night’s rain, and it soaked your ankles as you ran through the small grass field, in hopes to cut a bit off the distance to your lecture hall. 

It had not been your fault that you overslept. You had gone to bed early; your backpack was already packed for the next morning. It was supposed to be a relaxing morning, perfect for easing back into it after a week of sleeping in and celebrating the holidays. How could you have expected that your roommate would barge into your dorm at 2 am, still whoo-ing her drunk ass in the corridor with other wasted idiots? 

And it wasn’t like you were against all that partying and drinking. You would have gone yourself to the frat party, but it just didn’t sit right with you. A giant house full of intoxicated strangers- the anxiety running through you just thinking about it was making you shake. 

So, instead of “living a little”, as your older brother called it, you preferred to stay in bed most evenings, either watching Netflix or reading a book. Yet, still, you had been kept awake for so long last night that you slept through your alarm. What was supposed to be a calm morning turned out to be ten minutes of rushed panic. Eventually, you had decided to skip most of your morning routine, including breakfast, brushing your hair or even putting on a decent outfit. You ran out of your dorm, clutching on to your bag, phone and keys.

Your hair was reasonably alright. It was still in the braid you had made before going to bed, but a lot of hair had fallen out during your slumber. When you looked in the mirror though, you saw that it looked decent so you let it be. Not so much could have been said for your outfit. You kept on the same shirt in which you slept in, which was a slightly oversized grey graphic tee from a random indie concert you had been to ages ago. Unfortunately, it was so cold that you couldn’t just go outside in your shorts, so had to spend a precious minute slipping into a pair of sweatpants that were actually not as bum-looking as you had feared.

Luckily, the walk (or in this situation, run) to the lecture hall was short. So, you survived with only a thick sweater over your arms. 

And so, just like that, you were running through campus. The cold air was piercing your lungs as you inhaled deeply. Each breath started with this whistling sound, as you tried to ignore that pain, and ended in an exhale of a cloud of condensation. Maybe you weren’t in the best shape, but even this horrible experience would not make you sign up for the campus gym. No way. 

You could see the lecture hall doors, the wide wooden panelling already towering over you, and you slowed down. You were trying to catch your breath and composure. As always, the doors were heavy and to add to it, the wood could not handle the temperature, so it was even harder to open them. 

“Oh, let me,” you suddenly heard behind you, almost making you jump. The voice sounded familiar, but it wouldn’t click to a particular face just yet. 

“Thanks,” you breathed out as an arm extended from behind you, clad in a leather jacket, and pushed the door open with ease. You followed the arm up with your eyes and saw how it connected to an actual person. Yes, you definitely recognised him. But what was his name again? 

T- something starting with a T. 

He smiled at you politely, nodding the gesture for you to go inside. 

“Thanks,” you said again, before finally moving. 

“No problem,” he was walking behind you but quickly caught up to your side. You saw in his hand a Starbucks coffee, which almost made your mouth water. 

“Professor Dowling’s lecture, right?” he asked, before taking a sip. Your eyes unconsciously followed the movement as the need for caffeine was growing. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” you shook your head, focusing on anything but the delicious rich smell that you could sense coming from the cup—dark roast. 

“Well, good to know I won’t be the only one late,” he chuckled. Troy? Was that his name? No. He didn’t look like a Troy. 

“We’re not that late,” you checked your phone and cursed internally, “only… nine minutes.” 

“Dowling doesn’t care if it’s nine minutes or nine hours. Late is late.” He took another sip. You had to look away before your stomach realised how empty it really was. 

“True, I guess. Well, it was nice knowing you.” You sighed as you had reached the second door leading to the lecture room. Ty raised an eyebrow. No, his name was definitely not Ty. What was it?!

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, Dowling is gonna kill us, isn’t he?” You explained, and he nodded in agreement. 

He was again the one to slowly and quietly opened the door, giving you insight into the room. You almost yelled out in excitement when you saw that the lights had been somewhat dimmed for a slideshow that the professor was giving. You have Tim (nope, not Tim) a knowing look and smile. You had been saved. Then, the two of you slipped into the room, letting the doors close themself. You saw a few people turn their heads as you walked by together, searching for a seat, but you didn’t think much of it. You would have looked too if someone dared to be late for one of Dowling’s lectures. 

Finally, you found an empty seat. Two, actually. It was in the back of the class, so you hoped that once the lights would go back on, Dowling wouldn’t immediately notice the addition of two more faces. The mystery guy, as you were too tired to think of more names and decided to give up, sat down next to you. He pulled out his laptop and turned it on, quickly putting it on the lowest setting of brightness. Just before he had opened it up, you noticed a few stickers. Between a few references from tv shows and movies, you saw the logo of Delta Kappa. You only recognised it because you had been seeing the logo on almost every notice board the last few days together with the campus-wide invitation for last night’s party. 

So he was a frat boy. 

You looked up to the side at him as you pulled out your laptop and notebook. The notebook was more for doodling than anything. But also to write down some more of the essential or just entertaining parts of the lecture, since you had come to realise that writing things down by hand helped you remember better. 

Your heart stopped beating for a second as you opened your laptop, praying that no embarrassing tabs were open or, even worse, you still had Spotify playing on full blast. But you could let yourself relax when the laptop just showed you your desktop. 

Right then, you could hear your stomach growl of hunger. 

“Here,” suddenly T, as you decided to call him for the time being, slid over his coffee to your small desk. You looked up at him in confusion. He had a cap on, so there was not much you could see in the dark shadow, but you saw his sincere smile. 

You thanked him before grabbing the cup. Since it was Starbucks, you hoped to learn his name finally. But instead, in black marker, was written “Holland”. Last name. Well, that was something.

_________________________________

“Thank you,” y/n said before grabbing the drink, taking a look at the name written on it, and taking a big sip of it, although she quickly pulled it away from her lips, her face distorted in a sour expression. 

“Sorry,” Tom apologised, “my hand had slipped when I was pouring in the sugar.” 

“Yeah, I can tell,” she whispered, still a bit disgusted, but it didn’t stop her from taking another large sip. “How can you drink this stuff?” 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Tom grinned. 

Times weren’t exactly desperate, in his case. 

The party had been a massive success. Everyone seemed to have had a great time, and this time, not even at the cost of any of the frat house furniture. Sure, some people might have thrown up in the cooking pans, but that could be easily cleaned up by one of the pledges. 

It all ended around 2 am, which was fairly early, but it was, of course, a school night. Tom remembered to drink water before going to sleep and woke up with only a mild headache. A few painkillers solved that pretty quickly. He got up, stumbled a bit over the mess around the house and was on his way to class. 

He was sure he would have made it on time if it wasn’t for his usual appetite and need for coffee. Yes, he could have made it at home, but for some reason, the coffee from that machine always tasted like piss. And Tom did not want to find out why. So, it had almost become routine for him to stop by the Starbucks that was on the way from the house to the lecture halls. 

What he had not expected was the giant line of customers inside. More people had felt the need for coffee after a wild night of partying. He recognised some girls, still wearing the same dresses they wore to the party. A few guys who looked like they were on the verge of death were sipping their drinks in the corner of the room. The two baristas were running around behind the counter, trying to make the drinks as fast as possible. As fellow students, they knew that there were a lot of people rushing to get to class, at least. 

Tom had even looked at his phone, checking the time before he decided to step into the queue. He had majorly misjudged the time it would take the baristas to make the few drinks before it was his turn to order. In the meantime, people would walk up to him, also recognising him from the party, to tell Tom what a great time they had last night. 

Finally, he got his drink and made his way over to the second station and poured in some sugar. For that extra kick of energy, but also, secretly, because he could not stand the bitterness of coffee. Then, it was really time to leave the crowd. Tom never really minded people and was definitely what you call a “social butterfly”, but there was always a limit. And the limit on a Monday morning was minimal. Even smaller, if you are still trying to get rid of a hangover. 

He had just reached the main square of campus when he saw the big clock. He was already late, so it wouldn’t do much to run. Professor Dowling did not care for excuses or how late you were, even if it was a second. So he could as well just take his time. 

Others had different ideas apparently.

Tom watched as someone ran across the grass, clutching on to their backpack. She stopped at the same door that he was heading for, so he got to have a good look first. The first thing he saw was the back of her head. Hair made up in a braid that was falling apart. A large black sweater, probably her boyfriend’s, was covering most of her frame. 

She was trying to pull open the door that had the word PUSH on them, but Tom didn’t say anything. It was early, and by the looks of her, not that he was judging, she didn’t have a great morning. 

When they had made eye contact, he recognised her from the lectures but did not think he had ever heard her name being mentioned. Professor Dowling loved interacting with the class, no matter how large, and often called out people to answer his absurd questions. She had never put her hand up to answer. Tom was sure of it; he would have remembered her name. 

It interested him to see her pull out, not only a laptop but also a notebook. Did people even use those anymore? Even the dim light he could see the words scribbled on the cover. The decorative style did kind of make it hard to miss it. 

Property of y/f/n.

So that was her name. Tom couldn’t help but smile to himself. 

Having already missed the first ten minutes, he tried his best to focus on the words of the professor, but some things just couldn’t go unnoticed. 

By the look y/n was giving his coffee cup, he could tell that she had not had any herself and the sound of her empty stomach as they sat next to each other only confirmed his suspicion. So, it only felt like the right thing to do to give her some. And the smile he got in return definitely made it worth it. 

His attention was entirely gone by that point, as he watched her open her notebook. It was filled with little drawings. Some were more distinct than others. There were the classic five-petal flowers and the single mysterious eye with no other entity attached to it—also a few little scratchy tornadoes and random filigree. Patches of just lines and different patterns filled up the corners and extended out to the middle of the pages. Tom also definitely recognised a few attempts at bringing back the Super S in there. 

But what also filled up the page were little characters. She must have drawn them during the lectures around Halloween because he recognised a little witch, stylised to the perfect amount of cuteness. There was also a cauldron of bats flying off to the side. 

Tom could have looked at it for much longer and still find some more doodles in there, but unfortunately, she flipped the page. This one was blank. She took out a pen and started to doodle mindlessly.

First, a straight line, to which she attached little ovals. Lightly, but the lines got darker, the more she went over it. Then she made some more lighter lines across it. It made him chuckle when he recognised what it finally was—a piece of wheat. The way she stopped drawing for a second, Tom thought that she had not realised what she was drawing either. It was just a random coincidence where a few lines suddenly could make up an existing object. Then she continued. 

From time to time she’d stop to make a note somewhere in the middle of the page, something that professor Dowling said that made her giggle. It was adorable to hear. 

“Now, this,” Tom could hear the professor say from his little podium, the two little words shook everybody in the room awake because those they were code for IMPORTANT. As Dowling kept on talking, y/n closed her notebook and pulled her laptop closer to type. Tom had to pull himself together to focus on the actual lecture.

Then the sound of her stomach pulled him out of that. That was followed by the whisper of an angry “fuck”. Tom looked over to y/n again. She was trying to type something out, but her shaking fingers kept pressing the wrong buttons. She was crumbling apart from hunger. 

Crumbling… 

Suddenly, Tom remembered. He leaned down to look in his bag, hoping it was still there. It was.

“Hey,” he nudged her side, making her look up at him once more, with caution. He grabbed the small pack of Oreos and slid them over to her desk. She looked perplexed. Then she pushed the, slightly flat-looking, cookies back to Tom. He frowned. 

“I thought I’m not supposed to be taking candy from strangers.” She whispered. Tom chuckled and pushed the pack of four cookies back to her. 

“Well, good it’s not candy then. Eat. I can tell you’re starving.”

Y/n looked at the Oreos, not sure whether to take them or not, but her stomach answered for her.  She opened her mouth, but then she closed it again and turned away. Tom understood it. It would have been the fourth time she would have said: “thank you”. By now, he got the message. As she opened the packet of cookies, Tom went back to listening to the lecture. 

_________________________________

You hesitated before taking the cookies. Were they some kind of prank? You knew how frat guys loved to pull jokes on everyone, even if they were no better than middle school hijinks or cheesy April fools clichés. But the silver packet, except that it looked a bit flat, seemed to be untouched. Most likely because of getting squashed by something in his backpack. 

You opened it and were immediately hit with the delicious whiff of chocolate. You took out one cookie and didn’t bother with the usual way of splitting it open to eat the filling first. You needed food. Now. Even if it were just four broken Oreo cookies. It was better than nothing.

Obviously, you were still hungry and in need of a proper breakfast, but the small snack helped you hold out for the rest of the lecture. 

But now that your stomach was sorted for, you had another problem concentrating. Your new, still unnamed, friend tended to type very loudly. At first, you looked over in a bit of annoyance, which made you actually notice his hands. There was nothing special about them. They were naturally just hands, but the way he moved his fingers across the keyboard… it made you look back in that general direction a few times more.

Probably because of all these distractions, the usual hour and 45 minutes felt much shorter. Before you knew it, professor Dowling was saying his goodbyes and everyone around you started packing up their things.

Needing to get some food ASAP, you packed up your things and practically ran out of the room. Only as you were nearing the cafeteria did you realise that you had never said goodbye to your snack provider. 

Shit.

_________________________________

“Hey, so I was thinking-” Tom was going to suggest grabbing a bite for breakfast together, being somewhat hungry himself, but when he looked up y/n had already packed her things and was on her way to the stairs, following the other students out the door. 

Tom sank back down into his seat. 

“Any problems, Mr Holland?” Tom’s head shot forward to see professor Dowling looking up at him. When he looked around, he saw he was the only one who had not started packing up. 

“No, everything’s alright, sir,” Tom said before getting up with his laptop. “Great lecture. Learned a lot... and stuff.” 

“Good, good,” Dowling said. His glasses were slipping off his nose slightly, so he pushed them back up with his middle finger. “I did not expect you to have heard anything, by the way you and miss y/n were chatting.”

The professor’s words made Tom’s cheek burn up as he pushed the laptop back into its place in his bag. That man saw everything.Suddenly he felt as if he was in middle school again.

“Try to not make it a habit.” 

“No, sir,” Tom said.

Dowling just nodded, meaning the conversation had ended and giving Tom permission to sprint out of the room. 

He wasn’t sure why he was in such a hurry. Maybe he was hoping to find y/n waiting outside the doors. He didn’t even know why he wanted to see her there. He just did. He had this urge just to watch her doodle in that notebook of hers. There was something so endearing about it. 

Alas, no one was waiting for him outside that door. Or even in the proximity of it. There was no one but groups of students making their way from and to class. 

Then, Tom realised that she must have run off to the cafeteria. Still, he decided against going there. As much as he wanted to talk to y/n again, he didn’t want to come off stalkerish. Besides, they’d have another class tomorrow. He could speak to her then. 

“Ayo! Holland!” Tom looked over to a group of people he recognised to be his friends. They were gathered around one of the large windows that was open in the hallway. He waved to them before making his way over. 

“What’s up, man? You looked like a lost puppy.” Jacob said. 

“No nothing, I just zoned out a little, I guess.” Tom shook his head, clearing it off thoughts of y/n. 

“Well, we were thinking,” his best friend and fellow Delta Kappa resident, Harrison joined in on the conversation, “There is this new bar opening next week. The… something- shit, what’s it called again?” He looked over at the rest of the group. 

“The Sterling,” it was Zendaya that answered. She was sitting on the window sill with both legs in front of her, not living much space for anyone else to sit. She had something between her fingers, and Tom could not make out if it were a regular cigarette or a joint. (The smell insinuated at nicotine, so that answered for itself.) The fact that they were on campus did not make much difference to them. She took a drag and blew the smoke out, before handing it to Harrison. 

“So, Holland, you’re in?” 

“Yeah of course.” There’s nothing like the hysteria of drinking yourself sick in some new dingy place across campus. A new one would open up every few months because its predecessor would get shut down after too many accounts of selling alcohol to minors. It had almost become a game for younger students to see how quickly they can destroy a business. Tom and Harrison had been record holders for a while. Five weeks. Tom wasn’t exactly sure how anyone could tell they were the reason for The Six-Ball to close, but it didn’t matter. (“With a name like that, they deserve to shut down,” Harrison had joked before ordering two Long Island Iced Teas.)

Now that they were of the legal drinking age, of course, maybe it wasn’t as fun to go to those shitty holes in the wall, but with the right people, they made it a party every time. 

“Nice! So-” Jacob started talking about how he thought the night had to go, but Tom was already zoned out again. Between Zendaya and Harrison, he had the perfect view of the small grass field. Some people had sat down there with their friends to enjoy the midday, but most people still considered it too cold to sit outside. But what Tom was looking at was behind the grass field. It was the cafeteria doors. He saw that large sweater again. y/n walked out, holding something that looked like a sandwich. Tom smiled to himself. 

“What are you smiling about?” He got nudged in the ribs by someone. 

“Oh, you know, the uhm-” he had no idea what the rest of his friends had been talking about to include in his lie.

“I know,” Harrison said, lounging his arm across Tom’s shoulder to point in the same direction that Tom had been looking at. Tom froze up when he pointed straight at y/n with his finger. 

“Angela Pikowski.” 

“What?” It took Tom a second, but indeed, right in front of y/n, stood Angela with her own group of friends. She laughed at something, whipping her bottle bleached blonde hair across her shoulder. He understood too, how Harrison had caught her so quickly in his vision, for she had her jacket open and her shirt was pretty tight and low cut. How did that girl not catch pneumonia or some shit? 

“You ain't slick, bro.” Harrison patted him on the back. Tom, not wanting to get into it more than he needed, just grinned awkwardly. When he looked out into the square, Angela still stood there, but y/n was gone. 

_________________________________

The campus food was never that good, but it didn’t matter. The feelings of having actual food in your body felt so good that it might as well have been a five-course meal from a three-star Michelin restaurant. While, in reality, it was just a little bacon, egg and salad sub on stale bread. 

It did not matter. 

You enjoyed your breakfast as you walked down the path, back to your dorm. After that horrendous morning, and the pretty… interesting lecture, you were ready to lock yourself up in a room and do nothing but watch Netflix. And thankfully, due to having only one morning class, you could actually do it too.  

You said your polite “Hi”s and “Hello”s as you passed some other people you recognised from other classes. A bit hopefully, you were on the lookout for your (still nameless!) friend from the lecture. You really had to figure out what his name was. 

By the time you had reached your dorm building, your sandwich was gone. A part of you was still hungry, but you ignored that. You were probably just bored anyway. 

The dorm hall was basic in every way, from the carpeted grey floor to the plainly painted walls. But the inhabitants, of course, did try to give it some life. They hung up posters and banners, flags and lights. You reached the door that was decorated with a collage of different 80s glam rock artists and walked into your room. That college had been a little bonding experience with your roommate, Marie, during the very first week of Freshman year.

When you walked in, your eyes were immediately drawn to the lump on one of the beds. A groan erupted from underneath it when you switched on the light. 

“Ruuuude,” Marie yelled out. She came out from beneath the sheets. Her hair was bigger than ever, and you could see the mascara and eyeshadow stains under her eyes, and there was still some glitter on her. 

“You know, you should take off your make-up before going to sleep,” You said as you took off your sweater. 

“You know, you should put some on before leaving the house,” she said before diving back underneath her sheets. 

“Ouch,” you both laughed. But you couldn’t help but take a look in the mirror as you passed it. Maybe you could have used some concealer under your eyes, but it wasn’t that bad. Right? 

The room the two of you lived in maybe wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small either. You were definitely one of the luckier people in the building. Your room, after all, had just enough space for the two beds, desks and closets to mirror each other on each side of the room. You also went the extra way to put up some extra shelving on your side above the bed, since one closet was not enough. 

“Didn’t you have class this morning as well?” you asked as you sat down on. You could hear something coming from Marie that resembled an “Mhm”. Not in the talking mood, got it. 

So, in quiet, you pulled out your laptop and searched for something that did not look mind-numbingly dumb to watch, eventually settling for a show you had probably watched five times out of pure overwhelming of choice. After a while of moving around in your bed, you found a comfortable position at last and turned the show on, ready for a day of uninterrupted laziness. 

_________________________________

Tom got home a bit later than he had hoped. After making plans for the next night, his friends were determined to go out for lunch as well. What he thought would be just a quick grab-and-go, turned out to be a full two-hour lunch where they talked about anything and nothing. 

He loved the company of people, but not on Mondays. Mondays were his day to do nothing except for going to class, and Tom felt like he had already done too much. 

When he did get back, people were still busy cleaning the aftermath of the party. It had gone a bit wilder than Tom remembered. Some jackass had decided to spray paint one of the upstairs hallways, and the colour was not easy to get off. Luckily, it had become almost a custom for all the house members to lock their doors during a party. For privacy sake firstly, but like anything at Delta Kappa, it turned a bit into a game. 

The first two unlock their door, either if the person was too tired to stay at the party or wanted to bring a guest into their room, was obliged to do something horrible. It was up to the rest of the house to decide what. Fortunately for Tom, he had not been the first to unlock his door that night. That luck fell on poor Billy.

Even if it came to be so, the rule didn’t make sense because no one could check who the first one was to open their door and even if- it was not an official Delta Kappa rule. That meant that, even if the person got caught to be the first, they could simply deny the dare. They would be known as Head Chicken, of course, but there were worse things in life. 

Tom moved up the stairs, saying hi to a few of his roommates, feeling very lucky as one of the senior members of the house, he did not have cleaning duty. Most of that was up to the pledges anyway. 

He remembered when he had to do all those tasks and shit to get into the house. It was so stupid; he didn’t even understand why he chose to be in a fraternity, in the first place. 

He did think the other guys had gone a bit softer on himself and Harrison since at the beginning of it all, they had been chosen by the sorority of Alpha Zeta Zeta as the favourites. Still, some unspeakable things had been done that year. 

But now that he lived in a giant house with some of his best friends, it all felt like it was a bit worth it. He had a great time at Delta Kappa. 

One of the best pros, by far, was that he had his own bedroom. Spacious for everything he needed plus a bit more. A large, unmade, bed waited for him when he opened the door. That, and the happy barks of Tessa. 

“Hello, darling,” he bent down to pet her as she jumped to his knees. Tessa was the official mascot of the fraternity, but she had very early on found a great liking to Tom. It only took her a few days to get settled in his room, and from then on, she wouldn’t sleep anywhere else. 

Tom moved up to his bed, and Tessa gladly joined him. She patted down a circle before lying down with her head on his chest, letting out a satisfied huff of air. Even if he wasn’t comfortable, Tom had no way out anymore. He was stuck. With nothing else to do, he took out his phone and went through his notifications.

Some texts from Harrison and Jacob, a missed call from that girl he made the mistake of giving her his number. People were getting Wi-fi again because he got at least twenty different Snapchat pictures and videos from the party. 

What else there was plenty of, were Instagram mentions and tags. He went through the photos, smiling. It really had been a great party. Then, something popped up in his mind. 

Property of: y/f/n 

y/f/n

Could it be that easy? He could just search for her and hope to find her account. He typed it in. Her first name was already enough to get plenty of results. As always the profile pictures were too small to really make out a true identity, so he made his way through the accounts. 

He only needed three tries, though. The picture already resembled her, so with hope, he clicked on the account. 

This account is private. Follow this account to see their photos and videos. 

Tom sighed. Not so easy after all. Then he saw the bio. It was a bit vague, just a few random emojis. But what interested him was the Followed by and the fifteen mutual followers that she had. It couldn’t be anyone else. 

For some unknown reason, his heart was beating in his throat as he clicked on the blue Follow button and watched it turn grey. Now it was just a matter of waiting until his request got accepted. Or maybe denied. Who knows. 

_________________________________

Watching a show for the fifth time got a bit boring. You could still laugh at the jokes, but at the same time, you could also almost flawlessly quote it as the scene went along. So, a few episodes in you took out your phone and started scrolling through various app feeds.

Marie had fallen back to sleep since you could hear her snore in her bed. And you were falling asleep slowly too. It was so warm in your room, and your bed was so soft and comfortable. Your eyes were getting heavier by the second. 

Then a notification popped up, brightening up the screen in your hand. Half-awake, you tried to read it. 

(your account): Tom Holland (@tomholland2013) has requested to follow you. 

Tom? Your mind took a moment to process. Then the face finally clicked to the name. Tom! His name was Tom! 

Without much further thought you accepted the request and before you even put your phone down, you fell asleep. 

_________________________________

Not to sound desperate, Tom waited for a good half hour before rechecking his phone. He clicked on the Instagram app and the search icon. Her account was still the last one from the recent searches he made. Tom clicked on the account and, to his unexplained surprise, he was greeted with a gallery of pictures. 

He had noticed earlier that the count on top of the page said 53 Posts. Interested, he clicked on the first one. It was a picture of a coffee cup. It wasn’t tagged, but Tom recognised it to be from that café Le Moulin. He saw the distinctive black windmill on the napkin that could not be missed. 

He scrolled down. 

It was a selfie from last summer. The filter slightly enhanced her bright smile on the picture, but Tom could tell it was more to show off the warm atmosphere of her holiday destination. The next photo was from the same holiday, he assumed, of her and a group of friends. He recognised the girls from campus. When he tapped the picture for the tags, he saw their names. @tiffani.btx @bonne_marie @lucywithnodiamonds 

He thought to have spotted that Marie chick at the party. She was French if he remembered correctly. She was definitely a wild one. Might have even grinded up against him during one of the better songs that were played. 

There were some more selfies, solo and with friends, sunsets and landscapes. The picture quality got worse as he scrolled down. It matched with the timeline. People should not be keeping up their pictures from seven years ago, especially not with all those fucked up filters they used back then. Tom was, of course, one of those people. 

He scrolled to the last picture; it was of a dog—one of the cutest little labrador puppies. 

Out of nowhere, Tessa barked in her sleep, making Tom jump up. This sudden movement, in its turn, woke the dog up completely. Tessa kept barking. 

“Right, I think it’s time for a walk, what do you think?” He patted Tessa on the head as she tried to lick his arm. Tom got up and was about to leave his room when he realised he almost forgot his phone. The screen hadn’t turned off yet, so he looked at the puppy again. But something was off this time. Something had changed. 

The little blank heart under the image- it was now pink. 

He accidentally liked her oldest picture. 

_________________________________

There were two types of naps. Those that made you feel amazing and refreshed by the time you got up. And those that made you feel like you had fallen asleep on a bed of rocks. You felt even worse than before when you woke up. Your head was throbbing, and your bra had pushed itself into every possible part of your chest, making it that much more uncomfortable. 

“What time is it?” you asked Marie, but she was still asleep. 

The light of your phone almost blinded you, so you quickly put down the brightness. It was around four o’clock. Meaning you had slept for a good three hours. 

Besides the time, you checked your notifications. There were not a lot of them. A few spam emails, a few texts in a group chat you never responded too and… a like on Instagram? 

tomholland2013 liked your photo. 1 h 

You had to think back to the moment before your nap to remember that he had in fact requested to follow you. And you had accepted it. 

You clicked on the notification, and it sent you to the liked picture. To your surprise, it was the picture of your family dog, Spot. Your family had picked the name even though he was a completely yellow labrador, loving the irony. 

It was your first-ever picture, from over seven years ago. Had he been stalking your account? Why the fuck would he do that? 

Well, you thought, it was only fair if I do it too. So, through the like, you made your way over to his account. 

First thing you noticed was the number of followers he had. 15.7k How the fuck do people even get those numbers? Well, it’s easier if you’re a hot frat guy, of course. 

His profile picture was a mirror selfie, and clearly, it was his favourite composition, for at least five out of the first nine pictures in the gallery were the same style. All full-body reflections, with him holding the phone in his right hand, leaning his head a bit to look at the screen as he took the picture. His lips weren’t exactly in a smirk, but there was that cockiness in there. He really was feeling it, that was obvious. 

The first picture was a classic mirror pose- A black jacket and a black hat: the same outfit he had been wearing in class. You looked at the timestamp and saw that he only posted it an hour ago. Already it had dozens of comments and a low thousand amount of likes.

You scrolled down. A denim jacket and beanie in the mirror; a grey t-shirt and sweats in the mirror; a black suit in the mirror, the list could go on. There were other pictures, mostly from the frat house parties and other events where alcohol played a significant role. There were also the occasional front camera selfies. 

You couldn’t help but look at those a little bit longer. There was something about that small tight smile that he made that was so cute. In one of the more saturated pictures, with a deeper shadow, you noticed that his nose actually had a little bump in it, most likely from breaking it in the past. 

But just from likes alone, you could tell that the mirror was a public favourite. 

There was something about the confidence that the pictures portrayed that spoke to you.. He knew he looked good, and no one could deny it. Except, he looked so much better than good. 

It was interesting to be scrolling down his posts because it was like a trip back in time. At first, it didn’t wasn’t that obvious, just maybe a change in temperature during the year that was referenced through his clothing. Then it showed a bit more as his hair started to get shorter by each picture taken. It got shorter and shorter until his hair was not much more than a buzz. The reason for the drastic hair change was explained in the next picture. 

You had already scrolled down four years worth of pictures, and this one was of him (taken by someone else). Tom was standing in a victory stance on a grass field, which you recognised to be the campus square. He was only wearing boxer shorts and on his chest was painted, in bright blue paint, 𝜟K. Underneath the post, read the caption: Delta Kappa babyyy! with a bunch of other hashtags. One that was included was #deltakappapledge #initiated. Of course, it was during his pledge period. 

You kind of hoped that he had to do more than just shave off his hair because he didn’t even look half that bad. It even suited him actually. Hoping to find some more evidence of that embarrassing period, you scrolled on. 

The sound that came out of your mouth as you scrolled to the next picture was inhumane. Keeping to tradition, it was a mirror selfie. Behind him seemed to be some workout equipment, possibly from the campus gym, but no one would look at that. Everyone would be too focused on what was in the foreground. 

It was Tom standing in front of a mirror, chest glistening with sweat as his hair draped in front of his eyes. Instead of the usual pose, he stood sideways, showing off not only his flexed bicep as he took the picture, but also the outline of all his other muscles.

Completely forgetting what you were doing, you double-tapped the post. How could you not? Only a second later, did your monkey brain realise what you had done. You had made that exact same mistake as Tom. Except while he had liked a picture of a cute dog, you had made your mark on a shirtless selfie.

As the pure humiliation flooded over you, you threw your phone to the other end of the bed with a squeak. 

What’s done was done. 

_________________________________

Tom came back from the walk with Tessa after an hour. They both enjoyed a long walk around the park neighbouring the campus, just to then pretend like they were too exhausted and lay in bed the rest of the day. Well, Tom pretended. Tessa seemed legitimately tired. 

They went back to their position on the bed. Not sure what else to do, Tom got back to Instagram. There was no reaction to his accidental like yet. Not even a follow back from y/n. A bit rude but okay, maybe she hadn’t seen it yet? 

He shook his head. He didn’t like this weird side of him. Where had it even come from? Since when did he wait for anyone to respond to him? And they weren’t even having a conversation! 

Having nothing else to do, he searched through his phone gallery for a good picture to post. He chose one he had taken during lunch, on his way from the bathroom. It was still crazy that his friends wanted to go to a place where you needed to take an elevator to go to the toilet. 

He didn’t care for editing, so he went through the usual Instagram process of making a post, thought of some dumb caption and send it out into the internet. Soon enough, as if they had a notification on for his activities, the likes streamed in.  For the first few minutes, he tried to look through them, again hoping that y/n would be one of the likes or the heart eyes emojis in the comments, but quickly it became too much, and Tom couldn’t keep up. He still enjoyed reading the comments.

Of course, it was all one big ego boost. The praise and compliments, even if it was for something as shallow as his looks, definitely gave him a good kick of dopamine and all those other happy chemicals during the day. 

Tessa was snoring and drooling on his belly as Tom went through his timeline and explore page. There was not much exciting happening in peoples’ lives, but it made the time flow by faster. An hour had gone by probably when he decided to recheck his activities. His new picture already had a few thousand likes and was close to reaching a hundred comments.  He went through some of them and either liked them or responded with a matching emoji. 

But as he scrolled through the activity, he saw a like that was to a different picture. A rather old one too, just from the beginning of college. And who might have liked this picture? y/n 

She liked a workout selfie, huh?

With the confidence that the like gave him, Tom clicked on her account and the message button. He thought about what to send for a moment but decided against overthinking it and went with a simple- 

_________________________________

(tomholland2013): Tom Holland: Hi 

You looked at the notification for a while. He definitely saw you had liked his old picture. Was he going to make fun of you? Tease you how you had outed yourself for thirsting over him? 

But maybe he just wants to talk? You tried to sound optimistic to yourself. After all, he did like an old picture of yours too. You were kind of in the same boat.   

Putting all worries aside, you clicked on that damn nerve-wracking notification, and without much more thought send out the reply. 

(y/n)

Hey :) 

Before you could even send out the smiley, the message rose to reveal “SEEN” beneath it. Was this happening? Was it? You could see he was typing. 

(tomholland2013)

After stalking me you could have at least followed me back lol 

(y/n)

Right sorry just a lot of mirror selfies. Thought i’d seen everything there is to see 😂

(tomholland2013)

Rude Seen anything you like though? ;)

Uhhh, of course, you have. You liked it. A lot. But you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction. 

(y/n) 

No not really 

Quickly change the subject. 

So what are you up to? 

Good enough subject? 

(tomholland2013) 

Just lying in bed with Tess

Tess? Who was Tess? Did he have a girlfriend? If he did, he would have posted something on his Instagram, right? That’s what couples did? Unless it was just a one time fling. You couldn’t even call it a one-night stand since it wasn’t even night. 

Wait, why did you even care about that? You had literally only said hello to each other and shared a coffee during class. 

But the curiosity was gnawing at you.

(y/n) 

Tess? 

(tomholland2013)

Yeah, she’s falling asleep on my chest. Kinda tired her out lol

You looked at the text, unsure how to respond, or even if to do it. Was he telling you about his hookup?  It didn’t sound like the nice guy you had met in front of the lecture hall, and that gave you his leftover coffee and Oreos. Your face wrenched into a grimace, not sure anymore what to make of this conversation or of what had happened during class.

He was typing again. 

Wanna see? 

Jesus Christ, this was a mistake. You didn’t respond, but he still sent you a picture anyway. It was a timer, unfortunately, meaning you had to click on it to see what he had sent. But he could see you got the message and that you were online. The longer you took, the more prominent you would make it that something was wrong, and you didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He had given you his coffee. 

The curiosity got the better of you once again, though, and you clicked on the little bomb. What popped up was almost what you expected- but at the same time, so not. Before your brain properly processed what you were looking at, you were scared that he had sent you an unsolicited dick pic, but it was the furthest thing from that. 

What you saw was a POV shot of his chest and legs. He was indeed lying on his bed. On his chest, however, was the head of a grey silver dog. “Tess” had her eyes closed peacefully as she slept on. 

Of course, it was a dog. 

You decided to be honest. For the benefit of the conversation, if anything. 

(y/n) 

Omg 💀 

(tomholland2013)

We just came back from a long walk, so she’s pretty knackered  What?  Did you think I meant something else? 

Embarrassment kicked in anyway. 

(y/n) 

No... lol 

(tomholland2013)

You sooo did lmao Jealous much ;)

(y/n) 

Of the dog maybe

(tomholland2013) 

Cause she gets to be here with me? 

(y/n)

No I meant it like  She’s so cute  I want one

(tomholland2013)

Relax  I was just messing with you  But if you ever wanna come over

(y/n) 

Maybe another time 

The response came out in a panic. Had he invited you for what you thought he did? No, there was no way he did. Besides, you couldn’t go to his house. You barely knew the guy- your mind kept on whirring about it. But the conversation continued.

Soon the sun had gone down, and it got dark outside, but the messages kept coming in. At one point Marie finally woke up from her hangover slumber. Drowsily she got up and headed for the shower with a towel and toiletries bag in her hand. Before she left, though. She asked you if you could prepare something to eat for dinner since she was starving. You being you, agreed.

(y/n)

Hey, I think I gotta go for a bit. Gotta make dinner for my roommate

(tomholland2013) 

What’s on the menu? 

(y/n) 

Probably spicy ramen? 

(tomholland2013) 

Damn. sounds good But can’t she make it herself? 

_________________________________

A part of Tom wanted to send another message. I want to keep talking to you. But that felt like a bit much. She was typing again anyway. 

(y/n) 

Because she’s still hungover from your party lol Thank for that btw 

(tomholland2013) 

You make it sound like i am personally responsible 

(y/n) 

Well your the only guy from DK i know so  you’re**  💀fml. There go my chances of an english degree 

(tomholland2013) 

Nah babe YOU’RE good ;)

 _________________________________

Your heart fluttered at the little word, for no reason. It was just a text message. He probably called every girl he texted that. Still, the sentiment was there. Also that winky face of his. Could he stop? 

He started to type again. 

(tomholland2013) 

But if you ever wanna meet the other guys, you really are welcome to come over. 

(y/n) 

I’m good thanks. 

Going to a frat house alone? You felt like that could easily be the start of your personal horror movie. It would absolutely crash at the box office, but that didn’t matter. And it was the second time he invited you to come over. If it was a hint, it wasn’t a subtle one. It didn’t stop you from doubting it.

(tomholland2013)

No need to be scared. They’re pretty chill dudes. 

It was cute how he could read your mind because you were undoubtedly scared, but what he probably did not think was that you weren’t interested in meeting any other frat guy because there was only one on your mind at the moment. 

(y/n) 

Maybe another time  ttyl? 

You had sent the last message in the hopes that he had as much fun talking to you as you did with him. You watched eagerly as the three dots danced around on the screen while he typed out his answer. 

(tomholland2013)

 Absolutely

_________________________________

Tom turned his phone off with a smile covering his face. He had just spent talking a good two hours to y/n, and he had to admit, he hadn’t had that pleasant of a conversation with anyone in a long time. It was just so easy to talk to her. It might be partly because it was only texts. But still, she was funny, sweet, and so pretty...

Unbeknown to himself, he was falling a little bit for y/n. Although, maybe he did feel it coming. The idea of getting another text from her made his face heat up. The idea of seeing her in class the next day almost made him… giddy. And it’s only been a day. 

“Hey, man,” there came a knock on his door. “Better hide anything that would make it awkward between us cause I’m coming inside in 3-2-1-” 

“‘S all good,” Tom said right as Harrison walked through the door. 

“We’re gonna order pizza, what do you want?”

“Just the usual, I guess,’ Tom shrugged. Honestly, he didn’t really feel like eating pizza but to be the only one that wasn’t having any wasn’t a good strategy either. 

“Alright, then.” As quickly as he walked in, Harrison was also leaving the room. But he peeked his head through the door once more before actually walking away. 

“Hey, are you sure you’re good?” Harrison looked at him through narrow eyes.

“Yeah,” Tom answered as he prodded himself to sit up. “Why?” 

“I don’t know… Nevermind.” And with that, Harrison left to share Tom’s order. 

It was a rare occasion that all the house members would be at home on a night that wasn’t reserved for a party. That night, when it came to dinner, it was around 8 of them. Everyone was already sitting on the couches when Tom came downstairs to grab his pizza. He grabbed a chair and his box and sat down. A football game was playing on tv, and it made Tom roll his eyes. He still had no real idea of how football was supposed to work. He always preferred golf or basketball, or even baseball. 

The guys cheered at a touchdown or whatever but all Tom could focus on was his phone. He kept checking if there were any notifications from y/n. So far, there was nothing. She was probably busy, he told himself, not wanting to feel too disappointed. 

 _________________________________

“So who were you texting back then?” Marie said as she slurped on her noodles. You were playing around with your own portion a bit, not really in the eating mindset.

“Huh? No one.” you shook your head.  

“So it is someone. C’mon. Who is it?” She extended her leg to poke yours. She kept going until you finally gave in. 

“Just this guy from Dowling’s class.” you finally took a bite of ramen. 

“Aaand does this guy have a name?” Marie kept on asking. 

You looked up from your cup of noodles. “Tom… Holland.” 

Marie gasped, almost dropping her food onto her lap. “Tom Holland? As in Delta Kappa Tom Holland?’ you nodded your head yes. “No fucking way.” 

“What?” Not the most nuanced reaction, but it would do. 

“No way you have a crush on Tom fucking Holland.” You always noticed that when Marie cursed her French accent would show up again. Just the slightest bit. This time, however, what you stayed on was her statement. 

“I do not!” you said as your cheeks were heating up. 

“Ohhh, you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have said ‘nobody’. Everybody knows that ‘nobody’ is code for either crush, boyfriend, or drug dealer. And I think we can exclude the last option.” you were going to protest, but you would have only been fooling yourself. 

“So, hypothetically, let’s say I do have a crush on him. Why did you scream out ‘No way’?” You bit your lip, a bit scared for an answer. 

“No, no, no. I didn’t mean it like that.” Marie put down her ramen on her desk and came to sit down next to you on your bed. “I didn’t mean that you, like, don’t have a chance with him. Please, if anything, you’re too good for him.’ you both chuckled. “I just didn’t think he’d be your type.” 

“What, hot?” You raised an eyebrow to which she slapped your shoulder. 

“You’re being difficult. I mean, so… out there. You know, he’s basically the leader of that frat house, he always parties, always has stuff to go to. And you’re… well, pretty much the exact opposite. Not that there is anything wrong with that. Completely not. I just don’t want you to put yourself in any positions that you’re uncomfortable with to impress him or anything. Remember, you are too good for him.” 

“Thanks.” you hugged her from the side. “But don’t you think that it would be good for me to go out once in a while? Out of my comfort zone?”

“Sure, if you’re actually doing it for you. Not some guy.” 

“He is really nice, you know.” you smiled, remembering what had happened that morning. You went on telling Marie about it. 

“Oh, so he’s got a crush on you too, huh? That works out perfectly. ” She finally said when you were done telling your story. You looked at her with wide eyes. 

“What? Noooo,” you said, letting an awkward laugh escape through the no. 

“Fine, whatever,” Marie moved back to her own bed and grabbed her cup of ramen. “But I bet you that if you check your phone now, you’ll have at least one message from him.” 

You rolled your eyes again but grabbed your phone either way. And, fair enough, you had two notifications from ten minutes ago. 

(tomholland2013): Tom Holland: Heyy

(tomholland2013): Tom Holland: I hope the ramens good

Holding in your smile, and ignoring the smart ass comments of Marie, you replied quickly. 

(y/n)

It was :)

_________________________________ 

The speed at which Tom checked his phone when he felt the vibration in his pocket could have caused someone severe whiplash. He responded to the text and got up. Ultimately, he had hoped that he could slip out the room unnoticed, but he never got what he wanted, did he? 

“Where are you going?” It was Dave that saw him get up. Tom stopped in his tracks like a little kid that got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“Just up to my room. Feelin’ a bit tired.’ He explained. This answer received several strange and confused looks, but Tom ignored those and just walked upstairs without saying another word. He plopped down onto his bed. Tessa was still downstairs under the table chewing on some pizza crusts, so he was finally alone. 

The texting continued through the whole night, and Tom had wholly lost the sense of time. He didn’t even feel tired. If it wasn’t for y/n saying that she was about to fall asleep, he wouldn’t at least. Like that, the windshield crashed, and he felt the fatigue from the hours of messaging and staring at a screen overwhelm him. He just about managed to send out goodnight before his eyelids were too heavy to open up again. 

_________________________________

The next morning you woke up feeling much better than either time the day before. Fresh and energised, with plenty of time to get ready before class started. Not that you really put much effort into how you looked for the morning lectures. It was more mental preparation. With enough time to eat breakfast, shower and brush your teeth, you felt excellent walking out the door. Dressed in a sweater that was warmer than two jackets and some loose jeans. With your bag over your shoulder. 

You always thought the walk from your dorm to the lecture halls was delightful. The path leading toward it was enveloped in a tunnel of trees, and during the end of the year, when the leaves were turning into their auburn and golden shades, it almost felt warmer than in summer. Because the harsh wind still kept up with its schedule. It blew in your face as you walked, rubbing against your cheeks. 

When you got there, the lecture hall was still relatively empty. Only a few other people had taken their seats. This was the crucial moment of choosing your seat. Against all your own instincts, you walked down to the bottom of the auditorium, into the fourth row. You had never sat that closer to professor Dowling’s podium, too scared you would be too easy to notice and called to answer a question. But something in you told you to be brave. 

Besides, you had the idea that Tom wasn’t eager to sit there either.

As much as those butterflies in your stomach fluttered at his mention, you didn’t want to talk to him now, not during class. You needed to pass this class badly and to do that, you needed to focus. Something you could not do with him sitting next to you. 

That’s what you told yourself. It was, of course, true, but the bigger problem was that you were scared. Tom sounded like a nice guy, a very good looking nice guy, but Marie’s words played in your head. He was from a completely different world. And it was a scary one. Why not keep a bit of a safe distance at first?

So, you kept your head buried in your notebook as people started to stream into the room. One by one, the seats around you were getting occupied—none of them by Tom, for better or for worse. 

_________________________________

It had taken Tom a while to find y/n. He walked into the room, thinking he had come in with plenty of time to spare, but as he was making his way down the steps, the professor was already making his way to the podium. Tom tried to look around the room as quickly as he could, but he could not see her. Where was she? 

Professor Dowling coughed loudly, indicating for everyone to shut up and sit down, so he could start the lecture. Tom took the first empty seat he saw. An aisle seat somewhere around the 8th row. The course started, but Tom’s eyes stayed on the seats, looking for that braid. 

It wasn’t a brilliant plan, because he had no idea if she had actually kept that braid in for another day. And she had not, in fact. He noticed her, sitting somewhere at the bottom of the class, as she grabbed her hair and was pulling it up into a bun. She did it so quickly, so smoothly, without ever letting her attention get away from her. Focused on the class. He could really learn something from her. 

And he tried to take a page from her book as he finally looked ahead of him to see Dowling write an entire essay on the blackboard. He cursed himself and quickly started to type everything over. His fingers went in fully automatic mode, and he had no more idea what the words he was typing actually meant. 

His mind had wandered off once again. He couldn’t stop feeling that disappointing pull at his heartstrings. He had hoped they could have had a repeat of yesterday. She apparently thought differently. Or maybe she had hoped he would sit next to her, but he was just too slow? 

The lecture went on forever, felt like. Tom’s fingers were cramping up from typing so much, and he could feel his back beginning to hurt in the uncomfortable chair. He kept stealing quick glances at y/n, hoping to catch her in doing the same, but she had not moved once. 

He had to get a grip. They had known each other for one day, spoken maybe ten sentences to each other in person. The rest was all through text. And nothing was the same via messages. Maybe all his feelings were coming from the entirely wrong place? Perhaps she was just polite, and he had misinterpreted it for casual flirting? Besides, there was that sweater of hers yesterday- what if she had a boyfriend? 

But a part of him still wanted to ignore all those signs and go for it. So, when the bell rang, and professor Dowling finally dismissed the class, Tom made sure he was one of the first ones outside. The large hall had two exits, so he stood against a wall, somewhere in the middle between both doors, hoping to catch y/n as she was walking out. 

The loud rumbling of thunder caught his attention momentarily. 

It was just a second, he swore to himself. But the second was enough to miss her. Somehow she had escaped him, nowhere to be found.

_________________________________

You had seen Tom waiting out in front of the room, and you felt horrible for walking the exact opposite direction. For the sake of your own feelings, you didn’t look back at any point on your way to your second lecture. 

As Professor Phillips spoke, you felt your phone vibrate. 

(tomholland2013): Tom Holland: where are you? :) 

The little smiley made heat up in the cheeks, but you tried to ignore that as you typed out a response. You didn’t even click the notification to go to the app, just responded through the shortcut. 

(y/n): had another class

Another notification popped up not long after. 

(tomholland2013): Tom Holland: wanna meet up later? 

(y/n): ngl I don’t feel well, will probably head back home right after

(y/n): but i’d love to chat

You shut off your phone, too scared to see the reply. Maybe it wasn’t the best move since you could not think about anything else for the remainder of the class. When you checked your phone again on your way back to the dorms your heart was lifted. 

(tomholland2013): Tom Holland: of course. hope you feel better <3

_________________________________

Tom tried to think that she wasn’t avoiding him. After all, they texted almost every possible second that they had the time for the past week

They had talked about pretty much anything and everything. And it felt great. The way they spoke to each other, or at least Tom to her, was as if they had known each other for ages. 

Tom only wished he could do that with her from across a table, or a on a bench. Where ever, he didn’t care. He wanted to be able to look into her eyes as they talked and see her smile. Hear that lol and not just imagine it. 

Unfortunately, y/n was kind of giving him the cold shoulder in the real life. She ignored him during classes, and was gone before he could get the chance to talk to her. Whenever he asked if they could meet, she’d give him some reason she couldn’t. If it wasn’t for the fact that they had actually already met in real life, he had vary valid reasons to think he was being catfished. 

Another reason could have been that she sounded too perfect.

It was the next Tuesday already, and Tom was waiting eagerly for the lecture to end. It had been a full week and he had decided, while copying some of Dowling’s notes, that he would talk to y/n today. After class. 

Tomorrow would be the opening of the Sterling and he wanted to ask her if she wanted to come.Or at least to know if she wanted to hang out ever. If the truth came to be no, he would be fine with that. He respected that. He just needed to know. It wouldn’t take away from the fact how great it was to have someone to talk to, even if it was only through text bubbles.

The bell rang and Tom sprinted out. He kept his eyes on both doors as best as possible and finally saw her. 

_________________________________

“Hey, y/n!” you heard your name being called from behind you. It was from Tom. He waved to you so would come over. Taking a deep breath, you decided to wave back, but your legs were frozen in place.

You felt absolutely terrible for ignoring him and denying his various invitations to hang out or to go anywhere, but it was just too terrifying. You were scared of fucking it up. Of it to turn out to be one big joke. You had heard of frat guys using dates and hookups as dares and shit. You didn’t want that. You couldn’t let that happen.

But when you saw Tom smile at you, those worries suddenly disappeared and your legs moved without connecting to your brain. Suddenly, you found your spot next to him.

He had been leaning against the wall with one foot, his arms crossed. You decided to lean against it with your shoulder. Even though you had your sweater, you could feel the grizzly texture of the bare red brick. He smiled and mirrored your movement, so you were only a few inches apart. ,

“Hey,” he said, still with the smile on his face. 

“Hey,” you replied. 

Tom uncrossed his arms to brush his fingers through his hair. As you watched him do so, you couldn’t help imagine how it would feel to play with his hair. It looked so soft. 

“I just wanted to say,” he licked his lips. You were so close to each other that you could see how pink and chapped they were. Focus. “How much fun I had the past week. It’s bee really great talking to you.” 

“I had fun too,” you said. It really was nice talking to Tom. Especially now, standing so close to him, you could smell the coffee he had consumed that morning. Was it pumpkin spice? You felt stupid for not letting it happen sooner.

“Great, that’s- that’s really great to hear. I said great already, didn’t I?” He laughed, shaking his head, “Anyway, I was thinking: a couple of friends of mine are going to the opening of this new bar, the Sterling, it’s probably going to be a bit boring, but I thought, maybe you’d like to come? With me?” He looked at you with those big brown eyes. Your mind started racing a million miles an hour at his words. The fuzzy warm feeling that you got from looking at his smile was dispersing and setting in for anxiety.

He wanted you to go to a bar with him and his friends? Would that be considered a date? For the sake of your dignity, you decided against asking for clarification. It didn’t matter. You couldn’t go to some dingy bar with strangers, even if one of them was Tom. You could already feel your body heating up in anxiety as all the horrible scenarios played out in your head. 

You realised you had been quiet for a while and Tom was still looking at you hopefully. 

“No,” you blurted out. “I mean, I can’t. Sorry.” 

“Oh, that’s fine. Totally. Maybe another time? Or if you don’t wanna go there, we could go somewhere else?” 

“Uhh,” you couldn’t breath. All his suggestions were so sweet, but it felt too overwhelming to answer. Thankfully, the clock tower at the other end of campus rang and indicated the quarter of an hour. Your next class would soon start, and it was about a five-minute walk to get to. 

“I have to go.” you pointed back and started walking, but Tom grabbed your hand gently, just enough by your fingertips. 

“Sorry, I just- if you don’t want to hang out with me, that’s totally fine. You don’t have to pretend to like me, no hurt feelings. I don’t want you to-” 

“I do, Tom,” you told him with a compassionate smile. Then you looked back at the clock. “But I really got to go.” 

“Right, sorry.” he let go of your hand, and you ran off to your next course. 

 _________________________________

“Who was that?” 

As soon as y/n ran off, Tom heard the voice coming from next to him. Zendaya popped up out of nowhere, an unlit cigarette hanging between her lips as she leaned in the same spot y/n had. 

“Just a friend,” Tom shrugged. That’s what they were, after all. If even. He hoped he could describe someone he had mainly only spoken through texts with as a friend. 

“You sure about that?” Zendaya smirked. “Cause by the looks of it, she’s got you pretty hooked. You were basically begging her to go out with you, bro.” 

“Yeah, well, forcefulness isn’t exactly an aphrodisiac, is it?” he sighed then almost turned pale at the words he had said. Zendaya didn’t say anything, just nodded and took out her glittery lighter. 

“Could you not?” Tom pulled the cigarette out of her mouth before she could light it and put it in his pocket. “We’re inside, for fucks sake.” 

“Fine, but tell me who this friend of yours is.” She nodded her head back into the direction that y/n ran in. 

“I don’t really know. I mean I do, but- Basically we met last week before class. Then I found her on Instagram and DM’d her-” 

“You slid into her DMs? Bro,” she laughed. 

“Call it what you want, it was the only way of reaching her I had.” 

“Fine, so you like her, yeah?” 

“I guess.” Tom didn’t like sharing his feelings. It put him in this vulnerable position that he was not used to. Zendaya knew that, yet still she pushed him to do it almost every time they talked. 

“For what it’s worth, I think she likes you too,” she said. 

“How so?” he questioned hesitantly. It wouldn’t have been the first time that Zendaya had pulled that trick on him to date someone. And it had not ended well. 

“Well, body language for one, she felt comfortable enough around you to stand close to you, facing you; she smiled at your rants which, props to her, is hard to do.” 

“How long had you been watching us, exactly?” Tom asked a bit freaked out. Zendaya ignored the question.

“Believe me, she likes you. She’s just scared.” she pulled out another cigarette from her pocket, “also, taking a girl to a shithole like the Sterling for your first date? I’m glad she said no. Set some standards, man.” And with that lovely comment, she walked away. She didn’t have to see Tom flipping her off, she knew he would do it, and she replied lovingly in the same way. 

That’s what you got for being friends with psychology majors. 

 _________________________________

The first thing you did after walking out of your second class was to check your phone if you had received any messages from Tom. There was nothing. So you decided to message him yourself. 

(your account) 

Hey  Sorry I ran away like that  And basically anytime after class and making those dumb excuses not to meet up Just so you know I do really wanna hang out with you I’m just not really great with crowds or with places like bars and stuff And ive also never really been asked to go anywhere with anyone, like personally  Idk why im telling you this. I’m definitely rambling Texting is definitely easier than talking huh Sorry for all this 

It took Tom two minutes to see your messages and to respond.

(tomholland2013)

It’s totally okay. I get it And sorry if i made you uncomfortable with all that.  Can i come to your place tonight? Or how about we go to Le Moulin?

Le Moulin. You had been there before. You could do that. With trembling fingers of excitement, you replied

(your account) 

Deal. Around 7?

(tomholland2013)

Sounds perfect. See u then 

 _________________________________

Tommo: Hey guys, sorry but im gonna have to skip on tonight 

This short message was seen and very much not appreciated by his friends. None of the replies could be seen as appropriate for day-time television. Except for the one Zendaya had sent him through their personal chat. It was simple, 

Z: 👍

With the entire afternoon off, Tom made sure he looked somewhat decent for the night. He took a shower. Washed his hair and made sure it was extra soft. He wasn’t sure what y/n thought of it, but from past experiences, he knew that usually, girls loved his hair. Thinking about other girls was probably not the best mindset, though. Still, his hair did look really good. He brushed his fingers through it. 

It had not yet stopped raining, which was a bit of a problem, but he hoped she wouldn’t mind getting a bit wet. For the sake of it, he took an umbrella with him. Luckily it wasn’t very windy, so it actually came to good use. The walk from the frat house to the dorm that y/n said she lived in wasn’t too far away, and fortunately on the way to the place he had in mind to take her to. 

On his way over, he thought about what Zendaya had told him. 

Was y/n scared? Of what? 

They had talked about that kind of stuff briefly, during the weekend, and she and said that she suffered from anxiety. Tom just thought it was stuff like giving a presentation in class. He hadn’t even thought about the more social aspect of it. And here he was pushing all those things at her like going to some bar with strangers. Jesus, why did he have to be such a dumbass? 

The dorm complex had a buzzer system like a regular apartment complex, so he searched for her name on the long list, and pressed the button next to it. 

“Hello?” It was her roommate, Marie, that answered. 

“Hey, it’s Tom. I’m here to pick up y/n.” He could hear some indistinct giggling coming from the other side of the line. 

“Of course, c’mon up. But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit.” Next followed the buzzer, and the doors opened for him. The number on the button said 54, so he assumed it had to be on the fifth floor. When he walked up to the door with that number, he was greeted with a colourful collage of rock bands whose hair was probably more impressive than their vocal range, which said a lot considering Queen was on it. 

He knocked and waited for someone to open. y/n was the one to do it. She stood frozen in the door, only a towel wrapped around her body. 

“I thought we said seven?” she said, her voice a bit higher than usual.

“It’s quarter past seven!” Marie shouted out from inside the dorm. y/n cursed. 

“Shit, sorry, I lost complete track of time. Give me ten minutes, okay?” she held up a finger so he would wait here. Tom nodded and let her close the door again. He could still hear her yell at Marie as to why she had not told her she was running late, to which Marie only responded with hysterical laughter. 

“Holland?” someone in the hallway asked a few minutes later. Tom turned in the direction to see a guy with a head full of bed hair poke out of his doorway (which was covered in pictures of death metal posters and my little ponies). He stepped out in the hallway to reveal he was wearing nothing but a pair of tiny and tight briefs, leaving little to the imagination. 

“Oh hey… Crocker,” he called the guy by his preferred nickname. 

“Hey man, what are you doing here?” Crocker asked. The way his eyes were almost ruby red and the stench coming from his room, Tom presumed that the guy was higher than a kite. 

“Oh you know, waiting for a date, heh.” He said a bit awkwardly, pointing back to door 54. 

“Ah, getting some of that French jay nehsuh gwaa.” 

Tom looked confused. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard someone butcher a language that badly. Well, probably, but he didn’t remember it. He kind of understood what Crocker meant, though.

“No, I’m here for y/n. Not Marie.”

“Damn? Really.” Crocker started to giggle, which might as well just have been a side effect from whatever he had smoked up in his room. 

“Yeah?” He wasn’t sure how else to react. Crocker just shrugged and walked back into his room, smashing the door closed. Tom turned slowly, not sure what exactly had happened just then. And he turned right on time too, because the door of dorm 54 opened and y/n walked out. Wearing a raincoat over a sweater and jeans. She also had a pair of black ankle boots on. Tom could not help but smile at the sight of her. 

“Sorry about that,” she said, the nervousness in her voice was unmistakable. 

“First,” Tom spoke, remembering one of his earlier worries from days ago, “you don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” The question made her laugh.

“I very much do not. Why did you think that?” 

“The sweater you wore when we met. It had that whole stole-it-from-my-boyfriend vibe.” 

“No, I haven’t had anyone to steal clothes from in a long time.” she shook her head. Tom extended his hand for her to take, which she gladly did. It felt amazing.

“So what will you be ordering?” 

“Ice cream,” Tom answered, almost matter-of-factly. 

 _________________________________

“Ice cream?” you asked to make sure you had heard him correctly. He nodded in agreement. “Don’t you think it’s a bit cold for that?” 

“No.” He said bluntly, which really sold the case for you. You were on your way again.

You could hear the rain pound against the main door before you even reached the ground floor, and it only got harder and louder the nearer you got. Tom, being a true gentleman, opened the door for you, but you were a bit hesitant to walk outside. 

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” he let you hold the door so he could step through the threshold and push open the umbrella. You noticed it was a Delta Kappa umbrella. They really made merch of everything. As he put the umbrella up, he extended his arm for you to intertwine yours through. Then, you walked. 

Though it was relatively early, the sky was pitch black because of how early the sun set those days and the dark clouds that had been pestering the sky that entire day. Not a star was to be seen. The rain tapped heavily against the umbrella, and you tried to stay as close to Tom as possible. The excuse, of course, was to not get wet but really you wanted to enjoy the warmth that he was giving off. At one point you had changed position from just having your arm over his, to him wrapping his arm over your shoulder. 

You walked down a brightly lit path, so you could see everything around you. The trees, the cars passing by, the building. So, when you saw the little café at the end of the street, you squealed. 

While there were plenty of bars, pubs and clubs to go to around town, so there were restaurants and cafés. And while restaurants really weren’t your thing, you loved to sit in one of the cosy coffee shops with a cup of tea or coffee and read a good book. Another fun thing about all those places was that they were very internationally orientated, speaking to the wide variety of students that the university had. Le Moulin was of course based on a Parisian café. You had actually found it together with Marie, in hopes she could have something that felt a bit closer to home. Though it didn’t come close to the real magic of the French capital, it still had plenty of its charm in it. Not to mention, the pain du chocolats were to die for! 

Yet, you had never actually had ice cream from their menu. 

You still weren’t sure if today would be the day for it. By the time you wear under the little entrance roof, you were freezing, and so was Tom, visibly. 

“Are you still sure about the ice cream?” you asked him as he closed the umbrella.

“Hot chocolate?” he suggested, suddenly fluent in your love language: chocolate and hot drinks (it was a very simplified version of said love language). 

This time Tom got to be the real gentleman as he let you walk inside first. He dropped the umbrella in the stand, together with a few others. When you looked around the café, you saw that a few more couples were enjoying the cosiness. A sweet melody was playing from the speakers. The rain had also softened outside, and together with the vintage sounds of guitar and vocals, it gave the perfect atmosphere for the night.

You had barely stepped inside when one of the waiters walked up. He smiled and said: “Your table is ready,” which surprised you, but Tom took you by the hand, and you both followed the waiter to one of the tables next to the wall, where one side had a couch instead of the usual chairs. You sat down first, taking off your jacket. Tom was going to sit opposite you, but now it was your turn to grab his hand. 

“Slide in.”

He smiled and sat down. He probably didn’t need any convincing and just wanted to hear you say that you wanted him to sit next to you. You didn’t mind that. 

“Should I prepare the order?” the waiter asked as you made yourself comfortable, again confusing the hell out of you. 

“Actually, scrap that. We’ll have two large hot chocolates.” Tom said. 

“With cinnamon!” you added. 

“One with cinnamon.” Tom corrected. The waiter nodded and walked off. 

“Don’t like cinnamon?” you quizzed, to which Tom shrugged. 

“It’s alright, just not a big fan.” Both of you looked around the room. You had never been in the café at night, so you hadn’t even realised that the walls were covered in soft gold lights, giving it all that much more the feeling as if you had stepped into a fairytale. 

“I didn’t know this place took reservations.” 

“I’m not sure either,” Tom replied, you noticed he had his arm draped around you again, “I just called to be sure.”  

“Really?” That split you up into two. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought that he had made a special call to the café to get, probably, the best seat in the house. On the other side, you were freaking out for a few reasons. He had put in quite the effort in an almost last minute notice of plans, while you were fifteen minutes late. That was embarrassing enough. And this reservation basically put you in a spotlight for the entire business, which was really not ideal. You didn’t want to be noticed. 

“Hey,” he whispered and squeezed his grip around you lightly, “everything okay?” 

“Huh? Mhm,” you nodded your head and smiled, trying not to think about how the waiters might be judging you. 

“I saw you had posted a picture from this place on your Instagram, and I used to come here a while back, so I thought it would be cool, but if you don’t like it-” 

“It’s perfect,” you made up your mind. In the end, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. You felt safe, sitting on the little couch, next to Tom. 

Soon after, the waiter came back with two mugs of hot chocolate. When Tom ordered large ones, they delivered. The mugs might as well have been cereal bowls, topped with a peak of whipped cream and cocoa powder, and a cinnamon stick in your cup to distinguish the two drinks. 

“Et voila!” the waiter put the cups down. You thanked him, and he was gone again.

There were spoons, but you decided to stir your chocolate with the cinnamon stick. 

Still with his arm around you, Tom took his mug up to his lips. With the feeling of having him so close to you, you wondered what this really was. What if he just wanted to be friends and spend some time with you? Had he noticed how sad and lonely you were, and did he want to take his pity out on you? Were you a charity act for him? God, you hoped not. You really really hoped not.

“Tom?” You looked at him, to see his eyes dart in your direction. His top lip was covered in whipped cream. You gestured it to him, slightly giggling, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. How was someone that hot, so adorable? 

“You were saying?” he said, putting the mug down on the table in front of you.

“I was just wondering,” Be quick, get it over with, you’ll feel better when you say it. “is this a date?” 

“Do you want it to be? It doesn’t have to.” He added the second part quickly after.

“I- I think I do,” I smiled. Though he had just put his mug down, he picked it right back up, you did the same.

“Then a date it is.” You clinked cups. Still, something felt off. You were holding the cup up to your lips, but just far enough not to be able to drink from it. Your eyes glazed over as you focused them on the mural in front of you. It was of the Paris skyline. With the Eiffel tower in the middle, the Arc de Triomphe a bit to the left, on the other side stood the two symmetrical towers of the Notre Dame cathedral. It was probably geographically inaccurate, just good enough to keep everyone who had never been to the City of Love satisfied. 

“Okay, something’s up.” Tom brought you back to the date. “What’s wrong? And, please, be honest.” 

“I don’t know,” you huffed out a laugh. “But before you start to freak out, it’s nothing to do with you, I swear.”

“So, you kind of know what it is about.” he raised an eyebrow. He had a point. If you knew what it was not, it meant you knew what it was, indeed. 

“I, uhm,” suddenly you felt very much aware of everything and everyone around you. Were they listening? “Well, I really want to apologise for being so distant outside of Instagram.” 

“There’s really no need for that, darling,” he said. “I understand it, and should have been a bit more considerate. I should have realised sooner that bars and shit aren’t your cup of tea.. or hot chocolate.” 

You both laughed. 

“Yeah,” you were smiling, but the word came out a bit as a sigh, conveying your all the troubling thoughts that were going on in your brain.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Tom saw through it. You bit your lip, not sure how to say it. You didn’t want to say it. He would probably think you were a joke. Besides, all those people around. Some of them from your school. They could probably hear every word you were saying.

“Do you maybe want to text it to me?” he suggested with a kind smile. You hadn’t realised when he had moved, but he had let go of your shoulders, and his hand was now on top of yours. His thumb moved slowly over your skin, reassuring you that, whatever it was, it was okay. 

How you hoped it was. 

You grabbed your phone and started to type out your message, taking a deep breath before sending it to him. You heard the vibration in his pocket, and with it, your heart skipped with anxiety. Tom kept holding on to your hand as he took out his phone and read the text. His eyes shot wide open. 

“Wait, really?” 

 _________________________________

“Never?” he asked, to which she bit her lip and shook her head. 

No, it wasn’t possible. 

“How has no one- nooo,” 

“It just… never got far enough- No, I mean, ugh,” she finally took a sip of her hot chocolate. Tom had to admit that it was cute how that was her go-to frustration action. She wiped off the whipped cream from her lip. Tom couldn’t stop looking at them, they were just so perfect. He wanted to feel her, to taste her. He wouldn’t even mind the taste of cinnamon that would have remained on them. 

“There was just never a guy that made me think, oh yeah, I want to kiss him,” she said after another sip of the hot chocolate. 

“So, you’d want to kiss me?” 

“Shut up,” she said glaring, but just to hide the big smile on her face. 

“Sorry, I just can’t believe you’ve never been kissed.” She flinched a bit at his words. “I don’t mean it in that way. You shouldn’t be ashamed of never being kissed. Sometimes it happens early on, sometimes it doesn’t. If it wasn’t for my pledge, I don’t think I would have had my first kiss till last year.” He confessed. y/n looked at him with eyebrows that had a twist of disbelief in them. 

“Yeah, right.”

“I swear,” Tom laughed, putting his hands up. “So really, no judgement here.” Then he leaned in to whisper into her ear, “and I definitely won’t mind breaking you in,” He couldn’t keep a straight face saying it, and neither could she. He had thought it would make her nervous or flushed, but she just slapped him on his arms teasingly. 

“In your dreams, Holland.” 

“Fuck, I hope so.” That made her freeze, just for a second though. “Shit, too much?” He asked, afraid he had finally taken it too far with his inappropriate humour. 

“No, you’re good.” She took another sip of her hot chocolate, allowing Tom to do so as well. 

“See, just because I’ve never been kissed, it immediately puts me under this label of being a prude or something, but I’m really not. I’ve just- had a really shitty love life.” Or just a complete lack of it.

“Well, I hope to change that.” He leaned in again and pecked her cheek. That finally got him the flushed reaction he had hoped for. 

“You already did.” 

 _________________________________

Your hand moved up to your cheek, hovering above the area that he had kissed. You felt like an idiot, but with Tom, it didn’t even feel like a bad thing. 

“We’ve known each other for less than two days, and I can already tell you, you’re way up there in the list of good dates.” 

“Way up there? Give me stats.” He nudged on. You thought for a second. 

“At least… top ten.” 

“Top five? Oh C’mon, babe, I think I’m a bit better than that. Not to toot my own horn, of course.” 

“Top five.” You said, ignoring the butterflies that had escaped in your stomach. He glared at you. You glared back, keeping your eyes on each other for another moment until he had dipped his finger in his hot chocolate and pressed it against your nose. You blinked in confusion. 

“That just moved you down to number six.” 

“Well, shit.” Tom leaned in and licked the whipped cream off your nose. As disgusting as it should have been, you burst into a fit of giggles, hiding your face in his chest to not disturb the rest of the restaurant. While you were trying to calm down, you felt Tom kiss the top of your head a few times. 

Finally, you sat up again. 

“Top three,” you stated. It was good enough for Tom. For now. 

You drank the rest of your drinks in the best silence possible that could be kept as both of you kept laughing at each other. Finally, the mugs were empty. Tom paid for everything and let you take the lead to walk outside with the umbrella. When you opened the door, however, you saw that the storm had now passed over into a light drizzle. You kept the umbrella closed. 

You were already letting yourself get taken up by the rain when Tom was outside. You thought he would come to join you, but he stayed under the little roof, watching you with a big smile. 

“Not afraid of the rain, are you?” you asked. “Or are you made of sugar?” 

“All I can say is, come and find out for yourself.” You were already a few steps away, so you hopped over to him, took his hand and took the final step, so you were touching chest to chest. His other hand found its way on your hip. You saw his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips. You smiled and pulled him in closer, making you take a step back and exposing him to the weather. 

“Mutherfucker!” He gasped, not having expected that. “Ohh, you’re good.” 

Before you knew what was happening, he had picked you up by the waist and spun you around. You squealed from surprise before the both of you started laughing again. Eventually, he had to put you back down again, and your eyes widened in horror when you saw him walk to a large puddle. 

“No, Tom! No, no, no.!” He put you down right next to it. Probably an inch from the water edge. 

“C’mon, I’m not that mean.” he pouted. 

“Nah, you’re a softy,” you poked his cheek. He grabbed your hand. 

“Oi, I wouldn’t go that far.” then kissed the tip of your index finger, which you had poked him with a second before.

“Too late, I guess.” 

“You sure about that? You’re still really close to that puddle babe. We wouldn’t want any… accidents!” He gripped you by the waist again, and the sudden movement made you feel like he was gonna throw you down into the puddle. You shrieked but soon felt his arms still around you and no parts of your body were soaked (only moderately wet from the light rain) or on the ground. He was still holding you. 

“You never answered me,” he said, his sweet laughter was gone, and his eyes were on your lips again. 

“Answer what?” you kept looking at his face as a whole, taking in every detail. The way his nose scrunched when droplets of rain well on it. How one of his eyebrows was more bushy and irregular than the other. The dimple in his chin, his freckles- everything. 

“If you wanted to kiss me.” 

His golden-brown eyes were so warm, even in the dim street lights at night. His wet hair was sticking to his face, but framing it so nicely. His jaw was sharp, it didn’t seem like it should be real. 

“I do.”

His lips. Though thin and a bit chapped, they still felt so soft. The sweet taste of chocolate, mixed in with the rain that had fallen in the few moments that you stood outside. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you in closer to him. It felt so good. So right. 

You pulled away but with no idea how much time had gone by. His stands stayed in their position, his eyes searched yours for a reaction. Nothing came from it since you were still in an emotional daze. 

Tom chuckled. 

“Fuck, I should have slid into your DMs sooner.” 

“Way to ruin the mood, Holland.”

“Oh, you love it.” He said before pulling you into another kiss. 

The END

> song played in Le Moulin: Rendez-vous sous la pluie (Jean Sablon)

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed

> please leave a comment or ask with your thoughts. i love reading them and let me know if you want to see more of this au cause i really enjoyed writing it :)

> if anyone has a comment about how it had only been a day since they met etc. i wrote this 15k story in the span of 24 hours. i wish i could have added more to it but at this point, i am physically and emotionally exhausted and do not want to make it even longer. 

>masterlist and link to taglist in bio

tagging:

@definitely-not-black-cat @artemisiaarm @nerdyhockeygirl @miraclesoflove @justasmisunderstoodasloki @thefridgeismybestie @m19friend @creative-happenings @parker-holland-osterfield @fanficparker @fanficscuziranout @peterparkoure @xxtomxo @happywolves81 @captainbuckyy @tra-gicx @qxeen-of-hearts @varshavisuu @kangaroobunny @petersunderoos96  @the-lost-fairy-tale @nerd-domland @sleepybesson @rissa067 @the-queen-procrastinator @scarletteclipze @screeching-student-unknown  @spiderrrling​ @captainpeggy40 @tomhollanders2013 @miraclesoflove @playinonaloop @queenoflostspirits @roses-hxlland @hereiamhereigo @sunnydays0803 @averyfosterthoughts @moorehollandplz @beiroviski @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @peterparkerbabyyy @multifandomlover21 @lmaotshollandd @badbitchydecisions @tikapollak @awesomehritz​ @madzleigh01​ @oh-what a beautiful-parker @taciturnspidey​ @quaksonhehe​ @mountainsforwords​ @harryfobter @peepeeparkerr @viagracex​ @ethereal-beauty-p​ @slytherin-chaser​ @worldoftom​ @moonysoftt​ @peeterparkr​ @wazzupmrstark​ @saintlavrents​ @peachybloomss​ @blissfulparker​ @chloecreatesfictions-archive​  @fallinfortom​ @bitchydecisions​ @okokimfreakingoutahh @cicicantblog​ @musicalkeys​ @joyleenl​ @multifandomdoodles121 @awkwardfangirl2014​ @marvelouspeterparker​

[dirty-urie]

Little Brendon

Second Person

Brendon x Female Reader

PFTW Era

Fluff(ish) Oneshot

PG-13? R?

3.6k Words

Warnings In Order of Appearance: real person fic, language throughout, arguably slight smut, minor dirty talk

Author's Notes:

1. I don't know how I got this idea or what possessed me to actually write it, to be honest, but I had fun, so I guess that's all that matters.

2. Posting this in honor of the anniversary of the show I went to on the first leg of the Wicked tour, which was technically yesterday, but this fic wasn’t done yesterday, so here it is now.

“Awww, little Brendon,” you gush at the computer screen.

“Please tell me you aren’t looking at pictures of my penis,” Brendon says, walking into the room.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Not that your ego couldn’t use a little bruising, but no, I’m not cooing at your nudes. Merch wants you to sign off on the final photos of the Beebo plush, and look how cute he is!” You shift the computer monitor so he can see what you’re looking at.

“Why are you going through my email?”

“You always ignore emails from Merch, and I like looking at all of the new Panic designs!”

“Babe, I work ten hours a day; I don’t want to do anything I don’t have to. Merch will use whatever designs they think will sell well. They don’t actually need my approval. Those sign-off emails are just a formality.”

You pout. “I know, I know. I won’t go through your email anymore.”

“Good,” he says, relieved. "I wouldn’t want you to discover all the messages from my mistresses.”

“You’re a jackass,” you call, flipping him off as he leaves the room with a smirk.

***

“I’m gonna miss you,” you pout, leaning against the door frame to your bedroom.

He kisses your forehead and puts another pair of sweatpants in a suitcase. “You can’t wait for me to leave. You get to have the girls over, watch all your shitty movies, and you won’t have to deal with my dirty underwear or noisy video games in your nice living room.”

You take the t-shirt he’s about to pack out of his hands and throw it on the bed, pulling him into a kiss. You slip your hands under the waistband of his pants to grope his ass. You pull away. “Mhm, that’s what I thought. I don’t ever have to deal with dirty underwear because you never wear any.”

“Hey! Don’t slut-shame me! You love having such easy access to this body.” He gestures to his body with a strange flailing arm motion.

“You know what? You’re right. I can’t wait for you to leave.”

He side-eyes you. “Well, in that case, you won’t want the present I got you.” He shrugs, refolding his shirt.

Your eyes light up, and you go kiss him again. “Have I ever told you how much I love you? Because it’s a lot. Enough to justify a really nice present,” You say after he pulls away.

“That’s what I thought. I guess you’ll get your present after all. Close your eyes,” Brendon says.

You close your eyes, and he hands you something soft. You open your eyes, and it’s Brendon’s likeness in plush form. He’s wearing Brendon’s tour outfit with a gold jacket over a black tee and black leather pants.

“Little Brendon!” you exclaim, seeing the toy in your hands. “Aww, it’s even got your lips and little eyebrow scar! Thank you, babe.” You kiss him and then Little Brendon. “Now I have someone to keep me company while you’re off getting bitches on tour.”

“Oh, come on, babe,” he says, putting his hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes, “they’re not bitches, they’re groupies.”

You smack his arm affectionately and then push him onto the bed to crawl on top of him. “Maybe you should practice for the groupies. Wouldn’t want you to kill their rockstar fantasies because you’re out of experience.”

He flips you over and rolls on top of you, nipping at your neck. “Out of experience? What, pray tell, have we been doing every day for the past two weeks, if not building my experience?” he asks with disbelief, punctuating each point with a bite or kiss. “Remember when I made you come twelve times in one hour before I let myself come? Or when we fucked on the roof of my studio when the neighbors were out of town? Or when you fucked my ass with that new toy, the one that vibrates?”

“Shit, shit, point taken,” you moan, grinding up against him while he bears down on you.

His phone pings, and he slows his hips to grab it from the side table. “Fuck, Zack’s out front. I’ve gotta go.”

You grab the front of his shirt and yank him down for a deep, dirty kiss.

He’s reluctant to pull away, but his other love is calling. Tour, that is, not Zack.

“Okay, let me up, loverboy. I’ll help bring your stuff out to the car,” you tell him.

“Thank you. Most of my instruments and stuff are already with the guys, but I’ve still got two suitcases and a backpack.”

You both stand up, and he grabs the suitcases, leaving you with the backpack. “You’re not gonna readjust, rockstar?” You ask, eyeing his tented sweatpants.

He shrugs, “My hands are full, and it’s nothing Zack hasn’t seen before.”

“You just like showing off,” you accuse, and he smirks a little and winks because you’re not wrong.

You walk him to the car and give him a final goodbye kiss. “I love you to death. Knock their socks off, babe.”

***

Without fail, the one-week mark hits you like a truck. You’ve had your fun with girlfriends, and you’ve enjoyed the peace and quiet, but your bed is empty, and it’s weighing on your chest. Even the puppies seem a little more glum without Brendon.

You feel silly, but finally, after two nights of crying yourself to sleep, you give in and grab little Brendon from your dresser and cuddle up with him.

***

Two weeks later and you and the real Brendon are half-asleep, snuggled up against each other in the nicest hotel room in Houston. You can only spend two nights with him, and you refuse to let him go for even a second more than you have to. Which he did not appreciate when he had to use the bathroom, but it’s his fault for leaving you for so long.

“Baby, I’ve got an interview, but I’ll bring back breakfast, and we’ll eat in bed, okay? I’m really sorry,” He whispers apologetically, peeling away from you.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s what you have to do to pay the bills. Can you hand me Little B? He’s in my purse,” you ask, and Brendon obliges without comment, probably just happy you’re not crying.

You fall back asleep with the little guy in your arms.

Brendon knows it’s irrational when he comes back three hours later at 8 am, and he feels a tiny twinge of jealousy at the plush you’re cuddled up with. However, he feels it is not irrational that he’s upset when he climbs into bed with you, and instead of immediately clinging to him like always, you just clutch Little Brendon harder. Almost as if protecting the toy from Brendon.

“Y/N, I’m back,” he whispers in your ear, half-hoping you’ll throw the doll on the ground and roll over to make burning hot love to him for 12 hours straight. That’ll show Little Brendon. Well, no, it won’t, he has stuffing where his brain should be, but it’ll show him on principle.

You do roll over to throw an arm across him, but you still have little Brendon tucked under your other arm.

Brendon decides to call this one a draw.

“Did you bring food?” You mumble.

“Of course, darling. I’ll do anything to spoil you. That’s one of the perks of having a driver’s license and sentience.”

“…What?”

“Nothing. I’ll get your food.”

He insists on feeding you and rubbing your feet, and letting you watch whatever you want on the hotel TV. And it’s just because he wants to take care of you while you two are together. Definitely no other reason. He certainly feels no joy at the sight of Little Brendon lying discarded on the nightstand. Point Real Brendon.

After the day of pampering, it pains you when you check the clock, and it’s time to leave. “Alright, I’ve gotta head out, B. I can’t miss my flight,” you finally say, changing from Brendon’s T-shirt into real clothes.

Brendon thinks about protesting, but he knows better. You have your own life apart from him, and he respects that.

You cram your stuff in your overnight bag and give your goodbye hugs and kisses to Brendon. Then you kiss Little B before throwing him in your purse. You think you see Brendon scowl at your new companion, but you were probably just imagining it.

***

“Surprise!” Brendon shouts as he opens the door.

“Babe! Thank god I sent the strippers home early,” you joke as he sits next to you on the couch.

“Shit, I missed the strippers?”

“You fucking goof,” you laugh, playing with his hair. “What are you doing home early?”

“Nicole needed to come home for some emergency with her house, so I figured I’d charter the plane and zip down with her and Zack to spend the night with my beautiful wife.”

“God, that must’ve cost an arm and a leg, B.”

He shrugs, “Nah, we were only in Portland anyway, and it’s easier than finding a new bassist on short notice. This way, Nicole and I can be back for the San Jose show tomorrow night, and I get a whole twelve hours at home with my girl and my puppies.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad it worked out for everyone. Especially me,” you say, shifting to sit in Brendon’s lap.

You two finish up the episode you were watching before you insist that he comes to bed because he’s overworked and jetlagged. He’s sleepy and doesn’t need that much convincing, but he tries to put up a fight anyway.

“I only get a little bit of time with you; I don’t want to spend it sleeping,” he complains.

“This is the hardest I’ve ever had to work to get you in my bed,” you respond, yanking him to his feet.

His eyes light up, and you shake your head. “No, sir. We’re not having sex. You’re getting at least seven hours of sleep in your own bed with the love of your life, and then you’re going to take a shower, make me breakfast, and give San Jose the show of their lives. You’ll literally see me again in two days when I come to the LA show.”

He bites his lip, still trying to lay the seduction on thick.

“No! Bed! Or I’m making you sleep in the guest room!”

He sighs, trudging along behind you to the bedroom.

“Um, babe, I think you forgot to kick out your mistress before I got home,” he says, gesturing to his side of the bed where little Brendon is tucked into the comforter.

You scowl playfully. “Oh, shush you. Where else should I put him while making the bed?”

“I don’t know, but letting my replacement sleep in my spot feels a little on the nose.”

“He’s not your replacement, baby.”

“Really?” Brendon asks, picking up Little Brendon and getting into bed, “because” he sniffs Little Brendon’s head, “I’m pretty sure Little Brendon is wearing my fifty dollar cologne.”

You blush, “Okay, well I take him everywhere, and I didn’t want him to smell, and it’s not like I could use any of my perfumes…” you taper off, realizing that you may have given yourself away with the ‘take him everywhere’ line.

He narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything else before clicking out the light.

“Hey, Brendon?” You ask quietly.

“Mm?”

“Um, what did you do with Little B?”

Brendon clicks on the light. “Ah-ha! J’accuse! You’ve replaced me!”

“I just don’t want the dogs to rip him up and then leave me to clean up stuffing all morning!” You defend yourself.

“Well then, you won’t mind me putting him up on the dresser.”

“Of course, I won’t mind.”

Brendon puts Little B on the dresser and goes back to bed, so imagine his surprise when instead of waking up tangled in your arms the next morning, he’s not even touching you on the king bed. Instead, you’re hugging Little Bastard with your nose buried in his fabric hair.

Little B’s smirk taunts Brendon as he storms out of bed to make his damn wife breakfast. His damn wife.

***

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you whine, rubbing your hips frantically.

“Come,” he commands. “Let me see that pretty mouth fall open as you come all over our bedsheets, pretty girl.”

The angle on your clit is perfect, and the image of him getting off on your phone right along with you pushes you into bliss, and your orgasm rocks through your core. You know you’ve affected him when you hear him grunt as come rolls down his fist.

“God, babe, you’re incredible, from a completely different country, fuck, a completely different continent, you still turn me on like crazy,” he admires.

“I could say the same about you. I came so hard just from getting to hear and see you.” You tell him before accidentally dropping your phone. “Shit, sorry, my fingers are a little wet.

Brendon would normally just be admiring the soaked panties he’s getting a glimpse of, but instead, his attention is drawn between your thighs for a different reason.

“Were you getting off by humping Little Brendon?!”

“It’s not what it looks like, okay?” You say, picking up the phone. “He’s the perfect firmness, and he’s way easier to manage than a clunky pillow! It’s purely physical!”

Brendon scoffs, “I’ve bought you thousands of dollars in sex toys, and you turn to him? In our marital bed? I’m being cuckolded by polyester!”

“Brendon, it’s a stuffed animal, not the pool boy. You come back from England in three days, and you can fuck me however you want. Y’know, because of your functioning dick, tongue, and fingers?”

“Just as long as I don’t come back to find you rimming the stuffed tiger from Calvin and Hobbes,” he teases with a smile.

“Hm, is degrading Winnie the Pooh out of the question, too, then? because if that’s the case, then I’ll need to find different plans for tomorrow evening.”

He gives you a pointed look, feigning seriousness before cracking a grin. “Alright, alright, thank you for the orgasm. I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he says before blowing you a kiss before hanging up.

“That plush better count his days,” Brendon mumbles to himself before falling asleep.

***

“Do you want me to go with you to the store?” He offers.

“No, baby, enjoy some of your time at home. I’ll just bring my other husband for emotional support.” You toss Little Brendon in your purse.

“I remember when I was your emotional support at the grocery store…” Brendon starts, looking off into the distance.

“Yeah, me too, and you were terrible. You hated it. Rest assured, I’ll make you come back to the grocery store another time, but right now, I’m being nice because you just got back from tour. And you still have the dishes and the vacuuming to do.”

“Aye, aye, captain. Don’t let the paparazzi catch you smooching Little Brendon while I’m at home doing your dirty work,” he calls as you leave.

“No promises! He’s very tempting!”

***

“You never snuggle with me anymore,” Brendon pouts after you reject his advances in bed.

“It’s August, and you’re hot,” you complain, and he gives you a suggestive look. “Not that kind of hot, Casanova. I mean two minutes in, and you’re sweating all over me. It’s uncomfortable.”

“You snuggled with Little Brendon when I was gone!” He accuses.

“Yes, because I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping with something in my arms, and Little Brendon doesn’t sweat, or snore, or wake me up in the morning with his cock pressing into my thigh, or bicker with me about how I choose to sleep,” you explain, annoyed. Brendon looks genuinely upset, so you soften your face. “When the temperature isn’t in the triple digits, and we don’t literally stick together when we touch, we can cuddle. Okay?”

“Fine.”

***

“Bogart, hey buddy, look at this toy for you to chew on. Bite, bite, bite, kill,” he says, throwing Little Brendon to Bogart.

Bogart sighs and rests his head on Little Brendon like a pillow.

“First my wife and now my dog,” Brendon shouts, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Okay, this has gone on long enough,” you tell him, alerting him to your presence in the doorframe. “Sit,” you order, pointing to the couch. “Brendon, you’re jealous of a toy,” you state bluntly.

He blushes and grabs his stuffed enemy. “It’s not about the toy,” he finally admits.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“It’s just,” he struggles to find the right words, “I love touring. I love seeing all the different cities on my days off, meeting fans, partying with different bands, and most of all playing shows.” He takes a deep breath. “But I also love you. I love waking up with you, going out to dinner, watching you get off on my thigh, and just getting to be near you. So when I have to be away from you to tour, sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, and seeing you do the things I want to do with you with the stupid Beebo plush instead, kept bringing all of those feelings to the forefront” he confesses.

“Oh, B, of course, you made the right choice. I love you, and I miss you when you’re gone sometimes, but I love our life. I love getting my independence when you’re gone, visiting you on-tour, watching you do what you love, having super hot reunion sex. So yeah, sometimes I just wanna squeeze you and smell your cologne and kiss your little face, but I’d never want you to sacrifice your career for that,” you say. “You wanna know why I like Little B so much?”

“Because he’s so good for humping?”

“No,” you laugh, “well, yes, actually, he is. But it’s because he reminds me why I spend some nights alone and hop on dreadful red-eye flights every few weeks and have to hook up with my husband on a fucking bus. So you can put on this dumb gold jacket,” you fiddle with Little Brendon’s jacket, “and perform the songs you worked so hard on for hundreds of thousands of people, and then sell thousands of these dumb little dolls so we can live in a multi-million dollar house with a home studio and a heated pool.”

“So you’re not replacing me with the puppet doll?” He asks.

“Well, maybe a little, but sometimes you feel so intangible. Even when you’re here, I know you have other, more important obligations, so it’s nice to have something constant,” you laugh, “and I think Bogart feels the same way,” you say, pointing to the dog who is curled around his new friend protectively.

***

“You’ve created a monster!”

“Have not!”

“You were the one who gave him Little Brendon!”

Brendon’s eyes dart to the floor because you’re right.

Bogart grew attached to Little Brendon faster than you did and now gently carries the toy with him wherever he goes. If you try to reclaim Little Brendon, Bogart growls and snarls.

“It’s kind of cute, I guess. He’s protecting his daddy,” you say.

“Then it’s your fault for putting my cologne on him,” Brendon retorts.

“Ugh, fine,” you concede.

“Oh look, he’s dropped it,” Brendon points out.

At first, you think it’s a good thing, but you both recognize the look Bogart’s giving.

“Go, Bog! Get it!” Brendon cackles as the dog pounces.

“Oh no, you don’t, bad dog,” you scold, snatching the toy away. “If you wanna hump something, I think Zack’s coming over tonight, but we don’t do that to mommy’s things.”

Brendon’s still laughing his ass off, and you shoot him a dirty look. “C’mon, babe, you’ve blue-balled him,” Brendon says, pointing to the sad-looking dog.

“Bogart is fixed and doesn’t have balls, a characteristic you two will soon have in common if you don’t stop giggling like a ten-year-old,” you threaten, and he, wisely, shuts up. “That’s what I thought. And if anything, this is just vindication for me because I told you Little Brendon was good for humping, and you dismissed it,” you tell him.

“Okay, fine, there was a brief period of time when I was irrationally jealous of a toy,” he admits. “But I think you should get another taste of the real thing before you decide who’s the better lay once and for all,” Brendon says, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom.

“Brendon!” You lightheartedly protest in his arms.

***

You’re lying on his chest contentedly as he strokes your arm. “You wanna know what I miss the most about getting to cuddle with you when you’re touring? Something Little Brendon doesn’t give me?”

“Hm?”

“Your heartbeat. Feeling it under my head or under my palm. Especially if we’re lying together for a while. I love how it slows and steadies the longer we’re with each other. So comforting.”

***

Little Brendon is sitting on your bed with a card that says, “Squeeze me!” on the front. You squeeze the plush, and you immediately recognize Brendon’s heartbeat coming softly from the chest of the toy. You smile and pick up the card.

Hey, baby! It reads, I’m no doubt missing you on the second leg of tour right now, but if you really need some comfort, I hope this’ll do. The recording lasts about an hour, and I made sure it got down to my resting heart rate before it stops. I’m sorry for being a jealous dick about a stuffed animal, but even my possessive lizard brain wants you to have something to make you feel better if you’re ever stressed or upset. (And now that the Beebo plushies are officially for sale, you can rest easy knowing yours is special)

xoxoxo,

Brendon

[mcrmadness]

Weird asks: 22, 43, 85

Thanks! This ask set is actually full of super fascinating questions!

22. role model?

Hmmm. I don't really have any? There are people I really look up to, but not really anyone that I'd consider being an actual role model as I usually like to do things my way and use my own brains instead of just following others.

Like, since we both like dä I basically could mention Bela (or BFR) here, but I still don't think of him as a ROLE MODEL. I mean, I respect him and his views on many things so much, but it's more that I just have had similar views already before I even heard about dä, and not me changing my views just because Bela B once said something in an interview 10 years ago. I like to think about things a bit deeper and from several points of views before I decide what is my opinion over a topic.

Usually I like finding out that my faves etc. are like-minded and relatable, since they all are still just people, and they can also do and say the wrong things and their words are not the law. So the answer is: no, I don't really have role models. Not sure if I ever did, even during my teen years.

Bonus: I wrote most of this post yesterday, and while I was washing dishes today, I was thinking about this, and I realized something. I have always had "reverse role models". So instead of "I wanna do what they do", I have been "I don't like what this person is doing, and I do not want to do the same thing/be like them." Maybe it has something to do with my already a bit rebellious nature and my need to survive and figure everything out myself... (And partially because I was bullied at school and just grew into this me vs. the world mindset.)

---

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Zipper hoodie AND a leather jacket. Or mine is not real leather, but it doesn't matter cos it looks real enough for me. (Except that it's actually pretty difficult to find the perfect weather to wear cos during cold weather it turns and feels extremely cold, and during warmer weather I start bathing in my own sweat because of how hot it gets under the surface as it's literally plastic, so it does not breathe at all. Maybe one day I'll buy a real leather jacket, altho they often cost hundreds of euros, and I'll never ever have the money for ONE jacket.)

---

85. fairy tales or mythology?

I'd say mythology. Fairy tales are alright but I like the Grimm Brothers' versions more. I do like fairy tales that are a bit shocking and scary that way, but I mostly just heard the "normal" versions of fairy tales as a kid, and they were often really boring. I mean, even as a kid I didn't really care about these stories always ending up to a princess or other female main character marrying someone and them "living happily ever after". I liked adventures and other stuff, but often the happy end in every fairy tale has been a boring romance. And not always even that nice one - often the girls just kinda had to marry the prince/king/whatsoever - which on the other hand is understandable since the stories ARE old and were told during the times when it was common that girls/women didn't really have a say on anything that involved them in it.

So mythologies it is. My dad had this one book about different mythologies and I remember often browsing it as it was very easy to read - loads of (drawn) pictures with smaller and shorter texts next to them. I think there's also a longer text about each country's/civilization's mythology, but I was usually only reading the texts next to images, as I found them easier to focus on. I also memorized more about Greek mythology, and something about Egyptian mythology because I started the book over so many times as I tried to actually read it from cover to cover, but always lost my motivation before getting past the first pages, so I read the same first several pages several times, and the book starts with Greek mythology. But partially it was also because the book had a bit of many different mythologies, but it didn't dive into them as much as it did into Greek mythology, for example, which also annoyed me cos I would have liked to know more about all those lesser known mythologies too!

Also, now as I think about it, I think the book also divided the chapters into themes. Like, "nature related things" or "monsters" and stuff like that, which was pretty interesting.

"Weird asks that say a lot."

[capricornus-rex]

A Path I Can’t Follow (5)

Chapter 5: There’s Always Something Greater | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It was a matter of life and death—the question is, should it be the life of many or one, the death of many or one? Cal Kestis makes what ought to be the biggest and hardest decision of his life as he is pitted with a question of high stakes and morals. He descends to the Dark Side and becomes an Inquisitor. A choice he openly made for the sake of saving you, even if you didn't know you needed it until it was too late.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 | Previous: Chapter 4 | Next: Chapter 6 | Masterlist

5 of ?

There was a pause in their battle. Cal and the Fourth Brother stand in either side of the room. In this predicament, it was a luxury to even have a breather. The two men slowly circled at one another from across the room.

The same questions burned Cal’s mind. He didn’t know which one to ask first. For his benefit of the doubt, he assumed that the Fourth Brother doesn’t know about you—not mentioning you protected you from him in some way—and that he was referring to his female companion who is the Inquisitor you’re currently facing off at this very moment.

“How did you come to know this place?” Cal bellowed, demanding an answer. The Fourth Brother’s silent treatment and grin was beginning to annoy him.

“Why bother knowing such mundane things that can be answered by common sense?”

Knowing that it was hopeless to get a logical and direct answer from him, Cal scoffed in frustration.

“You’re not getting that holocron!” the young Jedi snarled, perseverance burned in him as he pointed his lightsaber at the enemy.

And you’re not getting to her!

This provoked the Fourth Brother, causing him to initiate the duel. Once again, their blades are intercrossed, trapped in another dance of a duel. At this point, Cal had become more aggressive but calculated—timing his Force attacks, mentally coaching himself on what the Fourth Brother’s next move is going to be, and conserving his energy for bigger attacks.

The desire to protect you—and everything you cared about—at all costs was one of Cal’s motivations. Given that the Fourth Brother and his companion is a whole new threat, Cal’s resolve held water.

The Fourth Brother sensed something else from Cal. The aggression combined with a precise coordination proved something of the Jedi. For once in his life, the Inquisitor might be facing someone who could be in the same caliber as his combat skills. He came out of his way to admit—in his mind—that he had underestimated this young boy.

“Oh, you have that fire in you. A glorious inferno!” The Fourth Brother sniggered tauntingly and grinned as he shifted all his weight on a deflecting Cal, their lightsabers’ colors mingling over the gloss of his soulless eyes. “Tell me… what’s your secret?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!?” Cal snarled back, staggered him away to restart his stance.

“If the Master could see you… Oh! He’d practically take you in our ranks.”

“Don’t count on it!”

Cal retaliated. Gathering up all his Force to send a wave towards the Fourth Brother, he sent the opponent flying and slammed his back hard against the cobblestone wall. However, this wasn’t enough to break the Inquisitor yet. There was still fight in these two men. The duel felt like an eternity.

“Oh, I most definitely will count on it,” the Fourth Brother hissed suggestively.

While on his knees, the Fourth Brother feigned and was mustering up all his energy as well to get back at Cal.

“And so shall the Grand Inquisitor!” he roared, darting through the air towards Cal.

The Fourth Brother threw punches and landed his elbows hard against Cal’s jaw, disorienting the boy, followed by a series of lightsaber attacks. Fortunately, Cal was saved by his armor—the belt straps had been severed and a gash tore the hard leather.

One kick to the rib and the Fourth Brother sends back the same wave towards the Jedi, hoisting up him in the air and throwing him further across their arena. Cal plowed through the ground, denting the silt. The Fourth Brother has gained the upper hand this time.

“If I were you, I’d keep an open mind, Jedi.” The Fourth Brother huffed, slicking back the lock of hair that fell out of place.

Heavy footsteps approached the scene. From the shadows, a second figure appeared. He was unlike anything Cal has ever seen before. He wagered it must be the Grand Inquisitor whom the Fourth Brother mentioned. Tall and gaunt, he walked in the same stride as the Chiss Inquisitor—except he had a thicker air of authority looming about him—yellow eyes glimmered menacingly over a face whose skin was white as bone, red streaks tattooed on his high forehead and the underside of his eyes, lines are literally etched all over his skin.

“Hello… Cal Kestis,” the Pau’an hissed as he spoke.

Cal had this tongue tied. He wasn’t quite sure how and what to respond to that.

“You’re a promising child, I’ll give you that. Nearly at par with one of my best warriors. It’s not every day Ezir meets someone who hasn’t died in the next minute.”

Cal groaned as he tried to move and stand up, with a single abrupt wave of the Grand Inqusitor’s hand, the young Jedi is pinned down by an invisible weight, unable to move. The Pau’an slowly approaches the young man as he spoke.

“I know that—for a Jedi—it’s hard to believe what Fourth Brother is saying. After all, he is an Inquisitor. Why should you trust him? But trust me, he was right on one thing: you ought to keep an open mind. And you listen to what I have to say.”

Cal broke free out of the Force that was holding him down, and struck back at the Grand Inquisitor to which he calmly deflected with his own lightsaber—it was a rather foolish move, brave yet foolish.

“Tsk, I think Ezir didn’t leave with enough fight in you for me,”

“Trust me, I think I have enough for the both of you,” Cal winced.

The Grand Inquisitor burst in a condescending laughter.

“Ah, there it is!”

“What are you going to do with the village?”

“Interesting priority you have there. I won’t go into detail, I take you to be a smart boy. I will deploy all my troops on that sad excuse of a civilization into a garrison. Should they fight back, well,” he scoffed, smirking and imagining the horrendous scene that could possibly take place. “I think you can figure that out for yourself. Just remember the last time you’ve seen an army suddenly storming in and shooting down everyone and everything in sight without question.”

A fire burned within Cal, violently thrashing and flailing within his very core, somewhat revitalizing him. The Grand Inquisitor’s provoking words became a catalyst for Cal’s newfound energy. The boy never ceased to surprise the two Inquisitors. When he was standing close enough, he unlinked his lightsabers and attacked the Grand Inquisitor in a spinning motion. Having known every single lightsaber combat form, the Grand Inquisitor was unfazed at this and easily blocked it all, leaving nary a window of opportunity for the young Jedi—however, Cal’s spirit showed and proved to be invaluable, and it greatly attracted the Grand Inquisitor.

A pity to kill off such a talent. The menacing Pau’an thinks to himself while blocking Cal’s attack with little to no effort.

Meanwhile, you believed to be faring well against the Eighth Sister. The duel continued on, your energy was slowly ebbing—you were exhausted, and so is she—but one of you has to step out as the victor. She was beginning to steal the upper hand. Her litheness never faltered and continued fighting you every last fiber of her being.

The Eighth Sister, still in a brutal frenzy, sending blows at you with such vengeful rage that she got her reward of dealing damage on you. She swung her lightsaber in a diagonal streak, she had hoped she had broken skin—much to her chagrin, she only managed to damage your jacket and armor, and nicked on your shoulder.

“I’ll do better in the next one, girlie!” she screeched.

She prepares herself for the next move, switching on her lightsaber into a spinning mode to lunge right at you—her target was your torso, she had hope to cut you down like ground meat. She thought there’d be absolutely no way for you to get away from that.

The problem with these Inquisitors is that they underestimate the Jedi too much. You thought to yourself, sniggering at the context of the remark.

You managed to push her away from you with the Force, and you sensed that she’s going for another one of her deadly combos the moment she regains her bearings.

Come on, think fast!

Your eyes wandered the entire room. You saw that she was standing between two pillars and a parapet on the verge of breaking hung above her head. Concentrating on the stone fixtures, you quickly extended your hands, your fingers curled into claws, slowly motioning your hands downward the pillars followed your direction—you visualize the parapet crumbling down to the Eighth Sister in your mind, the said beam finally reduced to a large chunk of debris as it all crumbles down onto her.

Clouds of dust gathered and wafted about in the ruin. Everything was quiet again.

“So much for a next one,” you quipped. Finally able to catch your breath.

Little did you know that the rumble of the collapse that you’ve caused thundered across not just in the second level but in the first level as well. It temporarily caught the attention of Cal and the two Inquisitors—each had their own concerns.

“Nahlei…” The Fourth Brother mumbled under his breath.

You tried to take a step forward but you suddenly fell to your knees. You clutched your chest. It seems that the Eighth Sister has done a number on you. The searing pain was still fresh, you can’t go on even if you wanted to. You figured you’d be knocked out cold before you could even actually reach the vault itself.

“Cal…” you muttered under your breath, reaching for your commlink. “Cal… can you hear me?”

Your voice, albeit faint and fading, has reached Cal’s ears. Everyone in the first level foyer has heard the sound of the collapsing stone thundering across the temple.

[Y/N]…! Cal screamed in his thoughts.

“We’ll meet again, Jedi. This isn’t over yet!” the Grand Inquisitor growled as he tossed out a flash bomb out of his pocket and escaped along with the Fourth Brother.

When the white light had dissolved from Cal’s view, he was alone in the foyer.

“They’re gone…” then he gasped, realizing you called to him via the commlink. “[y/n]!”

He rummaged his person to switch on the earpiece of his commlink.

“[y/n], are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah…” you winced and groaned. “No, not really.”

“Hold on, I’m coming to you. Where are you?”

“I’m in…” your deep breaths popped and cracked through the speaker of the comm. Even only speaking made you feel sore. “In the sanctum up ahead from the lobby, from the lobby… where we came in from. I didn’t get to the holocron, I’m sorry.”

Cal’s heart ached as the sound of your sobs overtaking your shaky voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m coming to get you. Just stay there and find someplace to hide. The Inquisitors are here,”

“No kidding, one did a number on me,”

“Stay put. I’m coming,”

“Hurry, Cal… please, it hurts…”

The young Jedi, fleet-footed as he is, scaled the vine-ridden wall and finds himself standing in the east wing of the second level. Long vines hung between the wide gaps, they bridged his path from one point to the other. When the view of the circular lobby was in sight, he sprinted across the dead halls and went to the left—where you ought to be. He entered the conclave and saw the pile of rocks that were once pillars and a parapet sitting in one side of the room. You were sitting on the ground, leaning against the fountain’s base while clutching your shoulder.

“[y/n]!” he exclaimed, his voice was mixed with relief—that you’re alive—and worried about your wounds.

“Cal…” you weakly mumbled.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,”

“You’re hurt too…” you gasped, reaching for the tear across his armor.

“It’s nothing. Come on,”

He scooped you up in his arms, careful not to hit any of the spots where it hurts you, and cradled you close to him like a baby. A weak arm hooked over his shoulder, you tried your best to hold on tight to him.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t…”

“Shhh, it’s not your fault, hon. It’s not your fault,” he cooed, nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

He sprinted through the lobby, jumped over the gaps, the weight of you in his arms was nothing. Since you weren’t able to move well without hurting yourself, Cal managed to find an alternate exit. He leapt up in the air towards a platform where a gaping hole in the wall leads back to the outside world—the only problem is that the landing was probably a twenty-foot drop.

“Hold on tight to me, okay, [y/n]?”

You nodded weakly, you raised your good arm and held on tight on his chest, feebly clutching onto the fabric of his jumpsuit before makes the leap of faith. The Varans have heard him and they croaked at the sight of Cal. He was relieved that your mounts were still there, untouched and unscathed. Your Varan specifically anxious at the scent of cauterized blood and flesh—Varans were omnivorous creatures, but your connection with the animal did not stimulate its hunger, the creature perceived you as a companion and master. It sniffed your person and shook its head as it croaked in alarm.

“She can’t ride,” Cal spoke to the animal and mounted you on his Varan instead. “You’ll have to catch up with us.”

The reins of your Varan were long enough to tether it with Cal’s reins so it won’t stray without a rider. He secures you with both of his arms acting like a harness, letting you lean against him for the rest of the trip, and takes the reins. Fortunately enough, the Varans maintained a similar pace as Cal rode through the wasteland, on the way back to the village—given that it was the nearest place of shelter for the two of you.

Back at the temple, in the rubble where the Eighth Sister was buried alive in, it turns out that the female Inquisitor was never felled by you.

A fist tore through the debris and she pulled herself out of her supposed grave. She comes out growling, cold blue eyes blazing with a vengeance, her juvenile behavior might be the only thing that died in that collapse. She was rejoined by Ezir—namely, the Fourth Brother—as well as the Grand Inquisitor.

“I hope you can walk that off, Nahlei,” the Fourth Brother quipped.

“When I find that bitch, I’ll make sure she’ll never have to walk at all!” she roared.

The Grand Inquisitor smirked at the young woman’s remark.

Good, her hate didn’t die off with the rubble.

“Conserve that rage for another time, Eighth Sister, you will have the chance of utilizing that in the most opportune moment.”

“It would be my immense pleasure, Grand Inquisitor,”

“Come. We still have much to discuss about those Jedi,”

The pair followed the Grand Inquisitor back to their ship, eager to lay out the plans they have in mind for this planet and for you and Cal.

[myrrheart]

House of the Rising Sun (Julian x Apprentice!MC 🖤💉)

Summary: Just as you're getting ready to hop off your perch atop the makeshift clinic cot, the telltale rustling of paperwork carries through the room from the top floor, where you know a Certain Someone's office resides. A certain someone who likes to sleep in their aforementioned office. 

A certain someone who thinks 'sleeping' is synonymous with 'staying up until dawn whilst poring over treatises weighing twice as much as he does soaking wet.’

Some nights, you've come to accept, your caretaking duties do not end with the last patient out the door.

CW: Mild spice, light Dom/sub, power play, workplace romance.

Word count: 2.1k

Cross-posted to AO3!

The last patient of the workday has just finished hobbling out of the clinic when you peel off your gloves with a flourish, the weariness in your joints making itself known with each flex and stretch. 

Nothing a good herbal bath can't fix, but you'll first have to check if you've left yourself any lavender after the last...six consecutive soaks you've taken this week.

Curing the plague is no menial task, after all.

How odd it is, to be unable to use your magic to aid you in an endeavor. In fact, every time you do attempt to heal a patient with your abilities, it's almost as if the disease itself absorbs your energy like- like a sponge, or a black hole, or something equally as endless in its capacity to take and take and take and take. Nothing you've ever encountered before has left your reservoir so drained after each day's work; especially with so little to show for it.

In the back of your worn, haggard mind, a thought creeps in. A familiar one.

Was Asra right? Should I have left with him?

You let your gaze slip over to the puddle of blood on the floor, adjacent to your right boot. A patient had coughed it up in the midst of a fit -- an elderly woman who called you 'dear' as she clung onto your gloved fingers for dear life.

No. No. You're right where you need to be. Right here, in Vesuvia, helping the city that had taken you -- a lonesome outsider -- under its wing. 

Fool above. It truly must have been a long day for you to be dwelling on musings as existential as these. 

Just as you're getting ready to hop off your perch atop the makeshift clinic cot, the telltale rustle of paperwork carries through the room from the top floor, where you know a Certain Someone's office resides. A certain someone who likes to sleep in their aforementioned office. 

A certain someone who thinks 'sleeping' is synonymous with 'staying up until dawn whilst poring over treatises weighing twice as much as he does soaking wet.'

Some nights, you've come to accept, your caretaking duties do not end with the last patient out the door.

With as much time you've spent working in the clinic, you've committed every hall, every doorway, every staircase to heart. It works best, you've found, to take the back way to the main office -- he won't hear you coming, which gives him less time to pretend that he'd actually been resting. 

The supple leather of your boots makes not a sound against the dark wood paneling of the floors as you breathe a temporary hear-me-not spell underneath the gentle crest of your breath; just until I make it to his door, you reason with yourself. 

As you draw nearer, you can parse out how the flipping of heavy pages turn more frantic, the scribble of his fountain pen on worn parchment more harried. It's the time of night where nothing more gets done besides maybe a downward spiral.

Thankfully, you're here to curb that.

…

Well. You're going to try, at least.

You almost rap your knuckles against the ajar door before you remember that the sudden noise would startle him, after hearing not a peep from you prior. He's always been skittish like that, as though lying in perpetual wait to jump out from underneath his skin. What things he must have seen, you wonder, to never not have one of his feet poised to sprint.

"Doctor Devorak," you call once you've passed the threshold of the doorway. "It's getting late."

Despite your best efforts, he still jolts. Rather harshly, at that, and a pot of ink is upturned in the commotion and splays out across the parchment he'd been scribbling (what looks to be) fruitlessly at.

"Son of a-- my word. Warn a man! I swear it, you're like an apparition. One moment there, one moment not, leaving the rest of us to wonder when next you'll make another grand entrance."

You smile wryly. "You're too kind to me, Doctor." 

He runs his hands from his brow to his chin before looping back up to tangle the thicket of auburn atop his head even further than it already is. "I'm nothing of the sort,” he sighs, caustically. “The midnight hour has come and gone and you're still here. Go home, apprentice. It's not like we don't already start early enough in the morning.”

In front of you, the doctor looks so ragged it's a miracle he isn't fraying at the threads of his melodramatic cape. 

The valley of his hooded eyes is deeper in slope than usual, stained an alarming shade of violet by lack of sleep; he's even sporting the beginnings of stubble, a marked shift in presentation. Have you ever seen him without anything but a clean-shaven face? 

Have you ever seen him with his coat lain askew on the floor? With his jacket discarded in much the same manner, the only thing clinging desperately to his thin frame being a sea ruffian's blouse? With his boots drawn down halfway past his calves? With his lips bitten a plump, ripe red from overthought? 

"I will if you do," you answer, the words barely managing to crawl out of your suddenly- dry throat. "Go home, that is."

The doctor barks a short laugh. "This is my home: amidst the squalor of the sick and dying, in the thick of my shortcomings, sat right in front of answers just a pace or two away." The look on his face is dark, made even darker by the rapidly dimming candle on the desk before him.

He reclines back in the wooden chair he has (no doubt) been hunched in for hours, arms folded sternly across the bare expanse of his chest, mouth a firm, unmoving line.

"Leave. This isn't your place. You don't deserve this."

A long time ago, someone else had told you the same thing. And yet, you stayed. Regardless of the risk. Regardless of the cost. Even if you knew you'd pay for it later.

Right now, you make the same decision you had then.

You draw closer to the chair the doctor practically spills out of, his lanky limbs barely managing to fit within its confines. You stop just between his spread legs. His ankles kiss your own.

"Past the midnight hour, you say?"

One fiery eyebrow arches. "Yes."

"I'm off the clock, then."

His gaze narrows. "Yes. Which is precisely why I am telling you to go ho-"

"So, I don't take orders from you."

It's almost comical, the speed with which his mouth snaps shut. 

"I. What? I beg your pardon?"

"I said," you whisper lowly, the heat of the candle warming you from the inside out as you take one step further between the doctor's legs. You watch him fight not to instinctively close them. "I don't take orders from you. Not right now."

Devil strike you down, there is no way you're reading this wrong. The swelling of his pupils is damn near instantaneous -- an already stormy grey grows downright thunderous at how quickly the clouds roll in, how fast the sky darkens, how ominous the sudden absence of light leaves the heavens. 

The shift in dynamic is so quick, so damn-near instantaneous, it's almost as though he's been lying in wait for someone to take the reigns away from him. "Oh, erm. That's- well. I suppose that's, huh, true, technically." 

"It is," you affirm. Another step. Another twitch of his legs. So long, so clumsy. They may as well be tied up if only to get them out of the way.

"S-so it may be." He scoots the chair backward with scrabbling boots against the floorboards, hooded eyes begging you to give chase.

You do. Two steps to match his retreat. "Is that a problem, Doctor? Me not following orders?"

A bigger gap is put between the two of you this time. So big in fact that he almost tips himself over in the chair in his haste to get you to come after him. The ruckus jostles every piece of furniture in the room, candlelight waning dangerously in all the commotion. 

"Ah-hem, well, er- I wou-wouldn't call it a. Um. A 'problem,' per se-"

You're outright striding towards him at this point, uncaring of whether or not he's able to keep up with the rhythm of your pursuit. "What would you call it then, Doctor?"

He drags himself one, two, three more paces away before the back of his chair connects solidly with the wall. He's met with no more room to run, nowhere to hide; met with nothing except the immovable expanse of brick, mortar, and your own hungering.

Wickedly, you advance in slow motion, watching in amusement as his gaze flickers around for another route, a different retreat tactic. Horror dawns on his face as he realizes there is nowhere else to go, or even to turn -- except towards you.

You've literally backed him into a corner.

"Tell me to go home," you whisper, seriously, once you've come close enough to count the faint freckles littered across the hook of his nose. "Tell me to stop, to leave, and I will. We won't speak of this again."

"Please don't go," is his immediate reply- so immediate, in fact, that you aren't even finished speaking before he cuts you off with his begging. 

It is then that you notice the forceful grip of his fingers against the seat of his chair is not in apprehensiveness, but in restraint. The entirety of his body seems to teeter on the precipice of rising up and into your own, bound back only by… by what? What is it that he's waiting for? 

"Please," he repeats again, fainter, breathier, tearier. The word draws a sheen to his eyes, a tremor to his bottom lip.

Ah.

He's waiting for permission.

"On the topic of orders, Doctor," you drawl, chancing a single finger at the center of his chest and biting back a wanton groan of your own when you feel it spasm beneath your touch. "We've already established that I am not to take any. Not tonight, for that matter." 

Eagerly, he nods, arching his back so that more of his skin is exposed to your teasing touch. His head connects sharply with the wall behind him and he must visibly swallow a noise of some sort. Interesting.

"So then,"

His eyes slip tightly shut. That won't do. 

Quickly, swiftly, you capture his chin between your pointer and thumb and bring him back down to center: head faced squarely off with your own, eyes open and wide and inviting.

"Whose orders are you taking tonight?"

He bites into his lower lip so harshly the skin threatens to break, and then actually does when you repeat the question a second time around, nails digging cruelly into the supple flesh of his cheeks. 

"Yours." And then he whispers your name so reverently, so intimately, that you're nearly thrown out of the heat of the moment. The way he’s looking at you...is probably very inappropriate for a boss to look at his subordinate. 

Then again, you’ve pretty much obliterated the construct of work propriety when you’d decided to finally come onto him, after what’s been months of pining; teasing quips; lingering touches; charged eye contact; aborted nights such as these, which ended in words and touches left unsung and unfelt, as opposed to...

"I follow your orders, tonight."

As opposed to this -- whatever it may be.

"Mm. Smart boy.”

You can practically see his tail wag and thump against his side as his eyes slide back up into his skull. He's melting out of that poor chair, held in some semblance of uprightness only by the grip of your fingers along his jaw. 

When you tell him to sit still, he stills.

When you tell him to bare his neck, he bares his neck.

When you tell him to get on the bed, he scrambles in his haste to spread himself enticingly atop the cot, brow arched in a salacious invitation as he looks back at you with what can only be described as a ‘come-hither’ expression. Daring you to take the plunge. Begging you to, even.

If you look closely enough (which, at him, you always are) his thighs quiver in anticipation. 

Worries of propriety are a concern for another day. One where you don’t have the doctor at your mercy. One where you aren’t itching to take your tongue and lathe it all over him, until he can’t remember what any other touch has ever felt like. One where he doesn’t beg for you to take him. One where you have the resolve to refuse him.

But right now? In this moment?

The only coherent thought that manages to distinguish itself from the lust that clouds your judgment is one of wholehearted, anticipatory excitement:

Oh, this is going to be fun.

[trulyhumblenarcissist]

A little bit of acid

Maybe I’m too old, but I clearly remember a time when having a mental illness was awful and debilitating, not a fashion statement or some kind of “quirk” shoved into others’ faces to feel unique. I really can’t stand all these childish special snowflakes™ bragging around how TRIGGERED they are about literally everything and adding a new mental illness into their list every single day. Sometimes I feel like they simply search the most endearing word in the pool of diseases and then proceed to read some shitty wiki page in order to get to know at least something about their “life-threatening psychosis”. I really hope these people are just seeking attention, because facing an actual psychiatric pathology is often a whole life challenge. Of course sometimes the desperation behind some tumblrs full of self diagnosed oddities could be a cry for help in itself (especially when there aren’t any other means to express an internal struggle), but nowdays how can you tell the fake from the genuine? This explosion of spoiled pretending goofies is leading to a sense of diffidence towards people who REALLY have a problem and it is also making said people suffer even more, undermining their credibility and their sense of self evaluation. I understand that, at some point, teenagers in particular (since they are facing the world for the first time more autonomously), feel a strong need to assert their identity in some way, to feel more in control and confident, thus having less fear of the others and all the new daily challenges they face… this is perfectly normal and even healthy, because it’s linked to one’s personal growth and personality definition, but I’m wondering: what happened to music, clothing, and passions in general? When I was a teenager (not so long ago! Even if I may sound like a granny, I’m still not one!) we tried to find ourselves and, yes, to stand out, through our physical appearance (fake-leather jacket against baby-pink sweaters kind of situation), our tastes, dreams, goals, interests… Now it’s all a competition to who has more diseases and seems more complexed / dissociated (yes, we do had a strong emo culture, but it was something quite different, although I would say that it could be partly the stepmother of some of these absurd today- drifts). At this point my polemic has already lost much of its punch. Probably it is this society as a whole that drives us to alienate more and more, teaching us new reasons to desire diversity at all costs, rather than to seek a common ground with others. I sincerely hope that someone reading this note feels stung (or TRIGGERED, if you prefer), if only I could accidentally push a special snowflake to evaluate themselves more objectively, as far as possible.

PS: I want to clarify that this post is not intended to attack adolescents in general, nor is it specifically addressed to them. It is more likely to find certain obnoxious attitudes among youngers, but obviously there are a lot of adults with the same delusions, craving attention in the same annoying and deleterious way…

[james-bionic-barnes]

Friendly Neighborhood Bucky

Summary: You and Bucky are neighbors, speaking only to say hi to each other. But when a spider appears in your bathtub, Bucky comes to your rescue.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: ~1800

Warnings: Language, & a spider (but Bucky comes to your rescue).

Based off of a list of prompts/au’s: “this is totally awkward considering before this the only interactions we’ve ever had have been casual nods to each other in the hallway but there’s a huge fucking spider in my bath tub and you seem like the friendly neighbor type please help me” au

A/N: I’m really stuck on my new series so here’s this random one-shot to have something new out there. Hope you enjoy :) Also, sorry the formatting is a little messed up?? I can’t get it to work no matter what I do. It’s correct in the document but not after posting. 

         Trudging up the stairs to your apartment, you feel heavier and heavier with every step you take. Your day hasn’t exactly been the best – for one, work had been incredibly busy, all the work you were doing causing your entire body to ache, and your head to hurt from all the yelling your boss threw at you during the chaos. Every metallic clang of your boots hitting the steps just makes your head pound that much more – no matter how softly you step. And not to mention you are absolutely drenched. Mother Nature decided on your walk home that you could use a second shower, and so it practically deluged on you, soaking you completely, even through your coat. You are soggy and cold and all you want to do is take a nice, calming bath to get over your shitty day.

         When you reach the hallway leading down to your apartment, you sigh in relief – you’re almost home free. Just a few more feet and you’ll be home, in your own little bubble, where there’s no one yelling at you, no customers demanding the impossible from you, where you can relax in peace.

         But, of course, fate decides you need a bit more crap in your day, so you see your neighbor walking up the other set of stairs opposite of you. It’s too late to duck behind the corner – he’s already in the hallway with you. Looks like you’re facing him head on.

         “Hey,” he greets warmly as he always does, stepping up to his apartment door as he begins to unlock it.

         “Hi,” you respond, trying to keep your head down – you’re sure running mascara and soaked hair isn’t a very good look for you. Nevertheless, you make it inside your apartment (after dropping your keys trying to unlock the door, of course) and slump against the door with a huge sigh. You’re more than ready for this shitty day to be over and for the good parts of the day to take over – but it appears it’ll be a struggle to get to that point. The bad things kept walking right up to you, it seemed.

         The day you moved in to this apartment complex, you ran into your neighbor as you were carrying boxes up. You literally ran into him. As you were struggling to keep the box you were carrying upright, you rushed down the hall and didn’t see him coming. Luckily, after the two of you collided, he managed to stop you from falling, as well as stopping the box from dropping. You looked up to thank him, your eyes meeting his dark blue ones. Naturally, you were lost for a moment, and you didn’t hear him asking you if you were all right. You managed to come back to reality after probably a very awkward silence, and you smiled at him, thanking him and practically sprinting into your apartment out of sheer embarrassment.

         It was only after you replayed the event in your head later that day that you realized that he seemed a bit familiar to you – and when you remembered how hard his left arm felt against your waist, the pieces came together, allowing your scrambled brain to realize that your neighbor was none other than the Winter Soldier. Why he was living in an apartment complex instead of at the Avenger’s Compound was a mystery to you. But he seemed nice enough, and he never caused too much noise, so you didn’t mind.

         You and Bucky never talk apart from greeting each other whenever you see one another in the hallway. But those little moments are wonderful – in your mind, anyway. His smile is one of the best things you have ever seen. Plus, occasionally, he’ll either be leaving for or coming back from a mission, so there are some days you see him in some of his combat clothes – naturally, he wouldn’t walk through an apartment complex with all his weapons visible, but you’re sure they are somewhere on him. You have to admit he looks good in leather. You’re honestly sure he’d look good in a potato sack.

         Doing your best to clear your head of Bucky, you let your bag fall to the floor as you peel off your coat, letting that drop too, continuing to walk toward your bathroom as you strip off the layers of clothing on you. You’ll pick them up later – right now, you need to get your bath started – this will be what will make your shitty day disappear and will relax you enough to let you just fall asleep. You grab some of your scented candles and light them to help create the relaxing atmosphere you want this bathroom to have. Before stripping down out of your undershirt and leggings, you reach down to close the drain on the tub.

         And come face-to-face with a massive spider.

         Well, maybe not a huge one – it’s no bigger than your palm, but the fact remains that it’s there and it’s practically staring you down, as if it’s the last test in your shitty day, as though it’s just daring you to try and do something to make you feel better. You hate spiders, and so, naturally, you let out a quick scream in reaction, flailing backwards. Luckily, you don’t trip over anything and manage to back up toward your vanity counter, putting a bit more distance between you and the monster.

         You hear a loud series of knocks on your door, and before you can even answer, your door is being kicked open. Your scream gets stuck in your throat from the shock of seeing Bucky running into your apartment, holding a gun. He’s still dressed in some of his combat gear, but you notice his jacket is missing, revealing just a fitted black athletic shirt. His eyes glance around the apartment before locking onto yours, and narrowing slightly in confusion – but you’re the one who’s  really confused. You’re relieved at the fact it’s him and not a murderer, but still you’re confused.

         “Are you okay?” he asks. “I heard you scream, what’s wrong?

         “Uh… yeah, I’m okay. Well, kind of. I just have a small intruder in my home. N-not a person or anything, just a spider,” you quickly add after seeing Bucky’s expression at the prospect of someone actually being in your apartment. He sighs, tucking the gun behind his back after you finish.

         “You mean to say… you only screamed because of a spider?” Bucky asks, folding his arms across his chest.

         “Don’t you dare judge me,” you reply, pointing a finger at him, and then at your broken door. “You broke down my door because of a spider. And it’s not like it’s a tiny one, it’s a massive one.”

         He rolls his eyes, laughing. “Excuse me for thinking my neighbor was being attacked. I’ll fix your door, I promise. Or cover the cost for it if I can’t fix it.”

         You nod. “Good. But since you’re here so ready to defend me, will you please remove that monster from my bathtub? You don’t have to kill it, but just… relocate it far away from here.”

          Bucky laughs again as he uncrosses his arms, stepping past you and into your bathroom. He’s silent for a few moments before he speaks. “I’m not finding it.”

         “Oh, hell no. I’m moving, I’m out of here,” you say, backing up out of the bathroom.

         “Okay, okay, I’m kidding. Wow. You must really hate spiders,” Bucky says, bending down to reach into the bathtub.

         “I think I hate you more right now,” you reply, staring at him angrily, but nonetheless playfully – even with him joking around with such a serious matter such as an eight-legged monster in your bathtub, you can’t help but smile a bit. He just has that effect on you, it seems.

         Bucky walks past you, his hands cupped together to keep the spider from escaping as he slips through the door, disappearing for a few moments. He returns with a sigh, his hands empty, thankfully.

         “Your little intruder has been successfully relocated to a dark corner on the second floor,” Bucky tells you. “You can rest easily now.”

         Sighing in relief, you smile softly up at him. “Thank you. Even though you did break down my door.”

         “Oh, speaking of which, let me get to fixing that,” he replies. “I’m just going to go grab some stuff from my apartment.”

         You start up a pot of coffee for the both of you as you pick up your clothes and change into some dry ones. Way to make a great first impression, Y/N, dirty clothes everywhere and freaking out over a spider. Great job, he’ll totally fall in love. Well, he did kick down my door. We’re even, I guess.

         Bucky returns a couple minutes later, a toolkit in hand. He kneels in front of your door, starting to work on repairing the door jamb.

         “I’m sure this wasn’t what you were expecting today,” Bucky says. You shrug, hopping up onto your kitchen counter as you watch him.

         “Oddly enough, it’s not that surprising. My day has been terrible, life just needed to throw a few other things at me,” you reply. “But I will admit, you breaking down my door, gun in hand, was very unexpected. So props to you.”

        Bucky laughs again, shaking his head as he turns to look at you. “I was prepared to shoot whatever I needed to. Didn’t think the threat would be a spider, though, so you surprised me too.”

         “Spiders are threatening. Well, I don’t hate them, I’m just scared of them,” you replied. “Is the Winter Soldier afraid of any creepy crawly creatures?”

         He shrugged. “Bugs don’t bother me. Snakes are a little sketchy. Cool, but sketchy.”

         You smile. “Huh. Okay. So you’ll go into a firefight and risk your life constantly, but get a little jumpy when you see a snake?”

  ��      Bucky laughs. “Says the girl who screams when she sees a spider.” He closes the door, opening it and locking it to double check that it’s fixed before wiping his hands, turning to you. “You know, I’m pretty sure you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

         Smiling, you hop off the counter, extending out a hand. “I’m Y/N.”

         “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, shaking your hand. Your skin practically buzzes at the contact, and you can’t help but blush a little as he smiles down at you. He bends down, picking up the toolkit. “And you know where to find me if you ever need rescuing from spiders again.”

         “What if it’s to ask if you want to get a cup of coffee or something?” you ask him. You’re not sure where the flirty demeanor comes from, but you’ll take it while you have it, especially if a guy like Bucky is standing in front of you.

         He smirks, opening your door. “Well, if that’s the case, then I’ll be waiting for a knock on my door, doll.”

         As Bucky shuts your door behind him, your hand still buzzing from touching his and the blush still prominent in your cheeks, you know you would gladly take on more spiders if it meant Bucky coming to your rescue.

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[kepesh-yakshi]

Writing Pre-Haven Bairley

A very rough (free) draft of Bairley before going to Haven.  It attempts to establish who he was before it all began.  There is so much to flesh out, but I was just excited to finally have time to write something, I had to share it as it is, right now. I’ll post the edited version on AO3.

----- "Rise and shine, mudface!"  The sweetvoiced woman threw a pillow over her ginger-haired brother's head, who lay face down and was sprawled across the small bed in the family's upstairs guest room.  "Don't make me play big sister again, or I'll drag you out of bed."  She cackled at the thought as she turned back toward the hallway.

The family farmhouse was large and rustic, but not at the cost of modern luxuries; for example, you could pump water through a small spigot directly into a basin in the kitchen, and that was often unheard of, even in the most extravagant buildings.  It even drained out into an irrigation ditch behind the house.  You still had to venture to a small chamber outside to relieve yourself, though.

"You can try..."  The man, somewhere in his early thirties, attempted to roll over onto his back, but instead rolled completely off the bed and onto the floor.  "Umph!!"  He threw the pillow into the hallway behind her, hitting their mother square in the chest as she walked into the room.  "Bairley!"  The portly woman, not in a fat way but strong,  threw the pillow back at him.  "I sent her up here to get you out of bed -- remember, you are all going to Haven, today."  She had her raven dark hair pulled tight in a thick braid that fell to the middle of her back, and a bright blue bandana covered the rest of it, pulling her bangs back out of her eyes.

Lily, also dark-haired and strong like her mother, was formally-attired in chantry scholar robes,the hood still dangling behind her. Her leather cap was thrown onto her head as if she needed a place to put it. Her copper eyes seemed to match the gold and red in the robes.

"I know, I know,"  he sighed.  "I'll be down in a minute."

He began to grab a pair of corded pants and his favorite flannel tunic, but she instead pointed at the huntsman's garb that hung from the coat rack.  "You may need the protection, Bear, so put that on.  And don't forget your bow.  If something happens, you'll need that, too."

I'm not taking my good one, Mother.  I'll just take one of the spares from the smithy."  Bear stood up and threw his shirt off, exposing a hairy chisled frame that went well with the tousled bunch of hair and pork chop, mustachioed face covering he bore.

"Um, Bear, when did you grow muscles?"  Lily laughed out loud at her reaction to his appearance.  She came back to the room to get his travel bag.  "Of course, I saw you last, when, six years ago?  You looked then like the taverns you slept in."

"I've changed a bit, Lily."  Bear finished tieing his pants and adjusting the green semi-armored jacket over his tunic, and threw a scarf around his neck just in case the weather turned cold. "As have you."

"We have things to speak of on the way to the Conclave, then."  

They both made their ways downstairs and outside, where their father, Bann Robert Trevelyan, and the majority of the immediate neighborhood was gathered at a large table -- at least twenty, maybe more -- and a huge smorgasbord of food was just being served to each person.  

"Blood sausage!"  Bairley sat his mother and sister, before sitting down between them.  "And link sausage, and lorne sausage, and oh my!"  He felt like a kid; after all, the last time he'd sat to such a feast was several years ago.  The time he spent training with the huntsmen at the Ostwick templar encampment left him missing home...well, some aspects of home. The politics from his father's work had grown old to Bairley, and he longed for the day that he wasn't tied to the smithy with his mother.  The time at the edge of Ostwick's holdings with the Templars was still not what he craved: the pompousness of some of the knights was almost as bad as the arrogance of some of his father's higher level associates.  

The trip to Haven was going to be yet another escape from home, even if only for a few days.  Plus, he was traveling with his beloved sister, who was older by three years.  He looked up to her.

----

The carriage took off a little after breakfast, and the two of them decided to nap for the first part of the trip. A couple of hours later, Lily woke with stomach pangs and fished in her grub sack for a chunk of waybread and some dried sausage.  Bairley woke soon after, and he too reached into his pack, but for an apple.

"So, Big Bear, what have I missed?"  She asked, smiling at her little brother.  Little only in years -- the pudgy twenty something was now built like a bronto, and just as rugged.  "You look fit and happy.  There's a glow about you."

"Yes, I suppose there is."  He smiled softly at his sister.  "Six years ago, you left for the Chantry in Val Chevin, and a group of templars came through town, looking to train locals for the Ostwick militia.  I jumped at the chance, as the camp was still here in Ostwick, but at the western edge of the holdings proper.  I was part quartermaster, part huntsman.  It was quite the experience."  

"Wow, that's great!"  She applauded him gleefully.  "Any juicy details you wish to share?"

"Wenches are great stress relief!"

Lilly let out a huge belly laugh, then straightened up. "Oh, you're a man, now?"  

"Well!"  Bairley laughed as well, as their sexploits were a common conversation, especially after he realized they did not share the same father in truth.  When Big Bear met the people he was named after (Beatrice and Brand Bairley), and he saw how strikingly similar he was to the patron of their little clan, he grew distant from the Bann, and confided this to Lily, who at the time was 13, and old enough to be sowing her own wild oats -- old enough to be learning and seeing what the adults were doing behind other adults' backs.  She ended up having to explain what happened.  "I guess I did."

"I'm glad you grew out of that fear, Big Bear.  It's a wonder you didn't snag one for good."

"Yeah, well..."  He looked at her with curiosity.  "So what about you?  You look all...scholarly...do you have any juicy gossip?"

"I have had my own occupations, yes."  She grinned, as did he, and they both erupted with laughter.  "I have missed you, Big Bear -- I had one instance where someone wouldn't leave me alone.  I had to throttle him.  I'd rather have had you do it for me, but I am a big girl, I can handle myself."

"Well, if you had to throttle the guy, he must have really been annoying."

"He was, oh he was."  

After several hours of non stop conversation about sex, cooking, food, Chantry rules, subverting chantry rules (the carriage driver joined in at this point), bards versus minstrels, and watching pickpockets in Val Chevin, they stopped at a small village a few hours north of Haven to feed and water the carriage horses, and they also grabbed a quick bite to eat.

The tavern was called The Monstrous Mongrel, and the crest outside depicted a druffalo with a mouthful of grain in its mouth.  Inside, the decor was mostly a mahogany red, laquered benches and stools and tables, and the floor was a well-worn black oak, just like the structure itself. It was at the forefront of the only communal area in the village, which sat on the shore of a beautiful blue lake that was otherwise surrounded by sweet-scented juniper trees. It smelled cold outside, but there was no snow on the ground, yet.

Bairley ordered a druffalo burger patty on a bed of red leaf lettuce with spiced mustard and a ginger ale, and Lily ordered a ham sandwich and a chammomile and herb hot tea.  The carriage driver ordered three links of boar sausage, two eidar cheese wedges, and sauteed mushrooms. Oh, and a ginger root beer.

They sat off again, continuing their conversation about pickpockets and other vandals, then  went from that to day to day life, to things they'd read, to favorite eateries and brewhouses where they were each staying (the driver was from Kirkwall, and loved the Hanged Man).  The time it took to get to Haven -- 10 hours in a carriage -- seemed like just two or thee.

Upon arrival, the three received a quiet welcome, and the siblings were shown their quarters: a small one room cottage in the corner of a path within the walls of the village, only one bed, big enough for both of them.  They didn't mind at all.  They were not there for luxurious reasons, they were there to represent Ostwick at a Conclave that was broght together by Divine Justinia V in an attempt to bring a resolution between the warring mages and templars. They didn't actually have a say; rather, they were merely representing their holdings.

The carriage driver bade them farewell, and Bairley and Lily both invited him to the tavern for a quick drink and dinner before he left, also getting him a bed in one of the shared cottages so he could at least get some rest. They learned he was not doing well financially, and sent him off with 200 royals on the condition that he keep in touch.  With that, they finally got his name, Cabot Furlin, and the dwarf recently came to the surface after being caught pickpocketing, himself. His home was yet to be declared.  Bairley talked him into staying awhile, and maybe he could help their new friend pick himself up a bit.  One thing was certain, though:  Cabot was not letting his situation bring him down.

As the small welcoming party saw them and their belongings into the cottage, Lily looked at Bairley with grim concern.  "Bear?"  She looked as if she was literally turning green.  She ran out the door and lost her lunch outside. "Oh no..."

Bairley grabbed one of the empty tankards on the table and filled it with water from a keg in the room (the one marked "WATER," not the one next to it that was marked "FLISSA'S ALE ~ BATCH 163")  and rushed out to her side, handing it to her.  "Here," he said, "swish."  She started to take it, but turned away and lost more.  "Oh, Maker, what was bad that I ate?"  She pleaded for reprieve, and her stomach seemed to grant her request.  She swished and spat, swished and spat, and finally took a few sips before chugging the rest and asking for more.  Bairley refilled the tankard and met her halfway into the house.  He gave it to her and closed the door behind them.  

"Are you alright, Lily?"  

"I feel horrible."  She was sweating, and in the freezing cold temperatures, she shouldn't have been.

He pressed his hand against her reddened cheeks. "You're very hot -- let me get a healer."

"No, I just need to rest."

"Not this time, Lily.  You rest, I'm going up to the chantry for a healer."  He jogged up the hill and through the courtyard to the chantry, where he met with two elder sisters and explained what was going on.  They sent for a healer, Velarie, who followed him to the cottage and assessed Lily's symptoms.  "It's not food poisoning...but something in the food has made you sick.  Are you allergic to anything?"

"Um...only stripweed -- it makes me very ill like this.  But the field we saw was a mile or more away..."  Lily's voice was reduced to a raspy whisper.

"The tea, Lily -- remember?" "But it was chamomile and herb --" "Those fields were not too far from where we stopped.  I bet stripweed was in the tea." Lily wanted to cry, but she was too sick to do it.  She let out a long sad sigh and closed her eyes.  "I am sorry, Bear." "Don't be, it was an accident, maybe the Maker has other plans for you.  Maybe I was meant to go alone."