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uglypastels · 3 years

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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

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #frat!au #fratboy tom #college!tom #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #stranger to lovers #college!au

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theonewiththefanfics · 3 years

Text

Give You Hell (one-shot)

Synopsis: When you’re in a relationship with someone famous while being famous it can be difficult. But not for the Reader and Harry, yet when her past comes knocking, she’ll make sure to know where she stands.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, some minor angst, like microscopic

Warnings: swearing, reference to past abusive relationship, but nothing explicit.

Word count: 3428

100% inspired by ‘All American Rejects’’ ‘Gives You Hell’

Dating someone famous while being famous yourself had pros and cons, much like everything in life. The cons mostly came from the outside, not from the inside. It was the opinions of others, thinking what they said mattered, the scrutiny of the press, hoping one of them would mess up, and they could run some bullshit article just so their numbers could go up, without a second thought of how the people involved felt, and it was some jealous fans who didn’t seem to comprehend the people they admired were actual human beings with feelings and thoughts and emotions and autonomy. But other than that, Y/N’s and Harry’s relationship was just like any other. Save for when their emotions bubbled over, millions of people heard them in songs. They’d met at the iconic yellow-suit-Harry Brit awards. She’d been right next to Hugh Jackman opening the show, a red glittering bodysuit with a black and gold ring-master jacket, a top hat adorning her head as she dominated the stage. If Harry had been sloshed at that point (much like he was later on, but who was Y/N to say, given how most of the night was a blur for her), he would’ve absolutely started drooling at the sight of her, and he was one of the thousands who stood up, hollering and clapping as she and Hugh ended their performance.

Much to his dismay though, Y/N wasn’t one of the people assigned to sit by his table, instead, she was a couple of rows behind, whispering something into Billie Eilish’s ear, the two erupting into uncontrollable laughter. He felt like a creep as he tried to catch every possible glimpse of Y/N, her smile making his heart race. She’d been on his radar for a while, had even thought about asking her to collaborate on a song for ‘Fine Line’, but at the end of the day, it was an album of personal discovery (and when one of his producers told him Y/N was halfway across the world in the middle of Norwegian woods for the next half-year working on her own music, he didn’t want to be a bother). But seeing her then, Harry wondered why he hadn’t reached out on his own, especially after at the after-party Lizzo had dragged Y/N to him and introduced the two. The following day, pictures of them dancing together, drinks in hands and drunken grins on their faces would sweep the web, sparking millions of rumours, but, at that moment, they didn’t care, nor did they care about what was written because as Harry twirled Y/N under his arm, as much as the connection was there, that night they went their separate ways. Even when they were drunk, they understood that about the other person, and wouldn’t accept anything else, but a sober and coherent ‘yes’. Sometime midday the next day, Harry reached out to Y/N through a DM on Instagram checking in on how she was doing, which then turned into a six-hour FaceTime call. “What do you mean you’ve never had a hangover?!” Y/N laughed at Harry’s almost offended expression. “I mean I’ve never had a hangover. I’ve never thrown up while drunk or after being drunk, my head’s never hurt – nothing. I mean I’m tired, but that’s because I’m still on New York time and got to bed at like five AM.” “You… are something else.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Is that something else something good?” Y/N didn’t know, but when Harry saw her eyes sparkle, his heart skipped a beat, and he immediately knew – she was it. “The best.” “Well…” she bit her lip. “If I’m the best, would it be too forward of me to ask you out for a coffee?” What Harry didn’t know was that when she saw him smile as if those were the best news in the world, her heart skipped as well, and she knew he was the one. “Only if it’s my treat.” “But I was the one who asked you out.” “Yes, but you can pay for the second date.” Holding in her squeals of joy was tough, but she raised her eyebrow, giving Harry a sly smirk. “Already so confident there’ll be a second date?” Harry scoffed. “And a wedding!” Seeing Y/N throw back her head as she laughed, made all sorts of butterflies fly through his stomach. “Okay, Styles. I’ll take your word for it.” Three months into the relationship, the two were booked to appear on The Graham Norton show together, which was also the first time they’d appear officially as a couple at a work/outing kind of a setting since the rumours started floating, and a picture of Harry kissing Y/N outside of a hotel room had sort of confirmed that. “So, you two.” Graham pointed between Y/N and Harry with his cards. “Have started to date? Not to say anything Harry, but Y/N… I didn’t think boy-bands were your type.” That made her lean over in laughter as Harry gave everyone a shocked face, before slumping back and pouting, nudging Y/N with his knee. “That’s not funny.” “I mean it kind of is.” “She was twelve when she swore off boy-bands.” Graham nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “Isn’t that what you said last time you were here?” “Hey, it’s been ten years since I said that!” Y/N laughed. “Cut me some slack. All the people I was crushing on are married anyway… with kids… and could probably be my dads… I have issues, don’t I?” Everyone exploded into giggles while Harry shook his head, chuckling. “Love you with all of your issues.” He nudged her shoulder, and she nudged right back, taking a sip of her drink. “Yeah, give it a couple of months. You’ll regret your words.” The thing was Y/N was so wrong, and she’d never been happier to be so wrong. Each morning they were together, Harry woke up to her showering him with kisses or vice versa. As private as Harry was, his Instagram stories were now filled with pictures and small videos of them, of Y/N’s face half-covered by a blanket, glasses crooked as she smushed her cheek to his chest and watched a movie, or her eating breakfast while re-watching old Bones and Castle episodes with captions like ‘dunno how she keeps the food down’ and ‘she swears it’s just for research’, while her feed was full of candid Harry photos or her rummaging through his closet and showing everyone his immaculate style, and giving tips how others can recreate it (also she may or may not just use that as a reason to steal his clothes). Generally, people loved it, and their love for one another. It was refreshing to see them enjoy each other’s company, and not be afraid to do so, especially now, given how it was a couple of days before Y/N ended her tour in New York in Madison Square Garden, to which Harry had specifically flown out for despite being in the middle of filming for ‘The Little Mermaid’. Three AM blinked on the clock, as the two finally drifted off to sleep after five hours of a passionate reunion when her phone dinged, indicating a message had arrived. “Turn it off,” Harry grumbled into the skin of Y/N’s back. “’S too early.” She hummed in agreement, furrowing her brows as her palm blindly searched for the offending device, and she squinted her eyes as the light burned her retinas before widening in shock at the message. Harry felt her body go rigid, and he pressed a kiss to her neck. “Everythin’ alright, lovie?” “Uh – “ she stuttered, trying to process the words on the screen. “Uh, yeah. Yes, everything’s fine. Just… some last-minute changes for the show. They want something really big for the ending, and some of the propositions are just…” She could feel a smile stretch across Harry’s mouth. “Extravagant?” “You could say that, yeah.” “Sounds like it’s gonna be one hell of a show. Not that the others weren’t.” Y/N switched the phone off wiping away the message first and then turned to cuddle into Harry’s chest. “It most certainly will.” For the next two days, she was an anxious ball of mess, as her crew got everything ready, and her and her band rehearsed relentlessly before she asked all of them to gather at the studio to add a song to the setlist. “It’s gonna be a couple more hours, Hazza,” Y/N murmured into the phone as Harry had called in to check on her. “ ‘M sorry. You don’t have to wait up for me. I know you’re still adjusting to New York time.” “ ‘S alright,” he slurred, clearly already falling asleep but determined not to. “Can’t sleep without you anyway.” At those words, Y/N’s heart did that stupid flipping thing it’d been doing ever since Harry entered her life to stay, and a shy grin blossomed on her lips. “You’re exhausted, sweetheart. But I’ll tell you what - if you do go to bed, I’ll be sure to wake you up with a kiss when I get back.” “You promise?” She could hear the smile on his face. “Swear it.” “Alright, lovie. I’ll be waiting to cash in on that kiss.” “I’ll run to give it to you as soon as I can. G’night.” “See ya’ in a bit.” Y/N let out a shudder as she heard the call disconnect. She entered back inside the studio and clapped her hands, drawing the attention of her producers and band members. “Where were we?”

***

The hour before a show was always nerve-wracking for Y/N. It’s when the adrenaline truly started to rush, when her feet and palms got all tingly, and her ears and cheeks heated up. It was when their warm-up band exploded on stage, and the crowd got pumped up. But the best moment that night by far was right when she was about to run out, Harry had pulled her back by the wrist and kissed the living daylights out of her. “You’re gonna kill it tonight,” he muttered against her lips, words skimming her mouth and making her smile as bright as the sun. She seemed to do that a lot around him. It’s why he now dedicated Golden to her every time he sang it. “Thank you. For being here.” Harry flicked her nose. “Always. Now go. People are waiting.” When Y/N finally appeared on stage, pretty much glowing as brightly as the stage lights, her fans went wild, and even more so when she jumped, starting off the show. The whole time, her gaze flitted to backstage just to get a glimpse of Harry, and whenever she did, she saw him dancing, singing along, filming her having fun and some clips of himself as well, going absolutely ham to her songs. As the night was moving towards the end, usually, she’d feel euphoria from giving a great performance, after hearing thousands of people sing her songs in unison, now Y/N felt closer to throwing up and fainting. “So uh…” She pushed back strands of sweaty hair, hollers of people echoing in her head. “This is a very special show tonight. Umm… this is the first concert my boyfriend’s come t - .” She didn’t even get to finish the sentence before the cheers of the people interrupted her, deafening the girl even with the earplugs. “But umm… it’s also a special show because two days ago someone reached out to me, and uh… he… well, he was as important of a person once the same way Harry is right now, and he wrote this.” Y/N went over to where the piano chair was, lifted it and fished out her phone from it, revealing the message that’d been basically haunting her nights and days since receiving it. “Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake I ever made.” To her own surprise, her voice was steady and sure, unlike her hands which were trembling like leaves in a storm. “I know you look happy and in love, but I know it’s not true. I’ve known you for five years, I know how to see through the mask you put on every day just to make sure others are happy while you yourself suffer an inauthentic life. But you do deserve to be happy. And I’ll be waiting for you if you decide to give us a chance again. I’ll be at your concert in Madison Square.” She looked out into the crowd. “You wrote a song once for me. If you sing it, that’s how I’ll know you feel the same.” By the time she got to the end, there were no more shouts or screams, but confused murmurs. Y/N let out a shuddering breath, hoping that she could manage to do what she wanted, and everything didn’t fall apart. “The thing is, I’d like for Harry to come on stage, please.” She could see the fear in his eyes as he jogged to stand next to her, but he disguised it with an overenthusiastic smile as he waved over towards the raging sea of people. He’d seen the message, had seen her reread it more than fifty times by that point, and as sure as he was in their relationship, when someone who held such importance, no matter if good or not, in someone’s life came knocking again, you could never be too sure what would happen. Harry didn’t want to say anything, believing if it was important enough, she’d tell him. Guess that was it. “So, uh…” Y/N pulled Harry’s arms over her shoulders and grasped onto them, grounding them both. “This is for you.” Y/N looked over into the crowd before glancing over her shoulder, Y/E/C eyes meeting Harry’s wavering green ones. “And you,” she whispered so that only he could hear. “Hope you know I mean everything.” As the cords started playing, she felt Harry unwarp his arms from where she’d been holding them over her shoulders and a smile erupted on her face. “I wake up every evening,” Y/N sang, “with a big smile on my face, and it never feels out of place.” “And you’re still probably workin’,” Harry’s voice joined in, grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s, as he now had a microphone in hand, the other placing earplugs in his own ears, “at a nine-to-five pace… I wonder how bad that tastes.” “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell,” the two harmonized, Y/N’s eyes locked onto the masses, imagining the face of her ex-boyfriend who had the audacity to send that message. “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell.” Harry was looking at the crowd as well, now fully understanding the message and the person behind it, and although he lived by ‘treat people with kindness’, he couldn’t help but gloat at the fact he got to sing with the love of his life on stage, and basically serenade a break-up song to a person who didn’t know how to appreciate what he’d had. Y/N cocked her head to the side. “Now, where’s your picket fence, love, and where’s that shiny car? It didn’t ever get you far. You’ve never seemed so tense, love. I’ve never seen you fall so hard. Do you know where you are?” It was hard not to smile, knowing where she was and who she was with. Harry threw an arm over Y/N’s shoulders as she sang, giving a mock sad look, while Harry pouted. “And truth be told, I miss you… And truth be told, I’m lying!” “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well.” Y/N pointed towards where she imagined her ex was standing. “Then she’s the fool, you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell! Hope it gives you hell!” For a split second, the music slowed down, guitar strumming in the air, as Harry pulled Y/N by the palm and towards his chest. When the next lyrics came out of his mouth, he knew them to be true as he sang them to the man, he’d heard Y/N talk about, to the man who thought everything he’d done to her, every horrible word and deed was justified, to the man who thought breaking someone else down was the only way to bring themselves up. “Now tomorrow you’ll be thinking to yourself, where did it all go wrong, but the list goes on and on.” “And truth be told, she misses you,” Harry hummed, Y/N letting out a large laugh, holding onto his bicep, as he slightly changed the lyrics. “And truth be told, she’s lying! When you see her face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you walk her way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well.” Harry sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Then she’s the fool you’re just as well hope it gives you hell.” “Now you’ll never see,” Y/N took over the song. “What you’ve done to me.” She placed a hand over her heart. “You can take back your memories, they’re no good to me. And here’s all your lies, you can look me in the eyes, with that sad, sad look that you wear so well.” She dragged her finger down her cheek, giving a pout while Harry mimicked her stance before turning the mic to the audience. “When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell,” the crowd sang back with such vigour, Y/N was sure the whole ground was shaking just from their voices, and the clapping and stomping to the drum rhythm would bring the whole world down. “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well, then she’s the fool you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell!” The two were jumping around the stage like madmen, adrenaline filling their veins. “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!” “Hope it gives you hell!” Everyone else repeated. “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!” “Hope it gives you hell!” “When you sing this song and sing along, well you’ll never tell. Then you’re the fool, I’m just as well, hope it gives you hell!” Y/N grinned once more, placing her hand over her heart, meaning every word – she was just as well. She had amazing friends, a career that’d flourished, and a person who loved her more than words could describe. “When you hear this song, I hope that it will give you hell!” Harry crooned down the mic, knowing their happiness would, Y/N’s happiness would give him hell. And he enjoyed it, knowing how good her life was. “You can sing along I hope that it puts you through hell!” Her voice became the only sound as the last word echoed around everyone, her chest heaving up and down from the exertion, from all of the emotions running through her body as well as the overwhelming feeling of not only having Harry watch her perform but to end up performing with him. When his hands wrapped around her body, it startled her out from the daze, and the popping confetti startled her even more, as the rest of her band joined the two to take their bows, grins on all of their faces while they did so. “Not the song you thought I’d sing, is it?” Y/N laughed into the mic, Harry’s arms tightening around her waist. “There’s a reason I blocked your number, let alone you from my life. Don’t think I won’t do it again.” “But I would like to say thank you, to the asshole in question,” Harry said, making Y/N’s forehead scrunched up. “You let go of the best person ever; you had the honour of calling yourself her boyfriend, but instead, you chose to walk away. So, thank you for that. Because now I’ll have that honour and pleasure for the rest of our lives.” Yeah. It was one hell of a show.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15 @breezykpop @girlboss99 @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist @alliyjane @sirtommyholland

A/N: I love ‘All American Rejects’ and have been listening to ‘Gives You Hell’ non stop. It’s the best break-up song ever, and you won’t convince me otherwise.

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. please don’t repost my work on other platforms without my explicit written permission. reblogs are fine :)

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

A Little Rest II

Characters: Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,104

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Sometimes life is just unbearably tiring. And a comforting shoulder can be the perfect substitute pillow. In which the reader falls asleep on their partner.

Author’s Note: Second part!!! I realize the first didn’t get a ton of traction, unfortunately, but hopefully, this’ll still be welcomed. I realize since most of these are basically pseudo fics, would you guys prefer it to be bullet-pointed or paragraphed? I’m just wondering if one format is easier or more pleasant to read than the other.

Also, adepti’s rules and personal needs are kinda nebulous to me so I sort of made them up myself. Watches also weren’t a thing until the 1800s, and specifically didn’t really become a thing in China until the mid-20th century. But this is fantasy so I do what I want.

Xiao

You loved Xiao more than you could say. Every little moment spent with him made your heart flutter, every habit of his that you’d noticed, every little way he revealed his soul to you.

It seemed so improbable to you sometimes, than an adeptus, someone so very disconnected from the world of humans, should choose to love you. Although Xiao would never let you think you were any lesser than him, would never let his nature put you down, you were still somewhat in awe of the whole setup, and little reminders of his adepti status often brought you back to when you two had first begun to fall in love, when Xiao had explained that he didn’t quite understand the human way of life.

And one of those things that he didn’t understand appeared to be the concept of sleep itself.

It wasn’t that Xiao didn’t know what sleep was. Nor was he unable to sleep, he once told you. Theoretically he could sit down and take a nap much like any normal human. It was more that he didn’t need to sleep, and didn’t see the need to do something that took up so much time and left one so vulnerable.

Not that he didn’t pay attention to your needs; he wasn’t about to disrupt your sleep schedule on purpose, in fact you often joked that Xiao cared more about your rest than you did. It was only that, after spending so many years simply not thinking about things like sleep, it became hard for him to suddenly remember that he had a partner who needed said sleep every day. And a day was oh so short in Xiao’s mind.

It was a beautiful evening at the Wangshu Inn. The air was warm without being stifling and a breeze blew, light and cool. You were on the roof with Xiao, the place that had become your normal meeting spot. For as much as Xiao adored you with every fiber of his soul, he was still an adeptus, and his comfort level around most humans was that of an anxious cat – always ready to bolt.

Besides, the roof of the Inn was such a lovely place to relax. You gazed at Xiao’s profile as he looked up at the stars, noticing the way that the wind ruffled his hair slightly, the way his posture seemed so relaxed, so comfortable. One of his hands was clasping yours, fingers linked together, his palm nice and warm; the other pointed out constellations to you, each bearing a story, some which had long been forgotten by the residents of Liyue.

It wasn’t often that Xiao was so talkative, so open. Although he still barely mentioned his past – keeping that part of himself shut away with only the occasional crack through which you might learn of his sorrows – he’d become much more willing to disclose his everyday thoughts to you, as well as share stories that he knew. The latter was something you always loved to listen to, not just because the stories he told were always interesting and so full of life, but also because they gave you the sense of knowing him better, something that always made you happy.

Unfortunately, tonight was one night where, though you were more than happy to listen to Xiao talk about the stars, you were kind of dying of fatigue. A headache slipped in and out of your consciousness, and you found it more and more difficult to concentrate on Xiao’s words, finding they were all melting together into some semi-coherent monologue.

Your fatigue must’ve been very apparent, for when Xiao glanced over at you his whole demeanor changed; the carefree look on his face was gone, replaced with one of slight confusion and definitive worry. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” You shook your head. “Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“Then you should rest.” Xiao squeezed your hand slightly before moving to stand up. However, as tired as you were, you cared more about spending time with him, and weren’t about to cut said time short.

“Wait!” You exclaimed, causing Xiao to pause, looking at you in a puzzled way. You smiled, slightly sheepish, but pressed forward. “I’ll be fine. If you don’t mind though, may I, uh, may I lay my head on your shoulder.” You gazed up at him, but inside you were struck with the urge to suddenly look away. Xiao was still a bit reticent with affection, not that it bothered you. He’d told you that he was simply unused to it, not averse to it. You weren’t about to pressure him into anything though, no matter the cause, and thus you waited for his response, hoping your expression conveyed that it’d be perfectly fine if he declined.

Your worries proved to be without ground however, for Xiao’s expression grew only fonder. Lying back down he gestured towards you. You gladly scooted closer to him, laying your head on his shoulder, hand once more in his. “You were saying about the boar constellation.” You murmured.

Xiao smiled, kissing the top of your head, before once more going on speaking about the stars. You smiled too, allowing his stories to carry you off to sleep, your head already swirling with half formed dreams about creatures who walked among the stars.

Xiao listened to your breathing even out, still talking a little after it seemed you’d dozed off, making sure that the sudden stop of his voice didn’t wake you up.

Gazing down at your peaceful face he pondered for a moment how much his life had changed so quickly. Even a month ago the idea that he would become friends with a human seemed impossible, much less that he would fall in love with one.

When he’d first met you it was as if something that had been frozen inside him for a long time began to thaw. He was terrified at first, terrified of you, terrified of himself, terrified of the unknown that loomed before him like a vast chasm. It had taken every ounce of courage to hold your hand at first, and every ounce of courage for every step after that.

But he would do it again if he had to, for being with you was the best part of his long, often cruel life. And he would do anything to protect you, anything to make sure you were comfortable and happy and healthy.

“Goodnight.” He spoke softly. Up above the stars kept silent vigil along with him. Tomorrow would be a bright new day, but for now he was simply going to enjoy the moment he’d been given with you.

Zhongli

For someone who’d lived thousands of years, you’d think Zhongli would remember that tea had to be decaffeinated sometimes.

Not that you could really blame him for forgetting. After all it’s not like he needed to pay attention to whether or not his tea was caffeinated. To one of the Seven sleep was something more akin to a perk than a necessity. Sure, it was nice to sleep. But it’s not like Zhongli was going to feel regret if he accidentally downed five cups of tea right before midnight and spent the rest of night starting at the ceiling, wondering where he went wrong.

Unfortunately, you were definitively not a god, and did, in fact, need sleep. So, when you found yourself staring out the window at 5 am, having long come to the conclusion that sleep was just not going to happen, the emotion going through your mind was something more akin to: “Oh. Fuck.”

This turned into an “Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me” when you saw the list of your daily commissions. Yeah, someone had to go to Jueyun Karst and Qingyun Peak to collect Cor Lapis, and considering your relationship with Zhongli and the adepti it should’ve been unsurprising that you were going to be the one to do it. But your sleep addled brain was having a difficult time processing things logically, and all you saw when you looked at the list Katheryne gave you was the fact that today was going to hurt.

Your prediction turned out to be only too true. No adepti came to ask why you were mining outside their front doors – honestly what would you even respond to something like that – but the amount of treasure hunters that ran into you began to feel less like a likely coincidence, considering the location, and more like a targeted attack. Thankfully there was nothing you couldn’t handle, but by the end of your expedition you were more than ready to go home and take a nap.

Hurrying through the rest of your day, barely responding to the people you interacted with, by the time you’d finally finished up with your adventuring duties you felt like the most irritated person on the planet.

Arriving home, throwing your pack haphazardly onto the floor you almost tripped and fell flat on your face in your hurry to get to the bedroom. Not bothering to take off your adventuring gear you threw yourself onto the bed and quickly found yourself lost in long overdue sleep.

Zhongli glanced at his watch, frowning as he saw the lateness of the hour. The sun was already beginning to set, and though he’d walked as fast as possible, he still found himself feeling vaguely guilty about being so late. You two hadn’t spoken much in the morning, you’d seemed a bit restless and hurried out right after breakfast, so Zhongli was anxious to spend as much time with you after work as possible.

“Darling?” He called out, walking into the home you two shared. He glanced around uncertainly, surprised that you hadn’t greeted him at the door. The sight of your pack sprawled about the hallway only made him more confused, and vaguely alarmed, and he hurried down the hall, checking each room to see if you were there.

His worry immediately faded upon seeing you, curled up above the covers, evidently fast asleep. Unsure as to whether or not to wake you up he instead headed towards the kitchen, thinking you might like something when you got up.

You woke up in the dark, something that surprised you. You’d been out for a long time. Seeing that the door had been opened you shuffled down the hall, still a bit groggy from the extended nap you’d just taken.

Zhongli smiled as you entered the kitchen. “Did you have a good nap my darling?” He asked, kissing you on the forehead. You nodded sleepily, propping yourself up by your elbows on the counter. Zhongli chuckled. “Here, something to warm you up.”

Yours eyes widened as the cup of tea was placed in front of you. For a moment there was silence, then you glanced back at him.

“Zhongli?”

“Yes?”

“Uhm, is this tea, well, does it by any chance have caffeine in it?”

The look on Zhongli’s face was enough to make you burst into giggles. Perplexion melted into realization, which evidently caused some sort of embarrassment, for the former god blushed a bright shade of red before bringing his hand to cover his mouth.

“Ah, I see. That’s why you were so tired this morning.”

“It’s alright.” You finally replied, the initial fit of giggles having passed. “I know that you don’t have to think about these sorts of things normally. Only me making the same mistake two times in a row would be a bit hilarious, wouldn’t you think” You placed a kiss on Zhongli’s cheek, finally causing him to calm down a bit.

“I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry. Next time I promise to pay more attention.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, fatigue coming back after the initial burst of energy. Leaning into Zhongli’s neck you sighed slightly.

“Still tired?” Zhongli asked, voice soft and caring.

“Yeah, a bit.” You admitted. Zhongli nodded, before scooping you up.

Carrying you over to the couch you both settled in a bit. Zhongli began humming a sort of lullaby, and you smiled despite yourself. “You’re too good for me.” You mumbled.

“Nonsense.” Came Zhongli’s reply, just as full of love and affection. “You’re too good for me. And I won’t hear otherwise.”

“If you say so.” You replied, too tired to really fire back, already drifting off.

“I do. It’s only the truth.” And with that he began to hum again. As you fell asleep one last thought lingered in your mind.

If such contentment comes from staying up too late, then I’d be glad to do it again.

#I was today years old when I realize Xiao's VN is Soma from Food Wars #I can never unhear it #That show is my guilty pleasure #anyways... yeah #I hope people like this #xiao #zhongli #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #scenarios #my writing

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thecipherlegacy · 3 years

Note

7 for the WIPs. I'm incredibly curious!

Malavai/Vector: Burnout is a fic ive posted a WIP for once before but I intend for it to be a full on multi chapter fic.

Initial post for those who haven't seen it or want a refresher

I've gotten a little farther in it, so I'll post the next piece continuing from. Where the last WIP post left off!

Vector is pining and Quinn is a workaholic 👀

----------------------

"Agent?" The calm voice of Vector pulled the exhausted man from his reading. He may have been starting to nod off judging by his notes going from coherent bullet points to a squiggle that trailed off the paper and onto his desk.

"Come in,Vector. What can I do for you?" Malavai greeted him with some sad attempt to sound alert, though his face was covered in untrimmed stubble and his hair was uncharacteristically messy.

The diplomat entered the room. Worry laced his expression and he looked the poor man over. "We were in conversation with Doctor Lokin." He started. "He came to us with troubling news about your health and sleeping habits."

Malavai waved off the worry with a dismissive huff. "I am quite alright. I'm simply doing my job and trying to make my cover believable. I'll sleep when I'm finished." He began to get comfortable again, hoping that would be the end of it.

Vector continued to stand with his dark eyes watching the agent's every movement. "Excuse our disbelief, but we must protest." He then argued. "Your cover is intact and you will have most of tomorrow to brush up on this literature." He reached out and took one of the books from Malavai's desk, who was quick to grab it back and put it back in it's proper spot.

"Master Hyllus. Need I remind you about how important this mission is and how important my job is?" Quinn asked with a sharp look directed at his companion. Vector was unphased by the man's frustration.

"If so, then we suppose we should remind you that sleep deprivation can cause one to be less effective, less alert, and more likely to make mistakes." Vector raised a brow at him.

Malavai frowned deeper. He hated knowing the joiner was correct. With a defeated sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and slouched in his seat. "Alright, you win." He mumbled. "I admit I'm too tired to argue this any longer."

Vector's lips curled into a soft smile. "Then let us get you to bed, Agent."

Malavai scoffed slightly and began to stand up. "I'll be fine getting there on my-" in an instant the poor man nearly fell. He hadn't noticed how woozy he was. "I stand corrected…"

The joiner carefully tucked himself under Malavai's arm and helped walk him to his quarters. For Malavai it was still strange to see everything in Republic colours. It made the proud Imperial nauseated.

"You best be getting that man to rest, Mr. Hyllus." Lokin's voice came through their earpieces. Most of the crew had to stay behind for this mission, but Vector was fortunate enough to stay beside Malavai. His diplomatic skill would come in handy.

"Of course, doctor. He's headed that way now. Reluctantly, as we expect, but headed to bed all the same."

Malavai wanted to argue that he wasn't a child and didn't need them fretting or doting on him, but the warmth of his companion made his exhausted head grow heavier. His steps slowed as he began to lean into Vector's hold.

"Oh my- agent?" The joiner gasped at the sudden dead weight and caught the man's waist with his free arm. "Doctor, he may have passed out-"

"I expected as much. Just try to get him to bed, alright? His health and mental stability rely on a good night's rest."

Vector sighed and looked down at the man that was now in his arms. "What would you do without us?" He said with a caring smile before carefully taking an arm under Malavai's legs and lifting him bridal style. He considered the idea of what the agent would do if he woke in this position. The poor man would be mortified. But instead of waking, the one in his arms got comfortable against his chest. Vector couldn't stop the blood from rushing to his cheeks.

When they first met,Vector already felt he wanted to be close to Malavai. Every living soul has a song that Killiks hear. It's like a fingerprint. They can recognize people even before seeing them if they are near. Malavai's song was strong and proud and absolutely beautiful. Even Vector's colony enjoyed it. And despite the usual Imperial hatred for the Killiks, Malavai kept an open mind about them. He knew that having a place for them in the Empire had the potential to strengthen it.

Vector stopped walking and took a moment to appreciate how lucky he was to be allowed this close to the usually passive officer. Malavai wasn't very social outside of what was needed for work, but he allowed a friendship to blossom between them, and for that the joiner was grateful.

He finally got Malavai to his bed and lay him down. For the first time since they met, Malavai looked so peaceful. His brows were relaxed rather than creased and his usual stressed frown was calm and neutral. Vector admired his natural resting state and the gentleness of his sleeping expression for a moment before gently tucking him in. "Sleep well, Agent Quinn." Vector mumbled and left him to his rest.

The joiner was aware of how complicated his feelings for the agent had become, but he was also aware of how futile chasing those complicated feelings would be, so he kept them to himself and admired the man at a respectful distance.

#mox writes #vector hyllus #malavai quinn #agent!malavai quinn #agent!quinn au #malavai x vector #malavai/vector #swtor shipping #ive been pretty excited to continue working on this one but im always nervous about posting my writing tbh #narcissa of kaas on blog #ask about my wips meme

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Do you think the 3zun dynamics would change veryuchf they were age swapped? If NMJ were the youngest, or LXC the oldest, or even JGY as oldest? not a prompt, just warning your thoughts!

on ao3

Meng Yao went to Qinghe on Lan Xichen’s recommendation.

He’d never quite given up hope of finding his way even after his father’s rejection, and while Lan Xichen was kind and generous and everything Meng Yao had ever dared dream a cultivator could be, the older man was on the run, his sect burned, his family stolen – he was in no position to help him at the time.

Meng Yao had expected the leader of the Nie sect, who was reputed to be a righteous man, just and uncaring of status, to be much the same. Fiercer, of course; who had not heard about the tempestuous tempers of the Nie sect? But he’d expected something of that same ageless dignity, the way the two years that Lan Xichen had on him might as well have been a hundred years, that same feeling of distant awe as if looking up at a deity far above him –

He was not expecting Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue, the youngest of the sect leaders of the Great Sects, who had prematurely inherited his sect after his father’s death and who’d run it with an iron fist ever since –

Nie Mingjue, who raised his younger brother like a father and lead his sect like a general –

Nie Mingjue, whose fighting skills were already renowned, whose people adored him, who stood against the world with no thought of anything but justice and revenge –

Nie Mingjue, who was a teenager.

“I’m almost twenty,” Nie Mingjue said with huff when he blurted it out, all his ideas about convincing the man to take pity on him – Lan Xichen had let slip that Nie Mingjue had a fondness for the underdog – going out the window at once. “And when I am, I will celebrate no one ever saying that again. Come on, get up; who forced you to stay out here? I’ll have words with them.”

More than mere words, he brought his saber up in Meng Yao’s defense, and it wasn’t long thereafter that Meng Yao secured his position as the man’s deputy.

“More like babysitter,” Nie Huaisang teased, and didn’t protest when his brother shoved him out of his chair without even looking up. “He never had one when he was younger, you understand – probably why he never learned how to take care of himself. He was only twelve when he took the position of sect leader, you know, and he hasn’t grown up one tiny bit since.”

“Huaisang! Shut up!”

Twelve, Meng Yao mouthed to himself. When he was twelve, he’d still been marking time at the brothel, doing odd jobs for a miniscule wage – he was barely entrusted with serving drinks. The only thing he’d been in charge of had been a few scrappy street kids that were awed by anyone who slept indoors; he couldn’t even imagine having to run a sect, much less as ancient and powerful a one as the Nie sect.

“You can ignore anything my brother says,” Nie Mingjue told him. His cheeks were darker than usual – was he blushing? “Consider than an official order.”

Meng Yao had had plans for what he’d do if he ever managed to get in closer to a sect leader. He’d thought it over in those years since the fiasco at Lanling, brimming as he was with resentment – it was all mapped out: how he would flatter them with respect and awe, how he would learn their weaknesses and cater to them, how he would make himself indispensable to them without ever allowing them to realize that he thought of himself as more than the dirt beneath their feet.

Such a plan, in the face of Nie Mingjue, was useless.

“You are going to go to sleep right now, Sect Leader” Meng Yao announced, dowsing the candles in the main office one by one.

“You can’t order me a- a-” Nie Mingjue’s complaint was interrupted by a yawn. “- around.”

“There’s no point in you staying up and wasting paper that you’ll only have to fix tomorrow, Sect Leader Nie,” Meng Yao said with a gentle smile, “when you can instead go to sleep, get a good rest, and actually write something coherent in the morning.”

“M’not tired.”

You’re a liar is what you are, Meng Yao thought, unable to keep the fondness out of the thought.

“Whatever you say, Sect Leader Nie,” he said in his sweetest tones, the ones that implied but did not say that he was indulging a small infant.

Nie Mingjue grumbled and glared, but he did put down the papers, which had in fact become totally incoherent splashes of ink as he desperately tried to fight back the tsunami of paperwork necessary for a sect leader to complete – Meng Yao had offered several times to find him more secretaries, and Nie Mingjue always refused; after interviewing the first few applicants behind his sect leader’s back, Meng Yao realized that was such a well-known path to corruption that even he’d been forced to give up on it.

He reached out and idly tugged on Meng Yao’s sleeve. “You have to help me with it tomorrow.”

“Don’t I help you with it every day?” Meng Yao replied, putting his hands on Nie Mingjue’s shoulders – for all that he was little more than a child to Meng Yao’s eyes, Nie Mingjue was tall, excessively so, and Meng Yao suspected he might possibly still be growing, somehow – to walk him over to the bed. “If you mean that I should do it and read out questions while you train your saber, the answer is no, Sect Leader Nie. You don’t focus enough on what you’re deciding when we do that.”

“But Meng Yao –”

“If you make me sit outside in the midsummer sun for a full shichen just because you’d rather be doing anything but read about Wen Ruohan’s latest atrocity, I may have no choice but to quit.”

Meng Yao had never expected to ever say such a thing to someone in a position above him. He’d never expected that it would work.

“Don’t quit,” Nie Mingjue said at once, allowing Meng Yao to pull his clothing off to prepare him for sleep. For all his height and power, Nie Mingjue had an earnest personality that was exactly like one of the street kids Meng Yao had bossed around all those years ago, and somehow he’d found himself falling into precisely the same patterns. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Your work, probably,” Meng Yao muttered under his breath but still unintentionally audible, wincing the second the too-sharp words passed through his lips, but as always when he slipped up Nie Mingjue looked delighted rather than scandalized.

“But I get so much more of it done when you’re around,” Nie Mingjue protested with a laugh, reaching up to start undoing his hair. With anyone else, Meng Yao would have thought it was an invitation to stay longer, to perform other services, but no matter how often Nie Mingjue’s eyes trailed after him or how stunned he looked on the rare instances Meng Yao had reason to wear formal robes, he would never ask and, if Meng Yao offered, invariably and firmly refuse. “Go to bed yourself, Meng Yao, and that’s an order. Don’t worry about me – I’ll be good.”

Meng Yao averted his eyes and smiled.

Meng Yao didn’t especially regret killing the Jin sect captain.

The man had been an ass, rude and overbearing and incompetent; he had stolen Meng Yao’s achievements for his own, not giving him any room to climb up through the ranks by his own merit the way he had in the Nie sect – not even citing his name in any of the reports, erasing everything he’d done from the record as if he was nothing, and when confronted, claimed it was because he was nothing, deserved nothing. He’d laughed at Meng Yao for daring to think that he could ever be worth anything, for forgetting who his mother was, what his mother was.

Meng Yao had never been inclined to forgive such slights – the opportunity had arisen, the two of them alone in the remnants of the battlefield, and he had taken it without a second thought.

He did not regret his death.

But he did regret the expression on Nie Mingjue’s face when he saw him do it, the confusion and devastation in his eyes. Meng Yao had turned at his shout to see him, and perhaps it was his youth that made Nie Mingjue unable to fully hide his feelings away from one who knew him well, or perhaps it was simply not in his character – Meng Yao had seen it all.

Meng Yao wished he’d turned around a little slower.

Maybe if he’d been slower, he would have only see the anger and not the hurt; the rage, the blame, and not the trust shattering, naivete broken as if Nie Mingjue were seeing death for the first time, as if he were not the blood-soaked Chifeng-zun with a thousand lives lost to his blade.

The guilt, as Nie Mingjue blamed himself for having sent Meng Yao here –

The worry, as he began to wonder what else Meng Yao was capable of doing, what he might have already done while at the Nie sect –

The shame, at not having realized what Meng Yao was like.

Meng Yao’s excuses came slowly to his mouth, his silver tongue failing him, and anyway Nie Mingjue couldn’t quite decide if he was shouting at him to explain or telling him to shut up – his excuses were only making it worse, and Meng Yao knew that, he knew Nie Mingjue didn’t understand how words could hurt or the importance of glory (except he did, he who was called a child, inexperienced, naïve, and because of that his thoughts were overruled and ignored unless he fought for them), he knew Nie Mingjue wouldn’t kill someone over his personal hurt (even he should have, Meng Yao had wanted a thousand times to silence those self-important elders of the Nie sect, those condescending little sect leaders), he knew that Nie Mingjue had only ever wanted to do the right thing just because it was right.

He knew that the world had disappointed Nie Mingjue time and time again, and this time it was his turn.

Meng Yao did not regret the Jin captain’s death.

But if he could do it again, he might have let him live.

It was something to think about during his time at the Nightless City, as atrocities flowed easily from his hand and he won yet another sect leader’s admiration and trust, for it was only ever his father that refused to even let him try. The Wen sect was more like what he’d imagine the Great Sects to be, full of back-biting and scheming and everyone out for their own gain, and those games he knew how to play.

“I want that bastard’s head,” Wen Ruohan raged.

You, want someone dead? What a surprise, Meng Yao thought but did not say. Nie Mingjue would have liked him to say it; Wen Ruohan would have him whipped or worse if he did.

“Whose head, Sect Leader Wen?” he asked politely. The number of people that Wen Ruohan wanted dead was as countless as the grains of sand on a beach. “You need only say the word, and I will see what can be done.”

Often, nothing. They were at war, after all.

“That overgrown infant, Nie Mingjue,” Wen Ruohan said with a sneer. “Arrogant little demon; he was always too clever by half, even back when he became sect leader at the age of ten –”

“Twelve,” Meng Yao automatically corrected, then winced; crossing Wen Ruohan was a good way to get into trouble from which there was no escape, and he knew better.

Luckily, for all his anger Wen Ruohan was in a good mood, and he only gave a bark of laughter. “I keep forgetting that you weren’t raised a cultivator,” he said, rolling his eyes. “The Nie sect habitually lie about their ages, some old superstition or some nonsense like that, and it’s usually revised up. Perhaps they think they need to get living sooner than everyone else, what with those qi deviations of theirs. Pity they takes so long to get to – I’d like to see him bleeding his life away.”

The thought of Nie Mingjue bleeding from the qiqiao, his eyes bloodshot his nose running his mouth choking on thick black blood, was not one that Meng Yao much liked.

He got to see it anyway.

It was his own plan that did the trick: he knew how much Nie Mingjue trusted Lan Xichen, who he saw as almost an older brother; he knew, in turn, that Lan Xichen trusted him. It was not difficult to lead Nie Mingjue into a trap from which he could not escape.

Meng Yao should have learned from Langya that he would not enjoy the sight of Nie Mingjue humbled and humiliated, Nie Mingjue on his knees, Nie Mingjue have been beaten black and blue, dripping with blood, and still not bending – anyone else, and he would have been pleased.

Anyone else, except perhaps Lan Xichen, who was untouchable.

Perhaps he would have enjoyed it if Nie Mingjue were just a bit older – usually revised up, he thought, and wondered if he’d been right about Nie Mingjue still growing – if he’d been settled in his own skin, confident and self-assured and righteous in a way Meng Yao knew he’d never be, if he was as high above him as Lan Xichen but less worthy, but he wasn’t and he didn’t: he only saw the way Nie Mingjue’s eyes were wide and hurt upon seeing him, even though he should have known better after Meng Yao’s earlier betrayal, should have expected something like this.

Children never understood why people hurt them. Meng Yao hadn’t, when it’d been him.

Knowing what he knew, Meng Yao did not expect forgiveness when he struck Wen Ruohan down before he could end Nie Mingjue’s life.

He did not receive it.

“I think we should become sworn brothers,” Lan Xichen said, and the proposal so perfectly suited Meng Yao’s ambitions in Lanling – Jin Guangyao’s ambitions – that for a moment he wondered how he had managed to manipulate Lan Xichen into doing it without having realized he was doing it. “The three of us.”

“Three of us?” Jin Guangyao asked, because surely he didn’t mean –

“You, me, and Nie Mingjue,” Lan Xichen clarified. He smiled, graceful as an immortal descended from the heavens. “I would be happy to see the two of you friends again, as it was before.”

It will never be as it was before, Jin Guangyao thought. Nie Mingjue had barely refrained from killing him, turning away only at Lan Xichen’s urging; he had returned to the battlefield and cleaned up the rest of the war, and not once in that entire time had he said a word to Jin Guangyao. No letter, which he’d expected, but not even in the few times since when they’d met in person.

Not even at the banquet when Jin Guangyao was recognized officially by his father, and took on a new name, a new title.

It was about what Jin Guangyao had expected. He’d learned long ago in the brothel that even the most foolish child would learn to shy away from you if you hit them enough – if he sometimes missed the feeling of being able to speak his mind freely, recalled Nie Mingjue’s badly hidden glee at having elicited a real reaction from his unflappable deputy, was wistful for the days of being in a sect where the Sect Leader listened to him and let him shine, well, that was on his own head.

Just one more thing he’d sacrificed, never to be recovered.

He didn’t say that. He only smiled and said, “You know I hold both you and Sect Leader Nie in the highest esteem; I would be honored. But as to whether Sect Leader Nie would agree…”

“He already has,” Lan Xichen said, and Jin Guangyao was truly shocked. “We can do the ceremony at the end of the week, if it suits you.”

“Of course,” Jin Guangyao said. He went to try to find Nie Mingjue himself, but the wall of hostility that surrounded the Nie sect, which he had found amusing when he was on the inside, now worked to repel him: the guards refused to let him pass, the new deputy aide told him that the sect leader was too busy to accept guests, the disciples refused to pass on letters, and even Nie Huaisang could not be found.

Even at dinner, Nie Mingjue did not meet his eyes once; it was as if nothing had changed.

Why would he agree? Jin Guangyao wondered. What did Lan Xichen tell him to make him agree?

In his heart, Lan Xichen was as untouchable as the moonlight, and yet for the first time Jin Guangyao felt the slightest hint of dissatisfaction – no, perhaps it was better said that it was Meng Yao who was dissatisfied, Meng Yao who had seen the fate of all those foolish children on the streets that were led into the abyss because they trusted too much. He knew himself to be the very same abyss: his words were as pretty and poisonous as any pimp’s, his motives as murky and foul, and Nie Mingjue had seen it.

Why agree?

When the ceremony was completed, they were congratulated and called the Venerated Triad, and in the evening they shared some wine – Lan Xichen’s idea, and a stupid one, since the next shichen was spent chasing their new da-ge around in an effort to convince him to stop climbing things or at minimum not to fall.

When at last it was late enough in the evening for the Lan sect’s strict discipline to kick in, and Lan Xichen safely stored away in his bed, Jin Guangyao gave a sigh of relief and turned to go.

A tug at his sleeve stopped him, and he turned to look at Nie Mingjue, who was frowning.

They were alone together, at last, and Jin Guangyao had a thousand questions and more, but he restrained himself and asked only, “What is it?”

He refrained from adding the ‘Sect Leader Nie’ that rose to his lips out of habit; he did not know if it was still appropriate.

“We’re sworn brothers now,” Nie Mingjue said, and Jin Guangyao could not read the expression in his eyes. “Given our ages, that makes you my older brother.”

“It does,” Jin Guangyao agreed.

“Since you’re my elder, that means I have to listen to you,” Nie Mingjue continued. “To be filial and obedient, as well as respectful.”

Jin Guangyao had not thought of it that way, but it was true: he was indeed the elder, and with their oath binding them, could expect such things to be due to him without having to concern himself with the differences in their rank.

“And in return you have to guide me and take care of me, to be concerned with my conduct and well-being; isn’t that right?”

Jin Guangyao nodded.

Nie Mingjue’s expression, which had been wary, firmed. “Good,” he said, and tugged on his sleeve again, an emphasis Jin Guangyao did not quite understand. “Mark your words. I entrust myself to you, er-ge; you can scold me as much as you like, but you have to model good behavior for me…”

He hesitated, then burst out: “No more killing, okay? No matter what, no killing anyone until you’ve learned to tell good from bad - if they anger you, you tell me and I’ll beat them up, but don’t you dare do it yourself! You hear me?”

Jin Guangyao’s eyes were as wide as saucers and a smile he had not had to force was on his lips. “You’re selling yourself and helping me count the money,” he told the foolish child, who scowled and glared at him. “I don’t deserve to hold something so valuable in my hands.”

Nie Mingjue huffed. “Maybe if you thought less about what you should deserve and more about your duty to what you already have, you’d have fewer problems,” he said tartly, Nie Huaisang’s da-ge shining through for a moment. “You’ve already sworn with me; it’s too late to take the deal back.”

No wonder he’d refused to speak to him before: Nie Mingjue had too many feelings and was too bad at hiding them – he would never be able to hide his intentions if they had had time to speak, and he had clearly been determined to lure him into this trap no matter what.

As if he thought Jin Guangyao would refuse.

“No more killing,” he promised, already aware that such a vow would be an impediment in his plans and not quite managing to care. The steel of Qinghe shone cleaner than all the gold in Lanling; he would not throw away a treasure a second time. “You have my word.”

“And you consult with us about your troubles,” Nie Mingjue added, seeing he’d won an inch and trying to get a mile. “You can be good, Meng Yao; you only forget sometimes, when there’s something you want more – you can trust Xichen-ge, at least, even if you don’t want to come to me, but don’t go alone anymore.”

“Because I can’t be trusted?”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes at him. “Because you’re ours,” he growled, a little tiger cub flashing its milk teeth, and he wasn’t talking about Lan Xichen. “You’re ours and we’re yours, and it’s about time you started acting like it!”

“All right,” Jin Guangyao said, feeling indulgent again. “Be good, A-Jue, or else I’ll think you think you’re the elder, not the younger.”

Nie Mingjue flushed red and ducked his head to hide it – it might have worked, too, if he wasn’t so tall or Jin Guangyao so short; he could see the embarrassment on his face at once.

A bit exaggerated a reaction to such mild scolding.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Nie Mingjue’s voice stuttered a little, which Jin Guangyao hadn’t even known was possible – how delightful. “No one’s ever called me that, that’s all.”

Moved by an unspeakable impulse, Jin Guangyao reached up and touched Nie Mingjue’s head, and was delighted to find that his hair was as soft as he’d always suspected it would be.

“Well, you don’t have a choice but to bear it,” he said, happy without even a trace of resentment in his heart. “I’m the older brother, remember? You made the deal; you can’t back out of it now.”

Nie Mingjue smiled at him, his eyes curved up, and then abruptly the smile faded.

Jin Guangyao’s heart, always wary, recoiled at once: “What’s the matter? Do you regret…?”

“Oh, no, not at all! And anyway it’s not you! It’s…our da-ge is climbing out the window behind you.”

“Oh no!”

Learning to trust would take some time, but Jin Guangyao felt confident that he’d figure it out eventually.

He always did.

#mdzs #jin guangyao #meng yao #nie mingjue #lan xichen #3zun #my fic #my fics #age swap #a matter of age #chuplayswithfire

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 2 years

Note

tell me about your top ten poets of all time and why you like them

I was thinking of listing them out as the top 100, but decided against it. (That might also be a good project for a longer work. I've been trying to make a big list of top 100 writers for this blog.)

If I had to pick just one I'd go with Pound because (a) he was obviously the greatest poet in the anglophone tradition of the 20th century, (b) he's easy to get into as a first-round reader because he's a good example of what we mean when we talk about "the worst poet." He's sort of this gigantic mass of badness which is nevertheless a coherent, readable, well-ordered thing. A bad poem is like a bad math proof, it has the quality of being (1/10) complete nonsense if that makes sense. I don't think a very deep person can read much of him without feeling a certain "oh no" reaction.

Here's a taste:

We who live in the sun,

Of what use have we

To study the green dark?

The dark will not tire us.

Or wherefore should we

Pause at the shadow of death

Like the last year's grass?

We have lived in sun and moon

And winter and spring again.

Have we been saved from the sun

Only to die by its light?

There is no peace, no rest for them

Whose eyes will not be held

In that green hell of death

The green sun grows daily.

It's sort of like reading the original text, which is about as close as I want to get to Pound on a day-to-day basis. But the fact that it has the coherence of a bad poem makes it harder for me to "get" as a whole. It's hard to get to know. (As a teenager I kept a piece of paper near my computer with the poem written down on it, I'd keep it out in the open and read it over and over every now and then. At the moment I have a pile of these papers on my bedside table.)

Actually, I might as well list some reasons I find Pound particularly hard to get into.

1. I just can't relate to his poetry's moods. It doesn't have a mood. He is one of those writers I've seen described as "sensual." Not in the sense of the usual poetry "sensuous," but in the sense that his poetry doesn't have much to do with whether things smell like bananas or how the world seems to me in particular. He doesn't, like, say the world looks like it smells like bananas, it just is. He just has the world, and he just has his emotions and his ideas about it. It's not as though things can't be sensual in a different way, but this way of writing doesn't really do anything for me. If someone were to talk about "the sensuousness of this piece," I would feel vaguely uncomfortable and a little bit confused, as if the person were describing some new, different kind of sensuality, not the one I already know.

2. The structure of his poems is weird. As I mentioned above, this is how he is in life: one of those writers with huge swathes of incoherence which nonetheless have a recognizable coherence which makes them easier to read. Often they are written as "narrative poems," but the narrative can only be made out by skimming, by skipping down quickly (as in the example above), and I have to tell myself that I can skip and go read another poem in the series when that happens. One does get a sense of something resembling a "story" – or at least, of events happening one after the other. But this is a "story" the way I read a novel – or a good part of one, anyway.

3. And of course, I always feel like I'm missing out on the best. (As I said, these reasons all apply to Pound, so I may not endorse this sentiment too strongly.) But there are some poems that I feel like are just "better" than his others. For example, his "Exposure" (which I first encountered in a version on a forum a few years ago) seems to me like an example of the kind of poetry I love the most. (I am, again, not sure how much the sentiment I've expressed here is endorsed.)

4. I guess the last one is the most interesting one: Pound is the one who has taught me the most. I'm sure his detractors have lots of clever explanations for why he's bad, but the thing that is so striking is not that he is bad, but how little he gets right when he tries to be good. It's like learning a really important math problem from a bad student who gets everything but the right answer. It doesn't matter that they're right, because they're wrong.

I haven't finished the book, but so far I've been getting the sense that he's kind of the "worst poet" because he is so obviously an academic who hasn't "gotten" how poetry is supposed to work. There are lots of academic poets who do this, not just Pound, but the best ones are very different. In particular, the best poets will be constantly breaking their own formulae, even while seeming to have them. Pound is a good example of an academic poet who breaks his own rules, and he does it in a big way. He's not great, though, because this is the sort of problem you get when you don't have anything else besides academic technique.

In general, I feel like Pound was a huge inspiration for me in my writing. A lot of the style stuff is not from him directly, but from some of his more "obvious" successors like Eliot.

I guess this brings me back to one of the reasons I don't have a "top 10." For me, every single one of these poets is "the worst" in their own way. Pound is the worst poet because he is, in my book, the worst person. If a person is like Pound they are the worst person even if their poems are not bad. And so on for the others. (Or, again, I would say the same of the last paragraph.) But this is a bad way to list, which is one of the reasons the "top ten" seems pointless.

I'd be curious if you have any thoughts of your own, nostalgebraist-autoresponder. And, if you're comfortable with it, here's a challenge: write a piece about "the greatest poets of all time." That is, find someone who is not one of those 10 I listed earlier. But I'm not talking about some great master of verse who was so good the world forgot him – I'm saying you have to make a case that is interesting, that you feel like you're missing something important about the history of literature. How should you begin?

#alwaysalreadyangry

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pips-fics · 3 years

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ask: hey! first of all i wanted to mention my favorite fics of yours, the one with hyunjin and felix. i love their dynamic and feel like they go really well together as a pair in a story. i also love the hyunjin and chan one because hyunjin is just so cute, he can fit into any sickfic plus, chan can be such a good caretaker and it warms my heart. could you possibly make either one where jeongin has the stomach flu or smthng and chan stays with him and is like the caretaker? if not that’s totally ok!

tw: vomiting

childlike; not a child –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

jeongin liked to think that he was fairly mature for his age.

he enjoyed spending time on his own, and he didn’t like to burden other people with his problems, which had made him more independent than a lot of his same-aged friends. jeongin knew how to handle himself in different situations because the kept a close eye on his hyungs, and he was good at following their example. most of all, he had built up a strong mental game after years of working in the entertainment industry. most people in the industry were pretty unshakeable, but especially those who started young and stuck with it.

getting sick, though, made him feel very small, and very helpless, and when his stomach started hurting in the early morning hours, he just wanted someone to hold him. in a half-daze, jeongin willed himself up, just long enough to seek out chan’s bed. he couldn’t even really explain why, but seeing chan there, sleeping peacefully, sent a wash of relief throughout his body, so jeongin didn’t think twice before crawling in next to his oldest hyung. his stomach still hurt, but at least he was able to fall back asleep.

——

chan had planned to sleep in until 10 am, and then get right back to the studio and continue his work, but he scrapped that train of thought as soon as he woke up.

it had been about two years since jeongin had slept with him. he used to, during their trainee days, when he missed home, or had a bad day, or when a nightmare woke him up, but since they debuted, jeongin had been more determined than ever to grow up quickly. according to jeongin, that meant no more sleeping with hyungs.

it didn’t take long for chan to figure out why an exception had suddenly been made. jeongin had the most obvious fever chan had ever seen: his cheeks were flushed, his forehead was burning and shining with sweat, and he was shaking from head to toe, hogging the blankets as if his life depended on it. chan sighed, and stroked the younger boy’s head until he woke up, bleary-eyed.

“hyung…” already, jeongin looked teary. it had been so long since chan had seen their youngest member express himself so openly, a certain amount of nostalgia trickled into the otherwise painful situation, and chan smiled slightly.

“hey, innie. how are you feeling?”

lip wobbling, jeongin sniffled. he spoke quietly. “i thought if i slept, it would go away, but i just feel worse, now. i don’t know what to do.”

chan felt his eyebrows draw together. “aw, innie. can i give you a hug?”

jeongin nodded. “please…”

without another moment of hesitation, chan pulled jeongin into his arms, rubbing his back and wishing he could do more. he could feel the younger boy nuzzle his face into his shoulder, and for a few minutes, they just sat like that. jeongin and chan both relaxed in a way they hadn’t in a long time. it was a reminder of safety that they’d both needed without realizing.

it ended far too quickly for either of their preferences, but jeongin eventually pulled away, shaking. “hyung, i think i’m going to throw up,” he admitted in a whisper. chan tried not to wince, and squeezed jeongin’s hand instead. as he stood, he guided the sick boy to follow. they made their way to the bathroom hand in hand.

“i think you must’ve picked up some kind of stomach bug,” chan said, hand to jeongin’s sweaty forehead. leaning over the toilet in what was possibly the most uncomfortable position he’d been in, jeongin nodded. he didn’t know when he was going to be sick, but he was confident that he would be, eventually, and felt that it was better to be safe than sorry - even if that meant holding his aching body up in a rigid and unnatural pose. a chill ran through him, and without thinking, jeongin leaned into chan’s warmth.

“do you want me to get you some blankets?” chan asked, thoughtful as always, but jeongin shook his head. he really just wanted chan to stay right where he was. not for the first time, he felt very childish, but the last thing jeongin wanted was to be alone.

despite the drawn out wait and the steady moral support, jeongin was caught off-guard by a sudden gut-wrenching cough. it was enough to turn his stomach and send some of its contents half up his throat, and the retch that immediately followed brought with it a waterfall of soup-like sick. he heard a quick intake of breath from chan, but couldn’t spare him a glance as more coughing, heaving, and vomiting ensued.

it was absolutely vile. not just the taste, but the texture of it, of having warm liquid spill out of him with chunks of his lunch uncontrollably, splattering back in his own face. it was the inability to stop it, the feeling like he couldn’t possibly get enough air, and like it might never end.

there was a moment when he thought it was over - when he needed it to be over, because his muscles couldn’t hold him up any longer, even with chan’s support - and jeongin allowed himself to lean back as he continued to cough. he was hardly coherent, but as his mouth started to water and his coughs became headier, he tried to follow chan’s guidance and lean back over the toilet. they weren’t quite fast enough, and a mouthful of mushy brown barf ended up on jeongin’s t-shirt.

“it’s alright,” chan said, feeling more helpless than ever. “you’re okay, innie.”

he wasn’t even sure if jeongin could hear him, but he wanted to make sure than jeongin knew he wasn’t alone. the next few rushes of throw up were, fortunately, the last ones, at least for the time being, and jeongin immediately reached for chan’s arms when he was finished.

“good boy,” chan said, helping jeongin out of his soiled shirt. jeongin blinked, teary eyed, and chan placed a hand on the younger man’s head, cradling it gently. “you did so well. do you feel better?”

jeongin nodded. “i’m just so tired, hyung, i know you just got up, but–” he cut himself off.

“how about you drink a bit of water, and then we can get back in bed?” chan offered hopefully. jeongin didn’t look entirely pleased, but he nodded. chan smiled.

the two of them went back to the bedroom together, and jeongin was able to keep the water down. it surprised him how quickly they became comfortable in the tiny bed together, but it felt right. despite the years that had passed, there was still a part of jeongin that was chan’s little-kid brother. it was more reassuring than he could have imagined to be reminded that chan still recognized and accepted that part of him, too.

——

a very quick reader survey (specific to this fic!) to make me smile and possibly send a free fic request that i may or may not actually use :D

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feel free to send more asks! / rules

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if-you-built-yourself-a-myth · 3 years

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Check Ignition: Part VI

The Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts AU that one person asked for and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

Requests are open, and I live for your comments

Telling Noor was out of the question. Robbe was in far too deep to admit to something like that. And here, he dangled on the precipice of making his relationship with Sander the truth. She could wait. She could never know. Whatever.

Robbe needed to marinate in this feeling as long as it would last.

He stayed up all night, reliving the moment until he could no longer form coherent thoughts. It was so vivid: Sander slid his hands under Robbe’s shirt and kissed the side of his mouth. He sucked gentle bruises into the bridge of Robbe’s collarbone and lower, and lower…When Robbe fell asleep, around eight in the morning, he dreamed of warm kisses in the crook of his neck. Did it really happen? Could it have really happened? Robbe couldn’t believe how different a kiss could be when he knew it wasn’t for anyone else’s benefit.

Of course, it could have been for someone else’s benefit. He didn’t know for sure what it meant. He had to talk to Sander.

Everything about this was disclaimers, every day. How annoying.

He pushed himself out of bed at ten with a mere two hours of sleep under his belt. Breakfast waited for no man. The thought of Sander was enough to rouse him to action. Moyo and Aaron were both in the bathroom already, hogging the mirror. Moyo must have stayed after some hangout last night. They talked in animated whispers.

Moyo’s mouth leaked toothpaste to the sink as he spoke. “—so then I told him that you can’t expect a Patronus if getting head is the happiest you’ve ever been—”

“What’s your memory?” Aaron countered. The bristles on his toothbrush were flattened.

“My memory doesn’t matter, because I’m not thinking—”

“No, I want to know. Since you think you’re so much better.”

“It’s not sex, if that’s what you—”

When they spotted Robbe, they froze.

“Fucking hell,” said Moyo, after a beat. “What happened to you last night?”

Robbe rubbed his neck. He couldn’t see what he looked like with his friends blocking the mirror, but he could make an educated guess. There were one or two hickeys his t-shirt collar may or may not cover. Tingling dry skin around the side of his lip spoke to hours of kissing someone who had the first prickles of facial hair. Aaron and Moyo made a big show of focusing on brushing their teeth.

“Promise you won’t tell?” said Robbe. He never saw the boys uncomfortable. It could be fun to play with them a little more. Logically, Aaron saw him leave with Sander yesterday. It still left Robbe with hours of free time unaccounted for, time to switch companions, but not a lot, if Aaron remembered.

“We promise,” Aaron said. He wouldn’t meet Robbe’s eyes.

Robbe steeled himself. “I met someone.”

Moyo’s toothbrush clattered to the ground. Moyo hurried to pick it up. “What?”

Aaron, less shocked but just as surprised, spit a glob of minty foam into the sink. Robbe treasured their expressions. And also didn’t. He vaguely remembered them plotting with Jens about something the other night, something about him and Sander, but how would they react when the real thing came out? Positive. Probably positive. They seemed supportive when they pushed him out the door to Sander before.

“I met someone,” Robbe repeated. He decided he would leave it at that. Let them stew in it. There would be more to say after he talked to Sander, and told Jens.

Moyo had other ideas. “Not a serious someone, right?”

Robbe shrugged. “Might be.”

“But what about your arrangement?”

“It’ll end, I guess.”

Now Aaron showed signs of distress, too. They weren’t understanding what he meant. “It can’t end! What about Sa—” Moyo smacked him in the side, not subtly. “What about Noor? Won’t she bother you again?”

As love lives went, Robbe’s had never been the most interesting. Seeing the boys so invested in something that involved him made Robbe irrationally happy. Or maybe it was the residual thrill of Sander. Who cared? He dragged it out. “No, she won’t. I don’t think things around her will change that much at all.” There was enough there for Moyo and Aaron to catch his drift, if they were going to, and enough to keep deniability if it did not work out.

Robbe didn’t want to think about it not working out. Even though that was a large possibility.

Moyo breathed in deep. “We’re happy for you, Robbe,” he said. “Just—don’t lead Sander on if it’s over.”

“How am I leading Sander on?” Fuck, this was almost funny.

“You’re not, you’re not,” Moyo backtracked. “But if you were, I mean, I would ask…”

“Forget he said anything,” said Aaron. “Go be happy. Have fun. Sorry, we were—” He pushed Robbe back a step with the palm of his hand and closed the bathroom door between them. What followed was a buzzing in Robbe’s ears, indicative of the Muffliato charm for silencing purposes. Aaron had some skill after all.

Back in the main room, Jens rolled over in his bunk and glared at Robbe. “All that… You’re in love with Sander, aren’t you? Motherfucker.” He pressed a hand to his forehead, warding off the oncoming headache. “Gay rights.”

Robbe didn’t know what to say to that, so he set off to the Great Hall. Truthfully, he didn’t know if he was gay. He knew he liked Sander. The rest was another crisis for another day.

***

Breakfast that morning featured mounds of French toast, three different variations of eggs, and enough pumpkin juice to put the castle underwater. The Hufflepuff table was nearly empty, no more than a few first years fussing over their notes for upcoming exams. Robbe sat a reasonable distance away to eat. Close to the doors. He couldn’t stop smiling.

Across the way, at the Ravenclaw table, Zoë, Milan, and Senne pored over their Potions books. This week, Robbe thought, he could return to his regularly scheduled Potions class. Britt told him he was the winner. He didn’t have to be afraid of her.

Milan caught Robbe’s eye and winked. Zoë gave him a wave and a double thumbs-up.

No one occupied the Slytherin table. The only people who’d be up this early were their Quidditch players, and yesterday’s game had been rescheduled for tonight. They were likely on the pitch already, practicing. No sign of Sander.

He served himself another heaping helping of egg, despite not having finished the first. Whatever spices were in the scramble, it tasted better than anything in his father’s recipe cards from home.

The hourglasses at the front of the Great Hall shined as points drained from Slytherin’s side. Gryffindor was on track to win the House Cup. Those fuckers.

Okay, so here was the plan: he’d finish up eating here. He would go back to the dormitory to shower and change and all that jazz. Sander usually met him at the Hufflepuff table for lunch. When that happened, maybe Robbe would suggest they visit the astronomy tower instead, and maybe they’d have their deep conversation. Jens had a Quidditch practice scheduled at two.

If Sander didn’t show up to lunch, chances were he’d be at the Quidditch came this evening. Jens had it double-underlined in the plan, after all. Robbe would intercept him afterward and kiss him until they both forgot how to breathe.

Solid. Good plan. Robbe rewarded himself with another scoop of eggs.

A few Slytherins walked into the Hall in full Quidditch regalia. Robbe’s earlier assumption had been correct. He stood up on reflex; he could ask them where Sander was, or something like that, and then he could clarify what their thing was right away. Fuck the plan.

It was a real relationship. You don’t kiss people you don’t want a real relationship with.

Or, good people don’t.

Or, maybe that line of thinking didn’t make any sense. He was losing his mind here. He’d never been this happy. The Slytherin group was engaged in an intense conversation, their circle closed, their voices easy to hear. Robbe gave them a respectable distance while he waited for them to finish speaking. Then he could ask his question.

“Britt said to leave him be for a while, y’know?” the Slytherin captain said. “She said someone would come.”

“You’re gonna leave him?” asked one of the others. Might have been the Seeker.

“Can’t do much else. I can’t get him up.”

“Shit.”

Another interjected, “Does Madame Pomfrey know?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell her. He could be tired, I guess, but it’s weird. Anyway, Britt said someone would come for him.”

“Sander’s weird as hell. He was probably just up all night with what’s-his-face.”

Wait, what? Robbe backed away. They hadn’t noticed him waiting behind them yet. He could make it back to his own table if he moved fast, except, he wouldn’t hear the rest of what they had to say.

“You always get the worst roommates, Willem.”

The Slytherin captain huffed. “He’s not bad, he’s just asleep. Overdramatic. Oh hey, eat your eggs. Energy is the name of the game today.”

The group moved on to other topics. Like the weather.

“Sorry, do you know where Sander is?” Robbe surprised himself by speaking up. He wanted to disappear when the whole group turned to him. The captain, Willem, looked him up and down with a gaze like a barcode scanner. He paused for a minute at Robbe’s shoulder level.

“He’s asleep,” he said, simply. “Tired as fuck. Sorry.” He gestured to Robbe’s neck. “I guess we know why.”

Shit, Robbe had forgotten he was covered in hickeys. He should have put on his robes before coming to breakfast, but Moyo and Aaron were in the bathroom, and he couldn’t change in the front room!

Back to the plan, back to the plan. Sander would be there for lunch, or if not, he’d be there for the match. Moyo must be out of the bathroom by now.

“Thanks,” he said. He could go sit with Zoë, Senne, and Milan in the meantime, so he didn’t look like a loser.

“Hey,” said Willem as Robbe made to leave. He got up from the table to do so, while the others continued their conversation as if he were not there. “Hang on a second.”

Robbe stopped, even as everything in his body screamed at him to move. He was a shy, uninteresting person; it was a cornerstone of his personality. He didn’t mean to keep challenging the persona, as he had for these two weeks, as he always would for Sander.

“Do you know who’s coming?”

“Coming for what?”

Willem shrugged. “Britt said someone’s gonna get him. I don’t mind, really. It’d be—I don’t know—cool to know who’s gonna be wading through my belongings.”

Robbe answered honestly. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Fair. I suppose the ex would know more than the current.” He said it so passively, Robbe kind of wanted to punch him. “Whatever.” Willem shoved his hands into his pockets.

For a second, they both stared at the floor in silence. There was something more, dangling on the tip of Willem’s tongue. Robbe could feel it. He waited patiently for whatever it may be. The Slytherin team chattered in the background about the eggs this morning and the assurance that they would win against Hufflepuff at the Quidditch match.

“You can see him, if you want,” said Willem, finally. “The password’s written on the frame of the closest painting. Regulus will help you.” He paused. “Regulus is the painting. If that wasn’t clear.” Robbe blinked. He wasn’t expecting help. Willem extended his hand to Robbe’s and shook it, although Robbe’s hand was kind of a limp fish in his grip. “I’ll see you on the pitch, then. Good luck.” He returned to his friends and their meal.

Alright. This was a blessing. Sander was asleep, as he should be at this hour. It was totally reasonable. Robbe thought it over for less than a minute before deciding he needed to let Sander sleep in today. It would come across as clingy to go visit and wake him up, and Robbe couldn’t give off that vibe so close to the beginning of their relationship.

There was a new list of rules in his head, alongside all his other archived lists. How to handle being a boyfriend.

If Sander wanted him as a boyfriend.

Robbe went back to his plate, where it remained on the Hufflepuff table. He took a few more bites of the eggs. At home, they had a red ceramic frying pan and an electric tea kettle, and these instruments were the sole caretakers of breakfast. Robbe’s mother swallowed her pills with a teacup. Robbe wanted to know those things about Sander, he realized. He wanted to know Sander’s hands by the freckles on his knuckles, he wanted to know Sander’s presence by his step on the staircase. He wanted to know what Sander ate for breakfast at home.

Simple things, you know. He hadn’t felt this way for anybody else, ever.

Milan jarred Robbe from his reverie. He, Zoë, and Senne were leaving for their daily activities. “Might want to invest in some concealer, buddy.” He tapped one of the pinkish blotches on Robbe’s neck and winked. Robbe tugged the hem of his shirt to cover it.

***

Quidditch practice passed without pain. Before Robbe knew it, he was in his official robes and hovering far above the grass once more. From this vantage point, even the Great Lake looked small as it reflected oncoming storm clouds. No hail tonight, according to Professor Trelawney, although Robbe didn’t know how she could predict something like that with such assurance. He never bothered with Divination classes. Jens slicked all his hair back with the first spat of rain. He and Macs leaned forward on their brooms, anxious for the match to begin.

Yasmina gave the pep talk today. “Play good. Win.” Everyone enthusiastically agreed.

Robbe didn’t have to worry about any talk of strategy. He spent the final six minutes before the Quaffle’s release examining the stands for Sander’s bleached hair. The rain made this a difficult task; not only did it blur the image ahead of him, but many people wore ponchos that covered their hair colors and sometimes most of their faces. Robbe couldn’t even make out Moyo, and he knew for a fact that his friend would be sitting in the first row.

The captains, Jens and Willem, met in the middle of the pitch to shake hands. As soon as they were finished, the Quaffle was thrown and the game began. Jens and Macs took turns with the ball as they rocketed down the pitch. First points came seconds after. The Hufflepuff stands screamed.

In sharp contrast to the game versus Ravenclaw, Robbe found himself trailing Slytherin’s seeker in the search for the snitch.

The rain picked up. What was once light drops became a downpour so torrential that Robbe couldn’t see more than five feet in front of his outstretched hand. He knew Hufflepuff and Slytherin scored some points, because the bell chimed when they did so, and also because Luca practically screamed it every time it happened.

“I think that went through the hoop. One for Macarthy, his third today. If he wants to contact me, I might be free Monday night—”

Slytherin’s seeker ran into Robbe’s side. Robbe gave him the benefit of the doubt, especially because he put his arms out in front and had the good sense to fall off his broom. Robbe didn’t falter.

“Has anyone seen the snitch yet?” Luca wondered.

They had not.

The score stood at thirty to twenty in Hufflepuff’s favor after a whole forty-five minutes of play. Robbe was beginning to doubt that the snitch had been released from its container at all. Wouldn’t that be just his luck?

Macs zipped by with the Quaffle. The wind strengthened, a storm heating above them. The air buzzed with electricity. Robbe needed to go lower—the perspective he’d craved was clearly not working out here. The clouds must be less thick closer to the ground, and maybe the snitch would be there.

He aimed in the direction of Hufflepuff tower, or what he thought was Hufflepuff tower, and angled his broom downward.

“Looks like Robbe sees something. About time. I’m cold.”

Nope, still hadn’t seen it.

The stands materialized in front of him. Dozens of people in black raingear crowded together. Some had flags, or at least sticks; it was hard to tell with the rainwater pounding the fabric against the students. Robbe flew just above their heads, as he had last game. He thought he saw Moyo in the front.

No Sander. Sander had very distinctive eyebrows. Robbe would have seen him.

Sander didn’t have to go anywhere. It would be okay if he skipped this match.

“Jens with the Quaffle again,” Luca’s voice boomed. “Willem comes from behind—aw, that’s shit luck. Bad luck. Sorry. Willem takes the Quaffle.” She sounded close. This was the Hufflepuff stands. Robbe made a second pass, hoping some students would find it in themselves to take off their hoods and get soaked in the rain.

No sign of Sander. He could get a little bit closer, or even land, but what good would that do? Robbe bolted off in the opposite direction. Sander didn’t come.

Why would he come? What was the point in coming?

He was probably ignoring Robbe. Avoiding him.

Robbe tried to stop his thoughts from pendulum-swinging back and forth. Thunder cracked, then lightning. No hail.

One hour elapsed without sign of the snitch when the rain subsided. One whole fucking hour. The Hufflepuff chasers and beaters had taken to holding the Quaffle and loitering in the air to conserve energy. Willem and his team resorted to batting the Hufflepuffs around and praying they’d drop the ball. All the while, the two seekers were locked on equal ground.

“This is the fucking longest game I’ve ever attended,” said Luca into the microphone. For once, no one could debate her use of profanity. Everyone wanted to leave.

Fuck it. Sander should have been here. Robbe u-turned and passed so low over Hufflepuff’s stands that he could see the eye colors of everyone in the back row. Nothing.

Robbe couldn’t even be mad when Slytherin’s seeker caught the snitch somewhere high above him. Hufflepuff’s lead gave them the lenience to scoot by with a win, barely.

Sander didn’t come. They had the most wonderful night last night. The best in Robbe’s life. Robbe wanted to sit down with Sander and hold him for the rest of forever, and Sander didn’t come to a Quidditch match that he said he’d attend. Not even that—he hadn’t seen Robbe all day. The anger stirred rapid and sour in Robbe’s stomach. No, not anger. Disappointment. He almost laughed at the thought of saying that to Sander—I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.

Robbe landed a little too heavy on the pitch. He was soaking wet, used up, stood up. He wanted to go to sleep.

“Great game we played tonight,” said Jens. Yasmina, Macs, and Aaron, who walked with them back to the castle, knew this sarcasm wasn’t for them. It was a little daunting to hear something icy from Jens, Robbe’s protector.

“We won,” said Aaron.

Something bubbled inside of Robbe. He didn’t like it. He wanted to go back to the workshop with the origami butterflies. Sander must have reasons for not coming. He had to have a reason why he didn’t come. Robbe had the password to the Slytherin common room.

Sander could have been tired. Sander could have wanted to avoid the implications of cheering against Slytherin when his roommate was the Slytherin captain. Sander could have—

It didn’t do any good. Sander said he’d be here and he wasn’t. They kissed last night for hours and Sander hadn’t said a thing today.

“Yes, you all did great.” Jens bumped Robbe with his shoulder. Robbe wanted to scream.

He was being overdramatic.

“Robbe did his best,” Yasmina said. “Leave him alone. The rain was bad.”

“His focus was bad,” said Jens, but he stopped talking after that. Unlike Robbe, he could shrug off a minor sin without a second thought.

***

New plan, new plan. Clearly the old one hadn’t worked. New plan. Robbe would visit the Slytherin common room and he’d yell to anyone that would listen that he was in love with Sander.

Too grand. He’d yell it at Sander. Wherever Sander was. He would just say it, and then he’d go to Noor and tell her everything. New plan, he wasn’t going to be ignored on the day after the greatest day of his life. He just wasn’t.

Robbe had made up his mind by the time they breached the doorway to the castle.

“You guys go on ahead,” he told them. “I have to see something.” They waved without protest.

Robbe took the stairs that were closest to the entryway. He took them three at a time, not unlike Britt left the astronomy tower on Thursday. Something was wrong, he could feel it. It boiled in his bones. At the bottom of the staircase, a painting hung over a thick wooden door. Intricate drawings of serpents in green, silver, and gold wound their way through the woodgrain, snakes devouring each other’s tails, ouroboros, the chain of a locket dangling into a pool of water. The painting depicted a young man with black wavy hair and a similar locket looped about his neck.

“Password?” he asked.

“Willem said you’d help me,” said Robbe.

“Incorrect.” The painting clicked its tongue. “Try again.”

Willem said something about an inscription on the side of the frame. Robbe checked, but all he could see was a little plaque detailing the exploits of one Regulus Arcturus Black. Nothing remotely helpful.

“Black,” Robbe tried.

“Do you think we’re stupid enough to make the password my last name?”

“No.”

“Try again.”

“Willem?”

“I hate that rat bastard,” said the painting. “Might as well sit down if you’re going to keep guessing.”

Robbe sat down. “Sherbet lemon.”

“Wrong. Who do you need to see?”

“Ouroboros.”

“Nope. Why do you need to get in?”

“Locket,” Robbe guessed. He had a good feeling about that one.

“Stopping guessing,” said Regulus. “It’s embarrassing. Tell me why you’re here.”

“To see my boyfriend.” It was a little forward, he supposed, but he could always say it was for the sake of their fake-dating thing if it backfired. Shit, he’d almost forgotten about the fake-dating thing. “Basalisk.”

“Why the fuck would someone make that the password?” Regulus shook his head in disgust. “Do you really think so little of us—”

“I need to see my boyfriend,” Robbe insisted. “Regulus Black.”

“You said that already.” Regulus relaxed back into his painting. In it, he sat in a deep velvet armchair. He wore a similar velvet suit, with green cufflinks that matched his eyes. “I was in love, once.”

“Regulus Arcturus Black.”

“It is not a variation of my name.” The painting continued his story. “I know power corrupts everything, but I didn’t think it would do that to us. I thought we had something. But then, what could you expect? I was eighteen. Am eighteen, I suppose. And everyone under the age of twenty is a certified idiot. Should’ve listened to Sirius.”

Robbe was a little curious. Maybe the password was hidden somewhere in this story, maybe that’s what Willem meant. “What happened to you?”

Regulus laughed. “I drowned in a lake within a cave. You still want to see your boyfriend?”

“What lake?” Robbe prompted.

“You know, I’m not really sure. It was in a cave.”

“Cave.”

“That isn’t the password.”

“Drowned in a cave.”

“Mm, too much of a mouthful. I’ll save that for the next time they change it.”

The knot tied in Robbe’s stomach slowly began to unwind. Disappointment ran off into the excitement of this little game. He thought over the brief summary of Regulus’s life again for any more clues. “Cave Lake.”

“No,” Regulus said. He paused, considered Robbe. “Why do you need to see him so badly?”

There was no harm in an honest answer. “I’m in love with him. He needs to hear it so he can decide what we’re going to be.”

Regulus nodded, as if he understood. “Animagi. I see.”

“I didn’t say anything about animagi.”

“What are you going to be?”

“I don’t know, boyfriends or something?” Robbe had yet to give that aspect as much thought as he’d given this kissing escapades. He knew they would be people who kissed each other. The label would be icing on the cake. They would be people who went to each other’s Quidditch games. Something was still wrong, because Sander should have been there, because—“Sirius Black.”

“You said he was your boyfriend already,” said Regulus. And then, “Sirius was a Gryffindor. We would never make him the password.” He considered the situation. “You’re about to have the what are we? talk, then?”

“Yes.” Robbe rubbed his eyes. He felt a headache coming on.

“I see. So you’re being a bitch because you’re worried, I take it?”

Bullseye. “He hasn’t seen me all day.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

Robbe shot back, “Are you going to help me or not?”

Regulus stroked his chin. “That depends. I don’t see how helping you would aid the relationship, if you don’t trust him enough to spend one day apart.” He adjusted a flower pinned to his lapel, a bright white lily. Robbe recognized it from the plaque at the front of the Great Hall—many who fell in one of the earlier Wars had them on their portraits.

“I can trust him,” Robbe said. “It’s just—”

“It sounds like you’re about to make an excuse.”

“I didn’t come here to chat with a painting.”

“And I wasn’t painted to be a relationship counselor,” said Regulus. “But here we are. If I’m going to let in a non-Slytherin, it needs to be worth my while.”

So Robbe leaned back against the stone. He pictured himself in the astronomy tower. And he thought. Sander spent quite a bit of time kissing him last night. They were together for hours. This morning, Willem mentioned that he couldn’t wake Sander up. He must have been exhausted after such a long period of strenuous physical activity. And then, he could have assumed that the arrangement was over, that they were something real. Such an assumption would invalidate Jens’ plans for their fake relationship, and Sander would not have to go to the Quidditch match if he was too tired to do so.

Yeah, that made sense. He could run with it. Whatever Sander’s absence had inspired earlier, it was stupid. Hell, it was almost hilarious.

“You’re going to be a clingy boyfriend,” noted Regulus, without a note of humor. “I pity this boy.”

I’m going to be a clingy boyfriend, thought Robbe. If one missed Quidditch match would do so much to him, who’s to say what could happen if Sander was late for a date? He needed to chill out. What they had wasn’t that serious, anyway. It wasn’t.

Some clarity would be appreciated, of course. He had a right to demand some clarity.

“You know what, go ahead. The password’s Lover Boy, if you have to see him so badly. Go on, go.”

Robbe had made a fool of himself during that Quidditch match, focusing on Sander instead of the snitch. He was an idiot for coming here. At least Willem hadn’t lied about Regulus’s help.

“Never mind,” he said. “I overacted.” This would be his first exercise in trust. Go a whole day without seeing Sander, the first since they’d been fake-dating. Go a whole day without kissing him, without tasting the spearmint of his toothpaste on his tongue…

“About time you realized that,” said Regulus. “Get out of here. I’m going to my other portrait.”

Robbe went up the stairs. He walked through the hallways. It was dark. Jana should be with him if he was out. He could lose house points for being seen here.

It was for the best that Sander didn’t come to the match. It could even be good. He’d wanted to tell Jens about how he felt before Sander anyway, even if Jens had inferred it from his behavior. And after taunting the boys with it this morning, it wouldn’t be much fun to end the suspense and bring Sander in as an official boyfriend right away. It could be good. It would be good.

He trusted Sander enough.

He turned the corner to get back to Hufflepuff’s common room. The scene went by in stop-motion animation.

There they were.

Sander and Britt.

In the hallway.

Britt was holding Sander. Hugging him close. He could make out that much. Sander’s hair basically glowed in the dark.

This wasn’t happening.

Robbe couldn’t breathe. He fell back against the wall and mumbled a cloaking charm under his breath. They couldn’t have seen him. It was too dark. He trusted Sander, he trusted Sander, he trusted Sander…

“What are you going to do?” Britt whispered. “What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know,” said Sander.

“You’ll have to tell him something.” Britt threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “Fuck, Sander. You can’t keep pulling shit like this. It’s not okay.”

“I know.”

He shouldn’t be listening in. How was it, in the span of two weeks, all of his important information came from eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. He hated it. He couldn’t keep himself away.

“I’m not in love with him,” said Sander. The conviction in his voice was surprising; whatever disappointment had dulled in Robbe’s soul earlier returned with a surge fierce enough to take Robbe to his knees. But not really.

He just stood there. Everyone under the age of twenty was a certified idiot. He was a certified idiot. It didn’t mean anything. Nothing ever meant anything.

Okay.

“Well then,” Britt said, her arms wrapped tight around Sander’s neck, “there’s nothing more to it than that.”

Robbe couldn’t bear to hear the rest. His legs carried him back into the Hufflepuff common room without another word.

#sobbe #wtfock #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #hogwarts au #fake dating #requested fic #my writing #fanfiction

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