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fafulous · 4 years

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Take Me Home (2/5)

Andy Barber x Reader (Post!Defending Jacob)

Summary: After the unfortunate events of the trial and after, a depressed Andy Barber decides to call it quits and start a mundane life far away from Newton. He decides it is best to have a fresh start away from prying eyes and alone, but he never thought his caring neighbor (and her son) would change all of that.

Themes: MAJOR D.J. SPOILERS ((The series is following the BOOK ENDING and not Show)), Sad and soft Andy Barber, Single Mother Reader. Cursing.

a/n: I dedicate this chapter to my LOML @sinner-as-saint. Happy Birthday Darling! ILY!

Part 1

Warnings: Small Hints of Abuse.

—

It was your full day shift at the library

You still couldn’t stop thinking about that horrid graffiti left out on Andrew’s Garage door. Why would anyone write something so horrific? It is never a common occurrence to accuse someone of being a murderer; Besides, you didn’t even truly know who the man was.

In one of your breaks while sipping on your hot cocoa, your curiosity got the best of you and googled about him. Those amateur press reporters wouldn’t crowd around a random vandalism; you knew something was up.

To your dismay, you came across terrifying articles of his family. Specifically, about his son.

You read about how Andrew Barber, the Local district attorney of the Newton County was found to be tangled in a murder case because of his son. You didn’t bother to read further for the headlines were awful; described how his 14-year-old son was in trial for the murder of his own classmate.

The details were too horrifying. The press reported every court proceeding but you didn’t proceed to read about what happened. Perhaps his son went to jail? Or he was declared not guilty but was separated from his family? You thought how a good handful of weeks passed and he had absolutely no visitors to his house. Best decision you made was to close the articles for it made you sick to the stomach.

Not only did it feel like you were invading on someone’s privacy, it was also not difficult to picture your son in Jacob Barber’s shoes.

You felt bad for the man, you really did. But then you recalled how he questioned your parenting. It takes years to build self-confidence, but just one statement to shatter it all.

It didn’t feel right reading about your neighbour, it felt like you were a stalker. And so, you resumed to stock up and label the new pile of books.

The Librarian desk was placed in such a way that you would immediately know if anyone entered the library. It would normally be teenagers and college go-ers labelled as nerds who would spend hours and hours of studying and reading. But this time, the one approaching your desk was the last person you ever wanted to see.

Nikolai’s father.

A week ago, Chad did make an appearance into your life out of the blue, asking you to take him back. But you couldn’t for you believed in two things: Your self-respect wasn’t weak, and that Nikolai didn’t deserve a pathetic excuse of a father. After you found out about his infidelity, you mentally decided not to take him back and that was a final decision.

You dropped whatever you were doing and made a beeline to Chad. “You can’t drop in during work like this.”

Quarter of an hour perhaps was spent on arguing back and forth in whispers. You will never deny that how it would be perfect for Nikolai to grow up with a father, but you kept reminding yourself not to give in to him.

“Listen Y/N. I really am sorry for barging like you on this. I want to make things right. “

“You can’t Chad,” you whispered, “I can’t. It is not fair to Nikolai and to me. Just go.”

Chad suddenly pushed you back to one of the bookshelves by gripping your shoulders. His shoulder touches were something that he used to do to offer you comfort at times of distress. But now this was causing you stress.

He gritted his teeth. “Why can’t you just fucking take me back?”

“Because I wasn’t the one who slipped into my co-worker’s vagina!”

Before you realised Chad was going to get unpleasant with you, another familiar voice interrupted the small run-in.

“Hey everything alright?”

You turned around to the stern voice only to see your neighbour, Andrew. You were fixated on him to the point where you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

He looked so handsome.

He was wearing a formal dark navy suit, his tie almost matching his hair colour. His hair and beard were neatly groomed with just a hint of messy. His beautiful trench coat accentuated his arm muscles. He did look like a textbook District Attorney.

Andy on the other hand exchanged looks between the both of you, glaring at the man who dare pushed you back against the bookshelf. He got near to them which made Chad leave his grip and take a few steps away from her.

Chad continued the conversation with you without acknowledging the intruder’s existence. “I’m going to leave now. Think about it. I’ll come in a few days to pick up Nikolai.” He soon left, making sure he didn’t make eye contact with the formal dude who seemed to be much taller to him.

Andy approached you cautiously while your hand pressed the wrinkles off of your shoulders. “Couldn’t help but hearing the whole co-worker slipping into your vagina statement. That man your ex?”

Dealing with two arrogant men simultaneously was not something you signed up today. “Be careful Mr. Barber, the attorney in you is showing.”

Andy stiffened his shoulders but did not let go of his grin. He liked a woman who was snappy, especially when he has seen the caring side of you. “So, you know about me?”

“I can take care of myself,” deflecting from his question. You didn’t want to admit about your slip up that you read about him from an online article. “You didn’t have to do that whole saviour stunt on me Mr. Barber,” you walked away from him, heading outside the library to catch a breath of fresh air. Andy followed you like a puppy would.

“You didn’t have to do it alone too, Miss”

You noticed how he didn’t call you formally. “Andrew, I told you I-I am never going to have a conversation with you ever.”

“I know I know.” He paused and you crossed your arms, waiting for him to say something while you admired the beauty of his trench coat on his frame.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy. M-my shift ends in an hour.”

“I can wait.”

“No Andrew, my car is in the repairs and I’m bailing on my assistant to drop me home-“

“I can drop you. We literally live next to each other. Please Y/N,” He neared you, anxiously looking over at you, “Give me this tiny speck of a chance.”

You stood there trying to pull off a stern look, trying so hard not to display you inhaling his musky cologne that made you excited. Who would’ve thought you would fall for a meanie who just had a pair of needy, blue eyes?

“Alright fine,” you said giving in. “Read a book or something inside.”

Andy was happy at his sweet victory.

In that time Andy decided to look through the well-ventilated library. It was quite spacious, his senses hitting with the smell of old books and natural pesticides to keep the books from deteriorating. There were enough tables for people to sit and read at their leisure. He even recognized familiar books he used to read with Laurie every night. It was an intimate ritual for them; so eventually for the past few months, he gave up on reading.

Andy then noticed you scuttling around for a while till you plopped on your desk. Your work attire was silk white blouse with a yellow pencil skirt. There was a strut of confidence every time you took a step or gave orders to her assistant.

Neither of you would deny the lingering glances you gave each other in that time.

An hour passed and both of you stood outside near his beautiful black car.

“What is it Andrew?”

“I wanted to sincerely apologize to you. This is not right I know. I know I’ve hurt your feelings and this apology doesn’t even cover it. I stepped out of line many times even though you remained to be kind to me.”

You puffed out a breath of air. Judging by the tone of his voice, you knew the man before you were being sincere.

“Just let me make it up to you one day at a time please. It would kill me if I didn’t do anything.”

“Y-you don’t have to anything Mr. Barber. Its just-“

“I know take your time. I hope we could hit the refresh button excluding the part where I make it up to you.”

“Yeah no um- I also owe you another thanks for helping back at the Library- uh Chad? The bloke you interrupted me with?”

Andy nodded. “It was nothing really. So, can we start fresh?” He extended his hand to you and a firm handshake was exchanged.

“Apology accepted I suppose.”

Soon you found yourself in Andy’s car, who was kind to even open the door for you. Chivalry isn’t dead.

For now.

The ride back was quiet, you observing in the interiors of the sleek black car. The seat felt so comfortable, along with the man beside you. A comfortable silence prevailed the drive back home, Andy popping in superficial questions about your work and Nikolai and vice versa.

“So any plans for tonight?”

“Nikolai wanted to watch a Disney movie tonight with some Chicken Lasagne. Oddly, specific I know but kids these days, right?”

“Yeah.” You noticed how his face fell slightly and so you tried to change the topic. “What about you?”

“The usual. Netflix and Takeout. Trying to cut on the beer though you know with the new job and all.”

“Thanks for the drive back home Mr. Barber.”

He took this as a good sign. “From now on you can call me Andy.”

“Listen Mr. Barber- Andy I have to get something off of my chest. “

Andy unbuckled his seat belt and faced you, unsure of what she wanted to say. “Sure please, go ahead.”

“Okay Andy. I just want to clear the air that only know about you as an attorney because my curiosity irked me after your whole garage shed incident. I didn’t dig much because I felt like the inner me was being like a creep.”

He raised his eyebrows heart slightly sinking that you had already become the judge of his character. “So, you do know about me then?”

“Not more than how your son was involved in a murder trial,” you fumbled. “I don’t know the outcome and I don’t know why I am telling you all of this oh my god.”

Andy chuckled to see you covering your face in embarrassment, feeling a little relieved to know that you didn’t have much of an idea of who he was. He reassured her that it was completely fine, and you saw you going back home.

The next couple of days went smoother for both you and Andy. After a week it seems you and Andy always left home for work at the same time, passing casual morning greetings…which you had to do by successfully covering your blush because he never failed to look nothing less than good looking even though he was now just a swimming instructor.

Andy told you that day he apologized to you at the library was the day when he gave in an interview for the Swimming Instructor position opened at the community gym. He said it was something he used to do in his free time, and he wanted to give it a shot

You weren’t even surprised to find your mind in the gutter when you thought about Andy in skin-fit Speedos that stuck to his thick thighs and broad back. Or would he just wear trunks? You smacked your head; this what happens when the last time you got laid was two years back…

No offense to your expensive vibrator.

Andy would drop you to work if you didn’t feel like it and pick you up too. He even would take Nikolai alone for car rides which he enjoyed.

“Mommy! Wandi car go zooooom!”

He once popped into the library telling you that he would like to be a member. You would have never thought that this man was a bookworm. He soon told you how he used to have a habit of reading a book every night and now that he wants to revive it.

Normally for new inquisitive children or young adults who wanted recommendations to begin the practice of reading was handled by your assistant, Tracy. You weren’t surprised when Tracy was almost proactive when she saw Andy. But to the utter dismay of your assistant, Andy wanted to hear it from you.

Its not like you won a battle with your assistant, but you happily concurred with you head held high. He wants me. (You smacked yourself mentally again, jealousy is an ugly stain).

“How do I know you’re not bluffing Andy?” you whispered.

“Hey hey,” he leaned nearer to your ears. “I’m new to this place and I want a couple of books and recommendations that’s all. It can get lonely at home sometimes.”

As Andy and you spoke over books, you saw he had no shred of the hostility he had in these past few weeks. Andy also noticed how you looked much more comfortable than you were initially. For the both of you a new friendship was blooming.

For now.

“What kind of books are you into Mr. Barber?”

“Well I was the thriller and mystery kind, but things have changed, looking for a change rather. Nothing old sticks on to me now.”

“Ah yes. Every reader has that phase and I have just the solution.”

He was almost puzzled when you took him to the young adults section and handed over two books or rather two parts of a beautiful story.

“Harry Potter? Isn’t that a children’s book?”

“Objection your honour!” You went on to tell him the premise of the books without spoiling much for him. It suddenly struck him that Jacob had these books at home too. But he was able to push the twinge away when he hears your sweet whispers of excitement. He did complain he has watched the movies but the bookworm in him knew that books are always better than the movies.

“Okay okay! Objection is sustained.” He laughs. A genuine laughter after what seemed like eons.

You didn’t want the conversation to end. It felt refreshing to talk to Andy and so you felt generous.

“You can drop the usual food takeout today yeah? When was the last time you had home cooked meal?

Andy thought for a while. “An awfully long time Y/N. It’s okay-“

“Dinner is at my house. No excuses.”

Andy found a little purpose to be excited in life.

–

On Mondays, Andy comes home with a bottle of wine to beat the heat of a horrid Monday morning.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Andy flaunts his cooking skills to you and Nikolai. Surprisingly, he has not lost his touch over cooking. He loved it how the little boy gets the food names all jumbled up and how, much to your embarrassment, he would ask him for food requests. Can we have Pawsta and bwed? Or Can we have spwagety?

Wednesdays and Fridays, Andy chilled out on your sofa having a tea party or fighting an alien invasion with Nikolai while you effortlessly cooked to your delight.

It’s almost become a ritual over as the weeks go by. Andy and you talk a lot, but never about each other. Both of you talk about books, or debate over politics or even talk about movies.

It was in these nights when both of you unintentionally spills the beans of your past.

First was Andy when was discussing about how he loved the Harry Potter books you suggested that the waterfall of backstories began. After dinner got over both of you sat on your couch talking about the day’s work, while Nikolai fiddled with toys on the cushioned chair. He mentioned how Jacob had these books.

“Who is Jacob?”

Andy looked ahead at Nikolai sitting at one of the comfort chairs with a couple of his figurines while his eyes fought with slumber, “My son.”

“Oh, how is he? Is he with his mother now?”

Maybe it was too soon to ask. You literally saw with your own eyes how Andy’s eyes drooped, and his figure slumped before you. It even became confusing when he shook his head slightly sideways.

Realising you may have overstepped a line, you tried to steer the conversation to another direction, but Andy blurted it out as if he needed to remind himself the truth.

“Jacob died in a car accident and his mother is in prison for the very same.”

Whispering a oh my god underneath your breath while covering your mouth didn’t stop your eyes from pricking with tears.

Andy narrated the events of the trial briefly while he grabbed the bottle of wine drinking from it directly, not getting in too detail. He mentioned how his son was dropped of all the charges and how after one vacation, everything changed. He mentioned how his now ex-wife successfully attempted to kill Jacob in a car crash because she was convinced that her son was the actual murderer.

Andy was numb to this story (the kinder version where you didn’t know he was the son of the murderer Billy Barber) and he didn’t realise the kind of reaction it would evoke from someone who had no idea about his past. Guess he was surrounded with nosy people all his life until now.

He internally panicked to you see your tearful state.

“Andy I’m so sorry.”

In an instinct you pulled Andy to you, arms wrapped around his shoulders in a hug. Andy needed a hug so bad he may have wrapped his arms around you an inch closer while he rubbed your back in assurance. He heard your small sniffles, which made him hug you tighter.

His hoarse reassuring whispers that he was alright made you even more devastated. “Hey look Y/N. I am alright okay?”

You pulled away from his embrace in embarrassment. Andy’s heart was hard as a rock, he gave you a half-hearted smile, “God I’m such a fool sometimes. Quick to come to conclusions. I shouldn’t have been so judgmental.”

“If you’re forgetting that was me a couple of weeks back.” His gently touched your cheeks wiping a tear or two away. “Hey come on now. Tears don’t suit you momma bear.”

“So, I’m a bear now huh?”

A little giggle came out of your lips and Andy felt warm. Your mind was fluttering as Andy still stroked your cheek with his thumb. You never realised could be so soothing until a worried Nikolai tried to scramble up on both of your laps.

“Mommy why you cwying?”

“Nothing peaches. Its just-“

“I ate your mommy’s cookies Nikolai,” Andy interrupted earning a dramatic gasp from the little boy while you stifled your laughter.

“Its okay Wandi. Mommy you can take the cookies fwom my jahr. Don’t cwy mommy”

After a series of awws from the two adults, Nikolai went back to his toys. It was time for Andy to leave, standing on the threshold of your house.

“This fresh start is not happening for me at all Y/N. You have been such a wonderful person entertaining me these nights but, I still can’t sleep you know. It’s haunting.”

“Andy,” you still sniffed. “The minute the garage incident was over, that was the minute you stepped away from prying eyes. No one is going to bother you now Andy. You can start fres, infact I think you already did. You bagged a Swimming Instructor shift at the local gym, you have got a new house and most importantly, or not, is that you have Nikolai and Me.

“We all have skeletons in our closet Andy, that’s the unfortunate truth. Its not going to be easy but life has to go on because little do you know you have people depending on you.”

Andy knew you were referring to Nikolai, but for him he had no one depending on him. What was the point of moving on?

“Good night Y/N”

He only left the threshold after he realised you had placed a kiss on his cheek and gave him a hug on your tiptoes.

Another night, it was your turn.

Andy soon realised Nikolai wasn’t anywhere around the house. The toys were neatly placed, and the Television wasn’t running. Music was playing from your phone, but it was low and from the smell of it, you were cooking Chicken Lasagne, Nikolai’s favourite dish.

“Where is Niko? Is he sleeping?”

“He is with his father and the grandparents.”

The dinner went awfully quiet, sure he tried to sneak conversations here and there, but he wasn’t able to hold it. He learned how you decided to actually listen to Chad’s wishes under the conditions that his grandparents would be around. Andy saw your little smile when he learned that Nikolai was extremely reluctant to go with his father. A rational side of you didn’t want to separate Nikolai from his father.

It was while you were flipping through the channels that you broke out like a dam.

“You know Andy, what you heard that day in the library was the truth you know.”

“Niko’s father Chad?”

“It was Nikolai’s first birthday. We were all gathered at home for a small birthday party. Chad and I called in our co-workers that day. In the name of this little one everyone began drinking by around four when we scheduled the party at six.”

Andy noticed how you sardonically laughed in between.

“Before we could cut the cake, I went in search of Chad because Niko wouldn’t cut the cake without him. So, I went around searching for him because I remember Chad was kind of drunk. And then I find him in our room fucking his co-worker while he screamed her name.”

You looked below and began fidgeting with your fingernails. “The next half an hour went in a haze. The guests left. Chad and I went hysteric. We were at each other’s throat. I screamed at him and Chad somehow became sober and began to um- hit me uhm-“

You were breaking and Andy didn’t want to ask you to stop narrating. You must have trusted him enough to talk about something that you evidently found traumatic. Andy scooted closer and took your palms in his hands.

“And I didn’t even realise how I was scarring Niko. He was sitting on the couch all alone scared at our hysterics. In that half hour I- I- forgot about him. The guests were gone, and he didn’t cry. Niko just sat there with his beady eyes clutching his figurines, looking at me in horror after that bastard went up to his room like nothing mattered. I’m the reason for Nikolai’s state.”

“Hey what state Y/N?” Andy stroked your cheek; the lines of formality were blurred between you two. Right now, it was just one soul comforting another in a time of agony. “Nikolai is such perfect child. I have never seen such a brilliant three-year-old in my life.”

You whimpered, “N-Niko hates birthdays. The sight of candles on a cake make him cry and disturbed. H-his nursery is left incomplete because he has these terrible nightmares when he is left alone. He comes crying in horror even if I try to let him sleep alone for once. He always sleeps with me. W-what if I damaged him Andy? Wh-what if he likes his father more in this visit? What if he leaves me?”

You sobbed uncontrollably into Andy’s chest. He didn’t hesitate in cradling you and stroking your hair. He pulled you closer, leaning back at the couch. He waited for your crying to die down.

“You’re such an amazing mother darling,” he whispered, the loving nickname going unnoticed because it seemed so right, “So caring, so kind. Nikolai loves you, you know that right?”

He felt you nodding your head at his chest while none of you bothered to acknowledge how both of your legs were intertwined now. Andy scooted lower on the sofa, lying down with you still cradled to him.

“Chad was a fucking scoundrel okay? Anybody would have reacted like that like you did.” Andy gritted his teeth when he recalled that he hit you but suppressed his emotions because his emotions wasn’t important now. “Nikolai is going to be simply fine. When he comes back, he’s going to run into your arms and say how much he missed you and then proceed to ransack the living room with his toys.”

That genuinely made you laugh. You didn’t want to let go of Andy. His cologne was calming. His sweater shirt was soft. You even felt his little belly; he did mention he was drinking a lot of beer and whiskey when he can’t sleep in the night. It felt so intimate; it felt so right in spite the fact the neither of you are dating.

“You’re a good man Andy.”

Andy places a chaste kiss on your forehead. He saw your cheeks scrunch up, like you were blushing. His lips felt soft on your forehead, a warmth running through the both of you. Andy decided to leave but your grip on his meant something else. Looking down, he felt your soft breaths on his neck now for you tucked your head on his neck. You must be clingy he wondered, but he didn’t mind. He needed a dose of clingy looking at his current state of life.

“Good Night Y/N.”

He was supposed to get up slowly and untangle from your limbs and spread a blanket on you before he left. He was supposed to go back inside his house and have another round of sleepless nights.

Not cuddle and have a good night’s sleep peacefully with you in your soft sofa?

–

Finally, Saturdays and Sundays are the lazy days, ironically both of you don’t hang out as much on the weekends for deep inside Andy thought he was invading Nikolai and yours family time.

When Nikolai was back the next day, just like Andy had mentioned, he ran into your arms and kissed you so much. He even hugged you harder and said he didn’t want to go back to his father.

“He’s not like Wandi. Wandi likes tea pawties. Papa says tea pawties is for guhls and not for boys.”

“Peaches that’s not true, you can play tea party any time you want. You can play with me and Andy okay?”

“Yeah okay. Can we play tea pawty inside Wandi’s cahr too?”

“Niko!”

Your little boy also managed to change your mother-son ritual into a mother-son-neighbour ritual. He persisted you into calling Andy for the everyday evening picnic at the lawn. You knew your son loved Andy but a little voice asked if this was too much.

Apparently it wasn’t. Andy was extremely happy to join you and Nikolai. He kept asking if it was okay but a few reassurances later Andy joined you with a jar of lemonade. “I may have peaked out of the window and seen your daily picnics. None of them have this baby.” (Of course he was talking about his lemonade).

“Mommi look, Wandi made lemonade! Yaaaay!”

He runs over and hugs Andy as tight as his little hands can.

“I bake this boy five types of cookies and he falls for your lemonade? Blasphemy Andy. What are you doing to my son?” you ask him with feigned wound in your heart.

“Oh Y/N. He’s just found a new friend. Don’t be jealous now.”

Seeing your son and Andy bond made you heart make a little small wish; that Niko and you find a companion like Andy. Wishing for Andy himself is like wishing for a star. Why would this perfect man fall for a broken person like you?

Andy and you spoke while the little boy ran around the lawn with his toys and it was then his senses came alive and he took in his surroundings.

A pink stained sky; clouds imitating to be cotton candy. A beautiful house in a quaint neighbourhood. The faint smell of your warm cookies and refreshing lemonade while your son ran around. A woman of his dreams weaving her palm through the strands of her hair. This was a dreamland.

And in that moment, he scooted near you and he entwined his hands into yours. You were perplexed at what he was doing but you went with the flow. He wanted his utopia.

“Andy? What are you-“

“Y/N, will you go on a date with me?”

After a few minutes later, your answer gave all the reassurance that he finally got his fresh start; that he can finally start a new life without the demons in the closet.

Right?

–

Part 3

–

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himboskywalker · 3 years

Note

hi, miss tag! sorry to bother you but I go to uni in a couple days and I’m just. really stressed. ik you’ve graduated already so you probably know what it’s like, and since you studied abroad it was probably much worse for you! ik it’s annoying, sorry, but do you have any advice you can give me with packing/getting ready?

Hello dear and congratulations about going away to school and transitioning into this next phase of your life!It is very stressful and you’re not a bother or annoying at all!❤️ I’m not sure how much useful advice I have to give because honestly I felt like college I bumbled around and discovered everything through trial and error,but I’ll do my best.

For packing you want to hit a sweet spot inbetween of bringing things that you’ll find comfort in and will make your room bearable and feel like home without going overboard and overpacking so that moving is the worst thing in the world. I tried different ways every year and what worked best for me my senior year was living extremely spartan for my bedroom and apartment and then going all out for kitchen stuff. Every school is different and the one I attended didn’t allow stoves in the dorms and enforced us to have meal plans for our caf. That never worked for me personally because I worked at a coffee shop and was double majoring and was in all sorts of extra classes and programs so I literally never had time to eat when the caf was open for meals. So most of my advice for school revolves around ✨food✨

Keep essentials in your dorm that aren’t ramen. Even if you can’t have kitchen appliances and aren’t allowed to cook where you live,keep things like peanut butter and protein bars and healthyish foods like nuts or granola or oatmeal. Whatever you like that isn’t just chips or ramen,keep stuff you genuinely like on hand so you’ll actually eat it that has some nutritional value. Try and eat some fresh fruit and veggies when you can sneak it in,wether it’s a banana in class or some hummus and celery or a bagel with strawberries. I just can’t begin to emphasize enough how much not living off pizza and ramen will help with your physical and mental health.

Get to know your school library super well. Learn it,explore it,talk to your librarians and the student support staff and student volunteers and scholarship workers. Fellow students who work on campus will help you more than anyone and library workers are the best for helping you with research and directing you to any resources you need. And don’t be afraid to ask for help if you don’t know how to do something. I can’t begin to emphasize enough how much people are there to help you and if you’re unsure about literally anything ask someone. We pay a colossal fuckton for university tuition and a lot of college students don’t know the campus resources that come with that.

Your school library will have tutors if you need them,research assistants that can help you learn how to navigate databases and find sources for your schoolwork. Student affairs has therapists and counselors if you need to talk to someone and support staff for housing problems. Heck most schools has career councilors if you need help finding a part time job in school. Your advisor also is there to help you,don’t be afraid to go to them with questions. Pester the shit out of them that’s what they’re there for. Ask for extensions,for resources,for help,for direction. You are never alone and there will always be someone to talk to and help you.

And make friends my dude. Have fun and don’t hole up in your room. Do things outside of your comfort zone that you normally wouldn’t be interested in. Join a school hiking club,or rock climbing team,or anime club whatever. Go to school sponsored events,to campus movies and games and game nights. Meet people outside of your program and who you live with. I’m not one of those people who found the love of my life in college but I did make some lifelong friends. I got to do a lot in school I never imagined I would. I grew up incredibly poor and never thought I would ever be able to travel outside of the country,let alone live in a foreign country. But I joined a lot of programs and talked to lots of people and that networking paid off in a fully funded study abroad trip. People want to help you and be your friend,always remember that.

#tag times #local babushka gives unhelpful advice #anons #university

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years

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in support of wildfire relief, @jesusonthetortillas donated $10, and requested pre-series pining!Sam, with diary discovery. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After his little lesson from Sabrina, the hot librarian's assistant, it's not hard at all for Dean to find what he's looking for. He drops Sam off at the library the way he usually does, and flirts with Sabrina on his way out like he usually does, but instead of going to his shift at the construction site like Sam thinks he's going to, he circles back around, through the library stacks on the main floor, and waits like a dingus by YOUNG ADULT – ADVENTURE, watching the back of Sam's nerdy, nerdy head where he's hunched at the computer banks, getting up to no kind of good.

It wouldn't have come to this, Dean thinks, if Sam weren't so—he doesn't even know how to think about it. He doesn't know when to pin it down. They were doing okay. Sam ran away, a few years back, but since then he's—well, he's always bitching at Dad and bitching at Dean half the time too, but he's done good in school, he's done his part with the hunting. It was sometime at that last school. September in Maryland. Dad was gone a lot of the time, because Dad always was, and Dean went with him on about half the hunts but Sam got to stay behind, got to just call in research tips and last-minute lore checks, and Dean thought he was pretty happy, as much as Sam ever seemed happy. Chill, just doing his homework at the rickety desk, not complaining any more than usual about Dean's usual dinners of fast food or Kraft or Top Ramen. Seventeen and getting tall and mellowing out, and finally hanging out with his little brother was just fine. Dean thought.

That was two towns ago, three months ago. Dean picks his nails with his pocket knife, leaning on one elbow by the Hardy Boys. Sam's still working away on the computer. Anymore he always is. After school he's always angling for Dean to bring him to the library and if Dean won't drive him then Sam walks, even when it's raining, like it is half the time in frickin Washington, anyway. Always finding a free computer and settling in and disappearing onto the internet. Not coming home until the library closes, and moody if Dean's there when he walks in, and Dean just—he thought they were past all this crap. He thought that maybe Sam had—settled. Figured out how things were, how things had to be.

Well. Either way. Sabrina, with the glasses and the sexy dreads and the legs that very much went all the way to the floor under those wide-legged pants she was always wearing—she gave Dean a computer lesson, free of charge, and he's got a way in, now. Sam won't talk to him, won't hardly look at him. Dean chews the inside of his cheek, watching Sam type on the battered public machine. Sam's not the only one who knows how to research a case, in this family. Dean's going to figure this out. He's gonna fix it.

A bell rings, at five o'clock, like the end of a school day. Sam jerks like he's been shocked and looks up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed. He's been engrossed for two hours, typing away, reading. Real frickin' boring, on Dean's end, but he stayed put. Like staking out a house for a job—nothing to do but wait. He takes a few steps backwards, makes sure the shelves hide his face, and there's a general rustling as people leave—a mom and her kid, and tears because the kid's favorite book wasn't here—and when Dean looks again the computer banks are empty, and Sabrina's checking out the last few patrons, and Sam's—gone. Walking home in the rain, little goth that he is. Fine with Dean, if it gives him a few minutes.

When he settles into the chair Sam was in it's still warm. He opens up Netscape Navigator, the library's homepage welcoming him in a friendly kinda way—big yellow smiley face, that's fun. He goes to where Sabrina taught him, in the menu at the top: view, and then History, where it turns out the computer saves all the webpages you went to just in case you need to find them again, and there—oh, jackpot. Gotcha, Sam.

All kinds of crap. A weather website, a bunch of Ask Jeeves searches, something called DiffEQandU. Some mythology stuff, too, and Dean goes to one that turns out to be a history of kitsune. That's something, at least—Sam doing his important homework, in there with whatever other crap he's been working on.

The last bunch of results are all pages from some website called Livejournal, which Dean's never heard of. He clicks one at random and is brought to—huh. A splashy red page, with a big picture on top of kids graduating from high school in those dorky blue robes. He scrolls down, skimming, looking for the important details among the mess, but it's hard to tell what it is. A forum, it looks like. Kind of like the ones Dean's been on where people trade car parts, or swap ghost stories. A square box, dated yesterday, that says WHEN IS HARVARD'S APP REVIEW???, and a panicky paragraph where some chick might die if she doesn't get in. Another, the day before, with questions about the SAT, and a link that says 43 comments that, when Dean clicks it, brings him to a bunch of apparently teenagers all giving each other tips from some test they're worried about taking.

College. Dean's stomach curls into a knot. It's all—college stuff, applications and tests and deadlines. The usernames are all weird shit: tmntpizzadelivery, quistis4ever, willyshakes. Dean can't tell—is one of these kids Sam?

Sabrina's nearly done with her line of book nerds. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and clicks away, tries another of the Livejournal results in the history. Another forum, this one apparently about—soccer? Jesus, Sam. Another forum, this one about Conan the Barbarian, and that one's at least easy to snort at, with people's shitty drawings of Red Sonja and excitement about a possible remake. There are personal pages, though, too—one titled Delaware Sucks, in which some girl complains about her life—one titled trent reznor rules my soul, featuring a goth kid who won't shut up about Nine Inch Nails and his bitch of a mother. Another, with a plain blue-and-grey color scheme, with the title on the road, and a new post from today—from an hour ago—with the text just reading, I don't know what to do anymore, and six comments underneath, waiting.

"Hey—ready to go?" Sabrina says.

Dean jerks in his seat. Sabrina's raising her eyebrows at him, behind her glasses, a little smile curving her mouth that promises something a little better than book dust and computer lessons. "I'm always ready," Dean says, grinning, and gets her to roll her eyes—yeah, he's in there—but his eyes drag back to the webpage, the posts. He scrolls down, quick—post after post, waiting to be read. "Real quick—borrow a pen?"

She has one—she's a sexy librarian, of course she has one—and he uncrumples a receipt from his jacket pocket and writes down the URL, careful to get it right. rearviewmirror.livejournal.com. He wants to click on the comments, but.

"Come on, the movie's starting soon," Sabrina says, and Dean closes Netscape, folds the receipt very carefully into his pocket, stands up. He's got a date to make out with a hot chick in the back of a movie theater, and maybe a little more, and Sam's whole Eeyore routine has to take a number. Dean will figure it out. He's got an easy way to run a stakeout, now.

December 4

Still can't decide. Anyone else going through this?

current mood: agonized current music: motorhead (AGAIN)

Comments:

teenagehamburger: Yes!! I still don't know where I want to go. Mom wants me to stay close to home, but Delaware sucksssss. Where are you looking?

rearviewmirror: Anywhere. TBH I'm still not even sure I should apply.

teenagehamburger: WTF?? Of course you should!! College is the big escape, remember?

December 1

He's driving me INSANE

current mood: annoyed current music: motorhead (again)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: lol you got it bad

rearviewmirror: right now I just want to hit him with a brick, actually

teenagehamburger: LOL!! Sorry :( :(

rearviewmirror: Sigh. I guess it could be worse, right?

teenagehamburger: Definitely!! He could be the cute cheerleader from 4th period who doesn't know I exist….

coppertonebuttgirl: oh, sorry hammie, that sucks <3

November 29

The thing is, I don't even want anything crazy? I just want to be—me. Just me, without anyone breathing down my neck. Trig teacher says I could get in to one of the top ten, but I just want to go *anywhere that's not here*

current mood: restless current music: Pearl Jam (home alone!)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: i hear you lol. why don't they get that the rules and hovering and all that shit just makes us want to run faster?

rearviewmirror: Exactly! My teacher keeps talking about college like it's a place to expand your mind and stuff, and that's fine, but lately I just want to expand my horizons. Kind of ironic?

bloodofreptile: yeah lol haven't you lived like everywhere?

rearviewmirror: Feels like it.

teenagehamburger: Is You Know Who going to college too?

November 18

I feel like it shouldn't be this hard. Normal people have it easy.

current mood: indescribable current music: silence

Comments:

coppertonebuttgirl: feel free to talk to me anytime <3

November 3

Dad's gone again. Didn't say goodbye. We went to the movies and he gave me a beer, and we watched the stars for an hour in the parking lot even though it was freaking freezing. Happier than I've been in a while. Don’t want it to change but it has to change.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

teenagehamburger: OMG, that sounds so romantic?? I can't believe you were drinking!! Aren't you underage?

bloodofreptile: lol relax it's not a big deal

teenagehamburger: I'm just saying!!

coppertonebuttgirl: wish it wasn't hard for you <3

bloodofreptile: dude you've got to say something

rearviewmirror: I literally can't.

bloodofreptile: ok but it's gonna drive you crazy. do you even know if he's gay? start with that maybe

The posts go on, and on. Reading backwards through time, it's a strange piecing-together. rearviewmirror is active in about ten communities and Dean reads through all of them, that week, bringing an illicit cup of coffee in to the library when he doesn't have a construction shift. He reads with his hand over his mouth and by the time he has to get off the computer he's got a headache, every time, his throat dry and aching.

The journal's been active for six months. Dean clicks through the pages to the very start and reads it in the right order, his heart pounding oddly in his ears. I don't know what this place is. A journal, I guess, considering the name. I just need somewhere to talk where no one will listen.

It's not a pouring-out, like some teenage girl doodling hearts around her crush's initials. He holds back. Never says exactly where they're living, never mentions names. To figure out who it was, you'd have to be one of two other people, and Dean knows that Dad can barely turn on a computer, much less go onto the internet and pore over some teenage angst-fest. Dean spends half his time wishing he were the same. Maybe if he hadn't asked Sabrina for help.

At home, Sam's the same as he always is. Comes home after his own stint at the library, eats the dinner Dean gives him. He reads, most of the time. Does his schoolwork. Dean says, careful one night, "Hey, True Lies is on. Wanna watch?" but Sam only gives him a strange, uncertain look and says, "No, I have a paper due," and he shuts himself into their bedroom with the door very firmly closed, and Dean sits there on the couch alone with a beer and Jamie Lee Curtis being sexy as hell on the fuzzy TV, and he—he doesn't know what to do.

He remembers that day, the looking at the stars day. It was November 2. A nasty anniversary, in their family, and yeah, Dad left. Dean got it. He'd thought Sam did, too, by now. It was better to have Dad gone, on a hunt, than trying to drink himself to death at home in the apartment. At least he was working, that way, and not hurting himself. To distract both of them, Dean picked Sam up from the library and they went straight to the movie theater—the Blair Witch sequel, with Dean providing running commentary about how dumb they were about dealing with ghosts, which at least made Sam grin and elbow him to shut up, even if he was laughing too, the liar—and, yeah, afterward they'd picked up Taco Bell, and then after that Dean swung through the liquor store drive-thru and they parked out, and he let Sam have a beer, and they both sat on the trunk and leaned back against the cold glass or the rear window and didn't really talk, much. The stars, big above them. The night, quiet. Sam was pressed against his side, chilled out and not bitching about anything, and Dean tucked his hand behind his head and he was pretty content with the world, right then. His brother, here, and a six-pack waiting, and nothing happening right then that'd hurt them. Sam smiled at him, that night, before he went to bed. It was sweet—like he used to be, when he was little—and Dean had ended up falling asleep on the couch, watching the public access, but his dreams that night were—good, like they never were on the night of November 2, and it had felt… okay.

do you even know if he's gay?

The college prep—that wasn't a surprise. It hurt but it didn't shock. All his worrying, all his whining, wanting to be 'free'—whatever free meant—it was all part and parcel of the last decade. Dean should've known better. Sam wasn't mellowing out. Sam was a stubborn little shit and he'd always wanted to have a life that wasn't—this.

The gay thing. That hit different. One of the communities Sam followed was for lesbian and gay youth, talking about their coming out experiences. Sam didn't post there much but he commented, asked questions. How do you know? What does it feel like? The hamburger girl was from there, a lesbian chick trapped in some Delaware high school. Encouraging, commiserating. They talked about how college would be their big escape, their chance to go to a big city and find their way. Meet people. Only apparently hamburger girl was crushing on the cheerleader from fourth period, and Sam—

Dean makes an excuse the next day. Saturday: no work for Dean, no school for Sam. Alone in the apartment together, all day, after Dean's week of reading—he can't face it. "Where are you going?" Sam asks, eight a.m. with his hair fucked up and coffee clenched between his hands, and Dean looks at him in his pajama pants and his ratty hand-me-down shirt, skinny and tall and hiding things Dean can't handle, and he says, snappish in a way he doesn't mean to be—"Out, Sam, for christ's sake—" and sees Sam's expression shutter before the apartment door slams behind him.

He goes for a drive, out of town. Cold, threatening rain like it always is, but it won't snow. Out—past the airport, past the suburbs, out to Black Lake. They killed the nymph that was drowning people out here, him and Dad, when they first arrived. Sam stayed home. Sullen on the other end of the line when Dean called to say they'd finished the job, and they were getting burgers for dinner, and did Sam want one. Whatever, Sam had said, like even answering was an imposition. That was November, too.

He sits on the hood, heels braced on the bumper, arms locked around his knees. The lake looks cold. He wants to sink into it, wants to feel that freezing shock, like the polar bear dive he did on a dare back in Illinois. The way the brain just goes blank, tv-static filling up everything and washing all the shit away. All the weird crap you don't want to think about, frozen, and the only thing to focus on just—getting out.

He's not going to dive into the lake. It's nine in the morning and he's wearing his only pair of boots. He hasn't gone out with Sabrina all week. He's been piss-poor at the construction site and McMillan nearly brained him with a hammer yesterday, because Dean wasn't paying attention, and the foreman screamed at him in front of the whole crew. None of that feels close, right now. He breathes the wet-clogged air, cold and mossy, turning his ring restlessly on his finger.

Back at that high school they went to in Raton, Mrs. Encinas in 6th period English told Dean he'd be smart, if he didn't just give up all the time. All he needed to do was take the time to read between the lines, to actually interpret what he was reading and not take things on face value. He made some joke. He doesn't remember what it was, now. Like he didn't know what the fuckin Great Gatsby was saying, when he hoped and hoped and never got what he wanted. When happiness always felt like it was about a thousand miles away, on the other side of a lake he couldn't cross, and hope went out like a snuffed light. Dean can read what's not there. He's done it his whole life.

The problem: Sam's little online journal went back six months. They've lived in four towns, in that time. He never uses names, never puts up anything that'd really identify him. They were in Maryland, August-September-first of October, and it was a comment right at the end of August, on the community for gay kids, talking to the hamburger girl: I like someone, too. He doesn't know. He. The same he that carried forward, through all his journal entries, from Maryland to Washington across whole breadth of the country. He likes classic rock. He drives me nuts. He gave me a beer, and I wanted—

Dean curls forward over his knees, sliding his hands into his hair, breathing hard between his knees. He can read between the lines and he wishes that he couldn't. He wishes—god. What? That Sam would just meet a nice girl and fuck her and get it out of his system? Except how he was writing, it wasn't like it was new. It was something he'd been thinking about. When did you know? had read one of the forum posts, and in the responses, among all the dumb teenage crap about formal dances and jerking off to the wrong person in the music video, there was a comment by username rearviewmirror that said, I broke my leg and he carried me to the car and I wanted to kiss him.

Sam broke his leg in July, the summer he turned fifteen. He'd been trying to stay quiet but he'd had this trapped whimper in his throat that he couldn't stop, and Dad had stayed behind to cover their backs and it had been left to Dean, to scoop Sam up, his whole body quivering with the shock—to hug him close between the trees, humid Georgia night making every place their skin touched slick with sweat—to let Sam cling to his neck, shuddering, and to put a hand on his back and whisper, hey, Sammy, it's not even that bad, huh? no bone sticking out, you did good. we're gonna get you a cast and I'm gonna draw you a great picture, okay, Cindy Crawford with her tits out, right there on your shin and Sam had been so shaky that his laugh sounded like he was crying, but he'd nodded against Dean's neck and chattered out sounds cool, Dean, and when Dean got him to the car Sam hadn't wanted to let him go—so they crawled into the backseat together, Sam still half in his lap and with his arms still tight around Dean's neck. Dad got into the front and frowned at Dean in the rearview, and Dean nodded, and when the car leapt forward Sam gasped and gripped at Dean's shirt when his leg got jostled, and Dean put his hand in Sam's hair and said, it's okay, you're okay, and Sam—wanted to kiss him.

He can't square it. It's like there's some twinned version of his brother, in this place Dean never knew existed. All these secrets he's been hoarding, this other person he's been. These wants that make him a stranger.

He goes back home with stuff for lunch around noon. Sam's reading, in the bedroom. "Got pb&j or grilled cheese," Dean calls, down the shotgun kitchen through the thin-carpeted hall, and Sam calls back, "I'm not hungry," which is a goddamn shit of a lie. He grows like an inch a day, he's never not hungry. Dean braces his hands on the counter and counts to five, in his head. He puts the bread away, and puts the cheese in the fridge. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV and it's college football, which is boring as hell, but it fills the apartment with noise. He wishes Dad were home. He wishes he were hunting.

The Huskies lose. Sam hasn't come out of the room, as far as Dean can tell. He's had—four beers? He looks at the table. Five. It's getting toward dark and it's raining, a-fucking-gain, and Dean's still wearing his jacket and his boots and his ears are cold, because the heater in here sucks, and he's shredded the label of the beer everywhere, everywhere. He brushes it off his knees and that just means it's gonna get ground into the shit-brown carpet, but—who cares. He's got other things on his mind.

He gets the last beer out of the fridge. Should've bought more. "Got some spare cash," he says, to the dark hall. There's a halo of light around the half-closed bedroom door. "Thinking pizza for dinner."

Silence.

Dean pushes the beer bottle against his forehead. "C'mon, Sam. It's not going to kill you to prefer pepperoni or sausage. Just say something."

"Doesn't matter," is the response.

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, slams the bottle down to the counter. It's four steps to the bedroom and the door flies open under his palm. "Just fucking say," Dean says, and Sam's looking at him with big eyes, curled up on the twin bed with his back up against the wall, books spread open all around him. Homework, of course. "Just say it, okay? What do you want?"

Sam stares at him. "I don't care! Get—whatever, pepperoni. Jeez, what's up with you?"

"Sure you don't want sausage?" Dean says, kind of nasty, and Sam frowns, shakes his head. Goddamn it. Dean drags a hand over his face, sags against the door frame. He's—a little dizzy. Oh—okay, so maybe he should've eaten, sometime since this morning. "Damn it, Sam," he says, his stomach twinging.

"What?" Give him this—maybe he's sneaking around, maybe he's lying about half his life, but Sam doesn't shrink back from an argument. He's still in his pajamas. He shoves his notebook away, lifts his chin. "What?"

"Been doing some reading," Dean says, and watches Sam's face scrunch disbelievingly. "Rearviewmirror? You don't even like cars."

It's weirdly satisfying to watch Sam blanch. He's been so unaffected the last little while it's almost a relief to get a real reaction. His mouth parts, his eyes go big. He stares at Dean in total silence except the rain drumming on the roof, and then he says, "That's—private."

"Not that private," Dean says. "You're putting shit on the internet for any asshole to read, Sam. It's not a pretty princess diary with a sparkly lock."

Sam's face is white. He licks his lips, his back rigid against the wall. "How did you—you never—"

"I know how to use a friggin computer," Dean says, and watches Sam close his eyes. "So? Got a lot to say to a bunch of strangers. Might as well say it to me. I mean, I'm your brother, right? Family."

It comes out hard but his voice cracks, on the last word. He swallows and some of the anger dissipates. Sam's jaw flexes and he tucks his hands behind his neck and his knees drag in, like defense. Like he needs defense. Against Dean. Like it's Dean who's wrecking things.

Dean's legs go out from under him. He sits down. Right there, in the doorway to the bedroom, the frame hard against his spine. The rain's loud and he doesn't—what is there to say? "You should've told me."

That's really it. Sam looks at him. Disbelief. "How?" he says, and Dean tips his head back against the wall, looks at the popcorn ceiling, says, "I don't know, it's not my damn secret. But you should've."

"Yeah, that would've gone great," Sam says, sarcastic.

Silence. The rain. Dean drags his hand over his face again, clears his throat. "So. You're—queer." For some reason it seems like the simplest thing to start with.

Sam snorts. "I'm not, like, jerking off to JC Chasez," he says, bitter.

"Who?" Dean says, but shakes his head. "God, whatever. Jesus, Sam, I can't—don't talk about you jerking off. You're not—you don't date chicks, either. Ever. So you're—"

"I don't know," Sam says. Kind of firm. Dean closes his eyes to not look at him. "I don't know, okay? But that's not what—" Pause, while he drags in a breath that's audible across the room. Dean curls over, his forehead between his knees. It's too big to hear. Sam blows out air. "You read the whole thing?"

Frail. Cobweb soft, like if Dean breathed too hard it'd break. Dean folds his hands over his head. "I read the whole thing," he says.

"Don't—" Sam says, quick, and cuts himself off. Dean can't stand it—he looks, peeking up, and Sam's made himself small, there at the head of the bed. His mouth is small, his lips between his teeth—his eyes, big and scared. "Dean. I wouldn't—I swear. I wouldn't—"

"Kiss me?" Sam flinches like from a raised fist, when Dean's all the way over here. Dean licks his lips, dropping his hands so they dangle useless between his knees. "Or, what. Leave? Either way it's pretty fucked up, for me, Sam."

"Oh my god," Sam says, very quietly, and—christ. Looks like he's gonna cry.

"Sam," Dean says, and no matter how pissed he is, that's not—Sam fights back. Sam always fights back, he's frickin' annoying that way. He's not supposed to crack like this. Dean rolls up to his knees and Sam's looking away, neck craned unnaturally so that his face is pointed at the broken-blind-covered window so that Dean can't see, but Dean can—Dean can see his teeth so hard in his lip that the skin there's white, and his chest shaky, and his fist clenched in the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms, and, and—"Sammy," Dean says, again, and Sam's eyes close and there is—shit, shit, a tear, running fast out of the corner of his eye, streaking down his cheek so quick that if Dean could blink he might've missed it.

Dean's gut hurts, like he took a punch from a werewolf and he's gonna be bruised for the next three weeks. He doesn't have anything to say to make it better, not when it's this screwed up. This isn't Sam bitching about Dad or whining about crossbow practice or pouting about a move. Sam's been thinking about this for two years and he's managed to talk about it with people, online at least. Dean's coming at it with a week's slow raw realization and he doesn't know how to make it—not how it is.

He gets over to the bed, on his knees. Sam won't look at him, like the view of nothing through the blinds is the most fascinating thing in the world. There's a wet shining trail, down his cheek to his jaw. A damp circle on his t-shirt. Dean says, because he can't think of what else to say, "You really—you want—" and even then, can't articulate it. A kiss. Sex. A kind of close they've never been. He says, slower, "Is that why you want to go?"

Sam drags in air. Sounds like it hurts.

Dean drags his teeth over his lip. There are books all over the bed. He pushes them away, and Sam's notebook. He pushes up—knee on the mattress, and sinking down to his hip, and Sam's close enough to touch, now, and he jerks and looks at Dean like he's an alien. A ghost. Something that can't be real, only they both know that it is. Dean touches Sam's hand, fisted there in his pants, and Sam jerks again, his stiff shoulders back against the wall, and he shoves Dean's hand but no matter the crazy growth spurt Sam's been having Dean's still stronger, still has the reach—he grips Sam's wrist and yanks, gets him off balance, and then he's right inside Sam's grapple and has his hand flat on Sam's chest, pressing him harder against the paint, and Sam stares at him wild-eyed with his breath both fast and deep and Dean leans forward and presses their mouths together. It's a bad kiss—he barely hits on center, and Sam freezes—but there's the touch of warmth, Sam's lips—soft—and the shocked air hitting Dean's face—and Dean drags in breath through his nose and resettles, fits his mouth to Sam's soft open lower lip and makes it better, his head tipping, easy pressure there, just the faintest amount of suction so that when he pulls back a millimeter there's a little smooch sound, and that makes it—real.

He kissed his little brother. No getting around that. No pretending. His nose brushes Sam's cheek and Sam's not really breathing, and Dean—fuck, Dean does it again, pressing in and letting Sam's wrist go so that he can get a hand on Sam's jaw, tipping him so it's good. Sam makes a tiny noise and breathes out hard against his mouth, and when Dean kisses him for a third time Sam meets it, his lips moving finally out of that still shock, his fingertips brushing Dean's arm all careful, his heart pounding under Dean's hand.

Dean pulls back. An inch between them—not enough but all Dean can seem to manage. He swallows. His lips are tingling, and his eyes are closed and he doesn't want to open them, and his fingers—jesus, he's got them tangled in Sam's hair like Sam's some easy hot chick he's picked up at a dive bar, pressing her up against the wall in the bathroom hallway, knowing how the night's going to end.

"We can't," Sam says. Sam. His voice, steady and familiar. "We—Dean. This isn't—"

"No," Dean says, god knows why. He pulls back, though—pulls his hand out of Sam's hair, stands up. His legs wobble for a second. He has to open his eyes and so he drags in a breath and does, and Sam's sitting there with his shoulders high and tight and his hands fisted on his knees and his hair a little fluffed on one side, a little screwy. His mouth parted and his eyes—fixed on Dean's face, looking all over it. Like he's memorizing a trail map, for an unknown stretch of land.

"I'm drunk," Dean says. It's not true. Five beers—he's buzzed but he knows what he's doing. Sam doesn't contradict the lie. "Acting nuts. Sorry, Sam. I—"

"I want pepperoni," Sam says. His face isn't white anymore. He's flushed, dark pink in the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are dark, wide and fixed on Dean, and there's still that shining trail on his cheek but it's drying. "Order from that place on Melrose. Garlic knots, too."

Dean backs up a step, pins on a smile. "What, you think I'm dumb? Like I wouldn't get knots," he says, and Sam doesn't smile but he nods, brief and fast like Dean's picking up a play in some con they're running, and Dean snaps a finger-gun at Sam—fuck, what is he doing—and turns out of the room, says—"Okay, dinner in thirty minutes or less or your money back!" and walks through the kitchen and out into the living room and out the front door, and closes it behind himself, and leans against it and stares blindly out into the rain, the setting sun still sparking some tiny golden bit of light out to the west, past the horizon.

He licks his lips and tastes salt, not his own. Sam's hand, on his arm—skimming, brushing light through the thickness of his jacket. Like he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to really touch. He drags in the rain-soaked air. He'll drive, to get the pizza. He'll drive, and he'll give Sam time. When he gets back he'll offer Sam half the pie and a beer, and there'll be some movie on TV that Sam probably won't want to watch, but maybe he will. They'll be—brothers. Dean knows how to do that. It feels like it's all he's got left.

It's—not easy but it's not all that hard, either. There's a brutal week where Dean's torn between walking on eggshells and wanting to wrestle Sam to the ground, and Sam goes perfectly silent—not pouty withdrawal or furious silent-treatment, but as still and quiet as though he's not even there. Dean can't bear it. It takes Dad coming home to break it—Dad, and christ, when he calls to say he's coming back Dean completely freezes and his mind fills up with—with—but then Sam looks at him and takes the phone out of his hand and says, his mouth's full—what's up? and after that it's like things… settle. It's not okay but it's livable.

rearviewmirror.livejournal.com goes quiet. Dean checks, occasionally, over the months that pass. When he's looking up some random piece of lore for Dad, when they're hunting alone and Sam's stuck back at whatever shitty hotel they stored him at, and Dean's on research duty because Sam's in high school and can't answer his phone. Dean types in the address and checks, and it's still that last post. Anyone else going through this? He hopes, sincerely, not. It's too fucked up for anyone else to bear. At least the Winchesters have practice.

They run PT. Sam does his homework. Dean watches TV. Hunting focuses things. There's stuff to kill and people to save and things aren't falling apart any more than they ever are, so—Dean deals.

Sam leaves.

It's January. Dean's in a library, alone. Dad's working a job north of Boise and he sent Dean down to Wendover to take care of a haunting, and Dean's done and Dad called and said two more days and there's this raw wounded spot where Dean should be able to turn, to look over his left shoulder and say—but it's empty there, and so he's in a library.

Sam started posting again, when he got to school. Small stuff. That he was sorry for the long break. That he'd ended up at a university after all. The hamburger girl doesn't respond anymore but the Nine Inch Nails boy does: thought you were dead, he says, no-caps like he's so goddamn cool, and Sam says, Just working some stuff out.

Sam likes his professors. He plays pick-up soccer with some of the guys from his dorm. His roommate snores. He doesn't listen to music at all. There's nothing—real. There's none of the sadboy shit, nothing about what he's feeling, no pondering of what it all means. He picks up a few different Livejournal friends, clearly people from his classes, who crack jokes about Ancient Civ and Linear Algebra. He joins a community focused around civil rights litigation. He might as well not be there.

Dean reads it all. If Sam's not calling then Dean's gonna check in whatever way he can. When Sam left Dean made sure he had at least one good knife in his bag and he said don't forget the salt when Sam hiked his backpack onto his shoulder, and Sam snorted and looked at him like a gunshot but he nodded, and Sam's not dumb, he knows how to take care of himself, but. Dean's the big brother, here. He's within his rights, to check and make sure baby bro's not being a dumbass.

January and it's fuckin cold, in Wendover, but the library's too warm. Dean keeps his coat on anyway, scrolling through the comms. He's kinda turning into an expert, navigating the pages, recognizing the shorthand. He hasn't made an account. Doesn't know why he would. He finishes his scan of the comms Sam's part of and doesn't really see any relevant posts, and no comments from rearviewmirror that he can find. He chews his cheek and goes back to the main page, thinking—okay, he can get out of here. Beer and dinner, and finding a motel that doesn't look toxic, and waiting for Dad to call. Not the worst night he could have. He refreshes, one last time, just in case, and there's a new post. He reads:

January 23

Done with class for the week. Feeling restless.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

lawblog69: we should go out!!

bloodofreptile: go get laid

Dean snorts. At least the NIN kid is consistent. He refreshes again and there's a new comment.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

He takes a breath, sitting there at the computer bank. It's quiet in here—the good people of Wendover aren't much for the library, apparently—but he feels like someone's right there. Like he could reach out and touch, when it's just words on a glowing screen. Still—the speed of the comment—Sam's… sitting there. Right now, on a computer in Palo Alto, looking at the same thing Dean is.

He refreshes.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

bloodofreptile: still holding onto that? very hufflepuff. how long has it been?

rearviewmirror: my whole life

Dean presses his knuckles to his lips, hard enough that he can feel his teeth pressing back. Jesus, Sam. He refreshes—another comment, from coppertonebuttgirl, agreeing about the restlessness but apparently she's off to a date with her boyfriend, and Sam responds and says sounds nice :), and jesus, Sam, Dean thinks. Off to have the big college experience like he wanted so bad, off to have that new shiny life, and after five months away he's still all sadsack, still not actually living.

He clicks the comment box. He types, unaccountably mad. He hits submit, and gets a warning that it'll show as anonymous. He waits, and refreshes, and reads:

Anonymous: Just go hit a bar. Live a little. Thought you were supposed to be smart, college boy.

rearviewmirror: Since when does smart have anything to do with it?

Dean rolls his eyes. He can hear Sam's voice saying it, nettled and trying to sound like he isn't.

Anonymous: You're on here mooning after Cindy Crawford when Claudia Schiffer and Tyra Banks are out there in the real world. Have a beer, get over it.

A pause. Dean has to refresh twice. The librarian walks by with her cart of books and gives him a distracted smile, and Dean's so addled he doesn't actually process and then return it until she's already gone.

rearviewmirror: I don't think it's something you get over. It mattered. It still does, to me.

Dean chews his thumbnail. Sam's face, turned unnaturally, looking out that window at the rain. The wet track, on his cheek.

Anonymous: Matters enough that you're never going to move on?

rearviewmirror: I didn't think you could move on from family. Maybe I was wrong.

The air goes out of Dean's chest. He turns away from the computer, entirely, swiveling the chair so he's looking out at the lonely bookshelves. He flexes his jaw and swivels back around. Hits refresh.

The thread of comments is gone. He blinks, confused. He doesn't think he was hallucinating—been a while, since he was that tired and drunk. But—oh—in its place, a single comment, under the brief conversation with the NIN kid:

rearviewmirror: Tell me if it's you.

Dean licks his lips. He closes out of the browser, picks up his notepad and keys. On the steps outside it's cold, cold, fucking cold, and this town is bleak. He walks down to the Impala, waiting there in the iced-over grey snow, and braces his hands on the hood, and blows out a long purling winter-dragon breath, and then fishes his phone out of his pocket. Another new phone, but he's got Sam's number memorized, and he almost calls before he chickens out. If it's not actually wanted—he imagines that conversation and he's just not constitutionally capable, right now, of facing how goddamn awkward it'd be.

He texts: It's me.

The response, after seconds: Where are you?

The shitty part of Utah. That's saying something. Easier, like this. Like it's not him kicking down a doorway right into Sam's head.

I don't have class tomorrow.

Could be random, if he didn't know who he was talking to. Dean leans his elbows on the hood of the car, looking at the little box of black-and-white text. He chews his lips and thinks. Before he can respond, another message:

I don't want to move on.

Dean tips his head enough that he's pressing the edge of the phone into his forehead. His fingers are cold. He sniffs, his nose dripping in the icy weather, and types, careful to make sure he gets it right: I'm nine hours away.

Less, if he goes over 100 in the boring parts of Nevada, and if he doesn't stop at all for a catnap.

Stop in Reno for a nap. You get weird when you drive all night. Text me when you're close.

Dean works his jaw, standing there in the cold. He's got nothing to do, for two days. He's got most of a tank of gas. He's got—nothing. Nothing. He gets in the car, and he drives.

It's only 9:30 when he gets to Reno. There were parts of Nevada where he drove very, very fast. He pulls into a truck stop, gets more gas and parks out near where the semis are lined up, the drivers early-birding the night away. Still cold here but less so. He twists around so his back's to the passenger door and looks out the driver window at the neon signs of the truck stop, the cars going in and out of the gas islands. He ate a little but his stomach was all twisted up and he couldn't get much down. A beer would go easier but he doesn't want to be drunk. Well. He does. This is insane. This is—completely stupid.

He pulls out his phone, looks at it. Dials and holds it to his ear, and it rings three times—long enough for him to change his mind four times—before there's an answer, and Sam's voice says, "Dean?"

His voice. Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back against the cold glass of the window. "Long time, no speak," Dean says. It feels rusty.

Sam's quiet for a second, on the other end. "Not really, though. Right?"

"I guess so. It's not the same." Dean listens to the little acknowledging sound Sam makes. There's silence again, for seconds that he counts—one and then two and then three. He listens to the cooling tick of the engine, through it, and then says, before he loses his nerve, "I shouldn't come. Right? This is nuts."

There's some noise, staticky. Like something passed over the mic on Sam's phone. After a beat, Sam says, "You should do what you want to do."

"Oh, should I," Dean says, and it comes out sarcastic, but he doesn't really mean it to be mean. Sam doesn't take the bait, staying quiet on the other end, and Dean opens his eyes again, watching a huge truck muscle past the gas island, watching the normal world go by. He rubs his eye. "I've been—it's been weird, Sam."

Understatement, but he doesn't know why he says it. That kind of stuff isn't for Sam to worry about.

"Go to sleep," Sam says, instead of responding. "An hour or something, just enough so you won't drive off the road. Text me when you're close."

Same thing he said before. "It'll be like three in the morning when I'm close," Dean says, and Sam says, "I'll be awake," and then the line disconnects, and Dean's left there alone again on the bench seat, but it—feels different.

He sort of sleeps, sort of doesn't. He's got a talent for going to bed wherever and whenever he has to—on spare tires and on forest floors and in a closet, once, with a propane tank as his pillow—but his brain won't shut up. He drifts in and out, for the hour Sam asked him for, and then he gets out of the car and goes into the 24-hour c-store and buys a big cup of coffee and a Hershey bar, and points the hood west, and follows the yellow dashed line home.

He texts from a gas station outside Sacramento. Sam texts back in less than a minute with an address. Dean glances at his map of California and responds: 45 minutes, and it's more like thirty when he pulls up to the—yeah, the motel, and he makes a sound that's sort of like a laugh except it doesn't feel like one. He turns into the parking lot and the headlights flash the building, and there, sitting on the sidewalk with his back to a pillar.

Dean parks. Sam has his arms folded over his knees, but he unfurls, stands. Dean gets out of the car and Sam's—jesus, ten feet away, his face totally visible under the streetlight. His hair's a little longer. "Did you get taller?" Dean says, and Sam huffs, his head ducking, and—fuck everything else, it's Dean's little brother, and he drags Sam into a hug, folding his arms over Sam's shoulders even if he has to lift on his toes a little to do it. Sam goes stiff for half a second, but he hugs back, and Dean turns his face in, Sam's hair in his nose like it always is, and feels him—warm, and safe. All Dean ever wanted for him, pretty much.

"You have to get the room," Sam says, when they pull apart. At Dean's eyebrows he shrugs, the corner of his mouth curled. "What? My scholarship doesn't include seedy rent by the hour stuff."

"Oversight much?" Dean says, but he goes in, and he gets a room. Two queens, because that's what the tired miserable little desk clerk says they have available. Means Dean doesn't have to think about other possibilities, and it means that when he dangles the keys off his finger and Sam half-smiles at him, when they've walked down the cold sidewalk side by side, when Dean opens the door and finds the different motel room, same as the first—Sam sits on one bed, and Dean sits on the other, and they look at each other, and it's like it's two years ago and they're just two kids, waiting for Dad to come home.

Sam is taller. Taller than Dean, now. His hair long enough to fall in his eyes, which it does constantly. Newish sneakers, and old jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt, and a denim jacket over the top of that. Not warm enough for the Bay in winter, but Dean bites his tongue before he says anything about it.

"How are your classes?" he says, instead.

Sam's cheek sucks in, like he's chewing it. After a second he says, "You don't want to talk about my classes, man." His head tips. "Anyway. You read about it, right."

It was a mistake not to stop for beer. Dean needs something to do with his hands. "Your algebra professor sounds like an asshole," he says.

Makes Sam smile before he ducks his head, looking down at his lap. "I thought—" He swallows, audibly. He shakes his head, his hair falling down and hiding his face. "Only reason I started posting again was that I wondered if you might still—if you'd check."

It's quiet, honest. Dean hasn't talked to Sam in person for half a year and he's off-balance. Expecting Sam to snark, to be dismissive, to roll his eyes. Small hours of the morning, maybe he's too tired not to be honest. Maybe he's growing up. Dean's not prepared for that.

Sam looks up at him when Dean's silent for too long. His teeth dig into the corner of his mouth and he drags his hand through his hair, gets it off his forehead. "I said I didn't want to move on. You know what I meant, right?"

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot, Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes tighten. Dean leans back on his hands, tips his head back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. "Thought this was the whole point of getting out. Getting away, making a whole new life. Being someone else."

"I'm still me," Sam says, unseen. "And it wasn't the whole point. I want a life. That part—whatever, that doesn't matter right now. But I never thought the other thing was going to go away."

He stands up, so Dean can see him. Dean looks at him down his nose, and Sam's—god. Tall. That keeps being his first thought. Tall, and maybe not a stranger, even if he's real damn strange. Sam steps closer, in the little space between the two beds, chewing his lip again. He's gonna make a sore there. "Dean," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows in response. "You came."

"Yeah," Dean says, rueful. "Well. I'm Cindy Crawford."

Sam's face ripples—a frown, surprise—and then a huffed little laugh—and then he steps between Dean's knees and touches his chest, his jaw. Leans down, slow, telegraphing like they're practicing a fight, and Dean stays exactly where he is, leaned back on his hands, and Sam's mouth touches his—softly. Not hesitant. Dean lets his eyes close and feels it. Puff of air against his face as Sam lets out a tense breath and then another kiss, the damp inside Sam's lip catching against Dean's, and Dean kisses back then, reaching up and getting Sam's jaw, his jacket, fisting the denim and pulling Sam closer. There's a stagger—Sam's knee landing on the bed by Dean's hip, and Dean gets an arm around his lower back and kisses him again, tasting him. Salt, and when Dean kisses him again and presses his mouth open, licks inside, there's coffee-taste, Sam's tongue—slick, tentative—he stayed up, to wait for Dean—his kiss clumsier now, like he doesn't have much practice.

Dean pulls back a few inches. Sam's half-draped on him, his weight nearly in Dean's lap. His eyes are dark but big with surprise, like he didn't expect Dean to go with it. "Sammy," Dean says, and Sam—shudders, his hands closing hard around Dean's shoulders. Okay, Dean thinks, filing that away. He drags a thumb over Sam's jaw, where he's got a barely-there prickle of stubble. "What are we doing?"

Sam shakes his head, licks his lips. "This," he says, holding the side of Dean's neck. "This."

They peel Sam's jacket off, and then Dean's. Sam's still in that hoodie, soft black, and Dean gets his fingers just under the hem of it, barely grazing Sam's stomach, kissing him again—tangled up close on the edge of the bed, Sam's thigh slung over his. Sam keeps touching his face, his chest. His amulet, swinging forward between them when he urges Sam down to his back on the mattress, a knee between Sam's and his hand still there on Sam's belly. Sam grips the amulet and breathes out hot against Dean's face and lifts up for another kiss, which Dean gives him easy, and it's—god, it's good. The lights on, the room warm, Sam wanting underneath his hand. His mouth, slick and open, learning how to press back, how to give as good as he's getting. Dean kisses his cheekbone, his jaw, settles his hand flat on Sam's stomach to ground him, says, "Sammy, you've done this before, right?" Sam hitches breath, nods. Dean sorta laughs, lifts up so he can actually see Sam's expression. "More than once?"

"Twice," Sam says, and when Dean raises his eyebrows he frowns, vaguely indignant. "Jenny Morrison, just before graduation." He licks his lips. "And—a guy. After student orientation, here."

"Playing the field, huh?" Dean says. There's no reason it should make his stomach go molten hot. He rubs Sam's stomach, feels the rise of his breath. "You like it?" Sam nods, again. "What'd you do?"

Sam's cheeks are dark, brick-red. He licks his lips again and Dean ducks back in to kiss him, knocking his mouth open, tasting inside. Earns himself a small deep noise and Sam's hand sliding through his hair where it's too short to grab. He nudges Sam's nose and sits up, peeling off his overshirt. "C'mon. What'd you do? Didn't put that up on your journal, how am I supposed to know?"

"It was a rush party," Sam says, looking at him. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, making sure his amulet stays put, and Sam blinks heavily, his lips parted. Jeez—it's weird. Hot. Sam wants him, Dean thinks, and it sends a rush of blood south. "He's—uh. Pre-med, smart."

"Not looking for his biography, Sammy," Dean says, and spreads his hands on Sam's hips, pushing up. The hoodie moves, the t-shirt underneath rucks up—Sam's pale here but still that faint all-over tan, darker than Dean's skin. He licks his lips. "What'd you do? Jerk each other off?"

Sam nods, again, his mouth open. God, Dean can imagine it. On some dorm-room bed, their heads leaned together, Sam's mouth open just like this—panting, his hand fumbling down—fuck, fuck it's hot, Sam nervous and into it and trying, making sure. "You liked it, huh?" Dean says, stroking his thumbs over Sam's bare belly.

"Yeah," Sam says, thin on not enough air, his knee drawing up. "But I—I thought about—when you kissed me—" and Dean kisses him again, groaning. Jesus, Sam's gonna kill him. Thinking about some shitty nervous freaked-out kiss when another guy's got his tongue in Sam's mouth. Sam grabs his shoulders, sits up, and Dean accommodates him easy, letting Sam touch him back—Sam's hands sliding down his chest, around to his ribs, grasping. "Dean," he says, panting.

"Let's get this off, huh?" Dean says, pulling, and Sam yanks the hoodie off in a second flat, his hair all ruffling up behind it. The shirt comes with it and there's just Sammy's bare smooth skin, that same pale tan all over. Small brownish nipples, slim muscles. His body. Dean dips and kisses his bare shoulder, licking there, biting, and Sam's nails dig into his ribs so he does it again, swinging a leg over so he's straddling Sam's lap, taking his time. He scrapes his teeth over the swell where Sam's collarbone dips into the arch of his trap, and Sam grips his neck, his back arching. He's hard. Shit, he's nineteen, he has to be hard. Dean slides his fingers down Sam's belly to his belt, tucking under the waist of his jeans, but Sam grips his wrist, then, groaning, saying—"Wait—wait—"

Dean drops his head to Sam's shoulder, groaning back. "We waited," he says, but Sam's hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back, making him look. "What?"

Sam's pink. "Have you—with a guy?" Dean rocks back but Sam's holding him close, looking all over his face. "Dean. Have you—"

"Yeah," Dean says, and watches Sam's ears go red. Sam doesn't need to know when, but it was all in the last year. Three dudes, hookups that were way too easy. They were good—turns out that Dean just likes sex, any way someone will give it to him—and he learned what it felt like to have a dick not his own in his hand, how it felt to slip a cock into his mouth and make a man groan. He hadn't thought about Sam while he was doing it, not really, but he's thinking about it now, and Sam's eyes have dropped, his lips between his teeth. Jealous? Dean smiles while Sam can't see and breaks Sam's hold on his wrist, and slides his hand down, and cups the crotch of Sam's jeans where he's swelling them out. Sam jerks, eyes flying open. "Means I know what I'm doing. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes, and then it's—undoing his belt, and unzipping, and then—god, he's still got his sneakers on. Dean backs off and kicks off his boots, deliberately, and Sam blinks at him hot-eyed with his chest heaving and his jeans half-open looking like a friggin porno, but then he gets with the program, and the shoes thud to the shitty carpet and then they're practically racing, undressing, and when Dean kicks his boxers off to the side Sam's—naked, half on the bed, staring at him. Dean stares back, circling a hand around Sam's ankle. God, to look at him, in the lamplight. Long legs, hairier on the shins and lightly furred on the thighs, and a decent dark bush around a dick that's—jesus, that dick. Big, bigger than Dean's, bigger than—Dean licks his lips and looks up with an effort and Sam's staring right back at him, focused between his legs, his mouth parted. "Like what you see?" Dean says, and Sam doesn't answer, just reaches for him, and Dean crawls up the bed and settles on his elbow above Sam with their legs brushing bare, Sam's dick hot against his hip, and Sam kisses him with both hands on his face, his thigh dragging up against Dean's, his lips almost trembly.

Dean soothes a hand down Sam's ribs but Sam's—fuck. Shaking. They haven't even done anything. "Sammy," Dean whispers, between Sam's needing brief kisses, and Sam shakes his head and kisses him again and then ducks his head down, his nose brushing under Dean's jaw. Dean pulls Sam closer—tips, so they're on their sides—and pulls Sam's leg over his hip, pushes in, and—ah, shit, shit that feels good, Sam's big dick brushing in against his, dragging heavy and hot. "Oh," says Sam, small, and Dean slips his hand further and grips Sam's ass, the muscle tight and small—pulls in, and pulls again, encouraging, and Sam grips Dean's shoulder underhand tight enough to hurt but follows, pushing in with the rhythm Dean's urging. He's breathing fast, hot against Dean's throat, but he's got it—humping in, meeting Dean, making their dicks slide, his cockhead smearing wet against Dean's belly. Dean hums, kissing Sam's temple where he can just reach it, just enjoying the—insane way it feels. He lets Sam's ass go and Sam keeps going—good, good—and he licks his fingers sloppy, and reaches down between them, and for the first time he gets a grip on Sam's dick, feels the heft of it. Sam makes a sound like he's been shot and Dean says shh, easy, slicking his hand down to the base, squeezing hard as he pulls back up, and Sam makes another gulping strange sound, his thigh clutching hard around Dean's hip, his hand crushing Dean's lower back in closer. "That feel good?" Dean says, and Sam—comes. Fast, humping in, spurting up Dean's belly and his own, the slick getting all over Dean's dick, hot and wet, the sensation enormous. Dean squeezes him through it, knowing, and Sam humps in again and grabs his ass, nails digging in. Dean tips his head back, feeling it. God, it's good. Sam. His brother.

He swallows. His dick's throbbing, wanting more, feeling left behind. Sammy shudders and Dean licks his lips, pushes Sam back so his shoulders hit the bed. He flops—boneless, shocked—and Dean drags his hands over Sam's ribs, frames his hips. His dick is still big, flushed and wet, his balls clutched up high, and Dean licks his lips and says, "Okay," to no one, and leans down, and gets Sam's dick in his mouth.

A shock, Sam's body practically lifting off the bed. "What," he says, somewhere Dean can't see him—"What are you, oh—" and Dean thinks, oh, what if no one has done this? What if Jenny just opened her legs and she and Sam humped awkward and teenage in some backseat—what if pre-med only wiped his handful of Sam's jizz on the mattress and passed out—what if Dean's the first one, here, opening his jaw wide, careful of his teeth, slicking down, getting the whole fat length of it in his mouth. Only—he can't, fuck, Sam's too big. He fists the base, pulls off, spits and slicks the wet down. When he glances up Sam's up on his elbows, staring, and Dean grins at him, jerks it again, swallows. He can taste Sam's jizz, leftover from coming before. "Hang on," Dean says, and goes back down, letting the head bust his lips open, slicking tight down to his fist, dragging his tongue hard against the underside, suckling easy. Sam takes his statement as an order and grips his head, his shoulder, his hips cringing up into Dean's mouth, and Dean heaves in air, feels Sam firming up again, thick and needing and good.

He's only done this a few times but he—shit, he liked it. Likes it better the other way around, of course, but like this—his dick pressing into the bed, throbbing—Sam splitting open his mouth—yeah, it doesn't exactly suck. He bobs up and down, making sure to pay special attention to the soft ridge at the head, and Sam's making insane noises, now, up above him, petting his head and his shoulders and gripping, trying to shove up. Dean leans into his hip so he can't, fists his dick, pulls off gasping and licking his lips. Sam's still staring, down the length of his torso, and Dean jerks him through the goopy mess they're making—his spit, Sam's precome, what Sam's already come. "You like it?" Dean says, and Sam—rolls his eyes, the little shit.

"You're smug," Sam says, and Dean raises his eyebrows and says, "You're damn right I am," and lets Sam's dick go and goes down, down, no fist in the way until Sam's dick hits the back of his throat and he gags—breathes through it—slurps up with tight lips and then goes right back down, getting his throat used to it, learning the feel of this massive, awesome dick. Sam moans, pushes his hips up, and Dean lets him, rides it—lets Sam fuck up, lets him get a rhythm, like fucking—Sam, fucking his face—and Dean reaches down between his own legs and fists his own dick, finally, groaning in relief and making Sam shudder as the vibration rumbles through Dean's open throat. Sam grips his head with both hands, holding him down, and Dean drags in air through his nose and holds there, filled up with Sam and choking, spit flooding out of his open mouth—the world dark and just Sam's taste, his smell—and Sam makes a little sound—and Dean grunts and lifts off, breaks Sam's hold and crawls up his body, straddling his hips and dragging his dick against where Sam's is all sloppy-hot, dripping wet. Sam gasps up at him and grabs his hips, his ass, fucking up into him, and Dean grips both their dicks in two hands, fucking into the tight wet channel he's making for them both, and Sam pulls at his ass, spreading it, rocking his hips to help, moaning and looking helpless up into Dean's face, and Dean leans down and breathes against him and Sam still comes first, creaming them both, his dick flexing and twitching in Dean's grip, and Dean braces one slick hand on the bed and fists himself seriously, jerking fast, and Sam moans and kisses his jaw and pulls at his ass with those big hands, his fingers slipping low, dipping—and Dean jerks and spills, his belly seizing, his thighs clamping around Sam's hips, Sam's lips open and dragging wet against his throat, his fist gripping the bedspread so hard that his fingers cramp.

Sam's stroking his hips, repetitive and soft, when he's done panting. Dean swallows, shifts his weight. He's slumped on top of Sam, his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Wet between them, sliding, and he releases his dick and slips his sticky hand out, bracing on the bed enough to get some air between them. When he lifts up Sam's eyes are half-closed, but he focuses on Dean's face right away, and his hands stop their stroking and just squeeze, warm and tight. "You okay?" Sam says.

"My line," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes again, squeezes again. Dean sits up more but Sam doesn't let go. "C'mon, we should clean up."

Sam's eyes tighten, just barely. He sits up, keeping his grip on Dean, and Dean rocks back but doesn't tip over. He gets a hand on Sam's shoulder to keep his balance and Sam says, steady, "Don't freak. Okay?"

"Who's freaking?" Their dicks are still pressed wetly together, though Dean's basically soft, now. Sam's still plump, thick. He swallows. "C'mon, we're gonna get cemented together," he says, and Sam's mouth purses but his grip goes light, and it gives enough room that Dean can lift off, get his feet under him. Jesus, there's enough jizz on him that it's rolling down his belly—he claps a hand to it before it can drop, smearing it over his abs. "You come like a geyser, dude," he says, not really complaining, but Sam's cheeks are red when he looks back up, and he feels—shit. He doesn't know.

He goes to the bathroom. Fluorescent light, pink-painted sink. He wets one of the five-cent washrags and wipes himself up, and he's not turned on anymore so his thought is mainly that it's just gross, and that bed's going to be wrecked, and also, what is he doing. What is he doing.

Sam's hand appears, reaching around him. He jumps. In the mirror behind him, Sam's tall, looking over his shoulder. Looking at Dean, even as he wets the other rag, cleans himself up. Dean chews the inside of his lip and can't really turn away. Sam's got red marks on his shoulder, where Dean was biting him.

"Stay," Sam says. He tosses his wet rag back into the sink and settles his hands on Dean's biceps, squeezing. When he steps forward his dick presses into the small of Dean's back and his chest is warm, damp. "Tomorrow at least. We've got the room. Stay."

"You want your dick sucked again?" Dean says, and that time it is mean and he did kind of mean it to be, and Sam's eyelids dip and his jaw clenches, but he only slips his hands away from Dean's arms to his ribs, holding him. It feels… Dean shakes his head. "Sam," he says, but there's not really anything that can go after it.

A big hand slides up and over, flattening on his breastbone. "It's not just this," Sam says, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror, and it makes Dean's cheeks go hot.

He covers Sam's hand with his. He shivers, for some reason. He says, "I should take a shower, I've been in the car all day," and Sam says, "Okay," and Dean takes a shower and Sam sits on the closed toilet, watches him through the clear curtain. Gives him a towel when he comes out. Takes his hips, when he's dry, and presses him to the tiled wall, and tips his head up, and kisses him clean.

Five in the morning, or later. There's a clean bed and Dean hasn't slept in a day. He lays down and Sam lays down with him, a few inches away until Dean relents and turns over, and Sam curls up behind him, holding on, his mouth against Dean's shoulder. There's going to be a call from Dad, at some point. Dean's going to have to meet him somewhere, because there's going to be something bad that needs killing. He can't stay. He's wired and tired, all at once.

"Sleep," Sam says, and Dean turns his head against the pillow, knows he will.

"Hey," he says, and Sam makes a quiet noise. "If you put this on your journal, maybe bloodofreptile will finally shut up about you getting laid all the time."

"His name is Dennis," Sam says, and Dean laughs, weirdly glad. Dennis. Yeah, that fits. "And this isn't going on the internet."

"Probably a good idea," Dean says, and Sam says, again, "Dude, go to sleep," and Dean tips back into Sam's warmth, and does, and it's the best sleep he's gotten in a year.

#fffr #wincest #weecest #first time #long fic #my writing #--seriously this one also went too long #but idk it felt right this way

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lovelivingmydreams · 3 years

Text

A story by heroes and villains

Virgil Anker: better together

Virgil learns to accept help from others.

“Ugh! I am done!” Virgil glanced up from his assignment to see Roman let himself fall back into his chair with relief. Their first study session had gone rather well. They should probably reserve one of the discussion booths next time. The poor librarian had needed to remind them to be quiet multiple times. They’d just had too much fun. But Virgil could understand Roman’s exhaustion. It was time they wrapped things up. “Give me a sec, I have to finish this thing for English,” he muttered absentmindedly as he focused once more.

“Want me to read it trough for you?”

Virgil looked up in surprise. “You don’t…” he started. He didn’t even know why he was feeling like he’d done something wrong right now. Picani might be able to help him figure it out during their session after Virgil got back from his trip to the zoo with uncle Thomas tomorrow.

“We’re here to help each other Virgil. If I didn’t want to help you I wouldn’t offer. I thrive on being of help to my friends. It’s no trouble.” Right. Roman was like that. For everyone, not just him. It was okay to let him help. Virgil found himself smiling a little sheepishly and nodded. “Alright. You can read it when I’m done,” he allowed quickly turning back to his work.

When he finished his essay he looked up to find Roman in the zone. Which was excellent. It made it easier to sneak up on him. Apparently those with ADHD were extra susceptible to his cloak. Did he have proof for that? Well it was more of a hypothesis, but he had no means to test it. It made sense though.

And Roman had yet to prove him wrong.

Virgil cloaked himself, moved to stand right next to Roman and looked over his shoulder. It looked like he was designing a fashion line. Trans girl dresses, Pansexual messenger bags… as well as formal clothing inspired by broadway and Disney characters it seemed. He dropped his cloak.

“Seems I’m not the only one who can draw up some clothes.” Virgil had to stifle his laughter when that observation nearly made Roman jump 4 feet in the air.

“Will you stop that!?” he hissed.

“Not a chance,” Virgil chuckled as he picked up Roman’s sketches.

“This looks good though… You ever thought of becoming a fashion designer?” he suggested casually, allowing himself to imagine starting a brand with Roman someday.

“You are a genius!” Roman exclaimed, making Virgil’s heart jump.

He played it cool though. He’d gotten good at that over the last two years. Pretending that Roman’s smile didn’t turn his insides upside down. “It’s the least I can do. I sent in the designs like you said… I’m kind of excited.” He was. He hoped to catch a glimpse when he went out tonight.

“I’m sure next time you see DreamPrince on the news he’ll be wearing your design.” It was nice, having someone believe in him like that. Other than his dads that is.

“We’ll see,” he smiled as he handed Roman his laptop.

“Well,” Roman announced after a while. “I think you can hand this in with confidence Virge.”

Virgil felt himself relax at that. Roman wouldn’t say that if he didn’t mean it.

“So… I recall something about pizza? I’m starving!”

Virgil chuckled and lead the hungry Hispanic to the restaurant he’d suggested.

Virgil reminded himself over and over that this wasn’t a date, but it was very hard. Especially when, near the end of their meal Roman suddenly started acting nervous. “So… Um… There’s this… Shoot wait a minute,” Roman got up and picked up his phone.

“Si mama…? Que?” Virgil watched Roman look at his watch and jump.

“Perdona! I’ll be there soon.” With that he hung up and took out his wallet. Rambling all the way.

“So sorry Virge! Time got away from us I’m afraid. I swear I intended to give you that ride… Can you call your dad… You know what? Just use the change to take the bus or a cab or something alright? My treat! I’ll call you later!” he promised as he tossed down a few bills before rushing away. Leaving Virgil behind a little stunned. Maybe it was a family thing? It looked urgent.

He took the bus as it was cheaper and there was a stop in his new street.

The house was nice. Though Virgil wasn’t used to it yet. Especially now, when his dads weren’t home, it felt weird being here. Luckily he didn’t plan on staying too long.

He texted his dad while getting dressed. By the time he left the house, he got a reply.

“Don’t wait up. Patton and Thomas say hi. Thomas wants to remind you of the trip to the zoo tomorrow.” Virgil smiled, he didn’t know uncle Thomas was going to be there too… Maybe these projects were just poker nights with the boys. He might have to ask them about it when they got home.

Regardless, duty called.

Virgil was starting to think that he might need to do take a break from turning in evidence for a bit. The criminals were getting agitated.

“I say we attack now! They are weak! We can take them down easily!” he heard one guy suggest. No, turf wars were a bad idea. Clearly he hadn’t thought about maintaining the power balance enough. Good thing he was about to even the playing field again. All these idiots had to do was get caught on his camera with something very illegal, preferably saying the bosses name or any clue the police could use for some kind of big bust.

The leader of this troupe seemed rather well respected. Virgil had learned to spot the difference between the ranks, and if this guy wasn’t answering to the big guy himself, then he was pretty close.

“Boss says we have a truce until the rat is found,” The big dude in question stated.

A truce? Was he that much of a threat? Should he feel flattered or scared?

The tugs argued back and forth a bit more and Virgil was seriously considering just getting out of here. Maybe he could trip up some lower tier members. Or go back to helping lost travelers for a while. Just enough to make the higher ups relax again. They wouldn’t rebuild their ranks too much if they thought it was an inside job or something. Right?

And if they’d realized someone was giving the cops everything they needed to stop them, they wouldn’t plan anything major for a while. Unless the boss was stupid.

Suddenly Virgil saw a figure descend from the roof. He made a hero landing, straight from a superhero movie.

Virgil’s eyes widened. It couldn’t be…

“Do you gentlemen have permits for those weapons?” Dream Prince asked with a deep, booming voice as he rose up, wearing the full costume Virgil had designed. Including the cape. What was he doing here? Stupid question. He was government sanctioned. The chief was on the news a few days ago claiming him as one of theirs.

Which meant she probably asked him to look for Virgil. Does that woman never give up?

The gang was confused by his appearance. One of them calling the young hero ‘prince clown’. Virgil was too far away to see it, but he was willing to bet the clown in question was not too pleased with that.

With a gesture from the leader the gang was silenced. “Sure kid,” he said in a voice that made Virgil stand on high alert. “Got mine right here.”

Or find the stories of Logan and Roman in the Master post

Before Virgil could react in any meaningful way, Prince had shielded himself with his cape and the leader fired at least four rounds at him. The hero was unharmed though. The sounds of bullets falling to the ground the only evidence that they had ever left the barrel in the first place.

“Well now you just pissed me off. This is brand new!” Prince complained as he dropped the cape. And Virgil had to admit, it looked very cool. “I suppose you won't surrender peacefully?” he deduced.

The sound of guns being armed was his only answer. Which was stupid. That was already shown not to work. But sure, shoot with more guns. Don’t actually use your brain or anything. Prince let out an annoyed sigh as he hung his cape from a water pipe. “Fine.” And just like that, he sped towards the criminals through a rain of bullets.

It seemed like he had it handled, and Virgil was pretty sure that he would notice he was there no matter how well he cloaked himself if he got involved. And if he was here to look for him and bring him in for whatever the chief had planned…

Still, he couldn’t make himself just stand by.

He jumped in and helped disarm the criminals and caught a few punches, Prince seemed unlikely to dodge. Pretty soon he felt like Prince was adapting his fighting to his presence which told him that he was in fact spotted.

Soon the gang was down on the ground and their disassembled guns were on a pile on the floor. Virgil returned to the shadows once the sirens lit up the alley.

Prince donned his cloak once more and walked up to where the leader laid, showing off his boot.

“So… how does it feel to get your butt kicked by a guy in heels?” Virgil’s eyes widened as he saw Prince show off the boot. He was wearing the heeled boots? Sure he pulled them off, but that wasn’t a smart move. He couldn’t have had that much time to practice with them yet. Virgil sent the design on Tuesday. Unless… Maybe he’d worn heels before? That was a possibility. Though crime fighting in heels couldn’t be comfortable… Still, it did make the whole thing extra cool, Virgil had to admit.

Suddenly Dream Prince looked up at him and gave a playful wink. So he had noticed him. And he could see him even though he was cloaked right now… Or not quite. He wasn’t looking directly at him. So he knew he was there, just not where exactly.

“Good job Dream Prince. We've got it from here,” one of the police officers who’d come to make the arrests told Prince. The young hero turned to him and bowed.

“It's my pleasure to be of assistance to the police of this fine city.” While he turned around he made a gesture with his hand. Virgil could tell he was being asked to follow.

Part of him wanted to run the other way. But he was curious.

He wanted to take a good look at the costume. He wanted to scold Prince. He wanted to give him a message for the chief. Maybe find out what she wanted from him.

So he followed him all the way to a rooftop.

The city lights illuminated Prince from the back, his cape floating in the wind.

Virgil wished he could take a picture. Roman would love this.

Prince took a step forward and bowed for him. He was really sticking to this Prince thing huh?

“Greetings Phantom. I must thank you for the assist now and three months ago. I am Dream Prince, he/him if you please. A pleasure to officially meet you.” So he had figured out when they’d met.

Virgil couldn’t help a chuckle. He was still cloaking himself. He’d never talked to someone like this before so he had no clue if and how that affected his voice.

“Phantom huh?” Hmm. He kind of liked it. Sure it confirmed that prince was here due to chief. But it was a cool nickname.

“Sure you can call me that. He/him… mind telling me what that was about? I thought you officials weren't let of your leash unless you could be responsible enough to not get yourself killed?” Did he sound a bit catty? Maybe. Was what Prince did idiotic? Absolutely.

Prince didn’t seem to agree. “Says the guy who has half the criminal underworld out for his blood.”

Virgil looked away. Damn. He’d hoped Prince was going to live up to Virgil’s original nickname for him. But he was no idiot.

“Do you have something against the program?” Prince pressed.

“No I…” Virgil tried to steady himself. It wasn’t Prince’s fault that he was pissed at his boss. “Sorry I’m just pissed at the cops for sending you, I guess,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Yet you chose to follow me up here?” Okay, so he really should give this guy more credit.

“Um… Well… I just…” He couldn’t tell him he was curious about him. That would give away interest on his part and he was not ready to let anything personal slide. He hated being put on the spot like this. Damn, this was not helping the stoic, mysterious guy aura he was going for.

“You interrupted my stake out!” he recalled. Right, one of the reasons he was mad at Prince. The lecture he’d interrupted with his observations.

“Do you know how long it takes to work my way up the ranks? First I have to find a low level runner, then I follow him to his boss, that guy to his and so up the ladder I go. I was getting real close to the big guy of this group. And now…” Sure, he had been thinking about needing to go more low profile for a while to let the rumors simmer out. But still.

“I apologize,” Prince replied sincerely with another bow. It was hard to be mad with this guy. Perfect hero material. “I merely intended to help. They were talking about killing you.”

He appreciated the concern really. But he overlooked one crucial detail.

“And now there is a price on your head! The leader of that little club is like two steps away from the big boss. They won’t be happy with you taking him in.” He couldn’t let him get himself on the bad guys’ list. Not because he thought he needed to protect him. Or maybe a little. When had he started feeling responsible for Prince? Was this how his dad felt? Why he’d tried to keep him from being overly self-sacrificing as a kid?

“You got dirt on them?” Prince wondered.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Yes… But that’s not the point. They have no clue about me. Not really,” just some guesses and rumors. “But you are out in the open.” They’d know who to go after with him. “This is not your kind of mission Royal pain. And now that you are out, you can’t expect me to hold your hand any longer…” Virgil got distracted when Prince crossed his arm and smirked smugly. “You’ve been looking out for me all summer huh?”

That smug little… Fine he got him there.

He rolled his eyes with a scoff, trying to dismiss the statement. “It’s not like I came looking for you.” He just… Did the right thing when they met up.

Prince was the one dreaming if he thought he felt any kind of responsibility towards him. He was just trying to… To be someone he could be proud of. That was why he was doing this. To not feel week and useless. To help people, even if he couldn’t always help those he felt closest to.

“Still… Thank you…” Prince said gently, about to step forward again. But then he cringed and clutched his head. “Ow!”

The young hero sounded more annoyed than in pain.

He pressed a finger to his ear. Communicating with whoever was on the other line no doubt. “One. Loud. Two. Rude! I am in the middle of something! And did you seriously remotely reactivate my com?” Virgil could hear him hiss in the communication device, dropping the regal persona completely. Virgil bit back his amusement.

“I am fine, not a scratch on me,” Prince replied annoyed. “I’ll call you when I’m done here.” And then he seemed to take something out of his ear. He was so lucky Virgil wasn’t a bad guy or he’d just made it a lot easier on him to take him out.

“Sorry,” Prince sighed. “My mentor is… intense at times.”

“Mentor?” Virgil wondered. He’d heard about the GTA program and it’s monitors in the past. But mentors… that sounded a bit more one on one than just people who told you what to do.

“One of the people helping me practice my powers, test my limits. Comes with the program. It’s not just a babysit and a nice suit,” Prince joked.

“Oh…” Virgil didn’t know what to say to that. It was… Something he’d been wanting for a while now. For a way to test all that he could do. To figure out the shield, push the limits of his cloak and try and use his healing for others. Someone to help him strategize, to talk with when he’d had a tough night. But unless he was ready to come clean with his dad, that was out of his reach.

“Listen, I admit I was sent by the chief. But I didn’t come here to recruit you. I wanted to thank you and tell you… If you ever need someone to talk to, to help you figure something out… I’d be more than happy to oblige. No need to tell me your name or anything about yourself.”

Virgil looked at the offered hand. Maybe, it wasn’t impossible after all.

He considered his options. But it seemed like there was no catch to this offer. So he closed the gap and shook his hand.

“I’ll see you next time,” Prince offered kindly before letting go and running straight of the rooftop as if there was a walkway just for him.

Virgil smirked. Maybe he should wrap it up for tonight. Prince and the other heroes had the area covered. He’d collect the information he had on the tugs that were arrested tonight. Next time he saw Dream Prince, he’d hand that information to him.

If things went well… This could be a good partnership.

End of this part. Meet Janus and learn his side

@cirishere @hestianerd1 @moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali @selenechris @theblackveilinreverse

#sanders sides #ts sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #tw: guns #tw: violence #tw: gunshot #hero au #fic

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omgnctchina · 4 years

Text

COLLEGE SOCCER PLAYER JEONGHAN

a/n: this is the first time i’m doing something like this so i am SO sorry if it SUCKS

a/n pt 2: i actually hate it but am posting for @viastro

so like college sucks dude

it sucks a lot

but college sucked a lot less when you had activities to participate in

luckily Yoon Jeonghan, local college campus crush, had a soccer scholarship

and with that soccer scholarship, he was able to attend college

without it he wouldn’t be able to afford it

and he couldn’t really even do the things he wanted

like get a part time job or hang out with his friends more often than he does

it was always soccer, soccer, soccer

that’s all anybody ever saw

“yoon jeonghan, soccer player”

most didn’t care about his dreams, his hobbies

it was always how he played soccer and how hot he looked doing so

only his friends knew what he actually wanted to do

he wanted to teach young kids about music

music was almost like a guilty pleasure for him

even if he was always seen with headphones, most didn’t know he was as passionate as he was about music

he was practically miserable but he couldn’t do anything about it

his best friends, joshua hong and choi seungcheol, often encouraged him to be more open about what he wants to do but

nobody really cared, jeonghan decided

so he minded his own business

he kept to himself and to his friends

he didn’t bother with dating as everyone on campus saw him as the hunky soccer guy and didn’t care to get to know him more

but because he didn’t seem to want to date

it made him more desirable

because you want what you can’t have 😌

anyways

he hides around the college campus alot

because girls like to follow him around and it creeps him out

rightfully so

and they all watch him during soccer practice

he just wants to survive college

but coincidentally

thats how he meets YOU

one day while hes double cheeked up on a tuesday afternoon

he has a free period

where he has to find a hiding place to study in peace

and as he’s hiding in the back of the library

you, the library assistant, find him

making eye contact with him, his eyes widen

you open your mouth to ask him something

and he rushes towards you, covering your mouth with hand

and desperately whispers

“PLEASE DON’T SAY ANYTHING I JUST WANT TO STUDY”

completely concerned, you removed his hand for your mouth

and give him a weird look

and ask him

“are you okay?”

he continues to beg you not to reveal where he is

and you agree,,, only because you want to walk away from the conversation asap

but as he explains in panic as to why he was hiding

your heart softened and offered him a new hiding spot

underneath your desk where you check out books

no one would be able to see him

and he agreed because for some reason he trusts you

(and he thinks you’re very pretty but he won’t admit that)

(yet)

and so he keeps you company until the library closed

and you say goodbye to each other

you don’t expect to see him ever again

but what do you know!

you’re friends with one of his friends!

and you guessed it!

mingyu!!

...

i’m joking of course it’s wonwoo

anyways

since you’ve met jeonghan you’ve developed quite the crush on him

no one can blame you!!! he’s so attractive i swear i’ll pee myself if he ever looks at me directly

but you never admitted it out loud

and so when wonwoo invites you to his party you’re hesitant but he insists because he wants you to meet his friends

and he wants to set you up with jeonghan because he can tell jeonghan has a crush on the “librarian girl who helped me hide from the crazy girls”

so when you arrive

jeonghan answers the door

to which the both of you look like

*insert pikachu meme*

(i have it somewhere in my pictures but i have 17,178 photos and i am NOT going thru them all)

and wonwoo sees you and is like “y/n!!! :D”

and thats when jeonghan figures out your name because the two of you barely talked to each other

and you guys were too intimidated to get each others names

and he’s like

“ur name is very pretty 🥺”

and ur like

“omg thank you 🥺👉👈”

and he wants to BARF because god you are so PRETTY

and you ask him his name

and he answers

and you literally shit ur stomach out because

holy fuck this is THE jeonghan??? soccer god???

the one EVERYONE has a crush on???

and you helped him HIDE FROM THEM

you become even more nervous than you were originally

but jeonghan continues to talk to you and asks you questions about yourself

and you answer the best you can without sounding stoopid because you’re talking to JEONGHAN you can’t think straight

and you finally get to ask him questions

your go to is soccer because that’s what he’s known for

and you can tell

his mood changes when soccer is first discussed

you don’t know why

but you immediately changed the subject

to what he wanted to do with his life

which shocked him

someone cares enough to ask?

he doesn’t answer because he’s looking at you jaw dropped

and he asks you why you’re asking

and you’re completely confused and you answer honestly

“i’m curious about what you want to do?”

and he asks why you immediately dropped soccer after two questions and you again answer honestly

and he’s so shocked and so touched

that he hugs you

and whispers a thank you

and you return the hug because

he obviously needs it

and the night goes on

and eventually you say your goodbyes to everyone

but not before you and jeonghan exchange numbers ;)

you two text until you fall asleep

and text all day

and the cycle repeats

until about a couple months of getting to know each other

you guys officially hang out

and the entire time you guys are vibing

since the two of you became friends

both of your feelings for each other grew

and at the end of the hang out

the two of you are singing along to a song on the radio in a silly way

until a slow song comes on next

and he glances at you as you sway along to the song

and begins to sing softly

and your heart went OOPS

i’m in LOVE WITH THIS MOTHERFUCKER

he gets shy and blushy as he continues to sing

until the song ends

and ur clapping claiming he’s an amazing singer and that he should go pro

he just leans in and smooches you

you’re shocked for like a second

before you come to your senses and kiss him back

and bing bang boom yall are datings

which means you go to all of his games

and you get to wear his jersey

and his hoodies

and his clothes

and you get to hold his hand

he brings you food when you’re working at the library

when things are slow he comes to just hang out or study with you

and you’ll catch him after soccer practice and get a late dinner with him sometimes

you two are so cute and wonwoo takes all the credit for the two of you

seungcheol and joshua tease you two all the time but yall are just vibing its all good

pretty much all of seventeen calls you two mom and dad

and you’re constantly on the verge of fighting because

he still gets stalked occasionally

(he has to hold you back from swinging sometimes)

and although he’s still not as open about what he wants to do

you helped bring a part of him out

and he’s given you a family away from home

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disregardcanon · 4 years

Text

OH MY GOD! i wrote this thing back in like, last february and never posted it. so. here have the bnha characters in the good place au!

featuring ochako as eleanor, iida as chidi, kirishima as jason, bakugo as tahani, and deku as a whole host of things including kamilah and janet XD

relationships include: past tsuchako

this is disjointed and rambly but there’s some good stuff so i hope you enjoy it

ochako uraraka dies. then, she wakes up in an office building starring at “everything is fine!” in glaring, yellow letters. some weird old white man in a suit with a polka dotted die explains things to her. you know, how she died. how it was unpleasant and embarrassing. but now she’s in the afterlife, apparently, and things are hunky dory. this is the good place.

there was backstory before this happened, of course. in order to die, someone had to live.

before ochako was dead, she was alive. she was a little girl who wanted to grow up to become a hero to support her parents, but they tell her that she should be a hero to help other people, not them.

they die in a tragic car incident, ochako gets shuffled through the foster system, and grabs tightly onto that idea of becoming a hero to make her parents proud and be able to support herself and give herself a good life.

in american society, people cannot get provisional hero licenses until they graduate from high school and they cannot become licensed heroes until completing a bachelors degree. kids who can get provisional licenses right out of high school are much preferred for hero courses at colleges, and it’s nearly impossible to get a provisional license right out of high school unless you were able to attend a specialized hero prep school.

ochako is a foster kid in arizona. ofc she can’t afford prep school, does not get a provisional license, and cannot make it into a hero course. she studies her ass off for the next year, taking a gap year, and she’s able to pass the entrance exams and agrees to sign away her soul in student loans. but the program so heavily favors kids that had prep school experience and already had their provisional licenses. while working and trying to put herself through school, she just can’t keep up with the rigorous schedule and the bias against her.

ochako drops out of the hero program after a year of failing to stay afloat, and she just wants a god damn stable job. so, she goes into sales. not exactly sales that are on the up and up either. think. selling fake drugs to old people.

she gets into a relationship with tsuyu asui and they bond over failed attempts at hero careers. tsuyu decided to go into counseling instead and is still trying to make her best effort to be A Good Person TM and ochako gives it a try for awhile, but it starts making her feel inadequate pretty quickly and she gets defensive.

tsuyu psycho-analyzes ochako more than ochako’s ready to deal with and easily figures out her issues and tries to like, solve them. ew, and ochako ends the relationship and falls back into her selling fake drugs to old people ways before dying in a blaze of shopping cart related glory. it was apparently, hilarious, because after the shopping carts hit her she subconsciously used her quirk to send them up in a shopping cart mushroom cloud. which crushed her again.

yeah ochako’s really glad that she can’t remember any of that.

“so,” michael the architect says, “would you like to meet your soulmate?” she’s had a lot of casual flings and hookups, but never anything serious other than tsuyu. so. yeah she’s pretty interested in meeting her soulmate.

he’s kind of hot, in a nerdy as shirt way.

“this is your soulmate, iida tenya.”

“is that first name first or first name last?” ochako asks. she’s japanese american and knows enough japanese to be able to puzzle out that his name IS japanese, but she can’t for the life of her tell what order that’s in.

“she’s american,” michael says.

“ah,” he says, “then i’m tenya iida.”

he gives her a little rundown of his life, and apparently, the life of a moral philosophy professor is actually... pretty intense. at least it is when you started off life wanting to be a pro hero.

“you mean you almost killed the hero killer?” admittedly, ochako doesn’t pay all that much attention to world events, but the hero killer fiasco was sort of a big deal. a serial killer only targeting professional heroes? and for reasons he thought were completely justified? that was the biggest news story for at least a week, even in america.

“he paralyzed my brother,” tenya says, “i’d never been so angry before in my life. i truly think that if he hadn’t beaten me, i would have.”

“wow,” ochako says, “that’s dark.” tenya nods.

“i was lucky my friends pulled me out of it.” he talks about his friends saving him, friends that apparently include PRO HERO DEKU. which, like, ochako’s not that invested in the japanese hero scene, but everyone knows about pro hero deku.

the dude worked his way onto the hero scene with a quirk that hurt him whenever he used it, took over all might’s position, and admitted to being quirkless until he was fifteen. he used almost all of the immense amount of money that he made as a hero building up his own charities, doing work for community organizations, and trying to support disabled and quirkless organizations around his country. he’s the kiss babies save people then go home and continue doing favors for people when he gets there type.

deku was a good guy. like, a REALLY good one. he was one of the most famous heroes in the entire world when ochako died, and she’s pretty sure that he was going to take the number one spot from that explosive asshole any day. hell, he was even always NICE to the guy, acted like they were friends even though the explosive shitstick always treated him like dirt.

ochako might have had a little bit of a hero worship crush on the guy, okay. it’s not that big of a deal.

“so then how did you become a professor of moral philosophy? sounds like you had a good gig going at that hero school of yours.” U.A. is the best known hero high school in the entire world. she’d sort of dreamt of going to U.A. herself as a kid.

“i realized that morality is... a lot more complicated than i thought it was before. i made a rash decision and it almost cost me my soul. hero work is complicated and muddy and i didn’t want to be left running around in circles doing it, never knowing what was right. instead i dedicated my life to studying what’s right. now i always try to make the most ethical possible decision. at all times.”

“that sounds forking exhausting,” ochako says. tenya looks shocked.

“forking. FORKING,” ochako glares, “you know i don’t mean forking right?”

“yes,” he says, “i do. the good place does not let you curse. many of us do not like it.” well. that’s good to know that he looks like a nerd and he IS one.

“well i forking do dumbash,” she says, “do you think that’s going to darn me to heck?”

“dark impulses aren’t what make people good or bad,” tenya says, “acting on them does.”

tenya iida, ochako soon realizes, talks a big game for someone who can’t decide on a flavor of yogurt because of the possible ethical ramifications.

kirishima opens his eyes and sees a smiling, old white man. that’s generally not a good sign. normally smiling white people are either attorneys or librarians who are about to scold him for falling asleep on the library couch again.

“you, jianyu li, are dead.” kirishima almost says “dope” but then he realizes that it is not, in fact dope. the guy asks if he wants to not talk because of some taiwanese monk thing, and seeing that kirishima is most definitely NOT a taiwanese monk he decides to go with it and not give anything away.

he goes a couple of weeks before he finally talks to the girl with the big eyes and the auburn hair who wasn’t supposed to here in the good place either.

“oh god,” she says, “please tell me that you’re smart enough to get us out of this. please”

“um, maybe? i’m from florida”

her eyes widen and she whispers “no”

“my name’s kirishima,” he tells her, “or some of my boys call me ‘ro. it’s short for eijiro. no biggie tho.”

“we are so forked,” ochako says.

he’s american dawg. if you really get into, japanese american, but he’s not taiwanese. that’s probably racist. weird, racist algorithm

“you, bakugo katsuki, are dead”

“dead?”

“yes, dead.”

“i forking died?” bakugo demands.

“yes, but you were the number one pro hero at the time of your death and now you’re in the good place. i think you can think of that as a victory.” well, that does make him feel a little better. at least deku never succeeded him in the rankings, even if he’s number one hero now.

“forking,” he says, glaring at the air, “forking! you know i don’t forking mean forking, right?”

“i’m aware,” michael says.

michael goes onto explain all the rules of the good place, including the not a robot not a boy assistant that can cater to their every whim. an assistant who just so happens to look exactly like someone bakugo would prefer to never see again.

“FORK!” bakugo screams.

“i am deku,” he says, smiling and tilting his head like a curious owl, “how can i help you?”

“wait,” ochako says, eyes widening with glee, “he looks just like deku.”

“uraraka!” bakugo shouts. ochako shrugs.

“if you had a sex robot of your celebrity crush are you saying you wouldn’t go to town? come on, ground zero. i’m only human.” bakugo looks horrified.

“not a sex robot.”

“but are you a robot not for sex?” she asks.

“not a robot,” he chirps, “also i am sentient but do not consent to sex with you.”

“oh,” ochako says.

“that’s called rape, and you know where rapists go?”

not a sex robot smiles as he chirps, “the bad place!” ochako shudders.

“uh,” she asks, “what exactly... happens in the bad place?” deku opens his mouth and the screams of a thousand tortured souls come out.

“that is what happens in the bad place,” he says, “but you do not need to worry about that. the good place’s algorithm put you here.” ochako giggles nervously.

“IT SURE DID”

“i can’t get away from forking deku,” bakugo says, “even in heaven.” deku smiles at him.

“actually, you can get away from the original, pro hero deku. i am only a source of all the knowledge in the universe.” not-deku smiles widely but it doesn’t reach his eyes. it’s damn creepy.

“why the fork do you look like him?”

“they chose pro hero deku because he’s the most popular figure currently on earth. they thought this face would set the residents at ease.”

“well it forking doesn’t,” bakugo says.

“i am sorry that you feel that way. is there anyway that i can help you?” not-deku asks.

“change!” bakugo demands, grabbing not-deku roughly by the arms.

“i cannot do that,” not-deku says, “now that i’ve been programmed with this face, i am stuck with it. it literally will not come off.” then he grins again.

“fork you,” bakugo says. deku just smiles again. if he thought that the thing had feelings he’d be sure it was trying to piss him off.

bakugo slams his palm into his face.

“my soulmate is a forking idiot,” he says.

“you just figured that out?” ochako asks, snorting.

“holy motherforking shirtballs,” ochako says, “we’re in the bad place.”

“that can’t be true,” bakugo says, “i wouldn’t go to the bad place.” he was a pro hero. despite his flaws, he did a lot of good.

“you think that you belonged in the good place?” michael says, and he laughs so hard he almost cries, “you- bakugo katsuki? you were just a hero so that you could be the best at something and try to pound deku into the ground. you never even used your platform to try to help people. it was never about helping people. it was always about your ego and your need to destroy deku.” bakugo feels an uneasiness in his stomach as he realizes that michael is right. he doesn’t deserve to go to the good place. he was always a shitty person.

“what about me? what did i do to deserve to be here?” iida asks. then a horrified realization shows on his face.

“oh no,” iida says, “the almond milk.” michael glares at him.

“it wasn’t the almond milk, iida. it was everything you ever did after you tried to kill the herokiller. you made a mistake, and then you over-corrected in the worst possible way. you went from trying to help people to doing nothing but thinking about your own ego-centric view of morality. you could never make a decision, and that hurt the people around you.”

michael snaps his fingers and the world goes white.

“doug forcette? melissa shield? midoriya izuku?” shaun laughs, “you think any of them are going to the good place?” shaun laughs and laughs as they send him through the portal back to the bad place.

“you all stay here,” michael orders.

“don’t poof anything,” not-deku orders, “my void feels weird with all these people in here.”

“what do you mean? deku’s not going to the good place?”

“oh no,” the accountant says, “there’s a negative 10,000 point value for becoming a pro hero. deku’s doing well, all things considering, but he can’t overcome that handicap.”

“what about all might?”

“oh he’s in the bad place,” the accountant says, like saying that the symbol of peace is burning in hell is just a normal bit of trivia.

“not even ALL MIGHT went to the good place?” michael asks, his eyes widening.

“oh no no no,” the accountant says, “pro heroes are too messy and selfish. for every good action that they take, they cause so much harm. their wealth is a drain on society. even the most virtuous end up doing more harm than good.”

“there were some bets going around that bakugo katsuki might surpass endeavor’s record for highest negative score a pro hero ever racked up, but he died too quickly. it was a real shame.”

“tsuyu asui?” michael asks. from ochako’s memories of the woman, she seems like a fine specimen of humanity.

“no,” the accountant says, “therapists often end up messing up more than they fix.”

“well, is midoriya inko headed for the good place?”

“no,” the accountant says, “motherhood is messy business, michael.”

“malala yousafzai?”

“activism is even messier.”

“how many people got into the good place this year?”

“none”

“last year?”

“none?”

“ten years ago”

“none.”

“when was the last time that anyone went to the good place?” michael asks, his voice rising in fear. the accountant does some typing, some searching. then he comes up with his answer.

“571 years ago,” the accountant says blithely.

“oh shirt,” michael says.

“do you want to save people or not?” bakugo demands.

“of course i do, kacchan,” deku says, “that’s what i’ve always wanted.”

DON’T REMEMBER WHERE I WAS GOING WITH THAT ENDING BUT HERE YOU GO

#tgp #sunkelles writes #bnha in tgp au #ochako uraraka #tenya iida #katsuki bakugo #eijirou kirishima #izuku midoriya #tsuchako

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mars-the-4th-planet · 4 years

Text

MisterCrimeBoks8 is gay and does crimes.

It was a quiet, uneventful day at the California State Library. A small out of the way place to look at books and movies, and maybe play Carmen Santiago on the boxy computers. A nice place to be, for sure. Isaac Munger from the Isaac Munger show sat on the couch with his girlfriend Ko from the Ko Sho. She was not wearing a wife leash today, but how much trouble could she get up to sitting on the couch with her Box? Ko was content having Box read BNHA manga today. But on the north facing side there was a large glass door, and through that door prepared to ruin everyones day was... Yes, Mister Crime Boks 8.

MisterCrimeBoks8 was an illegal man, who looked very similar to Isaac Munger. Not that most would know because he was wearing a crime mask and a hoodie. In his hand he carried a 1979 Authentic Knife. Sharp on both sides of the blade and short enough to hide, it was perfect for carrying around in secret.

Instead of opening the door, he dramatically decided to kick it in. But his foot bounced off as the glass was quite thicc. So he picked up a loose bricc and smashed it like an absolute dicc.

With the glass door shattered in pieces he walked in, now having gotten everyones attention. He almost casually strolled up to the woman behind the checkout desk and demanded: "Give me your money!"

The desk lady looked at him confused. "Huh? Sir this is a library."

"Money! NOW!"

The librarian shrugged and handed him a tin can with 1.65$ in late fees. "Here you go I guess?"

"teh fuck is this?"

The desk lady cringed at his use of "teh"

"Dude, why are you trying to rob a library? Ever heard of a bank?" Jukebox asked, while his girlfriend glared as MisterCrimeBoks8.

"I tried the bank first. They shot at me and instead of getting money they just gave me more debt."

"I See."

The desk lady sighed. "You got your money, please leave before you break something else."

MisterCrimeBoks8 pointed his knife at her. "Oh God why does he have a knife?!" Someone shouted from the back.

"Give me the biggest book you have!" He demanded.

"I wish you let me carry my knives around..." mumbled ko sadly. "Maybe I could fight him..."

"No ko," box whispered. "I would not want to risk you getting hurt. I would take the knife and fight him myself anyway. You know the rules, no wife leash in public means no knives in public."

Ko pouted.

The desk lady handed MisterCrimeBoks8 a Bible. "Is this big enough?"

"No! You can get these for free, why would I want that? Get me the biggest VALUBLE book you have!"

The desk lady waved over her assistant librarian, a young woman training to become a desk lady. Sort of like an apprentice. She was not used to robberies because this was her first one, and she shook a little from nerves.

"This bastard wants a valuable book to steal."

The assistant nodded and handed him her diary.

MisterCrimeBoks8 growled like an animal which made everyone cringe and tossed it in the trash. "I said a BIG ONE!"

"D-Do you want a g-guide on how to... Um... Live a life that is more likely to have an autobiography about i-it?" She asked nervously, presenting a large unwieldy book. "It cost us a lot..."

"Hmm... Yes. That sounds valuable." He said, not knowing it was a stupid book that the library considered a waste of shelf space because no one ever wanted to read it. They had not even bought the thing, it had just been dropped off in the book return one day without any library sticker. The only other books that had been dropped off this way were the twenty-five bibles the library was trying to get rid of.

"But I also want money! You! Dumbass!" He marched up to Isaac Munger and brandished his knife. "Give me money!"

Ko jumped into jukebox protectively. "No! Dont rob my boyfriend!"

He pointed the tip of the knife at her. "Move or I will stab."

"Nope. IM A GIRL DOING NOTHING TO YOU SO YOU CANT HURT ME HA!" Ko pointed out and laughed.

"Ah, but you see..." His eye did an anime twinkle. "I am gay, so the 'you cant hurt girls when it is not self defense' rule does not apply to me."

"Dammit! Thats how the law works!" Isaac Munger exclaimed from under Ko.

Ko continued to use her body as a shield regardless. She closed her eyes and winced in anticipation.

"It sure is." Came a voice from over by the smashed door.

MisterCrimeBoks8 backed away from the two, and turned to look. It was Justin Case! And four policemen!

"This library has an automatic emergency alarm door. It was sounded to us as soon as you broke it, idiot American!" Justin Case laughed. He was aiming a four-barrel shotgun at MisterCrimeBoks8 and each police officer was also pointing a pistol at his chest.

"I suggest you lay your knife down and surrender."

"Never!" Justin Case raised his arm with the knife ready to throw it. "I will kill the librarian unless you drop you weapons and leave!"

Ko and Jukebox tackled him from behind and together they were able to wrestle him down. The police came over and took over restraining him and began dragging him away for a good whooping as usual in Californian law, since their policy was to rough up prisoners before taking them to jail so it would look like there was more resistance.

"Yay, we did it!" Ko said cheerfully.

"No, I did it. Good job to me. Another case solved by Justin Case!" Justin Case began puffing on a pipe and began to cough before throwing it away. "Never mind, I look cool enough already that I dont need to destroy my lungs."

"Hey! Did he take this?" One officer said holding up the stolen book.

"Yes but you can keep it." The desk lady smiled.

"Sweet, I always wanted an autobiography." The officer replied.

"Mom- I mean, Miss Klobuchar, did I do good in that robbery?" The assistant librarian asked.

"Yes you did. I will send a letter of recommendation to the higher ups so you may become a full librarian soon!"

The assistant librarian squealed and hugged her boss happily.

"What a good outcome for everyone except MisterCrimeBoks8. Wait... I didnt get anything! And they call this a happy ending..." Jukebox grumbled a bit.

Ko kissed him.

">_<" he could only blush in response.

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fanficstookover · 6 years

Text

Far From Home - Tom Holland (1/3)

Request: by @justmesadgirl - Could you do one where y/n is Tom’s new assistant after Harrison gets more into acting and Tom falls for her? 😇

(a/n) Alright, I think I had a bit too much fun writing this. When I started, I had a completely different idea but things happened and suddenly I have this, which I am still very proud of. I did quickly realize that it was getting too long though, hence the split. Like, it’s so long that even my first idea of splitting it in 2 quickly didn't work anymore, because the parts were still too long. I would have been done much earlier but I’m on holiday and the internet is shit, so I was slowly giving up... I decided to write it from both perspectives of (Y/N) and Tom. Let’s see if it works out.

Disclaimer - this was written while they were filming ffh in London, so don’t expect much accuracy when it comes to the movie/set etc.

Part 2 and 3 can be found on my new masterlist

word count: 12,857

warning: swearing, for the rest just fluff

“I got some good and bad news. What do you want to hear first?” Harrison said to Tom, who was currently eating his late dinner after a long day of shooting. He looked up, confused, from his plate at his best friend.

“What are you on about?”

“Good or bad?” Harrison didn’t budge from his question. Tom sighed and put down his fork. “Fine. Bad news first, I guess.”

“I think you’re going to have to find a new PA.” He had said it very confidently, confusing Tom even more. He was just staring at Harrison for a moment. His eyes were wide but his eyebrows were furrowed. Harrison knew this wasn’t Tom’s angry face, although it was definitely a close one.

“Haz, you’re joking, right? What the f-...” Tom almost started laughing. Then he saw that Harrison wasn’t. He didn’t look sad. It was more excitement that filled his eyes. “So what you’re saying is that you can’t be my assistant anymore.” Harrison just shook his head, a smile was creeping up on his face. Like he couldn’t hold in his laugh much longer. “But why?”

“That’s the good news,” Harrison smirked. Tom wanted to ask him what the fuck he was going on about because how could be anything that made him leave a good thing but Harrison was already ahead. “You know how you told me to go to that audition last week?”

“Yeah.” Tom had a feeling he knew where this whole thing was going. He let his friend finish before reacting as there could be a chance that he could be wrong.

“Well, the people from the movie called... I got the part!”

“Are you serious,” he couldn’t comprehend it at first and then after a second he got up on his feet and walked over to Harrison to hug him, “Congratulations mate!”

“Thanks, Tom.” Harrison smiled. “Filming starts around next week if everything goes according to plan. That does mean that…”

“I’ll have to find a new PA.” Tom finished his thoughts. “You know, if you didn’t want to work for me you could have just told me and I would have sacked you. You didn’t have to become a film star.” They both laughed.

Tom decided to look for an assistant himself. After all, it was a pretty personal job and he had to be sure he liked the person. At first, he thought about asking a friend or family member, but no one seemed to be interested. He soon realized he had no idea how to look for a new assistant. It was all way too complicated for him and he didn’t even know where to start. And there wasn’t a lot of time left. He had of course procrastinated and now filming of the new Spider-Man movie would start in less than two weeks. Panic was slowly starting to kick in.

One day he arrived at the studios for a quick fitting for the movie. There were many people there that day on the set. There must the somebody who knows how to get an assistant, he thought. It sounded a bit stupid to think, but there was no other choice.

Tom asked around and got different advice. Some people told him to look for an agency, some said that he should ask around the sets if anybody needed some extra cash. There were also some that told him that he should handle his own business and that an assistant wasn’t necessary, especially at his age. But being the unorganized mess that he usually was, Tom knew he needed one. He was sitting in his chair in the fitting room talking to Jacob.

“Dude, you still haven’t found anyone?” Jacob seemed shocked at the idea.

“No, but it’s not such a big deal, is it?” Tom asked anxiously. He was fidgeting with the bottle of water in his hands.

“Well, not if you could actually handle any responsibilities. You know you have to have someone looking out for you.”

“I do know. But where do I find anybody that can actually handle me.” Right then the door to the room opened and Zendaya walked in. She was wearing simple sweats, with no make-up and her hair was up in a bun, yet she still looked flawless.

“Hey, guys.” She waved happily. “What’s up.”

“Thomas here is struggling,” Jacob said. It was clear that he was holding in a smile. Zendaya sat down in the empty chair next to Tom. “Still looking huh?”

“Yeah.” Tom wanted to take a sip from his bottle just to realize it was actually empty. He tried to throw it into the trash can which stood in the corner of the room, but the bottle hit the edge and fell on the ground next to it.

“Why don’t you just let the studio get you somebody? I mean, that would be the easiest.”

“But I don’t want some fifty-year-old librarian as my assistant. I want somebody like that is actually fun to hang out with! Someone..”

“Like Harrison?” Jacob suggested. Tom didn’t answer.

“Well, if you insist on being such a diva,” Zendaya said while checking her phone, “I might know somebody.”

“Really.” Tom sat up straight in his chair. His full attention on his friend and co-worker.

“Yeah. There is this girl, (Y/N). She helped me get some stuff done while working on The Showman. She’s cool. I’ve got her number here somewhere… yes! Got it!.” She showed her screen to the two boys. “I can call her and ask if she’s available.”

“Z, thank you, thank you, thank you.” Tom slumped back into the seat of the chair. A relieved smile plastered on his face.

“Calm down, she may be unavailable.” Zendaya clicked the call button and it started ringing.

“Or dead,” Jacob added. Zendaya rolled her eyes and was about to say something, but the other line had just been picked up. “Oh hey (Y/N). It’s Zendaya. I was wondering…” She started walking towards the door and then walked out of the room. The door closed loudly behind her.

“Why’d she have to walk out for?” Tom sighed.

“I dunno. Privacy?”

“But isn’t she supposed to be my assistant.”

“Don’t worry drama queen. I’m sure Z knows what she’s doing.”

___________________________________

You just stepped out of the shower when your phone rang. The name “Zendaya” lit up the screen. Your heart skipped a beat. All the possible scenarios of why she would call you went through your head at light speed… even the ones that ended up her just pocket dialing you or accidentally calling the wrong number. You didn’t care. She was still calling.

Shaking all the thoughts away, you quickly picked up the phone. It almost slipped out of your still wet hand. Catching it in the last second you answered the call: “Hello?”

“Oh hey, (Y/N). It’s Zendaya. I was wondering...” So she actually did want to talk to me, you thought and smiled to yourself. Realizing it was stupid to smile like that, you dropped the smile. In the meantime, Zendaya kept on talking and you didn’t even comprehend the words she was saying. The last thing you caught was: “So, what do you think?”

“What? Sorry, I didn’t hear any of that, there is construction outside of my house and it’s extremely loud.” Not wanting to be rude you had to think of something to excuse yourself. There was actually construction on your street the whole week… only it hadn’t started yet that day.

“No problem. I was just asking if you would be interested in an assistant job. I remember you telling me that you were looking for something permanent while on the set of the Greatest Showman. Of course, I know that that was ages ago and maybe you already have a job or I don’t know… so, what do you think?”

“Of course!” You cheered. The memory alone of the short, yet still great, time on a set was enough to win you over .Especially if you would work for Zendaya After all, it was strange that she would even think about you, after so many months. It was only a short week and you had gotten the small job because your dad knew someone who worked with bla bla bla…

“I would love to work for you.”

“Oh. Actually, you wouldn’t be my assistant but of a friend of mine. We’re doing a movie together and his assistant just had another job opportunity. I’m not going to bore you will the details. Anyway, he’s a really great guy and I think you will get along. He’s a lot of work but yeah…”

“Don’t worry about it. I think I can handle a bit of work. Who is it actually?” Zendaya was about to speak when the drills outside started working and it deafened you for a moment. You had missed what Zendaya said.

“Great, sounds awesome!” You had no idea what she had said, but you couldn’t say that you didn't hear her another time. Your social awkwardness didn’t allow it. You just hoped that whoever it was, they were actually as nice as Zendaya made them sound.

“Ok, cool. I will let them know. He was stressing out that he wouldn’t be able to find anyone before shooting starts.” She laughed.

“And when does it start exactly?” You asked curiously.

“In more or less two weeks. Don’t worry, you will meet him before that and all the official stuff will be discussed. Again, I am not gonna bore you with the details now.” All the information you had received through the call made you slightly overwhelmed. You were starting to think if it was maybe inappropriate that you were having this conversation only in your towel. Fortunately, nobody else could see you.

“Ok, ok. Uhm… but when will I meet him? Aren’t you currently in America?”

“Yes.” She had said it very pleased with herself, then quickly realized the flaw in the whole concept. “Oh. You’re in London aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re actually going to film in London so that works out great.”

“I guess so.”

“So I will talk to you later and when we’re in London we can meet up. He will be so happy that you agreed.”

“Sounds great.” you desperately hoped for her to say his name at least once more so you would know who you would be working for. Of course, you couldn’t ask her as Zendaya thought you heard everything she had said. You said your goodbyes and she hung up. Once you were sure that the call had ended you carefully put down your phone on the edge of the sink and started to scream and jump in ecstasy. It was already unbelievable when you were called to work for Zendaya for a few weeks during the filming of the Greatest Showman, but being personally called by her to work as a personal assistant for one of her friends? That was out of this world!

___________________________________

A week had gone by. The whole crew already settled on the sets in London. Tom had arrived just the night before. He didn’t need to be on set until the next day, but today was the day he would finally meet his new PA or possible PA. Since Zendaya had managed to find (Y/N) for him, he had tried to get some information about her. Zendaya refused every single time. “Just let it come naturally,” she had said. The first two or three times Tom could still laugh about it but after that, it started to become slightly annoying. He didn’t know anything about the girl, except her name…(Y/N), and the fact that he had worked with Zendaya as a substitute PA for a week or so while she was filming the Greatest Showman. He had visited Z on that set, but then her regular assistant was there.

He repeated the two facts over and over. It was crazy. He knew there was no reason for him to get so worked up over her. She would be his assistant. She would handle his schedules, his coffee, all the mundane things he didn’t have the time for or simply didn’t know how to do himself.

He looked out of the window of his hotel room. It was nice being back home. The grey skyline of London looked as if it had to wake up itself, just like all the people making their way to work, or maybe back home. He made a mental note to himself to make plans to go visit his parents when he would have the time. It would be a shame if he was in London and didn’t see them.

His phone suddenly vibrated on the bedside table. He turned around and grabbed it. The screen showed that there was one text. It was from Zendaya. She gave him the name of the pub in which he would finally meet this (Y/N). Tom smiled as he read the message. It was the same pub to which he used to go with his mates. To which he used to take girls out on dates. He hadn’t been there for a really long time. He started thinking what a coincidence it was that this was the one pub (Y/N) had chosen to meet her new employer, basically. It didn’t sound great to say out loud, the thought.

Another message arrived:

12:00.

That was in around half an hour. If he called for a taxi now, he would be at the pub with a few minutes to spare.

___________________________________

You sat at your regular table. It was more of a booth if one wanted to be technical. You wondered if it was appropriate to meet your employer in a place like this. When you had texted Zendaya about it, she assured you everything would be just fine. That did assure you but didn’t stop you from changing seats at least five times. There weren’t many people inside so there were not a lot of judging stares either. Only from the barman, but you knew Greggy long enough to know he didn’t really judge you.

Once you had finally decided to stay in your seat, there were only five minutes left until your appointment. You asked Greggy for a cup of tea and soon he had brought it too, with an extra cookie next to it. You had told him about your current situation the day after you had gotten the call from Zendaya and assumed that the cookie was some kind of “Good luck” or maybe “Get it together”. Whatever it was, you didn’t mind the sugar.

You looked down at what you were wearing and questioned your choices for the millionth time. Now that you thought about it, the outfit was rather plain. It was your favorite oversized MARVEL shirt which had Captain America, Thor, and Spider-Man on it. That together with a pair of some jeans which you thought fitted you very nicely. It was a look you wore often, because of how comfortable it was. This too had ended up as a question to Zendaya. She had quickly replied saying that it was more than perfect, which did make you rather nervous. However, you considered Zendaya as a sort of friend and knew she wouldn’t play any joke on you like that. But now… You thought about just running out and maybe having time to change very quickly. You did live just a street away.

Just as you were about to get up, the door opened.

___________________________________

Tom paid the cabby and got out of the vehicle. The entrance of the pub was at the end of the street. He had specifically asked the driver to let him out a bit sooner so he still had some time to calm down as he walked. Even though he was at the other end of the street he could see and read the old board that had the name of the pub on it: “the Globe”. The board swayed a bit in the breeze.

With a deep breath, he started walking. Glancing through the window he saw that there weren’t many people inside. He could see that his favorite table was already occupied but the person wasn’t clearly visible from his angle. He deeply breathed in and out, shaking his arms nervously, and pulled the door open. The familiar smell hit him immediately. He didn’t even realize how much he had missed it. The moment he stepped in, Greggy welcomed him: “Tom! What a nice surprise, mate.” Tom walked over to the barman with a smile.

“Yeah, good to see you too, Greggy.”

___________________________________

You looked up from your hands to look at the man that just walked in. You couldn’t it believe it. It was actually Tom Holland. What were the chances that he would walk in here? As he walked to Greggy your brain went into overdrive. Because what were the chances of him walking into the same pub you were in at exactly this time. You also knew he was a good friend of Zendaya’s. It all started to click together and… The Shirt! You gasped, making a girl who was sitting at a table near you look up from her computer.

You were already scared you would look like an idiot, and what is more idiotic and pathetic than wearing literal merchandise of the character your next possible boss plays. You silently said goodbye to the chances of working for him.

Tom was still talking to Greggy. He hadn’t noticed you yet. Maybe there was a chance that you could just walk by and slip away. Then, in lightning speed, go change and come back in something better. Unfortunately, yet again, you had no luck because right then, Greggy asked: “So what brings you here? I thought you had forgotten all about little ol’ me.”

“Never Greggy. No, I actually had a uhm.. a meeting, I suppose you could call it that.”

“So, you got yourself a date again?”

“No,” he laughed. “It’s actual business, Greggy.” This confirmed all your worries. He was here to talk to you. Tom actual freaking Holland was going to talk to you about being his assistant. The hyperventilation was nearing, you could feel it.

“Wait a minute,” Greggy gasped. He looked over in your direction. You immediately turned your attention to your tea. “Oi, (Y/N). Weren’t you having a job interview now?” He had directly spoken to you and said your name and all eyes were in your direction now. You had nowhere to go.

“Yeah,” you said with a weak smile, avoiding Tom’s gaze.

___________________________________

“Oi, (Y/N). Weren’t you having a job interview now?” Greggy had called a girl that was sitting alone in the corner of the pub. Tom saw that she was the one sitting in his favorite spot in the place. She was drinking a cup of tea and looked rather startled to be suddenly called out like that. As he looked at her, something clicked: (Y/N)... job. It was her!

With a sheepish voice, he could hear her say: “Yeah.”

“Well, what are the odds on that, he.” Greggy laughed. Tom couldn't look away from her. Exactly the opposite of what (Y/N) was doing herself. He knew she was trying not to look at him.

“Ok, Greggy. That’s enough.” he smiled as he talked to the barman that he had known for so long, “Can I have…”

“Don’t think I forgot what you want” He immediately went off to the kitchen to make him tea. Tom took that opportunity to walk over to (Y/N). She immediately got up. Right then, Tom noticed the shirt she was wearing and smiled.

“I’m Tom.” He held out his hand. She shook it and said: “(Y/F/N). Nice to meet you.” Her cheeks were starting to turn a bit pink and as soon as they let go of each other, she sat back down.

___________________________________

You let go of Tom’s hand and sat back down. When he was walking over to you, you saw him glancing down at your shirt and smiling. It was a nice smile, but it made you very nervous too. “I should probably explain myself,” you said once he had sat down opposite of you. “When Zendaya called me, she didn’t exactly tell me who I could be working for…” He looked confused.

“She didn’t?”

“Well, technically, she did.” you looked away from him, “She had mentioned your name once and exactly at that time, there was a lot of noise outside and I couldn’t understand what she said. That had already happened before while we were talking so I didn’t want to ask her to repeat herself again.” Done explaining yourself, you dared to look at him again. To your surprise, he was smiling widely.

“I understand. You don’t know how many times that happens to me.” That did make you feel better. It was definitely a weight that fell off your shoulders.

“Yes, so until a few minutes ago, I had no idea who the person would be that walked through that door.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. So please do not think that this shirt was supposed to be some kind of… I don’t even know. I feel extremely stupid wearing it.”

“It’s ok. I think it’s great. Are you a fan of Marvel?” He asked.

“Oh god, yes!” you said enthusiastically. “I actually grew up with the original Spider-Man trilogy on constant repeat. It drove my mom insane. I haven’t read many comics, but the ones I did, I definitely enjoyed. I just never had the time to properly sit down and read more.” You wanted to talk more about your love for the universe but stopped. “I’m sorry. This isn’t very appropriate, is it?”

“I think you’re over thinking all of this. You’re doing great, darling.” the words made you blush even more. Right then Greggy walked up with a cup for Tom. He thanked the barman and you both expected him to leave but he stood there for a moment.

“Who would have thought, huh? So (Y/N), you working for Tommy now?” He chuckled, “the Hollands.”

“What are you talking about, Greggy?” you and Tom asked simultaneously. You shared a quick glance at each other and smiled.

“Your name is Holland, innit?” he looked at Tom, “And you are from Holland, aren’t you?” he looked at you.

“You’re Dutch?” Tom looked fascinated. Greggy walked away, his head held high, filled with pride.

___________________________________

“No, Greggy got it all wrong. I lived in Holland before I moved to London. During University, I took part in the Erasmus program, so I studied in Rotterdam for some time.”

“That’s cool. So what did you study?” Tom wasn’t sure if he was supposed to ask questions like that, but he had to get to know her somehow.

“English. I wanted to become a writer… uhm, yeah.” From the way she spoke about it, Tom got the feeling she wasn’t exactly comfortable talking about it. He tried to change the subject. “So you live in London now, yeah?”

“Yes. For two years now, I think.”

“And before that, you studied in Holland, so where are you from.”

“I’m from ....”

You had to be honest. Right of the bat, Tom seemed like a lovely guy. He was polite and funny. Yes, at first it was awkward, but you couldn’t blame any of that on him.

“So do you have any questions for me?” He asked after ten minutes or so of asking things about your life.

“Yes. So what exactly is it that I would be doing as your assistant?”

___________________________________

“...assistant.” The word caught him slightly off guard. Of course, he knew why he was here and so did she, at least he assumed. He simply forgot. He enjoyed listening to (Y/N) and when she had mentioned the actual reason why they were at the pub, sitting at this table, he actually started to think about all of it. He was supposed to interview her for a job. Was he supposed to be objective about it? Actually look for the proper qualities of a PA? Harrison didn’t exactly have them. It just so happened that he didn’t suck at it. She was definitely fun to hang out with. Everything she had said was in some way interesting to him. However, it didn’t mean she could plan his schedule or make sure he was awake and ready for an interview or anything, for that matter. Then again, she was his only choice really… and she seemed great.

“It would mainly just be scheduling and coffee runs, sometimes water.” He laughed and (Y/N) broke a smile too. “You think you can handle it?” He tried to say it in a tone that was as much challenging as possible, but still in a joking manner.

“Oh sure. When I was younger, my parents always made me get them coffee in the morning so I am definitely prepared. And as far as the planning and scheduling, I love it!” Her smile widened as she spoke.

“Great. So we actually start shooting the movie tomorrow. I will send you the details and…”

___________________________________

You were about to tell him that you had no way of contacting him and didn’t know where the movie set was or how to get in when he abruptly stopped talking. Apparently, he had the same idea.

“Wait, I’ll give you my phone number. Do you have Whatsapp?” Somehow, he made this question sound the most important out of all the questions he had asked you during your conversation.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” You didn’t. But you knew you could download it once you were back home.

“Great. Then I can put you in all the group chats.” He handed you his phone. You filled in the empty spots with your name and number. “I thought you said you were going to give me your number.”

“Yeah, but this was easier for me. Sorry.” He put his phone back into his pocket. “You will probably need id pass for the set, but don’t worry that is one thing I can do myself… and otherwise, I’ll just ask Zendaya or Jacob how to get you one.” you couldn’t help but laugh at his comment and it looked like that made him laugh too.

“So I assume I got… the job.”

“I have to be honest with you: you were the only one I found.” He half-whispered.

“I honestly cannot tell if that is supposed to be a good or bad thing.” you laughed your insecurity away. Tom didn’t respond immediately. It looked like he was thinking hard about a response. “Yeah, definitely, good.” He blurted out after a long silence. “I mean, this whole thing came to me as a bit of a surprise and I didn’t have a lot of time to look for someone. So when Z told me about you...I mean, you’re great.”

“Thank you.” The heat in your cheeks was coming back. That morning you hadn’t had any expectations towards the person you could possibly be working for in the near future, as you had no idea who it would be. Now having actually met and talked to Tom you were sure that any expectation you could have made was definitely exceeded. He was just too nice. When he had said what he thought about you, you looked away. You weren’t sure if it was from nerves or something else. As you turned your eyes back to him, you saw Tom looking at his watch.

“I should probably head back to the hotel… and I’m sure you have things to do too.”

“Uh, yeah, totally.” You thought about how much of a deal breaker it could be that you had already lied twice to him. Once you would get back home, there was exactly nothing for you to do. You would probably just spend the rest of the day on the couch watching Netflix.

“I will see you tomorrow then.” He got up. You didn’t know if you should stay seated or not. In the end, you decided to stand up too. Also, you had much more to ask. “Actually…” Now that you were technically working for him, you didn’t know how to address Tom. “Mr. Holland… I do have a few more question. If you don’t mind.” The Mr clearly through him off.

“Oh god, don’t call me that. Even my dad doesn’t like to be called that.” he laughed. You joined in weakly, feeling extremely stupid. “I did have the feeling that I skipped on most of the important stuff. You wanna take a walk?”

“Uhm… sure, I mean..”

“Hey,” seeing how startled you were, he interrupted you and stopped you from blabbering on. You mentally thanked him for it. “You have to calm down a bit. Just because you’re my assistant, doesn’t mean you have to act any different.” He smiled kindly and reassuringly. You had really needed that. “Just be honest but not too brutal.”

“You got it,” you walked by the table you were previously sitting at towards the bar. You were all ready to pay for your drink when Greggy didn’t even look up from the glasses he was cleaning and said: “yeah, yeah, I’ll put it on ya tab.” You thanked him and was about to turn around. Tom was apparently standing behind you because you bumped into him. You mumbled a quick “sorry”.

“Do you know who he was talking to?” He asked as you stepped outside.

“Well, at first I just thought he was talking to me, but now that I know you were right behind me, I have no idea.” you thought for a moment, “So you have a tab open at the Globe?”

“Yeah, I’ve been coming here for ages before I, you know. At first, I actually thought that maybe Z told you to meet me here because I had told her about the place once.”

“No, I live in the neighborhood and in the first few months that I lived here, I actually used to work in the kitchen for a while.” You walked down the pavement. It was still sunny outside, but now and then a breeze swiped in between.

“You had questions?” he asked after a few steps.

“Yes. But it’s more just technicalities. Like…” you tried to think of something from the top of your head, “oh, for example, is there like a dress-code on set. I mean, I’ve been to a few movie sets before, but never for a long time so…”

“It’s rather casual as far as I can tell.”

“Ok,” you nodded and mentally went through your whole wardrobe. “Should I have a binder. Or any type of map in this case?”

“What would you need a binder for?” He started laughing. “Are you an Amy? Please tell me you’re an Amy.” He stopped in his tracks to look at you.

“Is that a Brooklyn Nine-Nine reference? Because in that case, I can say that I am not an Amy.” you defend yourself. “I am not a complete control freak.”

“That’s what an Amy would say,” he said under his breath.

“Shut up,’ you rolled your eyes. The moment that you actually hear yourself speak those words you gasped in fear. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be rude…”

“Hey, it’s ok.” his voice was soft, “Amy,” he smirked.

“I am not an Amy. I mean, organizing can be kind of fun and…” you gasped once again, “I am an Amy, aren’t I.”

“Don’t worry. It good for the job.” Tom shrugged. The fact that he didn’t mind you being a small control freak like the lovable character from your favorite tv-show, did make you feel better. Even though you would never have realized it if he hadn’t said it in the first place.

“Back to your question, if you want a binder, you can have one, but personally I think a Tablet could be more practical.”

“Good idea.” You started making mental notes for yourself and more and more question kept popping up: “So how do you like your coffee?”

“It really depends on the day. Usually, I just go with an English breakfast tea.” You kept going with the questions until you realized that you had walked to your house. You were right in front of your door when you asked the last questions. (“Where should I meet you tomorrow?”)

“How about… at the hotel. I will send you the address.”

“Sounds great.” you now stood in front of your house. You saw that you had left your kitchen light on. “This is uhm…” you pointed at your front door to show him that somehow he had managed to lead you to your own house.

“Oh, really?” he looked at you and then at the door. He seemed to be confused and excited at the same time. “Well, I will see you tomorrow then, yeah?”

“You got it, boss.”

“Uh, love the sound of that,” he groaned and followed it with a small laugh.

___________________________________

He didn’t know how to explain it, but he got a kick out of the way she called him Boss. Harrison only called him “mate”, or just Tom. So to have a person to call him that was different. In a good way.

They had already said their goodbyes and he was ready to walk away when she stopped him: “Wait. Sorry. I don’t know how to say it, but… Thank you.”

“For what? You will have to be a bit more specific, darling.” he couldn’t help but notice her blushing again and thinking how cute it was.

“Just… thank you for this opportunity.” it looked to him as if she had to think about her word choice. “I know that this isn’t really any of your business, I mean, you don’t really care, but I’ve had a rough couple of weeks and this job is really something I need now. So again: Thank you.” She ended it with a big smile. Tom didn’t know if it would be right to hug her. She looked like she needed a hug and for some reason, he really wanted to be the one that gave it to her. In the end, he just said: “No problem, darling.” He sounded stupid, at least to himself. (Y/N) kept her smile even though her eyes were filled with some worry.

___________________________________

“No problem darling.” Darling. Every time you heard that word leave his lips, you melted inside. You hated the Brits for being so damn charming, using words like that. Whoever thought that was a good idea? Trying to keep it together, you smiled. Though there was one final thought that left you a bit panicky.

“One more thing.”

“What is it?” he raised an eyebrow. For a moment you thought if you possibly overdid it with the questions but this was important.

“Well, I know you told me that I got the job..” your tone was too unsure. You paused to get a grip on yourself, “But isn’t this something that the studio should check. I mean, doesn’t this make me a part of the whole production and whatnot?” Tom’s eyes widened.

___________________________________

He hadn’t even thought about it. He was so busy finding an assistant that he didn’t even make sure with the producers on how to deal with it. Fortunately, everybody knew about his situation and how he was looking for a new PA, so he just prayed that everything could be organized and dealt with quickly.

“Yes!” He blurted out loudly. (Y/N) jumped up because he had said it louder than anticipated and he hadn’t it realized it yet, but before he had shouted, there was a long silence between them.

“I mean, yes, the production knows about you.” he tried to recollect himself. It didn’t work as smoothly as he would have liked to, but at least (Y/N) didn’t look like a deer in the headlights anymore and that was enough for him. “And if there is anything else to be done I will handle it myself. But don’t worry, after that, you can handle all of my planning and handling and...stuff. To be completely honest with you, I actually don’t know what a PA is supposed to do.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Tom, but I figured so.” She made a face that looked like she wanted to smile or even laugh but not in a way that would hurt his feelings. Tom appreciated it because at the moment he did feel like a complete idiot. “Well then, it was great to meet you, (Y/N).”

“Likewise, Mr. Holland.” Tom cringed with a groan at the sound of that. He knew that (Y/N) said it for that reaction, because a smirk appeared on her lips and it only widened at his reaction, together with a small laugh. He couldn’t help it and started to laugh too.

___________________________________

It felt weird to laugh like that with your boss. The whole situation was a bit off to you, in a good way somehow. The way in which you talked and joked around with Tom didn’t feel appropriate when the idea of him being your boss was attached to it. He was so casual with you, you felt more like a friend than a future assistant to him. Was that really appropriate? At the same time, you knew that that was just his personality. You had watched enough interviews with him to see that that was the overall of how he was with people. Just a great guy. So friendly and always a contagious smile on his face.

That smile stayed on your face even when you were back inside your flat after you had watched him walk away. He had even turned around before turning the corner to shout: “I’ll call you.”

“I think that would be useful.” You answered. Then Tom turned the corner and you couldn’t see him anymore so walked to the door of your flat. The moment you had closed your front door, you got your phone out of your pocket and quickly downloaded Whatsapp, in case he tried to contact you via that. Then it was time to slam into your couch and turn on the tv. With satisfaction on your face, you watched the thousandth rerun of an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Yeah, you were an Amy.

___________________________________

Tom decided to walk back to the hotel. There wasn’t a lot of distance between the Globe and the Hotel he was staying at. It was also an early afternoon on a Tuesday so most people would still be at work or school. Just like he suspected, the streets were relatively empty, even for London. He knew that if anyone would find out that he was walking alone in the middle of London that he would be dead. If his security or anyone from the production team found out, they would kill him for being so irresponsible, while if the press or some fans would see him walking around, he would be crushed by the paparazzi in a matter of seconds.

Of course, he loved his life and was more than grateful for all the opportunities he got while filming his movies… And never in a million years would he have expected to play his own childhood hero, Spider-Man. It was surreal at times, but at the same time, he couldn’t remember the last time he was so free to walk around a city like he was right now. Especially in London! The city he grew up in.

He got to the hotel a bit later than assumed. He had taken a small detour now that he realized he had a chance. Just to be sure, he took the back entrance of the hotel not to be seen entering and causing the press to arrive. The walk had taken some of his energy out of him and once he was at his room door he couldn’t wait to fall into his bed. That quickly turned into a dream that seemed too far-fetched to be true. The moment he opened his door he heard voices. He recognized them, but it still scared him shitless. There, sitting around his room, were Zendaya, Jacob, and Tony. They were talking and laughing about something, all while throwing peanuts at each other. Peanuts, Tom assumed, that could only have come from his mini-bar.

Then, when Tom had closed his door their laughter faded away and all the attention was given to him.

“Where the hell have you been, man?” Tony asked.

“What are you all doing here,” Tom ignored the question. “How did you get into my room?”

“You gave me your spare keycard, remember?” Jacob showed him the small white card with his room number on it.

“Oh yeah.” Tom immediately regretted doing that.

“So, how was she, man? Did I do good, or did I do good?” Zendaya laughed and the rest did too. Tom walked over to his bed and as he fell on top of it, he sighed: “She was fantastic.” he very quickly realized how that sounded and also felt the three pairs of eyes stare at him. “I mean, she was great. I gave her the job.”

“Don’t tell me you have a crush on her,” Zendaya said what they were all thinking. Tom didn’t know how to answer and Jacob just face-palmed at his best friend’s reaction. Because Tom couldn’t have a crush on (Y/N). they only met today. He barely knew her and she was his assistant. It did feel great to finally have the security of an assistant again, though.

“No! I do not have a crush on her. C’mon guys, how old are you?” He scoffed, trying to play it off cool like he didn’t care about what was just said. It did not work. Zendaya immediately chimed in: “C’mon dude, I called her so you could have a new assistant, not a girlfriend!”

“I don’t have a crush on her!” He did his best to convince them. The look that Jacob was giving him was evidence that, once again, he had not succeeded. He gave up.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked as Tom was getting his phone out of his pocket in a moment where all of them were silent. He looked up from his screen. “Nothing.”

“You were gonna call her right now, weren’t you?” Jacob guessed. The other three started laughing. Tom had enough of it.

“Ok, enough.” he said, “Get out.” He pointed at the door. His friends and co-stars kept on laughing even harder. “I mean it, get out.” A peanut was thrown in his face. “Guys.” It came out almost like a groan of frustration.

“Fine, we’ll go!” Zendaya got up and tapped Tony on the shoulder to show that he and the rest actually should follow. “C’mon, we don’t wanna be here when they ‘re gonna go at it on the phone.” She added quickly. Tom threw a pillow in her direction, but before it hit her, she had closed the door. He waited for a moment before pressing the call button. He didn’t hear any footsteps. “I know you’re still there!” He shouted out.

“Just call her already!” Jacob answered. There was a sound that Tom immediately recognized as a slap on the head, that being followed by a soft “auw” from Jacob. Then there were finally footsteps and Tom knew he was finally alone. He pressed the call button. While waiting for (Y/N) to answer, he thought about what was said to him just moments ago. He knew that they were just teasing him, like always, but were parts of it true? Even though he had just met her, he knew she was amazing… but like for an assistant, right? Because that was what she was. His assistant. He wasn’t paying attention and almost missed her voicemail answer. He got out of it just in time to hear a stupid joke. He laughed. It wasn't even because of the joke. More the idea of that it was her telling it. Oh no, was the only thing he could think before he had to leave his message: “Hey, it’s Tom. Just calling to leave you my number. So… now you have my number. Anyway, I had a great time today and yeah… you’re awesome.” He hung up before saying anything else stupid. He felt himself falling off the slope. ‘You’re awesome’ Wow, you absolute twat! He thought and threw his phone on the bed. It bounced right off on the ground. He groaned in frustration. He just hoped that it didn’t break. He had to make more phone calls.

___________________________________

You woke up when it was already dark outside. The tv had turned off automatic so you sat surrounded in complete darkness. You hadn’t even noticed when you fell asleep. What were you even watching? Was it still Brooklyn Nine-Nine? Or did you change it to TLC after another show had started?

Still sitting in the darkness, you tried to look for your phone. It was harder than it seemed with all the pillows and the blanket on the couch. Finally, you had found it. The clock said it was almost eleven o’clock. Underneath that, you saw that you had 2 missed calls and over thirty messages. This really confused you. No one ever called you. And you barely got this many messages in one go. After unlocking your screen everything made sense. Tom had called you and left voicemails. You pressed on the oldest one first.

““Hey, it’s Tom. Just calling to leave you my number. So… now you have my number. Anyway, I had a great time today and yeah… you’re awesome.” It was a weird message but you thought it was cute. The next call was from a few hours later. You pressed on that and started to listen: “Hey, it’s me again, Tom. I added you to the group chat on Whatsapp. I don’t know if you have read them yet. I should probably apologize for them, they are idiots....” there was a small pause, “ I talked with the producers and the rest, uhm, everything is cool. I have a badge for you so you can actually enter the set. There are some more things I have to tell you so maybe call me when you get this because it’s a lot to type otherwise.” So it was really happening. You were the new assistant to Tom Holland, Spider-Man himself! He said to call him back when you got this, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to call at eleven in the night, was it. Before making a decision you went over all the texts you had received. The biggest amount of them came from a group chat. The first message was from who you only assumed was Tom. Not only because of the name tag above the text. It was also the number that added you to the group… and then there was the actual message which welcomed you to “the squad”.

The next twenty or so messages were from five different numbers. From your sense of deduction, you assumed they were Zendaya, Jacob, Tony, Laura and probably Harrison. You knew that Laura was most likely not in this movie as her character had moved away at the end of the first movie and Harrison was busy filming his own - as that was the reason you were in this situation right now.

You skimmed through the messages, in case there was something important. Most of it was very random and you ignored it. You did see that the last few messages were very recent, only from a few minutes ago. One of them was from Tom. Maybe he wasn’t asleep yet and you could still call him.

The other few messages were from a still new number, but in the first message, the person had said that it was Tom. In a series of shorter texts, he wrote you what he also later had said in the voicemail, including the apology for the stupidity and nonsense of the squad. The message made you smile.

The one text that you had least expected actually, came from your mom. “Since when do you have Whatsapp? I had asked you a hundred times to download it!” You thought for a minute what your life had become in the last twenty-four hours that a text from your mother was more surprising than a text from Tom Holland.

Your phone buzzed. There was a message sent in the group chat. You clicked on the group and saw that it was from Tom. Now you knew he wasn’t asleep. But still. Was it appropriate to call him so late? He did tell you to call him. But just to be save, you decided to first text him.

“Hey,” you started typing. “Sorry I didn’t answer sooner. My phone died and I just got to a charger.” You clicked send. Almost immediately, you saw at the top of your screen that Tom was typing. Then his text appeared.

“No problem. Is it ok if I call?”

“Sure” Not five seconds later, your bright screen changed into a black one and your ringtone filled the silence of the dark room. You had not expected him to do it via video-call. Before swiping the answer button, you turned on a small lamp that stood next to the couch. Just like that, you appeared on the screen and what you saw almost made you scream in fear. You looked like a mess. Most of the hair that you had put up in a ponytail t after coming back home had fallen loose and the strands of hair were everywhere. Your mascara was smudged and your eyes made it very clear you had not been awake for a long time. The ringtone continued and you knew you had no time to make yourself look presentable. Tom was waiting and you couldn’t make him wait any longer. With a sigh, you swiped the answer button. Tom’s face appeared on the screen and of course he looked amazing and… was he shirtless? Of course he was. You tried not to look at your phone. Trying not to stare at Tom, but also to avoid catching a glimpse of yourself.

“Hey,” he sounded happy but a rasp in his voice made it clear he was ready for sleep. “Are you alright?” The question didn’t surprise you. If you saw someone sitting somewhere, looking you do now, you too would ask them if they were ok.

“Yeah. I’m good. I er, I fell asleep earlier and just woke up.” You had to be honest with him. Your answer seemed to relieve him.

“Ok. Well, I talked to the production guys and the security.” the way he was talking reminded you of the way your six-year-old cousin talked about the time his mom allowed him to give to the money for the groceries to the cashier. “You will have to send them some of your information and a picture for an ID pass, but for tomorrow a visitors pass will do. I have it here somewhere.” He started to looks around the room. You saw it was a mess in there. The Amy inside you wondered if it was also a part of your job to clean up after him and help him pack.

“So can you be here tomorrow at like seven. I know it’s early but..”

“No, no problem. I’ll be there. Should I bring you a coffee? Or tea?”

“Ugh, you’re amazing.” you hoped that the dim light and the low quality of your camera wouldn’t show Tom that you were blushing again. Why did he always have to be like that? “Yeah, I think a coffee would be good.”

“Ok, how do you take it?”

“Just plain black, but make it big. I don’t know if I’ll be worth anything on set so early without a boost.” he looked like he was joking but you knew he wasn’t. You knew because you were exactly the same.

“Noted.”

“Thank you. I will send you the address of the hotel. Just wait in the lobby and I will be there. No, actually, you know what, just come to my room. In case I don’t wake up.”

“Sounds like a plan.” you just agreed with what he said.

“Great, then I will see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.” you were already about to end the call when Tom stopped you with a loud: “Wait!” his eyes were wide open and after he had said it he looked confused. You decided to help him out a bit with a “Yes?”

“Uhm... I just wanted to say...Goodnight!”

“Goodnight, Tom.” before you could end the call, he had hung up. The screen was now back to your text conversation.

___________________________________

What was he thinking? Yelling things out like an idiot. He saw the look (Y/N) gave him. She looked at him like he was crazy. Well, maybe that was slightly over exaggerated, but he sure as hell felt like that. What did he actually want to say? Oh hey, (YN), I know we just met, but I’m in love with you. Tom laughed at himself while walking around the messy hotel room. Wait, did he just say in love? He stopped walking in the middle of the floor. He barely knew her. He couldn’t be in love with her, could he? It was all the fault of Jacob, Tony, and Z. Yes. They started talking to him about the stupid crush, which he did not have. He could never possibly be in love with her.

This inner turmoil continued for another ten minutes or so. Tom finally leaped into his bed, face down. Completely exhausted. Both physically and mentally. In the end, he did come up with a conclusion. He couldn’t be in love with her… or could he?

___________________________________

You had put an alarm for 5: 50. If that one did not work, you had put another one for 5:55 and another for exactly six o’clock. This would hopefully give you enough time to get ready and then get coffee at the Starbucks two streets away from your house and get the cab you had ordered before you went to sleep.

Thankfully, the first alarm worked just fine. Apparently, the six hours sleep you had the afternoon before were a big help, because you were not feeling like a complete zombie when you woke up.

You got out of bed, washed, brushed your teeth and hair, got dressed (in something unrelated to Marvel) and were done with everything by 6:19. Better than you had ever managed. Who knew, working for the upcoming biggest movie star was a pretty big energy booster and motivator. Grabbing your keys, wallet, and phone and stashing them into your purse you walked out the door. The sky was on the grey side, with the sun not have risen yet highly. You walked with a slight tempo in your step. You had checked the night before when Starbucks opened just to be sure and the website said six, so you hoped it to be true.

When you turned the corner, the door was indeed open. You could already smell the scent of rich coffee. With a big smile, you walked into the coffeehouse. It didn’t surprise you that there was no line. The girl behind the counter looked like she was dead inside, and who could blame her.

“Goodmorning,” you said as you stepped closer. She said it back and you felt that you could have said it a bit less enthusiastic.

“What can I get you?” She had said it with a small smile.

“A Grande Pike Place Roast and a... “ you looked at the boards hanging above the counters. “You know what. Make it two.”

“We don’t make it in Grande. Only Tall. Sorry.”

“Could you please make one Grande?” you almost begged. The girl looked unsure at you. “I don’t think you need that much caffeine in you?”

“It’s not for me. I guess you could say, my boss. I’m starting a new job today.”

“And your boss needs this much caffeine?”

“Yeah, he has a lot to do.” you sighed. The girl looked at you with a risen brow. In the end, she took the biggest cut from the three options. You thanked her.

“Anything else, love?” Right then you could feel your stomach scrunch up in hunger. As it was still very early, most of the trays on which normally the bakes lay, were empty.

“Do you have any breakfast pastries yet?”

“We just opened but maybe something got ready by now. I’ll go and check for you.”

“Thank you.” You watched as the girl walked to the door that said Employees Only and disappeared behind it. During the quick seconds that the door was open, you could smell faint vanilla. Your stomach started to hurt by that point. Not much later the girl came back. “There’s nothing ready yet, but in a minute we’ll have croissants if you can wait.” You thought about it while you looked at your watch: 6:25. You had time to wait for a little.

“I’ll have two.” The girl started ticking in a few things in the machine and gave you your total. “That will be 6 pounds and 18 p.” You had no time to look for the specific cash. While you were getting your card out of your wallet the girl already started making the coffee. She had definitely sensed that you were in a hurry.

You paid and a minute later the two hot beverages were in front of you. The girl went to the back room again and came back with a small bag. “And two croissants. Good luck with your new job.” She smiled. You had almost forgotten that you had told her that. Being slightly startled, you thanked her and walked out. You had still plenty of time. Right when you came back to in front of your flat, a cab had arrived. You walked up to it, the two coffees in a cup holder and the croissants situated between them. With one hand holding all of that, you managed to open the car door.

“Good morning,” you said, this time a bit less enthusiastic. That was probably the best thing because the driver didn’t seem exactly happy to be driving around London so early in the morning.

“ ‘Morning,” he mumbled. You got in. “Where to?” You told him the address that To had sent you and he started the car.

“Ya meetin’ som’one?” He glanced at the two coffees.

“Uhm yes. New boss.” You definitely felt more uncomfortable talking to this man about it than to the friendly girl back at Starbucks.

“What's he makin’ ya get up so eerly fo’?”

“It’s part of the job, I suppose.”

“Wha’evah makes ya feel bettah,” he swerved around a corner, making you almost spill the boiling hot coffee on your lap. You rolled your eyes at the comment and the driving style.

Fortunately, the ride wasn’t too long and before you knew it, you were in front of the hotel. You paid the fee and got out as quickly as possible, without spilling the coffee. You had made the driver pull up at the back of the hotel because Tom told you to use the back entrance. You understood why. The door was unlocked. You tried not to think about if it was actually safe that the door was open and unlocked.

Right next to the door were the elevators. You pressed a button and while waiting for it to arrive you hoped nobody would walk by and ask who you were or what you were doing here. It was very early and you had no interest in any more conversations. Finally, the elevator had arrived (thankfully, empty) and you stepped in. Again, maneuvering the two coffees and croissants in one hand, you managed to press the button of Tom’s floor.

Once the doors opened again, you stepped out and started looking for a sign that could give you any clear idea of where Tom’s room could be. Looking around for half a minute, you just walked straight in front of you. That just so happened to be the correct corridor. You quickly saw the room number you were looking for. You knocked on the door and waited for Tom to open. You quickly glanced at your watch once again: 7:00. Perfect.

___________________________________

Tom woke up at 6:45. The alarm was much louder than he thought he had set it up and the noise almost made him fall out of bed. Well, almost, he did fall out his bed. For a moment the idea of just sleeping on the floor zoomed through his head but then the idea of (Y/N) popped in. She would probably be there soon and he had to be ready. He had to look good for her...For everybody! He had to look good and presentable on set. He ran to the bathroom and started the shower. The cold water did a good job at waking him up, but while the water hit him, he couldn’t stop about (Y/N)... and the coffee she promised to bring him. Yes, that was definitely what he needed. Coffee.

Right when he got out of the shower, someone knocked on the door. He cursed to himself. That was most likely her. He dried himself off and put the towel around his middle. His hair was still soaking wet. It was a challenge to quickly walk out of the bathroom and not falling on his ass on the slippery wet floor. He got to the door and opened it. Just like he suspected, (Y/N) stood in front of him. In her hand a tray with two big cups of coffee and a bag in the middle of them. She was looking at the drinks when she said: “Hi, I didn’t know if you wanted anything to eat, but I was starving so I just go us two cro- oh.” She had looked up at him and noticed the situation he was in. Her eyes were wide open in pure shock. Tom felt extremely embarrassed. Feeling so stupid, he still welcomed her inside.

___________________________________

Yup, he was definitely naked. NAKED. Tom Holland is right in front of me and naked! Just don’t look at… him. Yeah, that would be the easiest. You tried to keep yourself calm.

“Hi, sorry I just got out of the shower. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Oh, no problem. That’s what I’m here for. I also brought breakfast. Well, kind of. The only thing they had so early in the morning was croissants. I don’t know if you want one. If not I am not embarrassed to eat both of them.”

“Thanks. I’ll just get dressed and we can head out in a moment.” he disappeared into the bathroom. You could hear him hustling around. A moment later he walked out. This time he had trousers on, but still no shirt.

“Hey, I was wondering. Do you know how to make… you know… that towel turban...thing.”

“Of course. Why?” By that time you had put the tray with the drinks down on the desk in the corner of the room.

“Well, how long would you say it takes to dry your hair when it’s in a thing like that?”

“For me, pretty long, that’s why I usually just use it for five minutes or so and then let it dry naturally. But you have much shorter hair, so it would probably also take much shorter to dry. Why?” you repeated the question.

“It’s just that the water will drip on my shirt and it takes a long time to dry on itself and the blow dryer doesn’t work. Could you just...” you didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

“Go get yourself a towel.” you rolled your eyes with a smile. Tom’s upper body disappeared behind the frame of the door and appeared again with a towel in his hand.

“Ok, so what you do is lean your head forwards so you’re looking down at the ground,” you were pleased to see that Tom was doing it just like you were telling him to do. “Then you put the towel over your head. In a way that the towel is around the middle of the length on both sides.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” He mumbled from beneath the towel.

“Well hey, I don’t know how to explain it. It is much easier done than said.” you thought about how to phrase the action better. “Just make sure that both ends of the towel are equal on both sides of your head.”

“Like this?” He showed you.

“Yes.” you tried to hold in your laugh. “Ok, so you grab both sides of the towel with both your hands, twist them tightly and pull it back, as you did that, pull up your head too and you should have the towel thingy.” You watched as he repeated what you said to him. He pulled his head back up and the towel almost immediately fell off his head. This time you couldn’t help but laugh.

“What did I do wrong?” he looked absolutely helpless and confused. The water was dripping from his hair onto his forehead.

“Let me just do it for you, but go put on that shirt first, because otherwise, we’ll have to do it all over again.” He went and put on the shirt. It was a simple grey t-shirt and you honestly wondered why he couldn’t get it wet. Yet, at the same time, you didn’t care because the way he looked at you, you just wanted to help him. Even with the stupidest things like make a towel turban.

“Okay, lean forward.” He immediately did. You walked over to him and he handed you the towel. You put it over his head. It was harder to do it from the front, but you managed. You gripped both ends, twisted and pulled it to the back (or actually to the front). Tom whipped his head back up and the towel stayed on this time.

“Oh cool. Thanks!” he looked too happy, you thought. This was such a stupid thing to get so excited over. You never understood why guys couldn’t manage to do it themselves and their fascination with it. It was just a towel.

“I don’t know if this is appropriate for me to say,” you looked at him with your arms crossed, “but you look like an idiot.”

“Yes, well, the joke’s on you, darling, because you have to represent this idiot.” Darling, there he goes with that word again. Did he really no realize what an effect he had on you with it.

“Shouldn’t we go? I mean, I don’t know when you are expected to be on the set…” You looked at your watch. It was 7:16. You saw Tom doing the same thing.

“A car is coming to pick us up at 7:45.” He said casually. Then he walked over to the table on which you had placed the coffees and the croissants. “Which one-” You answered him before he even finished the question: “The bigger one...And I brought you a croissant. If you want.” you stood in your place, not sure what to do. You still had a lot of time before you were supposed to be downstairs. Tom spoke up and it seemed like he could read your thoughts: “Come, sit down.” With a sheepish smile, you sat down in the chair next to him. You took your coffee and took a sip from it. It hadn’t gotten cold yet, it was the perfect temperature of warm that wouldn’t burn your tongue. Tom’s sips were much bigger and hastier. He clearly had not slept as well as you did.

When he pulled the cup away from his lips he looked really satisfied. It looked rather unusual as he was still wearing the towel on his head. “Actually, I have something for you.” He started to look around. You did too. It was pointless as you had no idea what you could be looking for, but taking a glance at the room, you didn’t think that Tom could find either. It was a complete mess. Clothes were lying everywhere, a pile of it was specifically standing out, being probably his suitcase.

“Yes! Here you go.” He grabbed something from his nightstand and brought it over to hand it to you. It was a laminated ID card, well not exactly because it only said “Visitor” on it. You wanted to thank him, when suddenly out of nowhere he had also handed you a tablet.

“What’s this for?” came out instead of a thank you.

“Honestly I have no clue. I was talking to Tania and Kim, they’re the production assistants, and they said you will need it. It had like schedules and other things on it.” Tom looked confused as he said it. “Oh yeah, they also that today you’ll have to sign some papers.” You didn’t have to ask questions about that. During your short time on the Greatest Showman, you also had to sign different contracts to make sure you wouldn’t tell anybody anything about the movie that was filmed.

“Got it and thanks.”

___________________________________

Tom watched as (Y/N) put the ID and the tablet into her bag. He didn’t know what to do. Should he have said something? Start a conversation? About what then? Instead, he took another sip of the coffee. When he had taken the first sip he was surprised at how good it actually was.

He could sense a tension between them. She looked a bit stressed. He had the big urge to do something about it. So far they sat in silence and he hated it. Yesterday, at the pub, they had an amazing time together and now it all was very tense.

“Are you nervous?” What a stupid question, you idiot! He thought. He was about to actually facepalm himself but her answer stopped him. It wasn’t what he expected. Her voice was softer, just like when she was sitting alone in that booth in The Globe. “A bit, I suppose.” She was staring at her cup. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am rather socially awkward and interactions with others is not my strongest suit…” he saw that she wanted to say something more. Her mouth had already opened to begin talking, but at the last moment, she closed it again. He decided not to ask more.

“I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“But see, this is so strange. I still cannot believe it that you chose me to be your assistant. You barely know me after all.”

“I know that you are great at what you do... Even if it is just bringing coffee so far. For me that’s enough to know that you can do this.” without realizing it, he winked too. (Y/N) looked at him for what felt like an eternity and then she started laughing. Hard. It was that type of laugh that made him smile. Because he knew he was the source of it. It felt great to know that he made her happy somehow.

“Thanks, Tom. Croissant?” she handed him the bag. The pronunciation of the word made him raise an eyebrow. “Are you making fun of me,” he asked while taking the pastry out of the bag.

“What? No.” her eyes widened with panic. “Why would I?”

“It’s just that the whole Quackson thing is getting a bit old…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She tore a piece of her croissant and put it in her mouth. Tom was confused. Did she really have no idea what he was talking about?

“Nevermind.” He wanted to keep it that way. Although, now that he had mentioned it, she could start asking him about it… or just look it up on the internet. But she didn’t say anything. The silence continued. Tom’s head started to hurt. The towel was pulling his skin backward and it felt like a horrible face-lift.

“How do girls do this? It’s really tight.” he tried to loosen it a bit by moving the towel slightly. It helped a smidge. “Do I at least look good now? Beauty is pain, right?”

“You look absolutely ravishing,” she said between bites. He had to admit that she looked cute… but he made himself to not think about it too much. He took out his phone. “Do you mind if I film a quick video.”

“No, of course not.”

“Great, thanks.” he clicked on the Instagram icon and then his Story. From the corner of his eye he saw (Y/N) had taken out her own phone so he turned around, so the camera wouldn’t see her. He put up his arm in the air and pressed record.

part 2 in my masterlist

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