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another-stark-sub · 2 years

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Professor Stark - Tony Stark Imagine

Summary: You were there to pass a class to earn a degree. Having an attractive professor was just a bonus.

Warnings: Explicit smut, minors DNI, age gap, oral sex (M and F receiving), PIV sex, “babygirl,” “sweetheart,” “sir,” “Professor”

Word Count: 8242

Notes: ... I have no excuse, but I hope it’s at least a little worth the wait, also! Thank you @patheticallysentimental for helping me edit and teaching me the amazingness of italics, love you babe

When taking an engineering class, or any college class in general, the professor was always the key to success. The most boring subject could easily turn into the most dynamic with the right professor. So, when you were asking around about which professor to take for your next engineering class, most signs pointed to Professor Stark.

There was also a Dr. Banner and a suggestion to go to Dr. Lang, but most students pointed you to Stark’s class. He was supposedly more energetic than Banner and more organized than Lang. There were other rumors though. They weren’t prominent. (Most girls fawned over Professor Barnes in the Political Science department and Professor Laufeyson in the Queer Studies department, after all.) Still, that didn’t stop the whispers about Professor Stark.

“There’s a video of him bending down to pick up something. I died.”

“Doesn’t hurt that Professor Stark’s easy on the eyes.”

“Knew a girl who said he came into class with disheveled hair, said it changed her life.”

A whisper, but you didn’t think much of it. There were such things as attractive professors, sure, but attractive enough to drool over and obsess over? You were in college to study, graduate, become an engineer, not to fawn over men who were out of a reasonable age range and probably married.

First day of class wasn’t that interesting. Honest. Professor Star was good-looking, handsome even. Fully trimmed and detailed 5-o’clock shadow. Expressive, deep brown eyes. Tailored professional clothing with a pair of sunglasses clipped on his collar. He even cracked a few sarcastic remarks at his own expense.

He was a good professor. A great one. It was easy to be a good student in his class.

“It would be unstable, Professor. Not enough force to counteract gravity.”

“Correct again! Every force needs to be countered, right? Right. So add this here, and just like that, nothing falls. Nice job.”

You raised your hand at least five times per class.

“Take that derivative, and double-check that the answer is sufficient?”

“Exactly. Everyone, write that down. There may or may not be something like this during lab.”

And you got called on at least three times per class.

“Yes! Girl with the moon necklace.”

“Very funny, Professor, but the answer isn’t any of those choices. I think you forgot to define your axes.”

Eventually, he started to joke with you.

“Well, are you sure that’s right?”

“Uh… maybe. I’m not sure. I’m sorry-”

“Relax, you got it. I just like messing with you.”

You might have started joking with him.

“Any more questions before the midterm? Yes! New moon, what’s your question?”

“How was your weekend, Professor?”

And, eventually, you could see why so many people had a bit of a crush on him.

“Any more questions? Yes, Claire de lune?”

“Favorite donut?”

The class laughed, and Professor Stark bit his lip and smiled at you. Just at you. “And why do you need to know?”

“I might be planning on swinging by Krispy Kreme before office hours. If you’re lucky.”

Class was over. People were packing their things and rushing to get to their next class, but you stayed. You waited patiently for his answer, a stupid smile on your face.

He nodded. “Double Dark Chocolate.”

You copied his curt nod. “Consider it done.”

You arrived to office hours with a dozen donuts. Six were Double Dark Chocolate, three were your favorite, and the other three were random. Your classmates in office hours were ecstatic, gobbling up the free food. You, however, were more focused on Professor Stark’s reaction. He lifted his donut in the air to you, a toast. You followed suit with yours, truly enjoying the moment in the crowded space of his office.

The chatter of your classmates faded out as Professor opened his mouth. His outstretched tongue pressed into the donut first before he bit into it, and he moaned. The way he was holding his treat caused some of the sticky, sweet icing to stick to his fingers. So, when he pulled his mouth away to chew, he examined the hand that held his donut. With a shrug, he put the donut down and, again tongue fucking first, licked the sweetness off two of his fingers.

He didn’t mean it. He was just eating a donut, a free treat that one of his students brought him. That’s all it meant for him.

But for you?

No, you were a goner.

It took you at least 48 hours to process that you were head over heels in love with your professor. He was forty-four years old. Much more than a decade older than you. He wasn’t married, at least. But still, he was older and your professor. It was ridiculous - the kind of thing that only happened in porn and the occasional alternate universe fanfiction, not in real life, and certainly not your life.

But god, what were you supposed to do?

Not only was he a genius, but he was also funny, kind, caring, put together, confident… No guy your age had all of that. But Professor Tony Stark, he did. And you wanted him. In any what you could have him.

“Just fuck him.”

You shut your eyes and fell back onto your crappy dorm bed. “MJ,” you groaned.

“Look, I get it. Crushes suck. They bring feelings and shit, so you just have your crush fuck it out of you.”

You glared at her. “And did that work with you and Peter?”

She only stared at you.

“Didn’t think so.”

“Then just fuck, well, someone. Anyone.”

“I don’t want to fuck anyone.” You covered your eyes. “I just want to fuck him.”

“How romantic,” she said in her dry tone. “Why can’t you just fuck him?”

You didn’t tell her your crush was a professor. “Because I don’t think he would fuck me.”

She laughed. “Oh, please, everyone wants sex. Those who say differently are lying to themselves.”

“Ok? And you’re suggesting?”

“Tempt him.” She shrugged. “Low cut shirts, short skirts, bite those lips. He’ll break. If he doesn’t, find a frat guy who looks like him.”

Usually, you wouldn’t take MJ’s advice. She was a tad blunt. And if you were crushing on a guy your age, maybe you’d do it differently.

So, during your lab class, you wore a tank top that might have been a tad too tight around your chest and a little lower than the usual clothes you wore. You had nothing to lose. He would either notice or not notice.

“How’s the dry lab?” Professor Stark asked.

You smiled up at him. “Ok, worksheets aren’t my cup of tea.” With a shrug, you told him, “More of a hands-on type.”

“You having trouble?” He looked over your shoulder. And after skimming your work, his eyes widened.

You bit your lip to hold in your smile. You knew all your work was correct. He could only be surprised about one thing.

A second too long passed. Professor Stark cleared his throat. He didn’t step back, though, and his attention briefly flickered to your chest before smiling at you. “Looks good.”

You looked down at your outfit. Purposefully, you brought your arms closer together and stated with a certain innocence, “Oh, yeah, the shirt’s new. You like it?” You knew he wasn’t talking about your new taste in fashion, but you couldn’t help it. Professor Stark was always so well composed. Even when he was late to class, his confidence and nonchalant demeanor never wavered.

Seeing him stare a bit too long and hearing him have to clear his throat, it was almost intoxicating.

“Yes, but I wasn’t talking about that.” His jaw twitched. “I meant your work.”

“Oh.” You took your time to breathe, both to show off your outfit more and to catch your own breath. With a smile, you said, “All thanks to you, Professor Stark.”

His eyes met yours. Breathing wasn’t coming to you easily. He was so close to you, and if you just leaned in a little, your lips could brush against his. His chest was inches from your back. You could feel his chest rise and fall with every breath.

“You’re a good student.”

It was like his words were on your lips. Your smile trembled, nervous and excited to be so close. You never thought MJ’s plan would work this well.

Desperate to say something flirty, to say something that would be right out of porn or the occasional fanfiction, you wanted to say something about how you enjoyed being a good girl. Instead, it came out as a shaky, “I like being good, Professor.”

Despite your poor delivery, Professor Stark’s eyes widened, and the hand that was on your desk clenched into a fist. He opened his mouth, and you expected some witty comeback, but none came. He closed his mouth and pursed his lips, and while that alone would make you feel guilty, the shine in his eyes as he looked at you only made you feel proud.

How was just talking to someone so exhilarating? The two of you didn’t even touch. No brush of his chest against your back, no gentle press of his hand against yours. Just words. If only words could reduce the usually laid-back professor into this, what would a gentle brush of your fingers do? What if you really did lean forward and press your lips against-

“Professor!”

Quickly, he shook his head, stepped back, and cleared his throat. “Yes, coming!” He ran a hand through his hair as he walked to the student with a question, and later in class, you were able to catch a glance at him again. A loosened tie around his neck and tousled hair. When his eyes met yours, you immediately looked away, but the image of his dark eyes and stern expression wouldn’t leave your mind anytime soon.

At the next lecture, you wore a short skirt and, knowing you could easily catch up, were purposefully late. You rushed into lecture, books pressed against your chest and out of breath. Usually, if someone came late, the professor would ignore them and continue the lecture. But when you rushed in, you stopped by the doors to catch your breath.

And Professor Stark paused. He never paused. His mind moved too fast to pause, but when you arrived, he paused.

You looked up to find him gazing at you, jaw clenched and pupils blown. There was a smirk hidden in his stare.

God, you wanted to kiss him.

He took a deep breath and continued the lecture.

Since you were late, the only seats available were in the front. When you sat down and got your notebook out, you made a point to press the end of your pencil to your lip.

And the professor stuttered.

You couldn’t help but look up at him to see why he stuttered. His eyes were on you. Pupils still blown. He loosened his tie before looking away and continuing. It took your breath away. Maybe you should’ve pulled that move near the end of class, because god, you suddenly felt empty.

You didn’t raise your hand the entire lecture.

Despite your lack of participation, you could feel Professor Stark’s gaze whenever it wandered in your direction.

And so it continued. Every class for two weeks, you dressed up with him in mind. Short skirts. Low cut tops. Red lipstick. Thigh-high stockings. And while he did look at you, nothing actually happened. Only long stares and bitten lips. Maybe a few whispered words that could be suggestive.

“Good work today, Luna.”

“New, uh, heels?”

“Will you be in my office today?”

A shared breath from being too close at the right time.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were there, Professor.”

“Is my work correct?”

“Did I do a good job today?”

No physical contact. Nothing.

And after two weeks, midterms hit. Being sexy took a lot of fucking effort, and midterms were, unfortunately, your first priority. So, it was back to sweatpants, hoodies, and messy hair. You couldn’t pay extra attention to your favorite professor for a while.

You still raised your hand more than five times per lecture.

“How was your weekend, Professor?”

“Professor, if friction was applicable, wouldn’t the second part be irrelevant?”

“So, does this mean that if I bring you Krispy Kreme, you’ll be in a better mood?”

And during labs, he stood a tad too close behind you as your reviewed problems at the whiteboard.

“Stressful, but I’m with one of my best students now, right?”

“Redraw the free body diagram and find out.”

“As long as I can pay for half of the donuts.”

And after midterms, you weren’t sure what to do. Things were back to the way they were, back to before you realized you were in love with your professor, and hypothetically, you should be okay with that. But every time you saw him, your chest felt tight, making it hard to breathe, and you knew the only way to get rid of that was to tell him. Or fuck him. Or do something!

Maybe you could go back to heels and thigh-highs, but what was the point if both of you were too scared or nervous to do anything? You might as well do to some frat party and hook up with a guy your age. It wouldn’t be Professor Stark, but at least you wouldn’t be so frustrated, and maybe that feeling would go away.

Then again, it was nice to see him riled up. Maybe you could just learn to live admiring him from afar. His smile, his wit, his confidence. Maybe you could sit back and hope that when you finished his class, he thought of you as more than just one of his students. Maybe that would be enough. And that pull on your chest, maybe you would just learn to live with it.

“I still say you go out and get laid,” MJ said. “You’ve been pining over this guy since the beginning of the year.”

“Not since then!”

Shuri laughed. “She has a point.” Your other roommate abandoned her work to look at you with a mischievous smile. “You had a crush on Stark at the beginning of the year.”

Your stomach dropped. “I did not!” You had never told anyone who your crush was. “I just like how he teaches. He’s a great professor.”

MJ, ever so casually, lifted her mug to her lips and sipped her tea.

You repeated, “I’ve never had a crush on Stark.”

MJ asked, “Then who is it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

MJ hummed and said to Shuri, “It’s Stark.”

You groaned as MJ explained, “If it was literally anyone else she would tell us.”

You argued, “If it was Peter, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“But you don’t have a crush on Peter,” MJ said.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait.” Shuri got up and stood in front of you. She held your shoulders and asked, “You’ve only had one crush this year?”

“Yes.”

Shuri’s expression turned giddy. “Oh my god. You do like Stark!”

You pulled away from her. “I do not!”

“You do! You had a very obvious crush on Stark at the beginning of the year, and if you only had one crush the entire year, it means you’ve had a crush on Stark for months and months on end!” Shuri was gaping at you. “Wow.” She looked to MJ who only said, “See,” before turning back to you and shaking her head with an amused smile.

Shuri continued, “I mean, I can’t shame you for that, cause Stark is hot and all, but really?”

You reached back to the couch behind you and threw a pillow at her. Shuri responded by laughing and hitting you with the pillow you threw at her.

“You know, Peter says he talked about you a lot.”

Both Shuri and you paused. “I’m sorry,” you laughed. “What?”

MJ only shrugged. “Peter volunteers at his lab. Says Stark gushes over many of his students.”

You scoffed. “Well, he cares about his students. It makes sense.”

“Yeah, but Peter says he talks about a little miss ‘Claire de lune’ the most.” MJ looked past her sketchbook and right at your necklace. “Funny how all of a sudden a useless necklace from one of those lame college events has become your favorite piece of jewelry.”

Shuri gasped. “That’s why you wore that thing?!” She held your charm necklace between her fingers and examined it as if it wasn’t around your neck. “I always thought it had sentimental value, since it’s obviously very cheaply made.” Shuri talked some more about the cheap combination of metal and plastic, discoloration, its physical properties, and how it would look completely different in a month.

You groaned and plucked your necklace from Shuri’s grip. “Stop it, both of you.” With the truth out in the open to your friends, a part of you did feel relieved. With a tired sigh, you sat down on the couch and said, “Nothing is going to happen anyway. There’s no use talking about it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“So, frat boy plan,” MJ suggested.

“No,” you said.

“And why not?” Shuri opened MJ’s closet and looked through her wardrobe. “Frat row’s gonna have parties all night since midterms are over.” She pulled out a bandeau and held it in front of her. “I mean imagine it. You see a guy from across the kitchen.” She held out her hand to you.

You cracked a smile and let your friend pull you off the couch.

Shuri shoved the top to you and described in detail, “The guy’s got a great five o’clock shadow, dark hair, dark eyes, says a horrible pick up line, and after some banter and some gazes-”

“You fuck.”

“I was going for a more romantic tone, MJ.”

“A good fuck is all she needs.”

“She needs to find a nice guy, and maybe if it was in the cards-”

“Guys!” When your friends were quiet, you sighed. Maybe this was the best option. Admiring from afar and sharing a breath here or there was agonizing. It could never happen anyways. You might as well get over it as soon as possible.

You tilted your head and smiled a little. “So, who’s coming with me to frat row?”

A few hours later, you had your make-up done, cheap shoes on, and an outfit that showed just the right amount of skin for a frat party. With Shuri as the designated sober friend for the night and an agreement to meet up with a few more girls there, you were prepared for anything.

And the night seemed to be in your favor. After only one shot, a guy caught your interest. He did look a little like Professor Stark in the dim lighting. Unfocused eyes, but they were a similar shade of brown, and while the professor’s beard was well-trimmed, his was not. No sunglasses hung on his collar but he had a pair perched on top of his messy hair. He even commented on your necklace.

“Mini Moon,” he called you. It wasn’t clever, and he wasn’t as smart as you, but a frat boy was a frat boy, and you were willing to do anything to get over your hopeless crush. Including kissing him. He didn’t care that you cut him off from his small talk about how many shots he could take. No, once your lips touched his, he moaned a high-pitched moan and kissed you back.

Your lips burned. Whether it was from the strong liquor or the scratchy beard, you weren’t sure. It wasn’t a bad kiss, either. It just wasn’t exciting. Not like toasting donuts in a crowded office. Not like feeling him lean over you to check your work. Not like catching him gazing at you.

“Live here?” you asked before kissing him again.

He shook his head. “Apartment.”

“How far?”

His lips trailed down your neck and his beard scratched you almost painfully. “Ten minutes tops.”

“Good with me.”

He smiled at you and lead you to the door. You had the time to tap Shuri’s shoulder and see her give a thumbs-up to you before you were out the door. His apartment was across campus he told you, and he stopped you a few times to kiss you against a building wall, saying how lucky he was. Every time he did, you hoped he wouldn’t talk, because your mind would wander to Stark, and how he said your name.

The third time he did it, you weren’t sure where you were. All you knew was that his lips were on yours, and you needed some satisfaction. And if you thought hard enough, you could imagine rougher hands and a softer, well-kept beard, and a groan of a clever nickname.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. You were still pinned against brick and-

“Sorry, ignore us.”

With a deep breath, you looked to your side.

Did thinking about Stark that much make you hallucinate? You shook your head and blinked several times. But no. It wasn’t a dream. It was him. He was the one gaping at you and some frat boy you just met. And the disappointment and shock in his eyes were like dunking your entire body in ice water.

“No,” he said softly. His lips twitched. “I’m sorry for interrupting.” His eyes met yours, and with a tight smile, he left.

Even before he was out of sight, the boy’s lips were back on your neck. Instead of feeling somewhat satisfied, it only felt wrong.

Your breath shuddered. “Wait, wait.” You gulped for air.

“What?” He pulled away so quickly like you had burned him. “What’s wrong?”

There was worry in his eyes. You felt horrible. A mix of messy emotions, of guilt, of want, of longing, settled in your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you said as tears pricked your eyes. “I’m sorry, I just, I can’t.” You tried to formulate an excuse, but words were hard to come by. Especially when the only thing you could see was Professor Stark’s disappointed gaze.

“Hey, it’s ok.” The boy slipped his hands into yours, and when you didn’t pull away, he gripped your hands tightly. “Are you ok?”

You laughed. He was nice. “I was trying to get over someone.”

He nodded. “And you’re not?”

Hooking up with someone else, no matter how similar he was to Stark, it wasn’t going to make you forget him. You didn’t think anything would.

“No. I’m not.”

He nodded with understanding. “Can I walk you home?” He looked at his phone. “It’s nearly eleven.”

“I’ll be fine.” You glanced at the spot Professor Stark was once at. You had to tell him. Maybe explain yourself. Maybe confess. You didn’t know what you wanted to say to him, but you knew you wanted to talk to him.

You blinked a few times and sighed. You pressed a kiss on the boy’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“Ok. If you’re sure.”

You nodded. “I have a friend near here.”

So he left, and you followed Professor Stark. You were near the labs, and he wasn’t heading outside of campus. His office then. It was a blur getting there, but soon enough, you were inside the engineering building, outside his office. It was a little ridiculous out of context. A student in obvious frat row attire standing outside a professor’s office at night.

But that wasn’t going to stop you.

Thanks to the open blinds, you could see him inside. He wasn’t at his desk. In fact, the entire room was filled with the blue light of his holograms. He was adjusting and readjusting something that looked like a laser. His back was to you, but you could see the tightness in his shoulders. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists as he changed little things in the schematic.

You knocked on the door.

He didn’t seem to hear it, so you knocked again. He froze and looked over his shoulder and right at you.

You waved shyly.

He sighed and opened the door. He didn’t let you in. “Can I help you?

The professor’s harsh glare almost scared you. Almost. Almost, because even though he seemed mad, the way he had to tilt his head to look down on you did something to you that you couldn’t quite explain.

Was it weird that even though he was obviously not happy with you, he and you were still so close? It was another one of those moments where if he leaned down or if you leaned in close, you’d be touching.

With a deep breath, you managed to say, “You’re tense.”

His eyes narrowed. “Not tense. Why would I be tense?”

You frantically tried to find another tell-tale sign of his stress besides the clenched fists, locked shoulders, and stiff neck. The hologram behind him caught your attention. “You don’t have enough power there.” You nodded at the schematic. “What are they in parallel? Should be in series.”

Suddenly, his glare turned into shock. He looked over his shoulder and did the calculations in his head. “Hm.” He walked over to the hologram and adjusted it. “You’re right.” Silently, Professor Stark corrected his mistake.

With more room to move, you sat in the chair by his desk and watched him work. The silence was tense, and if you had done this days ago, it would’ve stayed silent.

You couldn’t stay quiet, though. You went here to talk to him. You had to talk to him.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He still didn’t look at you. “Being caught playing tonsil tennis with some Chad character?” He shook his head and scoffed. “None of my business.”

A bubbly sort of laughter left your lips. “Are you jealous, Professor?”

“You misheard me.” He finally turned to you, his face pinched and his hands still throwing a hologram part back and forth. “I’m simply worried about my star pupil’s taste in romantic partners.”

You pressed your lips into a firm line. “He actually wasn’t my type.”

The professor caught the hologram part. He blinked once, tilted his head, and tossed the hologram part back to the main schematic. With a click of his tongue, he concluded, “So, my star pupil wanted to get over someone?”

“Maybe,” you said. Words were on your tongue, in your mind, clawing up your throat, but there were so many ways to say it. ‘Getting over you.’ ‘It’s you I’ve been trying to get over.’ ‘Just kiss me already.’ ‘The guy I’m getting over is looking at me right now.’

None of them were how you wanted it to come out. You knew what you had to say, but how? How could you say it? How could you say it so that the words that left your mouth were perfect? Respectful? Dignified?

Then, Stark was on his knees in front of you. The holograms above and behind him lit up his skin in an almost ethereal way. So much so that you rubbed your eyes to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Why was Professor Stark, the man you had a crush on and possibly were hopelessly in love with, kneeling at your feet? And why did he look so… sad? Not sad because he was pitying you. Sad because you were sad.

“You’re too good for him,” He stated as if it were true.

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. “I doubt it.” Because he was too good for you. Professor Stark was a genius, kind, confident. He had so much more experience under his belt than you could ever hope to have, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot about you as soon as you left his sight.

He made a face, disgusted at your own words. “Are you saying I’m wrong?” He glared at you. “You are amazing.”

You shook your head.

Nonetheless, he continued, “You’re smart and capable. More than I was at your age.”

“Please, you graduated MIT early and got three Ph.D.’s.”

“I was also an alcoholic and severely depressed.” He smiled a little. “I dug myself into a deep, dark, shitty hole. You haven’t.” He gently placed his hands on top of yours, and suddenly, you were looking into his eyes as he genuinely stated with an adoration and shine in his eyes, “You deserve everything.”

You don’t know who moved.

But somebody moved.

Because whoever moved, you or the professor, somebody leaned forward just enough.

And when you were kissing him, it felt so much better than anything else. Better than a toast with donuts. Better than catching his wandering gaze. Better than a several-minute tipsy makeout session

The kiss was gentle, and it wasn’t fireworks or butterflies or anything like that. It was light, soft, and you were fucking hooked.

He pulled away first, and there was quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t tense or electric. It was something else. Something like relief or contentment. Comfortable. Like it was meant to be.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispered. There was little distance between you, and his words weren’t convincing.

You kept up the act. “You’re my professor.”

“I’m probably twice your age,” he laughed.

“Still look good though.”

“Careful.” His laugh feathered across your lips, and it was teasing you to kiss him again. “My ego’s already big.”

“For good reason.”

“You’re trying to get over someone.”

“I was.” You looked directly at him and smiled. “You.”

Surprised, he leaned backward, but you only followed and kissed him again.

Stark didn’t pull away. In fact, he moaned against your mouth, and his hands finally came to cradle your cheeks. One moved to hold your neck, and you couldn’t help but tug onto his collar and make sure he stayed there.

So excited to finally be kissing your professor and to feel his moan against your mouth, you leaned forward until you were on the edge of your seat. The pressure of his lips against yours forced an arch in your back and there was a delicious press of his chest against yours. Instead of a tightness in your chest, you could only feel heat. A delicious, searing heat.

His beard scratched against cheeks and the slight tickle prompted a laugh from you. You continued to press kisses on his beard, silently thanking him for letting you have the pleasure of making out with him. And as he caught his breath, you began to trail kisses down his neck.

Professor Stark leaned to the other side, exposing more of his neck for you to kiss. He cradled the back of your head and let out some sort of laugh, airy and beautiful. “Moonlight, darling, you’ve gotta stop.”

You paused kissing his neck to look at him and ask, “We talked about this already.” You kissed him again, a light peck.

A low hum vibrated against your lips. “No, no that.” He rested his forehead against yours and fiddled with your necklace. “I’d just, well, I’d rather not have our first fuck be while you’re tipsy.”

It took you a moment to process his words. You could understand all the words individually, and if your professor’s lips weren’t so close by and so red from being kissed, then maybe you’d be able to comprehend him. After you fully understood, your eyes widened, and you smiled. “So you’re saying you wanna fuck me?”

“Maybe.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, and he laughed at your expression. “Cute,” he whispered. He traced your lips with his thumb, his eyes mesmerized, and with the gentle tug at your chin, he kissed you again.

Taking that opportunity, you moaned against his lips, and he responded with a delicious growl. You gladly let the sound of need settle in your gut and ignite something hot inside of you. Because knowing Professor Tony Stark wanted to fuck you, needed to fuck you, and thought your slightly annoyed expression was cute was the biggest turn-on you’d ever get.

He had a point. You were tipsy. But that one shot wasn’t what was clouding your judgment. It was him.

It was all him.

Your hands traveled from his hair to his waist, trying to pull his entire body so it pressed into yours. When you had enough momentum, you grabbed him and flipped the two of you over so he was sitting in the chair. He made a satisfying ‘oof’ sound as his back hit the back of the chair. You only pulled away for a second, so you could readjust your position. You perched yourself on his lap and let yourself take in the view.

Stark was fully relaxed into the chair. His sleeves were already pushed up, exposing the veins in his arms and the surprisingly toned muscles. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, giving you a small peek of his chest. With every breath he took, his chest rose and fell, and it just made it more tempting.

His lips, too, were tempting. Pink, freshly kissed, and soon to be kissed again.

Just as you were about to lean forward, you felt something nudging the inside of your thigh. You tried not to let it get to your head. Tried. You failed.

With a smug grin that Tony appreciated more than he’d like to admit, you asked, “Still wanna wait, Professor?”

He opened his mouth to say something, and since you were watching him as closely as you could, you could see the awe-inspired look in his eyes turn into amusement. But, you put a stop to that immediately. Because right after the last word rolled off your tongue, you got out of his lap, knelt on the floor before him, and spread his legs.

Yes, Professor Stark was above you, literally and figuratively. But the way his eyes were wide, trained on you. Well, it seemed like you gained control of the situation, and fuck, did that do something to you.

There was a prominent bulge in his slacks, so obvious and tempting. You couldn’t wait. You had waited over a semester. Quicker than you thought possible, you undid the zipper, pulled on his boxers, and let his cock out.

Many people bragged about how big their boyfriend’s were, but god, they were nothing compared to him. You gazed up at him. “Are we waiting?” you asked, somehow already out of breath.

“Fuck.” Professor Stark gulped and shook his head. “No.” The soft, innocent look sharpened, and you could feel your heart drop to your stomach.

He nodded at you to continue. “Go on, babygirl.” His voice was deep, and his gaze was intense. Those three words demanded action.

And you, yeah, you were never in control.

Your hand went to hold the base of his cock. Your hand was so small in comparison. You didn’t realize how small they would be. Trying to gauge his reaction, you lapped at the tip of it.

Stark’s fingers twitched just like his dick, but his face showed no emotional change. Determined to get some sort of reaction, you took your time giving his entire length kitten licks, wetting every inch with your tongue.

Fingers waved through your hair and yanked you off. “I said no waiting.”

You nodded, and when his hand released you, you fell down onto him, immediately took the tip of his cock into his mouth, and slowly sucked.

“That’s it,” he said. “Take more of it.”

You sunk your mouth lower onto his length. Another inch. Another. His hand came to caress your cheek, and when you looked back up at him, he groaned. That sound alone made you moan, and Stark’s face scrunched up. His hand gripped your hair. “Fuck.” Out of breath, he smiled at you. “Doing so well for your professor, huh, sweetheart?”

You whined and bobbed your head up and down, sucking and moaning and giving everything you could. Every single sound that escaped his lips was feeding into the heat, and as much as you wanted to touch yourself and relieve some of the pain, you didn’t. Not when you could concentrate on how Professor Stark’s face morphed into several expressions of pleasure and satisfaction.

“Fuck!” He thrust his hips into you and with his hand on your head, he told you, “Wanna be a good girl for me?”

His cock was throbbing against your tongue. He was close. You made some sort of sound of assurance, desperately wanting to taste him.

“That’s my girl.” his grip on your hair tightened. Suddenly, your mouth was full of his cock, then empty. Full, empty. Full, then so fucking empty. You sucked when you could, and you finally got used to being used, you looked up at him.

And it set him off.

Warmth spread inside your mouth. There was so much, and he held you there to take all of it. You gladly did, swallowing every single bit you could and sucking more from him. And he looked absolutely beautiful from that angle. Hair messed up. Muscles tensed, pupils blown and trained on how your lips stretched around his cock. Stark’s skin glowed under the blue holographic light, and the way his chest moved up and down as he tried to catch his breath?

His thumb came to rub your cheek so gently. “Good girl.” He pulled you off of his cock and gazed down at you as he pushed your hair out of your face. “I think you deserve a reward.”

Professor Stark pulled you up and into his arms. Giggling, you kissed him again, swallowing his moan down your throat and searing it into your memory. He lifted you then dropped you on the desk and, without pulling away from you, he pulled at your excuse for a shirt off. With no bra underneath, Stark had the time to finally see your bare chest. His calloused, rough fingers gently pressed your necklace into your skin, making you feel the coldness of your jewelry and the warmth of his touch, before brushing over your sensitive nipples.

Needing to breathe, you gasped, “Professor?” but it didn’t stop him. His lips may not be able to press against yours as you said it, but he could kiss your neck and force sounds you didn’t know you could make from just making out on a desk. As his hands wrapped around your thigh and pulled you closer, you began to unbutton his shirt. You didn’t know you could undo a button-up so fast.

He pulled away from you just to shrug off his shirt, and the words, “My god,” tumbled out of your mouth faster than you could stop it. How? How was Professor Stark, already a genius, already a passionate and caring man, already the embodiment of confidence himself, look that good? While he didn’t have the classic, and honestly overrated, six-pack, his stomach had a bit of chub and that happy trail that led all the way back to his cock.

That smug smile made an appearance again. He stepped out of his pants and boxers, and with one hand wrapped around your upper thigh, he pulled himself closer to you, slotting himself perfectly between your open legs. He leaned down as if to kiss you, but he only took your bottom lip between his teeth, teasing the fuck out of you, and when he let go, he said, “You could just call me, ‘Sir,’ sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” you gasped.

“Not yet.”

“Sir-”

“Not yet, baby.” He kissed you once, somehow unbuttoning and unzipping your shorts in the process. Then, as your professor knelt down to the floor for you, he pulled your shorts down. Damn it, that smile. Those eyes. The fact that your professor, who spoke in front of hundreds of students almost every day and commanded meetings, was shirtless and between your thighs on the verge of fucking you, it dumbed down your own vocabulary. “Fuck.”

“Hey,” he laughed a little, “what did I say?”

You sighed. “Not yet.”

“Exactly. Not” -he kissed your cloth-covered clit, short and light- “ yet.” He wrapped his lips around it again and sucked.

“Oh, god!” You gasped, and all your muscles contracted with the pleasure Stark was giving you. Your hands went to his hair and pushed him even further into you. His tongue lapped at your clit, and the weird feeling of having wet cloth rub against it over and over again sent shocks throughout your body.

“Sir!” you whined. “Please. Please, sir.”

He looked up at you. “Please what?”

“I want-” You had to catch your breath. “I want touch.” You gulped. “Please, can you remove them?”

He smiled. ‘Since you said please.” Nimble fingers hooked onto the crotch of your underwear and pulled it to the side. The professor licked his lips and, with the tip of his tongue, drew a line from the bottom of your slit all the way to your clit. Then, he looked up at you before latching his mouth onto your clit and plunging one finger into you. And he fucking had the nerve to moan and look up at you with those hooded eyes throughout the entire thing.

Some sort of yelp escaped you, high-pitched and obviously desperate for more. Embarrassed, you covered your mouth and moaned against it.

Then, it stopped.

You uncovered your mouth and found Stark glaring at you. When you only looked at him confused, he raised his eyebrow and glanced at your hand. No covering your mouth.

You gulped and nodded.

“Good girl.” He dove right back to lapping up your juices and thrusting his fingers in and out of you. Instead of trying to hide it, you were vocal. You moaned, you sighed, you pulled at his hair.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to clench, your toes to curl, and your mind to go blank. With a scream of “Professor!” you feel right off the edge. It didn’t matter to him, though. He was still gently sucking on your clit, still massaging your walls with two of his fingers, still moaning at the sight of you with your head thrown back and mouth open.

When you came back, you weren’t sure what was going on, too fucked out from Stark’s ministrations. Your entire body was twitching from the overstimulation.

Then, his lips were on yours, and on instinct, you kissed him back and held him close. You could taste yourself on him, and even with your strained voice, you moaned in appreciation.

“My good girl.”

You nodded. “Can we now?”

“I don’t have-”

“I’m on the pill. Please, sir?”

He nuzzled his forehead against yours. “Still have the energy?”

“‘M not tired.”

He laughed. “Mhm.”

“Old man.”

“Mm.” he rutted his cock against your slit, pulling a moan from you. “Wanna rethink that statement?”

You smiled. “If I just said, ‘Please,’ you’d do it anyway.”

“Not wrong. Still.”

You hummed. “You’re not old.” You kissed him. “Now, please, fuck me, sir?”

He smiled brilliantly and kissed you lightly. “With pleasure.”

With one hand on your waist and the other guiding his cock, Stark slid his cock right into you. You gasped, your walls having to stretch more than they ever had to before. Even though there was a bit of pain, the way your professor was rubbing circles into your thigh and how his lips kept kissing the side of your neck - it gave you more pleasure than the pain of being split open.

“All good?”

“Almost,” you said.

He kissed you and caressed your cheeks. When he pulled away, he warned, “I’m gonna rock back and forth a bit, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Still pressed up against you, he rocked his hips into you, rubbing against your clit. The ridges of his cock massaged your walls.

“Ah, fuck!”

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Yeah, better than ok.” You kissed him deeply and whispered, “Move.” You gulped and whispered against his lips, “Please, Professor?”

You felt his cock twitch inside of you. Stark groaned, and he began to thrust in and out of you at a slow and steady pace. His eyes were trained on yours, trying to find any sign of discomfort or regret.

There was none.

“I’ve thought about this- Ah, more than, than I’d like to admit,” you confessed. “Oh, god, Sir.”

“Aw, babygirl.” He thrust into you again and held your face by the chin. “So have I. Thought about how your mouth would fall open. Thought about those lips, so fucking pink and swollen cause of me. Thought of these” -he squeezed your tits and watched as they and necklace bounced with each thrust- “how fucking beautiful they’d look while I fuck you.” Your professor looked at where his cock disappeared into your cunt. “Fuck, thought about that. You’re so tight, you know? Fucking perfect for my cock.”

“All for you,” You said. “All of me, just for you.”

He growled, his chest vibrating under your palms. “Don’t, don’t say things you don’t mean, sweetheart.”

“I’m not.” You kissed his neck, not caring if your moans from his thrusts interrupted them once in a while. You made your way up to his cheek and then to his lips. You kissed him deeply and guided him closer to you so your chest was flush against his. “Let me be yours?”

“Fuck,” he whispered. His thrusts came faster, harder. “Only mine?”

“Only- ah! Only yours. Your good girl, Professor.”

“Fuck me.” He kissed you again, and with your eyes closed and your lips occupied, you could hear the screeches of wood against tile, his desk against the floor, the squelches and dull thuds of his hips meeting yours and of his cock going in and out.

“You’re so good for me,” Stark muttered.

Already dizzy from all the sensations and sinful pleasure, when his hand went down to rub your clit, you nearly shrieked. “Professor! Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed you again. “Now, be a good girl, cum for me.” Your professor pressed his lips against yours. His fingers rubbed your clit even harder, and he didn’t stop thrusting in and out of you.

You fell apart for him, your cunt tightening around him and twitching at the ongoing assault of his cock on your walls. The deep groans and mutterings of “Good girl” and other sweet or dirty phrases only drew out your pleasure until finally, you were leaning against him, out of breath and utterly dazed.

He was still driving his cock in and out of you, and there was something so sexy about your professor using you to get himself off. After taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself closer to him and let your chin rest on his shoulder. Your lips brush against his ear. “Please, Professor, I need you to cum in me. Please, sir?”

“Fuck!” Ropes of cum painted your walls, filling you up from deep inside of you, and it was satisfaction itself.

You had enough energy to pull away and properly look at your professor dazed and awestruck for a few seconds. So happy to have been the cause of it, you leaned forward to gently kiss every part of him you could reach. His shoulder, his cheeks, his lips.

As he did for you, you whispered sweet and naughty nothings alike. “You look so good for me, sir.” “Made me feel so good.” “Only yours, Professor.”

You knew he was back with you when he kissed you again, his hands cupping your face so gently and kindly. “That was good, right?”

You laughed. “The best.”

“My ego, sweetheart.”

“You deserve it.”

Stark took a deep breath and pulled out, both of you groaning at the separation. Afterward, he still held you close, occasionally kissing you, as both of you tried to muddle through the fogginess of the overwhelming pleasure you’d experienced.

He broke the silence first. “I’m still your professor.”

Quickly, you said, “Not in a few weeks.”

“If you come into my classroom again, I don’t know about you, but I won’t be able to control myself.”

“I won’t wear those skirts or tank tops again?”

“Not enough.” He smiled. “You were always sexy.”

You smiled. “You know, you are right. The suits you wear. Mm.” You shook your head. “The lectures are recorded,” you offered. “Maybe some private office hours?” You smirked. “Your place?”

He hummed. “You’d need to pay me.” He slid his arm around your waist and pulled you close. “Private tutoring, it’s expensive, you know?”

“I think I know how to pay your back.” You brushed your nose against his.

“Do you now?”

“Mhm.” You kissed him. “Sound good, Professor?”

“Tony,” he corrected you.

You smiled. “Tony.” You cradle his cheek in your hand. “My Tony.”

“I like that.” He hummed happily and kissed you. “Although, while I’m tutoring you, Professor and sir only.” He kissed you. “But yeah, sounds good to me, Claire de lune.”

It took you a while to realize how late it was, how you should go home. For a long while, Tony and you just stayed there in each other’s arms. There were a few kisses, a few wandering touches.

Soon, the two of you were dressing up again, sharing a few kisses when you could. You walked out of his office, his number in your phone and his cum locked in your cunt.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x fem!reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark oneshot #tony stark smut #mcu x reader #mcu x fem!reader #mcu imagine #mcu oneshot #mcu smut

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comfortwriting · 3 years

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Eight is too far away - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Requested/About: Set in OOTP, Umbridge rules that boys and girls cannot be within eight inches of another. Fred and Y/N become touch starved and needy, and they try to sneak around this new rule in order to cope.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, penetrative sex, sexual letters and nude pictures, masturbation.

The Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six has made your life and Fred's a living hell, you were forced to stay away from one another - forbidden to be closer than eight inches apart, whilst others were lucky enough to have the stand six inches - which increased to eight inches after Professor Umbridge caught the two of you inching closer and closer to one another during class, at the table, in the halls, and on weekends; you were both driving her up the wall.

This decree stopped you from sitting with Fred at the table, and in class, you weren't able to walk alongside him or have private conversations, everywhere you planned to meet up became flooded with Umbridge's Slytherin Cronies, watching out and waiting to hand you in.

Fred had decided that private conversations were better to be through letters that he would hide in the common room where no one else would think to search because even mail service from the owls was searched before arriving at the table.

Y/N,

I miss you, I really fucking miss you. Being unable to touch you, hold you, kiss you - bloody hell - not being able to smell the scent of your hair and skin is killing me. I just want you in my arms, your lips on mine, my hands on your waist, I want to be full of your scent and it's so frustrating that I cannot be with you.

Once I've figured out where is safe for us to meet, I'll let you know.

Fuck, this is all bullshit, really, isn't it? We're living under the same roof yet we can't even walk beside each other, what kind of life is this? honestly.

I've tried to get out of class with my Snack-boxes but the evil toad confiscated everything and I can't get into her office without those bloody cats watching my every move. My hands are so red, tender, and sore from that quill of hers, I hope that you never have to use it.

I need you, love, I'm hungry and desperate for you, I love you.

- Fred.

You traced Fred's handwriting slowly with your fingers, going over each and every letter, comma, and full stop. You couldn't help but chuckle, blush, and even frown at Fred's letter - feeling nothing but sympathy for his poor hand, but you could also feel your insides flutter at the thought of him needing you so desperately.

Picking up your quill, you wrote back, staring at the camera that sat on your desk, watching and encouraging you to pick them up and take some risqué pictures for Fred.

Freddie,

I miss you too - I miss the feeling of your hand in mine, my fingers lost in your hair, I miss your warmth, your laugh, the sound of your voice low in my ear, your soft lips... I want to be full of you - and your scent too.

We must meet soon, I don't know how much longer I can take, my hands and fingers aren't the same - I need a laugh, a kiss, I need your touch and love. You better find somewhere soon, I'm begging you.

It's so hard seeing you and not running over in your arms, pulling you in for a deep, and passionate kiss - I'm itching really bad, and only you can make it stop.

Please stay out of trouble, Freddie, she'll only make things worse if you don't. Get some Murtlap Essence for the back of your hand, it should help, it helped mine when I, unfortunately, had to use it last night.

I know and feel your hunger, your desperation, and your needs because I'm feeling those too - for the time being - I hope these help, baby.

Let me know, and write back soon,

I love you too.

- Y/N.

Pausing for a moment, you grabbed your camera in one hand, looking around your room to check it was still empty. Undoing the buttons on your sleek and sexy black shirt, your breasts pooling out of the opening. Pushing your arms inwards, pushing your breasts together, you leaned the camera to face down on your breasts, your free hand massaging them and your nipples gently, pleasuring yourself.

Pressing the button, the camera flashed, and a few seconds later, it popped out of the end, you pulled out the first picture and fanned it, you touching your breasts developing and moving as it became clearer and less blurry.

Smiling to yourself, you placed the photo down and continued to take more of you and your body, touching yourself and showing off the parts of you that Fred loves most. Once coming up with quite the collection, you placed the photos in the middle of the parchment and folded it over, placing it into the envelope - creeping into the empty common room, you placed Fred's present in the usual hiding place.

Fred crept down into the common room during the middle of the night when his roommates were sleeping, he found the chunky and rather heavy envelope with his name on it and took it upstairs, slowly getting into bed, grabbing his wand, pulling the covers over him.

"Lumos!" he whispered, the bright light beaming from the end of his wand.

Fred placed his wand in-between his knees, holding it in place whilst he opened the envelope, pulling out your letter and opening it, his eyes instantly landing on the moving pictures of you. Fred wanted to read your letter first, truly, but the pictures caught and had control over his undivided attention.

Fred's cock became erect in his pyjama trousers as he held up the picture of your breasts, watching you play with your nipples - Fred's other hand trailed down his pyjama bottoms and held the base of his cock, starting to pump gently, picking up the next photo.

You were stroking your clit in circular motions, then you were fingering yourself, biting your lip, your mouth opening in Fred's favourite 'O' shape, your eyes scrunching as you climaxed - Fred now pumping his cock faster and not as gentle, his panting heavy, feeling himself getting closer and closer to cumming at the sight of you pleasuring yourself at the thought of him.

Fred remembered he had a camera too, forcing himself to wait at the edge, he carefully and quietly moved his arm out of the covers, reaching down beside the bed and grasping his camera, pulling it under the covers - thankful that his brother's sores were loud enough to muffle the noises of the camera clicking as he took the pictures of himself.

The aftermath of his orgasm caught up with him, hitting him in the face with drowsiness and no motivation to write back as his hand was worn out from all the pumping, he hid his developed, moving pictures with yours in the envelope and pushed it under his pillow, promising he would reply in the morning.

After hours of double potions classes, extra study sessions for your N.E.W.Ts and the most uncomfortable, and painful detention with Umbridge and quill, you took a shower, got dressed in your nightwear and went to find the reply to your letter, passing by Fred as you walked down the stairs, his arm brushing against yours, the hair standing up on the back of your neck, your heart skipping beats, a whimper escaping your mouth.

Fred turned around and looked into your hungry eyes with his, searching them, the both of you sharing and exploring one another's fantasies, wants, and needs.

"Soon, love" Fred comforted you from afar, walking away despite how painful his heart clawed through his chest to get to you "I promise."

Taking a deep breath, you sighed, nodded and collected your letter, walking back to bed - wanting nothing more than to run after him, grab him by the hand, drag him to the sofa where you would push him down and fuck him senseless.

Like Fred, the night before, you balanced your wand between your knees, the light beaming from the tip as you ready his letter, your cheeks burning at the stack of pictures he had taken for you.

Y/N,

Those pictures... bloody hell, what are you trying to do, kill me? I can't wait to have my fingers inside of you, my lips against your neck and just having you all to myself. But enough talk of it... I'll be doing it soon enough.

That bitch seriously made you use her quill? I hope your hand clears up sweetheart, the sooner she's gone... the better. I'll get rid of her soon enough.

I've found a place for us to meet, stay up late tomorrow night and head towards the astronomy tower, I'll meet you there - and don't be late, you need to set off at midnight if you're early or late you'll get caught.

Hope these pictures are as good as yours were, never taken these before but fuck, my cock is so hard for you, you've made me cum so hard, you beautiful girl.

Get plenty of sleep, you'll need it.

See you tomorrow,

Freddie.

Beginning to get excited, you picked up the stack of photos again, flicking through them, feeling your crotch flutter and begin to get wet. Fred's large length gripped in his hand that stroked himself up and down slowly, in the next photo, Fred pumped his cock faster - precum spilling out from his tip which he spread across the head, in the third, still pumping, his cock twitched and you witnessed his sudden cum shot - the white liquid shooting out and then flowing down his fingers.

You watched the moving pictures over and over again, but Fred was right - you needed plenty of sleep in preparation for tomorrow night. Blushing wildly, you placed his photos in the envelope and shoved it to the back of your drawers, your head full of what he would do to you, and what you would do to him.

Waiting for one more minute, one more sixty seconds to pass, you gripped onto your coat, hiding your face in the dark, counting down the seconds in your head, finally sneaking out of your bedroom, out the common room and through the portrait hole.

Fred had already managed to get to the astronomy tower undetected, the nerves inside of him flourished - he felt like he was going on a first date all over again, he kept going over what he wanted to say, what he wanted to do, and how he would do it, those pictures still moving in his mind; frustrating him all the more.

“The view” you panted, finally reaching Fred “is perfect.”

You stared at Fred’s gorgeous hair, illuminated by the moonlight, his gorgeous figure in his best clothes, this is the closest you had been to him in months - yet you weren't even touching, you were slowly inching closer and closer; eight inches, seven, six, five...

“The starry sky is perfect at this time” Fred replied, turning around to face you, closing in on you as he walked over.

four, three...

“I wasn’t talking about the sky” you smirked, biting your lip.

Two, one...

Fred grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him, his touch soothing your soul, calming your crying heart as his soft, kissable lips landed on yours, kissing you with intense hunger and desperation - you kissed back with intense want and need for him. Your hands reached to the back of his neck, travelling up into his hair and getting your fingers tangled, Fred’s lips pulling away from yours and slowly planting kisses down your neck before he sucked on it softly, soft moans he missed so much finally being heard as clear as a silver bell.

Fred’s hands travelled up towards the zip on your coat, pulling it down and slowly pushing your coat off your shoulders when you removed your hands from his soft hair, his fingers dived underneath your top, unclipping your bra, your hands worked on removing his belt, pulling his zipper and then his trousers down - your neck now slight sore and bruised from Fred’s sucking.

Laying your coat flat against the cold floor, Fred placed you down on your back, you took your top off, pulling it over your face while Fred unbuttoned his smart shirt, your eyes fixated on the tent that had formed in his boxers, filling your body with excitement and your mouth with drool.

Propping yourself up on your knees, with the cold air tickling your exposed skin, you pulled his boxers down, Fred’s erect cock slapping against his stomach. Looking up at him, into his beautiful, brown eyes, he looked down at you and smiled, nodding his head, his gentle hand resting on the back of your head; he wasn’t going to stop you - he had waited too long for this.

Blushing, you took hold of Fred’s erection at the base and took him into your mouth slowly, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, Fred lowered his head back and closed his eyes, feeling extra sensitive after going months without anything but his own hand down there... his moans and groans wouldn’t stop, and you loved it; you could feel yourself getting wet.

You didn’t want to stop, and you weren't going to - you were so turned on and you wouldn’t mind taking his load into the back of your mouth and swallowing it down your throat. You continued to suck faster, your hand pumping at the same time as you bobbed your head, Fred tightened his grip on your hair, slowly pushing you further down, causing you to choke on his length - your saliva looking like laces as you pulled yourself off him for air.

Fred opened his eyes and looked down at you, he crouched down and wiped the saliva from your lips, his index finger on his other hand now hooking the waistband of your knickers. Pulling them down, Fred pushed you back down on your warm coat - shielding your exposed back from the harsh chills of the night. Fred’s lips attacked yours, you fought back and sucked on his bottom lip, moaning against him - his wet fingers brushing against your sensitive clit.

Your tongue roamed inside of Fred’s mouth, dancing with and then fighting against his tongue, tasting himself in your mouth made Fred’s cock even harder, his fingers abandoned your clit and ducked towards your tight entrance, his index and middle finger circling them teasingly before finally plunging inside of you.

You jolted out of surprise and moaned against his lips and into his mouth, Fred’s fingers pumping in and out, deep inside of you, his fingers starting to collect your juices with each pump and brush against your G-Spot. Fred pulled away from the kiss and grinned, biting his lip, enjoying the sight of you coming undone beneath him. Your walls tightened around his long digits, and your stomach tightening, wanting nothing more than to finally release all over his fingers - knowing this, Fred stopped and withdrew his fingers from your warm cunt.

You pouted as Fred’s smile widened.

“So unfair” you huffed, pretending to strop.

Fred rolled his eyes and tutted, putting on a condom and applying lube, he towered over you “wrap your legs around me, love.” he said lowly into your ear.

Doing so, your legs wrapped around Fred’s lower half as he lined his length up to your pleading entrance, lowering himself down, he pulled you into a cuddle, his arms across your back and pushed himself slowly inside of you. Fred paused for a moment, giving you time to adjust to his size as your walls tightened around him, when ready, Fred continued to slowly thrust himself inside and out of you, the lube helping him glide in more easily.

“You feel so good Freddie!” you moaned, the cool air no longer making you cold.

Fred panted, picking up his speed and sticking to his rhythm, “I’ve been waiting for so long” he grunted, beads of sweat forming across his forehead “so bloody tight”

The night felt truly magical, the starry sky and gleaming moon out for the perfect viewing, you and the love of your life finally able to touch, kiss, and fuck - you were definitely counting your lucky stars tonight, as you would lay down and cool in Fred’s arms, talking about everything the two of you had missed.

Pulling you closer to him, Fred’s face now rested in the crook of your neck, planting delicate kisses and whispering “I love you” in your ear before finally pulling away from your warmth, Fred grabbed your legs from around him and placed them upon his shoulders, his clock gliding deeper inside of you - the pleasure increasing and travelling throughout your entire body.

Fred picked up his speed, slamming inside of you, over and over, the beads of sweat now forming across his chest and back, Fred’s grunts and groans getting louder, your fingernails gripping and scratching his lower sides as the pleasure between the two of you continued to rise, getting ready to boil over.

“Fuck!” you wailed, your walls tightening as much as they possibly could around Fred’s throbbing length “Freddie, I’m going to cum!”

This giving Fred the stretch he needed to finish the race, he continued to slam inside of you, deeper, harder and faster until your cum flowed down his length, your legs shaking upon his shoulders and your panting overtaking his. Fred’s cock throbbed and throbbed until he couldn’t hold back anymore, spilling his seed into the condom as he pushed himself deep inside of you one last time.

Slowly pulling out and taking off the condom, Fred laid beside you and pulled you into his loving arms, kissing you on the forehead whilst the two of you caught your breaths and tried to keep up with your racing hearts.

“So” you breathed out “what have I missed?”

Fred grinned, shaking his head, still panting and in a state of bliss.

“You’ve got no idea...”

taglist: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @lucymfer @xmalfoyweasleyx @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @freddiemylovelg @pandaxnienke @escapingrealitybyreading

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic #ron weasley #fanfic #weasley #draco malfoy

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avoid-avoidance · 2 years

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another comment compilation! shoutout to @eclipsedmoon87 a.k.a. @midnightchronicles87 for being incredibly gracious about my barging in and vomiting this entertaining, but only tangentially-related, nonsense all over their excellent TFA Blitzwing edit post (check it out, it's a little unnerving perhaps but very cool!).

Behold the consequences of encouraging me... 😂

Some minor edits from the original comments, fixing my own typos.

avoid-avoidance: This looks SO cool. So weird. But SO COOL.

I would venture to say it’s not *quite* cursed territory. True Cursed™ would be if you did this to the Random face lmao

a-a: Also big lol to the notes saying they got jumpscared by this — now I’m imagining Random pestering Hothead in their shared headspace until he agrees to walk up behind various Decepticons, quietly remove his visor, and wait for them to turn around and double-take.

a-a: Megatron: gives an almost-invisible twitch of surprise but otherwise manages to carry on admirably as though nothing is different

Blackarachnia: 100% unfazed as opposed to Megatron’s 98% unfazed — she’s just like, two eyes huh? Is that supposed to impress me? I still have more than you.

a-a: Starscream: lets out a tiny audible shriek and then FURIOUSLY denies he did any such thing.

Lugnut: does not audibly react, but is physically startled enough that his pedes actually leave the floor — he can’t really deny he reacted because the THUMP when he landed was very clear

@sztefa001: STILL HAVE MORE THAN YOU xD xD xD

a-a: bonus: he also tried this on Professor Sumdac while Sumdac was the ‘Cons’ prisoner. Sumdac did appear surprised, and then stammered something sort of awkward like ‘oh you *do* have eyes — I mean optics — under there… they‘re, uh, very nice?’. which is the first time Hothead’s ever been complimented on his optics, and he tries not to feel kind of warmed at the squishy’s offhand comment but doesn’t really succeed.

a-a: eyy what’s the use of being a traumatized accidental techno organic if you can’t use that to win absolutely petty and pointless arguments with your coworkers?

s: Awww xD

a-a: of course, Icy would argue that Blitzwing as a whole actually has *six* optics to BA‘s 4; Blackarachnia would counter that some of those hardly even count, and plus since her alt mode also has eyes she technically has more than 4; Hothead yells back that THOSE don’t count…

a-a: Random interjects that they’re both trying to compare apples and eyes anyway, or is it oranges and optics?…

a-a: The one time they both get caught up in the ridiculous argument enough to try and solicit a third party opinion, Megatron has the great misfortune to be walking by. After having the question explained to him, he gives both his officers a long blank stare, then just walks out of sight without a word. A moment later, a faint thunking can be heard, like the sound of a helmeted head impacting a wall.

midnightchronicles87: I love EVERYTHING about this, thank you for the story in my notes

a-a: haha you’re welcome! glad you don’t mind my spontaneous rambling

m: Of course I don't mind!! Nothing I've made's ever gotten this much attention before, I love it

a-a: it is my personal opinion that many TF continuities could benefit from a Soap Opera Of The Decepticons’ Everyday Lives treatment lol

m: That is an objectively correct opinion

m: If any of you want me to make more, send me some decent quality screenshots of Hothead you want me to de-visor, and I might make a fourth update to this post

m: Oh, also what expression you want, otherwise I'm doing whatever I think fits

a-a: ooh there might be moooore? 👀

a-a: they’re objectively awesome edits, if I hadn’t seen the show I wouldn’t know that wasn’t just what Blitzwing normally looks like

a-a: I’m not sure I’d know where to look to find good quality screenshots tbh… but I do think it’s hilarious to ponder Blitzwing pranking everyone by swapping his personalities around so they don’t match his faces, to freak people out. Like can you imagine what Random-face with an Icy-expression would look like, or Icy with Random-expression? (And Random with Hothead-expression = just pure nightmare fuel.)

m: OH. I like you

a-a: I mean, once everyone Blitzwing knows gets so used to him that Random’s randomness isn’t surprising anymore, I figure he’d HAVE to do *something* to up his game, right?

a-a: Random would’ve loved a certain subset of Internet culture at a particular past point I can think of…

“I made you an energon goodie… but I eated it >.<”

a-a: (as a bit of a side note, I also hold the belief that with TFA Megatron being one of the smarter, more practical Megatrons, it is funny as heck that he’s saddled with TFA Blitzwing in particular as one of his top officers.)

a-a: (reblog of original TFA Blitzwing edits post, with his ‘Hothead’ face modified to have two optics instead of a single optic band. The third image has Blitzwing wearing a skeptical expression.)

He is Pressing X To Doubt 😂

#transformers #blitzwing #also his eyeliner game is on point #mayhaps this is another fan of that well-known Cybertronian musician Gearhard Wave? #it is so neat how just the contrast between a visor and separate optics shows such different vibes #also it is sorta hilarious that despite this being the AngryFace™ #none of these edits so far are angry expressions #screenshots from a timeline where TFA got as many seasons as Supernatural #these are from a multi-episode arc where Bumblebee managed to steal Blitzwing’s visor in battle via Shenanigans #so while Blitzwing’s coworkers are having minor crises #“We didn’t even realize your red face HAD optics under there?!” #Bee is just roaming Detroit like usual but wearing a comically oversized red visor as a trophy

m: @avoid-avoidance your additions to this post keep getting better and better

a-a: ☺️

a-a: what can I say, these edits are inspirational 😂

a-a: Starscream gives a disdainful laugh. “Well, who’d have thought Blitzwing of all people would have hidden depths! What next, our fearless leader confessing that ugly head of his is actually a helmet that comes off??”

Lugnut opens his mouth but Megatron discreetly elbows him and makes a “shut up” gesture. One revelation at a time is probably all his High Command can handle..

m: XD this thread just gets better and better, and quickly ages like wine

a-a: right?!?? not bad at all, considering it’s about a side villain in a series that’s been discontinued for like a decade!

a-a: now that’s it’s occurred to me, the idea that Starscream has been one of Megatron’s key officers for ages, but somehow *no one* has ever clued him in that Megs’ helmet comes off, is cracking me up

m: Same

a-a: maybe Megatron is holding that knowledge in reserve, in case of a specific situation where a Starscream™ assassination attempt *almost* succeeds and Megs is forced to part with his helmet to escape, like a lizard’s tail coming off

m: Leaving Starscream shook for at least a megacycle

a-a: He would absolutely be torn between “At least I took a piece off of that bastard this time!” and “ WTF WTF WTF”

m: It makes me so happy that my quest to see what Hothead would look like without his visor led to this

a-a: fandom spitballing/brainstorming/crack-AU-ing like this probably makes up the biggest slice of my personal fandom-participation-pie, just in general. it’s a little addictive

a-a: ooh, if Hothead’s visor has built-in filters of some kind (e.g. tagging specific Autobots and Decepticons with notes/data, supposedly for tactical purposes?), which still function when someone other than Blitzwing is wearing it, then Bee stealing and putting on the visor could spawn all sorts of interesting plot lines

m: Oooo I like where this is heading

a-a: I’m glad you seem to have an idea where this is going bc tbh I don’t! 😆 From there it could go shippy or not, Looney-Tunes platonic wacky, or I guess there’s probably a way to make it angsty although that’s not as much my specialty…

a-a: the absolute most crack-filled idea that’s coming to mind might be (and this is definitely AU since I think there is canon backstory of some kind re: how Blitzwing became a triple?) if the visor is like… secretly a magical artifact of Primus that bestows an extra alt mode upon its wearer. so Bee steals the visor and slaps it on his face just to be a taunty little shit, and then suddenly Blitzwing is no longer a triplechanger and Bumblebee IS.

a-a: Bumblebee: *suddenly gains an additional flight-capable alt mode*

Every Autobot AND Decepticon on Earth, simultaneously: *suddenly gains a feeling of horrible creeping dread, as if They Are All Doomed*

m: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

a-a: (and there’s definitely a Bee Movie script meme joke to be made somewhere in here about bees not being scientifically able to fly but flying anyway 🤣)

a-a: and to continue the cracky “war? what war?” vibe, the Decepticons see this cocky young newbie flyer stumbling about in the air, and instead of laughing and shooting him down, they go “ohhhh… it is A Baby…” and try to adopt a Very Not Keen On Being Adopted newly-triple’d Bee

m: EVEN BETTER

a-a: Bee is like NO NO NO NONE OF YOU ARE ALLOWED TO BE MY DAD OPTIMUS IS ALREADY MY DAD— wait crap did I say that out loud oh noooo—

Optimus: whut

m: I'm grabbing popcorn this is amazing

a-a: hmmm, what other weird funny things can fit in this AU… let’s say Megatron and Starscream are chasing Bee around the skies while also fighting each other over who would make a better mentor for what they’re convinced is the next baby Decepticon-in-training. Meanwhile, Blitzwing (not used to being one instead of three and handling it Badly)…

a-a: … talks himself into believing that now he’s no longer a triple, Megs will discard him like trash at best or execute him as a liability at worst (and to be fair canon Megs probably would). So while Bee is basically a hostage of the ‘Cons, single-faced Blitzwing flees to the *Autobots* for sanctuary, and poor Ratchet ends up volunteered by Optimus to be Blitzwing’s new therapist despite loudly claiming to be Not Qualified For That in at least 3 different ways

a-a: “Dammit, Optimus, I’m a field medic, not a psychiatrist!” /briefly channels Bones from TOS Star Trek

a-a: Sari is missing her best friend Bee very much, and despite the other four Team Prime members trying to keep her as far from Blitzwing as possible — “No such thing as a reformed ‘Con, he’s DANGEROUS” Ratchet grumps…

a-a: …Sari keeps sneaking past them to try and befriend Blitzwing, first because she wants the single-jet-alt to take her up flying to go find Bee, and then because she can’t help but feel sorry for him, he’s so distressed and obviously lonely after being three in one head for so long.

a-a: Honestly, Bumblebee’s youthful mischief and recklessness/carelessness could plausibly be misconstrued as Decepticon tendencies ready to be nurtured into full-fledged Decepticon-ness by a biased eye. That plus Megatron’s endorsement would have Lugnut on board the recruitment train for sure.

a-a: And at some point Megatron and Shockwave communicate to swap status updates, and Shockwave — who remembers from being Longarm that Bumblebee has a good Autobot-y heart under the brashness — is just like “… you’re trying to recruit WHO? Wait, since when can that little yellow Autobot FLY? What is going ON over there?!”

#transformers #transformers animated #blitzwing #megatron #blackarachnia #starscream #lugnut #professor sumdac #bumblebee #optimus #optimus prime #ratchet #sari sumdac #shockwave #with apologies to tfa prowl and bulkhead bc i think they're the only two tfa mains who got neglected here?#compilation post

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

You Worry Me

Pairings: Emily & Hotch

Summary: college au things, Hotch checking himself into a mental hospital for the weekend

Warnings: child abuse, mental health struggles, abuse, suicide attempt, drugs, alcohol

When Emily asked him if he wanted to get an apartment with her she had expected far more hesitation than what she was met with. It’s not that she doesn't have other people to ask but when she really has to think about it he’s the only person she wants around like that. She’s content with his silence and his strange but enrapturing bouts of… oddness. She’s already thrown up in front of him (bad stomach flu she refused to admit was as bad as it was) and stood guard so he could pee behind a dumpster when they’d walked to the store at midnight for cigarettes and energy drinks.

She finds the courage to ask him on the front lawn of campus, stretched out on their backs ignoring their work and just photosynthesizing. Closing their eyes in silent enjoyment as spring tries to peek through winter's tight grip. When she turns to look at him the words just come tumbling out and she waits for his reaction. She’s not sure why she’s expecting anything other than that predictable crooked smirk but it still shocks her. He turns his head, lifting his arm to shield his eyes as he does so. Mostly, he just wants to know where he came in the line-up. How many people told her no before she came to him?

The honest answer is none but she smirks and tells him four and he laughs that deep goofy laugh that he does and she doesn’t know why she was nervous he’d say no. With a tired sigh, he nods and that’s all it takes-- they’re sharing an apartment.

He carries her clothes up to their floor, leaves her the pillows and her comforter for her to drag up. He’s exhausted by the time he’s got her things sitting on her bedroom floor but goes down to the beaten old pick-up truck his mother let him borrow to get his own things. Informs her with one of those long crooked fingers to worry with her own things and leave him to get his own. She resigns herself to listening but only because she’d seen his load and knew her help wouldn’t really quicken the whole six, small, boxes he has.

On his third trip she’s had enough and with a dramatic sigh she shakes her head and stands right in the doorway to his room. “No,” she says, crossing her arms. “No, I refuse to believe this. There’s no way you’ve read all these books.” She’s watched him carry three boxes of books into this apartment and not just boxes with things like thrown in he’s got them stacked to take up as little room as possible in these boxes. They’re heavy, he’s sweating and they keep coming.

With a sigh he leans down and sets the box currently in his arms down on the floor. “I read,” is his very complex answer. Aaron Hotchner has a way with words and she’s come to know that well. He shrugs, pushing at the hair slicked with sweat against his scalp. “I have read them… all of them.” Most of them more than once.

Books are the only thing he’s ever had. When he’d packed up for college all of the room had been taken up by these books. His clothes fit into one box but the books, he made room for the books. Every year, for as long as he can remember, his mother would buy him a book for his birthday. He got a job in town to have money to buy books to try and stifle his insatiable hunger (and his up-and-coming smoking habit).

She looks down at the box he’s just placed down, sighing when she sees that atop a pair of jeans there’s another book. Sherlock Holmes, she recognizes easily, and she shakes her head. “You know,” she steps out of his way and he heaves the box back up with a grunt. “My mother asked if I thought you’d kill me.” He falters mid-step but doesn’t stop. Carries the box to the others and sits it down heavily. He turns and finds her watching him with that quizzical, intuitive frown of hers. “You’re big but I think I could take you.”

He huffs at that, shaking his head and sliding past her so he can get his other boxes. She has no worries about him hurting her and strangely she hadn’t even considered that he might hurt her until her mother had mentioned it. Besides, she knows just enough to never truly worry. He’s the boy who vomits when he gets angry - if he shouts he’ll end up curled around the toilet shaking with a fever. He’d never hit a soul and if he did, she can only imagine the penance his body would conjure up as punishment.

But he huffs and she hears it.

She jumps on his back as he’s setting his box down on the ground. He moves just a little, stumbling under their combined weight. “Emily,” he warns, doing his best to not react. He knows how she is. She wants him to get rough, to hook his arm under her leg and yank her around. If he acts unbothered she’ll leave him alone. She’s far too much like having a little sibling around again - a sobering and, yet, comforting notion.

She does get bored and quickly. “I’m gonna go see Eric,” she informs him, slipping down off his back. He grunts and it’s just the wrong sound and she falters for a moment. Aaron’s met Eric and she’d thought they got along well but… she’s started to second guess that a little more every time she mentions either to the other. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” she adds apprehensively. Catches on to move the conversation on and away from the subject of her boyfriend but she still finds herself hovering by his doorway. Chewing her lip and anxiously asking, “do you mind if I bring Eric Wednesday?”

He just looks down at the box he’s sorting through, back turned to her. He shakes his head, sighing, “I don’t care what you do Emily.” He does care, deeply, but he looks back at her for only a brief moment. Sad brown eyes begging with her to not push, to not make him talk about this more.

With a nod, the conversation is over.

Wednesday night he smokes the pot that Derek passes to him without a second thought. It’s been burned down to the last few puffs, the heat from the lit end burns his fingers tips but he still puts it to his lips. Pulls from what little remains of the blunt as if it’s oxygen itself, a mask over his face meant to level him out. Maybe it will. The heat sinks down into his lungs and he ends up doubled over, spit drooling over his lips. Laughter bubbles up around him and a hand rubs at his back, Emily, he knows but only by the way that her perfume stings his nose he tries to breathe through the assault.

“Give it here before it burns out--”

Emily takes the blunt from his fingers and passes it to Eric. He’s an asshole and they all hate him but they love Emily and if they want her around then they have to deal with him. It’s safer to have him here, where they can watch him. He won’t dare hurt her in front of them -- but is that not what he’s doing when he leaves bruises across her face like constellations? Sends her back to them so that they can dab makeup over the Milky Way and breathe reassurances over Orian’s Belt when she falls into a hug.

Emily pulls him back upright, guides his head to lilt to the side as he sags against her. He can feel Eric’s fingers near his collar, the possessive hand he keeps on Emily at all times. A silent reminder of the power he holds over them all. Emily kisses his temple, oblivious to the mental war happening on both sides of her.

Derek reaches over and smacks his thigh, and encouraging little maneuver he means to comfort Aaron with. Aaron has checked out, arms too heavy to push away from all the touching. Can’t worm out of Emily’s arms or Derek’s comforting hand on his leg. He feels nothing past the tip of his nose. Not Emily’s bones underneath his cheek, her body carved down by Eric’s harmful comments about her weight and the coke he supplies like it’s a love language. Not Derek’s hold on him, the fear he can’t express but feels deep within his churning stomach, that Aaron’s slipping away and they’re all just bystanders to his eventual suicide.

Thursday night he’s woken up by Emily sneaking into his room, the soft click of a glass of water being sat down on his nightstand and the clatter of pills finding their way beside it. She presses her fist into his sternum, applying pressure where he feels like he’s coming unraveled. It’s like her hands are grasping his strayed ends, holding him together like a shredded kite until she can pull the fabric halves back together. “Okay,” she breathes, failing to provide him with steeled calm. His heart is beating so hard against her hand she’s afraid to let go. Her understanding of medicine is narrowed to just knowing you’re not supposed to put a bandaid on a burn. Kids can still have heart attacks, maybe not the over-worked, a little heavy-set dad kind caused by blocked arteries but he’s got the stress level and something certainly isn’t right.

He wakes up alone, doesn’t remember when she left or if she came at all. His only clue is those pills sitting in the perspiration of the now lukewarm water on his nightstand. He can’t move just yet, force his hand out to obtain the pills but he’ll wake up again in a pain-filled haze moved only by such intense pain that he fears sitting still another moment will rip him in half. The pills are slimy as they sit on his tongue and leave their bitter medicine laced into the gulp of water he manages. He’ll turn back over onto his side, pull his knees to his chest, and hope he doesn’t throw them back up.

He writes an essay in the haze of the Rizatriptan six hours later. His brain is only half-working, thoughts jumbled together or not there at all. The migraine lingers, fingers made of cotton muffling the world in a spirling nothing. It’s a similar feeling to being high, the haze is just too much but he has to write this paper because his professor won’t give him another extension -- he would if he knew Aaron needed one but he’s already asked once so he won’t do it again.

Friday the panic sets in.

Everyone is watching him.

Nobody likes him.

Why is he here?

Starfished out on a picnic blanket, Emily is spending her Friday out of the apartment. Armed with a water bottle filled with Vodka, a quilt, and a cooler full of popsicles they stumble their way through the unplowed field behind campus. Spencer hates the bugs and he holds tightly to Emily’s belt, making sure to step where she does as they trample through the too-high grass. Like broken dolls, they fall onto the quilt, familiar with one another enough not to care how they land in the tangle of limbs.

“Emily?”

She hums, not opening her eyes. The sun will remain stubbornly risen for a few more minutes and until it sets she’s trying to soak in every second of its warmth. Until it falls behind the trees and they’re bathed in the moonlight.

“Do you want a drink?”

She opens her hand, holding it up in the general direction of Derek’s voice. The water bottle finds her palm, slightly warm from sitting in the sun and in their laps as it makes its rounds. It feels oddly light but she doesn’t comment. The vodka stings down her throat but it’s familiar and it’s nearly as warm as the sun itself falling down her body.

“Where’s Hotch?”

She passes it to Penelope before laying back down, closing her eyes. “His psychiatrist put him on -” suddenly she can’t remember what it’s called. “Clom-something --”

Spencer looks up, understands this is a place for him to jump in. He feels overwhelmed with his excitement as he helpfully adds, “clomipramine! It’s a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, SSRI is the short-hand. It increases levels of serotonin in the brain.” He shifts himself, turning closer to them and away from where he’d been watching the blanket's edge for potential bugs trying to crawl near him. “It has the same side-effects as most SSRIs: drowsiness, intestinal upsets, decreased libido, changes in appetite--”

“Woah!” Derek sits up, suddenly paying attention. His eyebrows are scrunched together, alarmed. “He can’t… He won’t be able to like get it up?” He looks at Spencer and then at Emily. “That’s what libido means, man. How’s not being able to have sex going to help him not get all… gummed in the gears? Stuck in his head?” Aaron’s having a hard enough time, it hardly feels like ruining his sex life is the solution to that.

Spencer shakes his head, trying to understand how they’ve moved from facts about antidepressants to Hotch’s sex drive. “What?” If he took a second to think about it, he’d be blushing too hard to even bother with that statement. “No, the brain--”

“Spence,” Emily warns softly. Hotch might not be here to stop them from talking about his sex life but she is and she doesn’t want to talk about it. Besides, it’s none of their business. They’ve seen how bad things can get. “Hotch is basically a nun,” she reminds them. And it’s true. Before anyone diagnosed him, before he even knew something was wrong he wasn’t nearly as adventurous as her or Derek. “He didn’t come today because despite the--” she motions at Spencer.

“The clomipramine,” he supplies.

“Yes, the that, it doesn't work. He has a new psychiatrist, though, and he wants to run through some old stuff again.” She shakes her head, “a stronger dosage and a better plan. I don’t know, I guess we’ll know in another month. He’ll either end up in the hospital again or he’ll be fine.” She shrugs, “right now he’s locked himself in his room.”

There’s a low murmur of understanding and Spencer’s eyes go back to the edge of the blanket. They all remember what happened the last time he had to change medications. Emily had called JJ, the dead of the night making their intensely private and scary conversation seeping with the darkness’s own mixed intensities. Aaron had taken some bad drugs from a guy he didn’t even know, stumbled home, and passed out in his and Emily’s apartment bathroom. Where she found him seizing, choking on his vomit.

They didn’t and couldn’t see him for seventy-two hours, the mandatory hold from the hospital because they ruled it an attempted suicide and Aaron didn’t even try to put up a fight and say it was something else.

Friday night when she stumbles home he isn’t there.

His room is empty -- bedsheets are thrown back as if he left in a rush and his desk lamp still on. She feels that fear sink back into her, throat tight and mind racing, but the bathroom door is open, his pills still meticulously organized in the cabinet over the sink. Even his toothbrush is in the dish. So wherever he is, he won’t be gone long. She stills warns the others, asks them to look out for him or to, at the very least, expect his imminent arrival.

Derek offers to drive around and look for him.

Emily lets him do it, give him something to do -- he would have done it even if she told him it was unnecessary. She’s fairly certain she knows where he is.

Sure enough, she gets the call Monday morning at 7:30.

He does this every once in a while. As often as he can without them enforcing a longer hold, without it going on some sort of record that might prohibit getting a job. She doesn’t really understand why. He hates the mental hospital. Complains that it’s freezing cold and he hates the entire function and yet, here she is spending her Monday morning picking him up. This makes only about the fourth time since she’s known him but how many times has he just made the decision to walk? How many times hasn’t he called her to pick him up?

“You have got to stop walking here.” She rolls the window down first, shouting out at him as she pulls to a stop. He looks better than he had Friday morning when she invited him out to the field with the rest of them. She’d barely managed to get him to sit up, feeding pills between his pale lips, and then pulling his blanket back up over his shoulders. Shutting the blinds and leaving him a glass of water. Maybe she should have just offered to take him then, she’d known with hindsight this is where he would be.

He opens the backdoor without saying a word, crawls into the backseat, and curls up across the seats. He’s wearing a sweatshirt they must have given him, shoes not even on just held by the tips of his curled fingers. They land with a thud on the floor and all the response she gets is a pair of grippy socks landing on her passenger seat, the wordless thanks for picking him up… again.

“Class or home?” she asks, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Class.”

She did bring his bookbag with her, it’s sitting on the floor beside her own, but she will not be taking him to class. He recognizes that when she pulls out of the exit when she turns left instead of right. He grunts but doesn’t say anything, opting to curl further into himself. Protecting his head from an unseen threat.

The rest is practice. He’s foggy from the medicine they give him, always something different from what he’s taken. It’s meant to bring him down, strengthen his haze, and keep him calm. To shut his mind up -- and it’s good, it really does work. It just makes him so exhausted.

“Get your big butt--” Emily has to help him get into his bed and just as he’s about to apologize -- mouth hung open and his eyes squinting as he tries to force sluggish thoughts through a brain that hasn’t worked in days -- she climbs up after him.

His head hits the pillow and his mind goes blank, can’t even form the “I’m sorry” trying to trip its way out of his mouth.

Within seconds she’s laying down beside him, wiggling down under the covers and pulling them up over them. “Derek was pretty pissed you left again without telling us,” she whispers. It takes her a moment but she leans back up and pulls the blinds down, shuts the light from outside from coming in. Then she’s right back beside him, head on his chest. “You’ve got to stop doing that, Aaron. It’s-- It’s--” cruel.

Breathlessly he whispers, “sorry.” It’s all he can manage, drugs still heavy in his bloodstream and eyes forced shut, to move his hand to her back. To try and convey more than what he’s capable of with words that he didn’t mean to scare her. He just scared himself.

She turns her face into his sweatshirt and lets out a little sob, holding onto him. “I think I’m going to break up with Eric.” She’d come up with a thousand reasons Aaron would have disappeared, even as logic dictated where she knew he was. Her fear covered everything until she was sat wondering if she was making things worse for Aaron. His anxiety and migraines and everything else. Was she adding to his stresses or helping?

Coming home and having to ask him to relive parts of his childhood for her… Having him dab foundation over her bruises with his tremoring hands knowing he was thinking about his mother. That he was thinking about doing this exact exercise on himself, covering bruises his father left across his own face. Dabbing blood away and whispering empty, useless promises.

“Okay,” he whispers.

His mother had offered him that same lie a thousand times. She’d drawn lines in the sand and washed them away the next morning with the reconstruction of a wave -- thin cold fingers touching a bruise and asking what happened. As if she hadn’t watched. As if she hadn’t picked him up off the floor and hidden him away in his room, draping her body over his.

“I mean it,” she whispers, her tone mixed with conviction she doesn’t have.

“I know.” He’ll pretend to not remember this conversation when she goes bar crawling with Eric Thursday night. He’ll avoid the other’s eyes when they look at him for some sort of explanation, why she’s taken by her promise this time. But for now, he’s tired and he’s warm and he feels safe. He’ll call Spencer and Penelope later and apologize for blowing off the plans they had to watch Doctor Who, act like they all don’t know where he’s been.

“I love you.”

He squeezes her hips, gives in to his exhaustion. “I love you too.”

#abuse #child abuse #alcohol #suicide attempt #mental health #drugs #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss

48 notes · View notes

lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

"a single thread of gold/tied me to you" for ironhusbands?💛

If there is one thing that James Rhodes cannot stand, it is “love at first sight.” In his professional and personal opinion, there is no such thing. It is simply a concept that Disney invented so they could make cutesy stories about princesses finding their princes immediately and give people hope about love, but in the end it is all about the money.

“You’re a cynic,” his sister Jeanie tells him over breakfast. She flings a stray Cheerio at him. “You are a cynic and you’re never gonna date someone because they’re going to think you suck.”

“People are going to date me and realize that I’m a good, realistic choice,” James responds, sticking his tongue out and stealing a drink of her orange juice. “People are going to date you and you’ll be disappointed because you watched too many romantic movies and you let it taint reality.”

“Loser.”

“Dork.”

And then he’s in college.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t meet Tony Stark for two years despite the fact that every single year, they live in the same building on different floors. He has had to evacuate about twenty different times because Tony cannot stop himself from doing experiments in his room.

The third year, James is an RA and required to live with one of the residents because of “experimental tendencies.” They don’t elaborate on why he’s stuck with a roommate, what the tendencies are, or who he is.

“You’ll know,” comes the email from the coordinator, and he has never wanted to curse so badly in an email before, but here he is.

But he’ll deal with it. Just like how he’s going to deal with everything this year.

He thought he would get the room to himself for a little while before everyone moved in and brought everything and he would check them in.

But no.

There’s his roommate, lounging on a bed, and grinning.

“Simply enlightening to meet you, James. They told me I could come back if I had a trusted roommate.”

“And they stuck you with me?”

“Well they were going to stick me with some dude who got the email, and then immediately transferred to Dartmouth. So I think you were the second option.”

“Great.”

He hates life, maybe just a little bit.

Tony wants to do things. Which is fine, but he isn’t really in the mood to have the conversation of the fact that he can do things, but he doesn’t want to do them. He has to focus on being an RA and preparing for the Air Force.

“Why prepare for that when you could be living?” Tony asks, lounging on Rhodey’s bed.

Oh yeah, that’s new too. Rhodey. Apparently, “Jim,” “James,” and “Rhodes” were unacceptable nicknames.

What is acceptable is Rhodey. And of course, the “honey bunches of oats” and “loveliest RA of all time in the history of MIT” and “sugar-puff” and “sweetness overload”

He’s responding to all of them, by the way.

Rhodey didn’t think his mental health would get this bad by the beginning. He had actually scheduled it to be around October.

And then the students come. There are nervous freshmen, the sophomores who don’t say anything as they move in and get settled, and the returning juniors and seniors greet Rhodey and Tony with familiarity and laugh about the posters that Rhodey’s worked hard on.

“So, we’re having joint-RA’s or something?” Miles asks, throwing his comforter over his bed.

“No, we’re not,” Rhodey says, hoping his expression is somewhere along the lines of not-showing-emotion. “Tony’s just...”

“I’m simply too exhausting for Housing to deal with anymore, so I have a babysitter,” Tony says with a wink. “And who better than our lovely Rhodey?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sugar-puff?”

“Still no.”

Miles snorts.

“This year should be good. Tony, you gonna pull any fire alarms this year?”

“Rhodey has expressly banned experiments in the building, unfortunately,” Tony sighs. “It’s like he doesn’t want everyone to bond over having to leave at two in the morning...”

“Nothing says bonding like hating a rude wake-up call,” Rhodey says, and Tony nods. “We’ll let you get all moved in, Miles. Remember that floor dinner is at six!”

“You got it!”

Rhodey gives Tony a look.

“You know, I can do this on my own.”

“Aw shutterbug, I’m not gonna let you.”

“Are you really this intent on following me around?”

“Well, what if I want to overtake your position next year? What if you tragically get a raging headache and it’s up to me to know what to do? What if your mother kidnaps you and never lets you come here again?”

“I’m sure the college kids will be fine,” Rhodey stresses. “And I’ll still have access to email and the groupchat, genius.”

Tony just laughs.

“Alright, okay. I gotta go get some shit for my new class. The teacher sent out an email stating that the textbook is mandatory, and we have to do book work. This feels like eighth grade all over again.”

Rhodey snorts.

“Is it for Professor Casper?”

“Yeah, did you have him?”

“Yeah, you don’t need the book. You can find it online for free, and he never collects the book work. It’s a waste of time to get the book.”

“You’re an angel-and-a-half, love of my life,” Tony says. “And for that, I’ll snag an extra pudding for you at the dining hall.”

“Is it vanilla or chocolate this time?”

“Chocolate with cookies in it.”

“Oh my god, seriously? Already?”

“Guess they must have had a jump,” Tony teases. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Tony has a specific way of getting people to open up and actually talk with others that Rhodey envies.

If Tony wasn’t so hellbent on convincing the group that if Miles and Kamala create a distraction, they could totally sneak out one of the pictures of the mascot.

“We are not doing that the first week,” Rhodey says. “Maybe the last.”

“It’s a beaver,” Tony whines. “Who’s gonna miss it, a Canadian?”

“It’ll be the floor bonding activity,” Gwen says, finishing off her fifth (maybe sixth) slice of pizza. “Better than talking about your feelings about the campus or whatever.”

“No.”

“We’ll convince him soon,” Tony whispers conspiratorially. “Also, who here is a freshman? I have some advice regarding the math classes and which teacher you want...”

Rhodey does have to admit, that sometimes it’s easier to have Tony around, who is so willing to stay up until the late hours because of some stupid drama or to help Peter at his chemistry homework and also ease his anxiety about leaving his Aunt May all alone.

Tony isn’t all wild and crazy as stories have led him up to be.

"I wore out all my crazy freshman year after going to two frat parties and deciding that no one knew anything about how to have fun,” he declared. “I mean, come on. Why have beer pong when you could quiz people about obscure fashion facts?”

Rhodey snorts.

“Don’t make that the next game night. Hey, what do you think about having a movie night this Friday? I’m thinking something not scary, we’ve been doing a lot of those.”

“It is October, what do you mean not scary?”

“Some of our residents don’t like scary,” Rhodey reminds him. “Honestly, I think we could do with a bit of Halloween fun.”

“Hocus Pocus? Double Double, Toil and Trouble? If you want to be slightly scared of old women and clown parties, I’d recommend it.”

“You weren’t scared of clowns beforehand?”

“Of course not, I wanted what they have; the ability to fit eighteen people in a car.”

“Couldn’t you just gut the car?”

“Not the same effect, honey-pie. Not the same effect.”

Miles and Peter both end up lobbying for Hocus Pocus, with little to no competition other than a promise that the other choice would be shown later on in the semester.

They’ve shoved all the chairs together and multiple people have brought out their own chairs, and Tony saves a seat for Rhodey under the premise of “Rhodey organized it, he gets a seat.”

It’s a tough squeeze, and Tony and Rhodey get all tangled up together.

Tony smells like expensive cologne and coffee, and he grins up at Rhodey and maybe the lights from the TV aren’t bright enough, but for a moment his heart skips a beat.

Well. Shit.

When he goes home for Thanksgiving break, Tony seems a bit...sad.

“What, your mom cook the worst turkey in the world?” he jokes.

"Sure,” Tony says, eyes unfocused. “Yeah.”

"Dude, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, turning. His smile brightens, eyes crinkling. “Why wouldn’t I be fine, buttercup?”

Rhodey gives him a look.

“I’m gonna call you when I get home, okay? You better answer.”

“I always answer to you,” Tony says, and damn Rhodey’s mind shouldn’t be going where it is.

Rhodey waves, gets in his car, and thinks about how Tony most likely has a problem on his mind, how he should probably not room with him, and his Aunt Ada’s green beans.

God, he loves those green beans.

Tony is alone for Thanksgiving. Jarvis and Ana got an opportunity to visit Aunt Peggy in England, and he knew that they hadn’t seen her in two years. He didn’t want to be selfish, have them stay just for him.

So, it looked like deli turkey sandwiches were in his future. If there’s still some soda in the fridge, maybe that too.

He sighs, and turns towards the lab. Dum-E’s not even here, as he didn’t fit in the travel car, so Tony let him loose on the floor to “keep guard” over the dorms and make sure that no one broke in or stole the cords that he knows he accidentally left in the common room.

The odd thing is, he had almost told Rhodey. Almost let him know that he’d be alone for Thanksgiving, but is that weird? That’s weird, right? To tell people your emotions just...it’s so messy.

They have to deal with it, you have to deal with the fact that they’re dealing with it, and then other people know that you both are dealing with it and it’s just a whole mess of epic proportions, you know?

Rhodey finds out on Thanksgiving, when they’re doing the parade on the TV and there’s a new snippet on the gossip channel when they go on commercial break.

Howard and Maria Stark, vacationing off the Mediterranean Coast.

“It’s reported that Tony Stark has preferred to spend his time in the vacation home,” the news reporter said, her smile wide and placid.

“Tony’s lucky,” Mama says, wrapping golden yarn around her fingers as she works on another sweater. (A small one, a tiny one. It’s for the new baby in the family for Christmas.) “He tell you about it?”

“He’s not there,” Rhodey says numbly.

“He’s not?” Dad says, eyes raised over the newspaper.

“No.”

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Dad asks.

“No, no he didn’t.”

“Well then. Next time he’ll come with us.”

Rhodey nods.

“Christmas?”

“Clear it with his parents if they’re not spending time together.”

“Got it.”

Rhodey’s Thanksgiving is...nice. He can’t stop thinking about Tony going alone.

So he calls him. It’s two in the morning, he might be asleep, and Rhodey’s not sure if he got the “eight” in the last four digits right or not.

“Howard’s out, who is it?” comes a sleep-addled voice.

“Good thing I’m not looking for Howard, Tones.”

“Rhodey? Why are you calling me?” Tony asks, and Rhodey can imagine his eyes lighting up and that’s...that’s something.

“You spent Thanksgiving alone, I wanted to see how you were.”

“Aw, checking in your residents?”

“Checking in on you.”

Tony stills for a moment at the phone.

Besides Jarvis, no one had ever really checked in on him.

“Um, I’m fine?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, it sucks to be alone on Thanksgiving, but I don’t really like any of the foods that people usually have, so I’ve been fine. I ordered wraps from my favorite place.”

“Good to hear, good to hear.”

There’s a silent pause for a moment, the one where they both try to find something to say.

“Listen,” Rhodey says. “If you’re ever stuck for a holiday alone, you’re coming with me, okay?”

“I don’t want to intrude on your family,” Tony says softly.

“They all wanna meet you. Jeanie says she can kick your ass at ice hockey!”

“You guys can actually play ice hockey?”

“With limited degrees of success.”

“Oh, now that I gotta see some time.”

They come back to college, and Tony is back to his usual antics, greeting everyone who comes through the elevator with a shower of shredded paper.

“Welcome to Winter Wonderland! Next stop: suffering through finals!”

“Ugh,” Kamala groans, “stop it. Stop making me think. I have to memorize Byronic poetry. Do you know how boring that is?”

"Speak for yourself, I have to build a wooden chair,” Riri whines. “Who works with wood these days? It’s so old-fashioned.”

“Create the most bitching chair alive,” Tony says. “And I’ll help you with the necessary tools. Your professor isn’t expecting much, mainly just that it can support the weight of two people, you’ll be fine. Kam, Byronic poetry is not that bad, you will be good. We will bake cookies.”

“Can we even bake cookies? I thought our floor got banned from kitchen usage,” Peter says. “Hey Rhodey.”

“Hey kiddo,” Rhodey says. “First of all, yes we are banned from the kitchen. Second, we’re only banned and get in trouble so long as they know we’re there. And since more than half of us are nocturnal creatures and I am willing to wake up to help, we can bake cookies.”

There are cheers around the room, and Tony mocks offense.

“You don’t trust me to help the future youth?”

“Given that we’re not allowed to rent out any more equipment from the front office? Yes.”

“You wound me, darling.”

“Only as much as kitchen equipment goes, sweetheart.”

Tony grins.

“Aw, you missed me.”

“Yeah, I did. Now come on, you gotta help me with a billboard about the movie night this Friday. We thinking a romantic comedy or something mildly terrifying but probably won an award?”

“Mildly terrifying!” Gwen calls from her dorm. “If we watch two people falling in love I’ll choke! We’ve been doing it all year!”

“We’ve only watched, like, three rom-coms?”

Gwen rolls her eyes, as if he’s missed something completely obvious.

“You don’t get it. I’ll try again later. Hey, are we doing floor dinner tonight?”

“They’re serving pizza sandwiches, so obviously,” Tony says. “We will feast like kings.”

Christmas is a festive time for Tony. He loves it, and goes overboard with decorations. Rhodey lets him, because you can’t stop Tony once he loves something (and Rhodey is kind of. Fond of him).

Pepper comes up from the fifth floor, whistling.

“Damn, Jim. I knew you would do a good job with decorations, but not this good. Is this...did you buy a miniature village? How was this budgeted?”

“It wasn’t,” Rhodey says. “Tony’s really into Christmas and the floor convinced him that the theme should be Christmas Village. He’s been crafting identities for each villager instead of studying for any exam. The craft store employees know him by name now.”

“Well, we all have our vices. You two seem to get along well. Housing is pleased that he hasn’t blown up anything yet.”

“If they try to serve cheese ravioli again, he might.”

“That’s a problem for Dining,” Pepper reminds him.

“Still, it’s abominable. Where did they get them, bottom of the Hudson River?”

She snorts, adjusting her shirt.

“Probably, but hey. They still got eaten, even if that one freshman threw them all back up at the entrance.”

“It was payback, they were vile.”

Tony waltzes into the lobby, arms filled with glittering tinsel.

“We are not letting you hang that,” Pepper says, gaping at it all. “Do you know how hard it is to get rid of tinsel?”

“We’ll manage!” Tony says. “Also, are you free at six-thirty?”

“No, that’s when we’re getting dinner on my floor, what do you need?”

“Just that little tidbit of knowledge,” Tony says, looking down at his phone.

A message buzzes from the groupchat, and Rhodey glances at it:

We are a go for the real Christmas tree. I have the vacuum, and a believable lie. Rhodey’s gonna tell us when the RA on duty is gonna come so we can hide it.

Rhodey looks at Tony, grinning. He smiles right back.

“Is there some weird roommate telekinesis I’m missing here?” Pepper asks.

“Yes,” Rhodey says. “We’re discussing dinner plans.”

Another text from Harley:

I’m already picking one out with Peter. I have good taste. When is the ornament-making party?

Pepper looks at them.

“You’re planning something that I probably would have to disapprove of. I’ll tell people I got your floor watched tonight.”

“Pepper, light of my life, my absolute sunshine? You’re the best,” Tony says, grinning. “Rhodey-darling, help me with tinsel?”

He can’t say no. Simple as that.

That is how tinsel gets strung throughout his hair as he’s watching Tony climb onto chairs that shouldn’t be climbed on to hang it from everywhere.

“People deserve to have a good-looking Christmas,” he says. “Besides, I wanna win the decoration contest.”

Rhodey laughs.

“Okay, okay. I think we got it in the bag.”

Later on in the week, Tony can be seen flitting about from room to room with help and jokes to lighten the mood.

Rhodey has to admit, being an RA with Tony around is...nice. Better than he thought.

And maybe he has feelings. He’s not going to say anything about it. After all, they’re roommates. He also isn’t allowed to have a relationship with anyone on the floor, regardless of anything.

It doesn’t mean every RA follows it. God knows Sharon’s snuck down to the fourth floor to see Sam near-about every night, and her residents usually keep it a pretty good secret.

Still. There’s also everything else to consider, and the fact that he doesn’t even know if Tony likes him like that.

He doesn’t have to focus on it.

At least, not until the week of finals when he’s dying and Tony’s made him peppermint hot chocolate and sits on his bed, just about an inch away from his notes for his history class.

“Do you remember what you told me on the phone?” Tony asks softly.

“You up to compete against Jeanie for this year’s ice hockey championship?” Rhodey asks, smiling.

Tension releases from Tony’s shoulders.

“Only so long as you’ll have me.”

“Always, genius. Always.”

After the last resident leaves for the holiday and Rhodey checks in with those who are staying, he and Tony hit the road, dragging suitcases behind them.

“Are you sure I’m allowed?” Tony asks. “I can always find a hotel along the way...”

“Mama wants to meet you, I keep telling them a ton about you,” Rhodey says, laughing. “They told me they want to hear your side of the great Glitter Debacle.”

Tony laughs.

“You mean the truth?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, how are you going to convince them that green glitter was needed? And that you could clean it out of carpet?”

“Determination and grit?”

Rhodey laughs again as they pull onto the highway.

After a couple of hours, they make it to Rhodey’s home. His sister comes out, hugs for both.

“Good to meet you Tony,” Jeanie says. “I’ve heard a lot, and I think we’re going to get along awesomely after I tell you every single embarrassing thing that Jim’s ever done.”

“Only if I get to share stories too,” Tony teases, grinning. “Aw, they call you Jim?”

“What do you call him?” Jeanie asks.

“Jim-Jam, angel-dear, sugar-puff, Rhodey. You know, the usual.”

Jeanie snorts, taking one of Rhodey’s bags.

“Calling you the first one from now on.”

“Tony did you have to let her hear any of those?” Rhodey asks, exasperated in a teasing manner.

“Of course I did,” Tony sing-songed. “Now after you, I’m sure your mom is waiting to hug the living daylights out of you.”

It’s not until Rhodey gets all settled in and Tony is downstairs competing with his dad in a round of chess that Jeanie sits on his bed, the intention to annoy.

But it’s...different. She looks at him.

“You love him a lot, don’t you?”

Rhodey stills.

“You wouldn’t have told him he could come here if you didn’t.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Jeanie says, flipping braids over her shoulder. “Nice of you to finally realize that I’m the smart one.”

Rhodey doesn’t say anything as she saunters out of the room.

He makes the decision not to tell Tony.

If it goes wrong and if Tony says no, he doesn’t want it to be an awkward family event but more importantly, the most awkward rest of the year ever. He can say it as they’re moving out, and that’s that.

He tells Jeanie as such.

“I thought you didn’t believe in love,” she says as they’re preparing the soup for dinner.”

“I don’t believe in love at first sight,” Rhodey says. “I do believe in love. There’s a difference.”

There’s a hell of a difference.

First sight, you don’t know everything. The second, third, fourth, fifth, and so on? Oh you learn so much more, and they become that more important.

He learns that he doesn’t mind picking up tinsel, so long as Tony is laughing and singing along to all of the worst Christmas songs ever, and maybe. Just maybe he could picture looking at Tony underneath the fairy-lights that they hung in the dorm room for all time.

Love is terrifyingly exhilarating, even when it isn’t supposed to be.

Rhodey did not think his heart would race so much as Tony listened to his Mama talk about her wedding china, about the utter disaster that his father was.

“He forgot his tie,” Mama said, smiling. “Oh my lord, my mother had a cow about that. I thought he looked kind of dashing.”

Tony’s eyes drift towards the wedding pictures, which are slightly shaky, but everyone had such wide smiles.

It’s a far cry from the publicity photos from the Stark wedding, Rhodey remembers the solemn expressions, the stuff tuxedos.

“I love it,” Tony says softly. He looks at Rhodey across the table, setting down the final plate. “Tell me more, Mrs. Rhodes.”

“Call me Mama, honey, Mrs. Rhodes is for people I don’t like that much. I think you’re gonna be my new favorite.”

“Even over me?” Jeanie says, grinning as she kisses Dad on the cheek. “I’m your favorite.”

“You’re my favorite until now,” Mama says. “Don’t think I don’t know that you skipped out on setting the table because Tony was here and graciously offered.”

“It was nothing,” Tony says. “Just happy to help. Thank you for letting me stay at your home for the holidays.”

“We’re always lucky to have guests,” Dad says, setting down the main dish. “Now let’s eat.”

Family dinner is a brand new concept to Tony. He’s had maybe four or five of them, and the majority of which were staged for some holiday shoot or some “celebrating American values” shoot.

It was awkward, weird, and he didn’t get why.

Now, he does. Jeanie has been steadily moving mashed potatoes away from Rhodey’s plate, and Mama caught her eye and winked, distracting him with talk about his college major and news about the neighbors.

Mr. Rhodes watches it all with a careful eye and a lax smile.

After dinner, they play cards.

It should be boring, but Jeanie puts on an old record and Rhodey keeps trying to count cards, and Tony didn’t think you could count cards in a game of Spoons.

“You can’t, he’s just a try-hard,” Jeanie stage-whispers.

“You-”

Jeanie laughs, rolling herself out of Rhodey’s grasp as he chases her around the family room. Tony leans back into the couch, and shouts with surprise as Jeanie trips Rhodey into the couch.

His body twists, and Rhodey’s facing him on the couch and they’re close and with the fire roaring in the fireplace and the Christmas lights outside shining through the windows, it’s almost magic.

It is magic, but Rhodey is kind of terrified of that.

Tony breathes in, breathes out.

“Hello sugar-puff,” he says.

“Hello genius,” Rhodey says, a smile on his face.

Oh.

The night does not get much sleep.

Tony doesn’t sleep anyway, but Rhodey finds that quite often he can’t sleep without some softly-playing rock in the background, doesn’t matter if it is a highly-questionable AC/DC song. That and Tony softly murmuring about his plans, and it’s like a personalized lullaby.

Rhodey cannot sleep. Tony’s in the guest room, and he can’t sleep.

There’s a soft knock on his door.

Tony’s there in shorts and a t-shirt that’s probably expensive, but he’ll never say if it is or not.

“Can I...I can’t sleep.”

“Get in here, Tones. I can’t sleep either.”

The bed is a tight squeeze, but they make it work.

Rhodey whispers until he drifts off to sleep about Christmas and school and everything else.

Tony watches with quiet eyes, interjecting with his own stories occasionally.

They fall asleep tangled up together, and Rhodey doesn’t mind it one bit, not as he pulls Tony in closer.

Waking up is bittersweet, honestly. Rhodey has Tony in his arms, and that’s...that’s perfect. He thinks this is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened in his lifetime.

“It’s too early, darling,” Tony groans. The light from outside is already peeking through the blinds, and he has stuffed his head right back into a pillow.

“Jeanie’ll be here soon to bother us for Christmas breakfast,” Rhodey says. “And unless you want her pouncing on the bed and landing on wrong everything, we better get down there.”

Tony smiles sleepily, stretching.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in your room, honey-bunch.”

“No problem,” Rhodey said. “Missed the constant AC/DC and late-night discussions about robotics.”

“Not like I did much talking, Mr. Sap,” Tony teased. “Or was it me who mentioned that they had a favorite plate for dinner?”

“Listen, it’s superior and you did not once interrupt that story to complain. I think I did a great job explaining it.”

Tony laughs.

“I’m gonna go get dressed, okay?”

“Not until after present unwrapping,” Rhodey says. “We stay in pajamas.”

“I’m cold,” Tony whines.

Rhodey chucks his sweatshirt at him.

“Then here you go.”

Tony’s eyes light up as he shrugs it on, wiggling as he brings it up to his nose. It shouldn’t be that cute. But it is.

“You are the light of my life.”

Rhodey laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe. Now come on.”

They head downstairs together, and they both get swept up into the speed of things, with Jeanie racing around the house and telling Tony that he got treats too, they just didn’t have a back-up stocking.

“Hush,” Mr. Rhodes says, handing Tony a carefully wrapped gift. “After breakfast, we’ll go ahead and open it.”

He smiles, and Rhodey thinks it’s the best thing he’ll ever see.

Christmas gifts, Rhodey thinks, are his new favorite thing to see Tony interact with.

It’s painfully obvious that he’s never really had any personal gifts, anything that reminds people of himself. He carefully unwraps the paper, careful not to rip it.

“You nerd,” Rhodey says, grinning. “Come on, show us what you got.”

Tony laughs as he opens a box with two coffee mugs from the rest of the family, emblazoned with “Rhodes” on one cup, and the other being a simple red with gold trim.

“They’re perfect,” he says. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re feeding his coffee addiction,” Rhodey answers.

“Like you aren’t doing the same,” Jeanie teases. “You made him his cups of coffee this morning.”

“That is because I have trained him well,” Tony says, grinning. “Rhodey, here’s my present to you, open it.”

He’s nervous.

Both of them are, but Tony especially so.

He told Rhodey once that he’s not good at shopping for other people. He tends to have the phrase “go big or go home” permanently circling in his mind, and it can lead to...complications.

(Rhodey remembers the overhaul of his closet for his birthday, complete with a visit from a rather well-known designer.)

Inside is a beautiful jacket. It’s all patchwork, artfully sewn together with embroidery thread spelling out “James” at the lapel.

“I commissioned Janet,” Tony says, smiling softly. “She wants you to still walk in her fashion show, by the way. Says you’re a model.”

Rhodey snorts, shrugging on the jacket.

“You helped with this, right?” Rhodey says. “I can see it in the gold thread you got on the sleeves.”

“I may have had some creative input.”

“I love it,” Rhodey says. “Now here’s mine.”

Tony breathes, and Rhodey wonders if this gift will be enough. He feels a bit stupid, it doesn’t seem like that great of a gift, in retrospect-

It’s a puzzle.

A puzzle of their favorite cafe and restaurant to go to at MIT. It was in a shop window, and Rhodey could tell that Tony would love it.

On top is a scarf, since Tony gave away his last one to another student in their philosophy class.

“I love it,” Tony breathes, tackling Rhodey in a hug. “I love it, I love it! We have to do the puzzle after this.”

Mrs. Rhodes sends her husband a look.

Yeah, Tony would be around for a long time.

They set up the puzzle on the floor of Rhodey’s room, clearing away any luggage. It’s silent for a while, Tony moving around the pieces and Rhodey looking for edge pieces.

They work closely together, side by side.

Rhodey can’t stop staring.

He should be able to. He’s stopped himself before, but now?

Sunlight is coming in through the window, playing around Tony’s fingers as he nimbly picks up puzzle pieces, and this is the eternity that Rhodey wants so badly. If he died right now, he thinks he would choose for Heaven to look like this.

“You okay?” Tony asks, eyes looking up. He took his contacts out, and now he’s just in his tortoiseshell glasses, the ones that he secretly likes more and Rhodey loves.

“I’m in love with you,” Rhodey blurts out, because he can’t stop thinking about how beautiful Tony is and how much he loves him.

He realizes that this could very well be considered a mistake. Because they still have to live together and drive back together and it won’t be the same, and the residents will notice no matter how well they both act--

Tony pops his head right under Rhodey’s chin.

“Kiss me?”

That’s all it takes.

They mess up part of the puzzle, but that’s okay. They find they don’t mind it too much. They can work on it later, when Tony’s done getting Rhodey out of his new jacket and Rhodey works his hands underneath Tony’s sweatshirt.

Mama takes one look at them for dinner and grins.

“Jeanie, you owe me a night of dish-washing.”

“Seriously?”

“Mama!” Rhodey hisses, embarrassed beyond belief.

Tony just cackles, and elbows Rhodey out of the way so he can get to his chair at the table.

“Couldn’t have fooled you for a second, could we?” Tony teases.

“Not at all,” Mama states proudly.

Rhodey rolls his eyes and squeezes Tony’s hand under the table. All will be well.

When they both get back to college, none of their residents are surprised, at least not until they have to have a “knocking before entering” policy put in place after one particular late morning.

#lovelyirony writes #jeanie rhodes #mama rhodes #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #pepper potts #harley keener #gwen but i can't remember her last name #spidey gwen #gwen spider-man #kamala khan #peter parker #tony stark #rhodey

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theright-sideofme · 3 years

Text

Little Librarian

Hyunjin hadn’t stepped foot in a library since he was six. He hated reading, he especially hated being forced to read. Now here he was in the campus library looking for a book he had to do a book report about. Normally Hyunjin would skip an assignment like this all together, but his stupid professor went a made it worth 50 percent of his grade. As he walked into the library everyone in the front building did a double take, the Hwang Hyunjin was in the library, what kind of parallel universe were they in. He ignored the stares coming his way and disappeared down an aisle to begin the hunt for his book. In all honesty he had no idea where to look, but it had to be here some where right?

Hyunjin felt like he had been looking for the stupid book for hours, it had been ten minutes. He huffed in annoyance, letting out a long groan. This caught the attention of someone on the next aisle over. “Hi” a small voice chirped out from the end of the aisle. Hyunjin jumped a little, not expecting anyone to come bother him. The person stepped down the aisle and soon stood in front of him. She’s cute, he thought to himself, and had he not been so annoyed with trying to fine this book, he would’ve told her that, give her a smirk that always makes girls fall at his feet.

“Do you need help finding something” "Uh- yeah, I’m looking for Pride and Prejudice.” The girl smiled and nodded, “well you’re kinda on the wrong side of the library. Come on, I’ll show you where it is.” Hyunjin followed, not being able to take his eyes off her. She wasn’t stutter over her words or looking at him as if he hung all the stars in the sky, did she not know who he was? “Here you go” she said as she handed the boy one of many copies of the book. “Thank you” “no problem, this is for Mr.Kin’s class, yeah?” “Yeah- wait are you in his class” “yeah, as much as I love reading, I am not looking forward to this book report” “well I hate reading, so you’re one step ahead of me.” She let out a soft giggle and Hyunjin felt himself smile. Her little giggle was adorable, like- “Y/n, can you put these books away for me,” an older lady’s voice snapped his out of his thoughts. “Yes ma’am, I got it” the girl in front of him replied. Y/n, cute name. “thank you sweetheart.” Y/n nodded and turned back to Hyunjin, “well good luck with your book report” she said before going off to put some books away. Hyunjin stood there for a minute, god she was cute, why didn’t I ask for her number, wait- what if she really doesn’t know who I am, she doesn’t know my name. Hyunjin’s mind would not shut up from the time that he checked out his book to when he got back to his dorm, his thoughts were filled with the cute little librarian that had helped him today.

--- ---

“Yo, why do you have that stupid look on your face” Changbin asked as he sat across from Hyunjin. “My face isn’t stupid” Hyunjin mumbled, not really paying attention to the boy in front of him. Eventually the whole table was filled with his friends, they all had noticed Hyunjin was acting different. “Dude- hello” Jisung waved his hand in front of Hyunjin’s face, making the boy snap out of his daze. He was looking for the girl he had met yesterday, hoping that he could catch her at lunch, but no luck. “What” Hyunjin grumbled as he looked over at his friend. ”Seriously dude, what’s got you all messed up” Hyunjin couldn’t tell them about Y/n, he didn’t need his friends all over her- “This stupid book report for Mr.Kin” -so he lied. Jisung nodded in understanding, seemingly buying it. “I’m not looking forward to that at all- you think I can pay Wonwoo to do it” “Wonwoo would be your ass dude” Minho snorted as he continued eating his food. As Jisung and Minho argued about who would win in a fight, Hyunjin’s mind drifted back to Y/n, why couldn’t he get her out of his head?

--- ---

Walking into Mr.Kin’s class, Y/n took her usual seat in the middle row. Today was just like every other day, except, she couldn’t get this boy out of her head. A boy she’d never seen before yesterday had been flooding her thoughts all day. He was cute, like really cute, and despite not saying much, he seemed nice. She tried to pretend he was like a hot stranger at a store, someone she would never see again- wait, was that him? He leisurely walked into class, hands in his pockets, hair perfectly framing his face. He was with Han Jisung, her roommates ex boyfriend. Quickly diverting her attention, she buried her head into the book she was meant to be reading.

Hyunjin felt eyes on him as soon as he walked in, which wasn’t new to him at all, but something felt different. Ignoring whatever Jisung was saying, he turned to where he felt the eyes on his back- There she was, but she wasn’t looking at him. “- I think she wants to get back with me, for real this time too- hey, dude” Hyunjin wanted so badly to ignore him and go sit next to the little librarian he met yesterday, but knowing his friends, he couldn’t. “Yeah I heard you, and I think you’re crazy, no one would ever want your dumbass back” Hyunjin said as he started making his way to the back of the class. “Hey, don’t be a dick.”

The entire class period, Hyunjin’s eyes were on her, watching the way she wrote so delicately on her paper, watching her play with her hair or pick at her nails. He was so distracted by her, he didn’t even realize class was over until Jisung slapped his back, telling him is was time to go. Hyunjin took one last look in Y/n’s direction, but she was gone. With a heavy sigh, Hyunjin grabbed his stuff and headed out.

--- ---

For the second day in a row Hyunjin walked into the library, this time with a different goal- ask out the little librarian. He made his way down a few different isles, hoping to find her without seeming to obvious. He felt awkward and out of place, he never did things like this. He was always the one being chased, not the one chasing. Why was he chasing? He’d been asking himself that question all day, why was she so special?

His thoughts were cut short when he spotted her small frame making her way down a ladder. Slowly, he walked over to her, leaning up against the book cart as his hand gently reached out to hold the latter still.

She felt his presence as soon as he started walking her way. Something about the vibe he put out was just hard to ignore, he was so interesting to her. After reaching the bottom of the latter, she looked up at him, her head tilted in confusion. “Thank you” “no problem” “so uh- do you need help” “kind of” “why don’t you tell me what you need and maybe I can help you out” she said as she leaned up against the ladder, still looking up at him. He felt his heart flutter at her response, something about her man. “Well, I was hoping you’d let me take you out” “a strange man asking me out on a date, I don’t know” she joked. She was trying to play it cool, but she couldn’t deny the butterflies in the stomach when he smiled at her. “I’m not strange” “how do I know that though, I don’t even know your name.” Hyunjin tried to hold back his surprise at her response, she really didn’t know who he was. Something about that was so refreshing. “I’m Hyunjin” “nice to meet you Hyunjin, I’m Y/n” “so...” “so... I’ll think about it” “oh come on.” Hyunjin all but whined, his body subconsciously moving closer as he pouted down at her. “We can go to a cafe on campus until you decided if you trust me or night.” She thought about it, he was really trying, and he was being considerate- something her pervious boyfriends weren’t. Biting her lip gently, she looked up into his hopeful eyes and nodded, “fine, I’ll go out with you.” “Yes” he cheered, doing the little air punch thingy which made Y/n giggle. However, the head librarian didn’t find it so funny, shushing the boy with a scowl on her face. He mumbled a quickly apology before looking back at Y/n, who had the most adorable smile on her face, at least he thought so. “Give me your number”

-- --

Today was the day of their date, a Saturday, the one day Y/n didn’t have work. Y/n was actually excited, she hadn’t been on a date in a long time, it also helped that her date was extremely handsome and from what she could tell so far, nice. As she got ready, her roommate, Soojin, came in, bugging her and asking her about all the details. “Who is he” “Where are you going” “is he cute” all the standard questions you ask when a friend has a date. “Hwang Hyunjin- You’re going out with him?” “Yes? What’s wrong with him” “he’s Jisung’s friend, all of Jisungs friends are assholes” “I don’t know, he’s nice” “Y/n, I love you, but none of those guys are nice. They only want one thing” Y/n sighed, shaking her head lightly. One day, she just wanted one day where she wasn’t constantly reminded of how shitty men could be. She knew, god she knew. But Hyunjin seemed genuinely nice, she wanted to just forget about everything she knew men could be and just give him a shot. “I’m saying this cause I want you to be careful, not because I don’t want you to have fun. You just trust people to easily” “I know, but I’d rather see the good in people rather than the bad, it makes life so... gruesome” “look at you, using your big girl words” Soojin teased as she poked Y/n’s cheek. Y/n just giggled, pushing her hand away and continued to get ready.

Hyunjin sat at the cafe, waiting for Y/n to show up. He was nervous, genuinely nervous, and he had no clue why. He can’t remember the last time he was nervous like this and he didn’t like it. His stomach was in knots, his palms were sweaty, what if she didn’t show? Hyunjin’s mind would not shut up. Until she walked in. His eyes landed on her and all nerves dissipated into nothing. The way her face lit up when she saw him made his heart melt, it even brought a smile to his own face.

“Hey, I ordered you a hot chocolate... cause I remembered you saying that you didn’t really like coffee when we were texting- I hope that’s okay” Hyunjin wanted to throw himself under a bridge, he felt like a complete idiot rambling like this, but he quite literally couldn’t help it. Y/n on the other hand, she felt like her heart was going to explode, as small as it may have been, no one ever remembered small things about her, her likes and dislikes, it was endearing. “That’s perfect actually” she reassured him with a smile. Y/n took a seat across from Hyunjin, the two of them falling into natural conversation. It shocked the both of them how easily they could talk to each other and not run out of things to say.

By the time the drinks arrived, the two were talking about class and the book report. “I haven’t even started reading the book” he admitted sheepishly while rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe we could read it together” she suggested, this caught Hyunjin of guard. She wanted to see him again? This had never shocked him before when it was literally anyone else, but something about her wanting to spend more time with him made him really happy. “Really, aren’t you like, halfway done with it” “nope” she lied. She had already finished it, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She wanted to spend more time with him, even if it was for some dumb book report. “so what, we’re just gonna read to each other” “I mean, we could.” God, she literally could not get more perfect.

The continued talking until they finished their drinks, neither of them wanted to leave just yet, but they knew they’d be kicked out soon if they weren’t drinking or eating anything. Hyunjin sat there for a good minute, just staring at his lap while he worked up the courage to ask, “can I walk you home?” Did that actually come out of his mouth? Why did he sound like that- “I’d love that.”

The walk was silent for a good portion of it, hands awkwardly dangling beside one another incase on of them got the courage to hold the others hand. “So, why the library” “what do you mean” “I mean, there’s so many places to work around here” “well, I don’t really like the chaos of the shops around here, it’s kinda overwhelming. The library is nice and quite- I don’t know I guess I just prefer things lowkey.” Hyunjin nodded, not completely understanding, and Y/n laughed to herself, “what” he asked, “you think I’m some weird loner” “No- no I just- I parties and chaos, so I guess I just kinda don’t under stand” Y/n nodded, s small ‘ah’ leaving her lips. “What, now you you think I’m a stereotypical frat boy” “just a little.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes playfully, trying to suppress a smile when he heard her laugh.

A few more minutes of walking and they had finally arrived at Y/n’s apartment. The two of them just stood there for a moment, not really wanting to leave one another. It was easy between them so far, how the conversation flowed, how easy it was to poke fun at one another. “Um- thank you for today” “no problem, I had a lot of fun” “me too” “we still on to study together” he asked, he took a small step towards her as she nodded, his heart picking up when he looked into her eyes and saw the way the sparkled as they met his. “You’re beautiful” he whispered out, shocking Y/n. “wha-” “Can I kiss you?” Y/n’s body seemed to have a mind of it’s own before she was nodding her head without a second thought. His lips planted on hers, giving a small, gentle kiss, but it wasn’t enough. As soon as they parted, the two looked in eachother’s eyes and before they knew it their lips where connected once more. This kiss was much more passionate, but it was also just as gentle and sweet as the first one. Y/n had her hands on his chest while his hands cupped her face to pull her closer. The kiss gave both of them this comfort and odd sense of familiarity. Hyunjin was addicted to her lips, so much so he didn’t even want to come up for air, but he did. The two broke away from the kiss and Hyunjin looked down at Y/n, her eyes stilled closed and her lips swollen, a blissed out look on her face made his heart swell. He wanted to see her like this all the time.

-- --

The next few days were filled with text and facetime calls, calls that Y/n’s roommate often complained about. Hyunjin felt himself falling hard and it scared him. He’d never actually seen a relationship work out, his parents are divorced, along with his aunt and uncles, and his friends would rather be apart of hookup culture than actually try to commit to anything and somewhere along the way Hyunjin fell into that too. But he really liked Y/n, and he wanted to try to make things work despite how scary it was.

He walked into class with Jisung liked he usually did. This time his eyes scanning around the room for Y/n, and he wasn’t even going to try to hide it. When he saw her a large smile took over his face, “what’s with your face” Jisung asked and Hyunjin simply ignored him, making his way over to Y/n. “This seat taken?” Y/n looked up and a smiled busted out across her face, “I don’t know, I’m kinda saving it for this guy” “really? Well he’ll get over it.” Y/n laughed as Hyunjin quickly plopped down into the seat next to her, turning to face her with a smile once her was situated. “You’re ridiculous” “you obviously like that though.” Jisung stood there for a minute, confused as to why he just got left alone. He looked at Hyunjin and then to you. “What? When did this happen” he mumbled to himself as he made his way to his seat.

When class was over Hyunjin was ready to walk Y/n to her next class, but JIsung’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Thanks for leaving me today man” “anytime” Hyunjin replied back with a sarcastic smile. “Anyways, hi Y/n, when did you and Hyunjinnie here start hooking up” “hm?” Hyunjin looked at Jisung and prayed to whatever there was above to get him to shut up. “Ah you haven’t gotten there yet, my bad” “I’m sorry, I’m confused?” Hyunjin grabbed the back of Jisungs neck and puleld him away from Y/n, “dude, stop talking.” “What man, you expect me to believe that the Hwang Hyunjin has finally decided to settle down? Not a chance.” Y/n nodded to herself, remembering the words Soojin had told her before she went on her date with Hyunjin. “none of those guys are nice. They only want one thing” “right” she mumbled to herself walking away unnoticed while Hyunjin was trying to get Jisung to shut up. “Seriously, you’re acting like you actually like her” “did you ever stop to think that maybe I do?” Jisung just looked at Hyunjin confused, what the hell was he talking about? “Seriously?” “Yes dipshit, seriously” “why didn’t you say anything” “cause I knew one of you guys would do something like this.” Jisung, suddenly feeling bad, turned to apologize, “Y/n I- well shit” Hyunjin turned to where Y/n was just standing and his heart dropped. “Hyunjin I’m so sorry-” “just- shut up right now okay?” Hyunjin quickly pulled out his phone to text Y/n.

-- --

Three days later and Hyunjin still hadn’t heard anything from Y/n, he had half the mind to go over to her house if Seungmin hadn’t stopped him and told him to think. “Do you really think she wants to see you right now?” No, of course she didn’t, but how was he just supposed to sit there knowing that you were in your head thinking the worst of him.

Y/n sat in her room for those three days, trying to figure why is hurt so bad. She had only been talking to him for a little over a week, it should hurt this bad. Soojin tried to comfort her but her comfort was “I told you he wasn’t good enough for you.” Yeah that really didn’t help. The amount of times she had typed a message to him and deleted it was insane. The only thing that kept her mind off of it was school, work didn’t help much seeing it was the place she met him. “You just trust people to easily” Why? After everything she had been through how could she still trust people with such ease? Y/n didn’t want to be this little girl people could walk all over, but she didn’t want to shut everyone out either. But she was so tired of hurting. Her phone went off, snapping her out of her thoughts. She grabbed it and saw Hyunjin’s name on the screen. Why hadn’t she blocked him yet? She couldn’t bring herself to do it, she wanted an explanation from him, she just wasn’t ready.

Hyunjin threw his phone onto his bed after he had been sent to voicemail again. “Fuck this shit” he mumbled. He quickly stood up, tossing on a jacket and shoes. “Where are you going” “Y/n’s place” “Hyunjin-” “shut up” was all he said as he let the door slam behind him. Why was he going to listen to them, they had never been in serious relationship, he was pretty sure none of them have even had feelings for a girl. So he was going to do this his way, and he was going to get Y/n back.

“She doesn’t want to see you” Soojin said as soon as she saw Hyunjin at the door. “Soojin- Soojin wait! Five minutes, that’s all I need, please let me talk to her.” Maybe it was his pleading tone or his disheveled appearance or maybe even a small hope that he could make things better, but she let him in. “Five minutes” she stated, “thank you.”

A knock on Y/n’s door had her groaning, she was not in the mood for another movie night with Soojin. “Go away” she called out as she buried her head in her pillow, “I can’t do that.” Y/n’s head snapped up as she turned toward her door. “What are you doing here” she asked cautiously as she sat up. “I want to talk to you” “I don’t want to talk to you” “I deserve that, but please, let me explain.” All she did was nod, she knew that if she talked anymore that her voice would crack and tears would start flowing again. “Y/n I like you, like a lot. And before you say I dont- I do. I’ve never been in a relationship before, so I don’t know how that shit works, and to be honest it scares the hell out of me. But I was ready to try to figure it out with you.” “But Jisung-” “Jisung has no idea what he’s talking about- if I was just trying hook up with you, would I be here right now, trying to get you to forgive me.” Y/n looked up at him, tears in her eyes as she sniffled, “depends on how determined you are” she joked, letting out a soft laugh. Hyunjin just shook his head and pulled her into his check, “you are something else you know that.” He whispered as he held her tightly.

“Hyunjin” “hm?” “I need you to promise me one thing” “anything” “if we do decided to give us a shot, we need to talk to eachother- I know I’m one to talk but... please, I don’t want to go through this again.” Hyunjin pulled back, holding Y/n’s face in his hands as he spoke, “I can promise that and if you give me a chance, I will never do anything to hurt you- ever.” Y/n nodded, quickly burring herself into his chest, the intensity in his eyes making her face heat up. “I like you too” she mumbled into his chest.

#hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids au #stray kids oneshot #stray kids #oneshot #imagine #kpop oneshots #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic

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sxvxrxssnape · 3 years

Text

minerva mcgonagall’s personal mission to make severus love christmas part 5

aka snolidays/snapemas day 11 and 12 (hot chocolate, baking) // pre-PS/the years between. minerva and severus friendship // content warning: panic attack and mentions of lily potter. i feel like this should be considered a snapetober entry oops. word count: 4287 @blog4snape

The night ended with more hot chocolate as the five stood together and watched a choreography of lights move above the pond, creating elves loading a sack full of gifts onto the outline of a waiting sleigh, watched it become glowing reindeer pulling it off the ground, rising in height and getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared and the light show began again.

It felt like magic and he refused to believe none was involved.

He fell asleep fully clothed that night, contentment and milk chocolate running through his veins as he begrudgingly made another mark on the imaginary scorecard.

Minerva was definitely winning.

Saturday was spent finishing the potions for the infirmary, bottling and stoppering the dozens of phials, and methodically scrubbing the cauldrons clean as he read from a book hovering above the wash basin, the pages turning with a flick of his head.

He dropped the potions off at the hospital wing, secretly pleased that Poppy was far too busy with a floo call to a student’s parents to bother giving him more than a thankful nod and a wave of her hand. He didn’t mind their conversations, but when three students were laid up sick on starched cots, Severus preferred to be as far away from the infestation as possible.

He spent the night reading, a cup of tea in hand, the soft glow of candlelight nearby to illuminate the words of one of the books he had picked up from Diagon Alley.

Sunday morning found him sprawled out on the couch in his living quarters, fully dressed once again, with the candles snuffed and the book astray, the teacup still nestled between a cushion and his thigh.

He spent the day holed up in his office with a correcting quill, the stack of essays he kept putting off, and no less than four packets of crisps. It was dinnertime by the time he finished reading all the scrolls of parchment, his fingers cramping and eyes bleary. He had the beginning of a headache forming, but the grading was nearly caught up on.

The remainder were short-answer questions, at least.

He wasn’t sure he could sit through another stack of eighteen inch essays for at least another month.

Perhaps two.

The crisps had made him nauseous, so rather than attending dinner in the Great Hall, he flooed into the staff lounge and helped himself to his precious french press that had been left behind. As the coffee grounds soaked, he glanced around the room and took in the stockings.

There were some new additions.

There were his and Minerva’s - white, cable-knitted with fur trim, bearing their names embroidered in black thread - but also a bright blue with Filius’ initials, a pastel-pink made from crushed velvet with Pomona’s name spelled out in tiny yellow flowers, a black with silver snowflakes bearing Aurora’s family crest, and a neon orange war crime that could only belong to the headmaster.

All of them had candy canes peeking out.

There was a tree in the corner now - a tall, proud-looking noble fir - looking like an oversized houseplant when it was devoid of lights and decorations. He finished making his coffee and sat down at the round table, eyeing it carefully.

The rest of the castle was still surprisingly devoid of holiday decorations, but if this tree had already arrived, it was only a matter of time before the rest of it started creeping in. Soon enough, the place would look like a tinsel factory had exploded inside of it and the number of trees within the castle walls would put the Forbidden Forest to shame.

He scowled at the thought.

Later, he realized he had spoken too soon.

Monday morning brought a fresh shower of snowflakes, a drop in temperature, and about thirty-six douglas firs into the Great Hall. These were already decked out with lights, ribbon, and colorful baubles. Some of the trees had clearly chosen sides, cheerily standing tall with the weight of red and gold ornaments, while others were laden with green and silver, blue and bronze, or gold and black.

Garland clung to the old brick, neatly tied with red ribbon and perfect pinecones, spaced out above the portraits and high, arched windows.

He didn’t want to think about the rest of the castle.

There was white chocolate peppermint tea waiting for him at the staff table, so he conceded that not everything that morning was absolutely terrible.

Tuesday was a bad potions day.

Not for him as a brewer, of course, but as a professor.

By the time both his classes ended, eight different cauldrons had either melted, exploded, or absolutely disintegrated without a trace. He lost a full jar of moonstones because one student had decided to bring the entire fucking container to her table rather than count them out beforehand like he had advised, and it had taken all his self-control to stop himself from breaking down right in front of the class of sixth years.

He had collected those moonstones himself, wandering the Forbidden Forest all fucking night, with only a lantern to light the way. They were supposed to last him at least another two months before he would need to venture out again - and the last time he had gone out, he’d nearly sprained his ankle on an upturned root and gotten a tree branch to the fucking face.

Tuesday evening found him four drinks in, asking the house elves to please bring him some hot, salty chips from a local shop, and when the darling little elf returned with the newspaper cone, he babbled stupidly for two solid minutes from gratitude alone.

Wednesday was a headache, a blur of back-to-back classes, a lot of frustrated yelling at completely inept students, a full pot of that wonderful white chocolate peppermint tea, and a sudden decision to not assign any more homework for the rest of the year.

Not because the awful little slimeballs deserved a break, but because he did.

The elves made mushroom and wild rice soup for dinner, alongside everything else they always made, and Severus took more comfort than usual in the hot meal.

Wednesday night was his turn to patrol the castle, so he stayed up half the night wandering the empty corridors. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he entered the Astronomy Tower, groaning as he realized Aurora was still there, carefully packing away her supplies post-lesson.

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t glad to see me.”

“Believe me when I say I’m not.” Severus returned, stepping to the edge and looking over the grounds. Most of it was cloaked by shadows, but the silver light from the moon was still enough to softly make out the silhouettes of the greenhouses and Hagrid’s little hut. “What, no comment on how I’m out past my bedtime?”

Aurora laughed, putting a bronze telescope back into its case and fiddling with the straps. “Not this time, no.” She glanced up at him and warned: “But don’t you ever make me miss out on family dinner again or you will regret it.”

Thursday morning he slept in.

He barely had enough time to pull on his teaching robes and run fingers through his hair before he had to hightail it to his classroom, frazzled and out of breath. He hadn’t had time to prepare the chalkboard the day before, and was quickly writing out the recipe in his messy scrawl, when the seventh years started filtering in.

“Alright, you’re going to need number three pewter cauldrons today,” he called out over his shoulder, finishing the last line of script. “Fill them with two liters of room temperature water and put your burners on low. Today we’re going to be brewing a more complex -”

“Professor?”

He scowled at the interruption. “What is it, Mr. Greenwood.”

“I think your robe might be inside out.”

He blinked and tried not to let his face flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, now as I was saying -” he continued awkwardly, shrugging out of his robe and flipping the sleeves inside out.

“Your shirt buttons are fucked up too.”

“Language!” he scolded, swallowing down the sharp coil of emotion building at the back of his throat. “And do not speak to me like that.”

“Hey, you’re the one walking in here, unprepared, with your clothes all fucked.” Greenwood muttered. “Just what were you up to before class, sir?” he grinned, his comment eliciting a few chuckles.

“Detention, Greenwood.”

“Now, wait a second!” the boy faltered.

“Do you wish to make it two?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he raised an eyebrow in questioning contempt. “Because we can surely arrange that.”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He finished the lesson on autopilot, quickly fixing the buttons on his shirt in the supply closet, fingers shaking nervously as he muttered angrily to himself. He shrugged back into his robes, double-checking they weren’t inside out again, and downed a calming draught on a whim - the shiny light blue bottle catching his eye from its place on the shelf - before returning to his desk.

He made sure to scowl at each of them in turn and surprisingly enough, not another student made an unwarranted comment about his appearance, his teaching, or even each other. It kept him from reaching for another calming draught when he felt its effects lifting.

Friday found him having a panic attack.

Then again, if no one opened the door to the broom closet he had squandered in, if no one came face-to-face with his crouched down, fingers tangled in his hair, not-quite-yet-out-of-breath, full body trembling self, could anyone really prove he was having an anxiety attack?

He’d barely made it through his second class and had dismissed the second years twenty minutes early, sans homework - and oh, Merlin, they were going to think he'd gone soft - before attempting to return to his personal quarters.

It didn’t quite work out as planned.

His knees had felt shaky and he’d felt as if something were gripping at his throat, pressing down on his lungs, and he had to sit down and ground himself before he had a full-on breakdown in the middle of the corridor. He’d found himself stumbling, as he hid behind the closest doorway, the tidal wave of unchecked emotions too much.

His resolve was breaking.

He tried to focus on his Occlumency shields, tried to push back the unfiltered pain and fear he refused to think about - could not think about - because if he did, he was afraid he would never be able to function again. He was afraid he would break.

The dam was already broken though and now, now the rest of it felt inevitable.

Now he was simply gasping for breath, tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall, sitting on the floor of a dusty broom closet, bathed in the dull yellow light that flared whenever it sensed movement, like some sort of spotlight - a beacon honing in on him, existing solely to put his downfall on display.

Far too many thoughts were flitting around his head, crashing into each other and making it difficult to tell them apart, to pinpoint just what had been the trigger, the reason behind his weakness - because surely, that’s what this was right now: weakness.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and he tried his best to muffle his ragged gasps, hand curled into a fist and pressed into his mouth, teeth sinking into the pale flesh, threatening to break through from the force he was using, so desperate he was to not make a sound.

It didn’t work.

The footsteps paused, their owner faltering.

Voices were speaking from the other side, hushed and mumbled, and with another stroke of panic, Severus realized they belonged to more than one. Students, most likely, and he curled tighter into himself, vehemently wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Are you okay?” a hesitant voice traveled through the aged wood.

He didn’t answer, but he figured his breaths were answer enough.

“Are you having a panic attack?” a different voice called out, sounding just as unsure as the first. “It sounds like you’re really struggling.”

“Do you need help?”

“They probably can’t answer, dummy.” a third voice spoke up, but this one wasn’t addressing him. They were all familiar, but his brain wasn’t letting him process anything to fruition. “Hey, if you can hear us knock on the door.”

He considered ignoring them, but in the end he knocked.

“Good!” the first voice praised. “Alright, knock if we were right about the panic attack.”

Again, he knocked.

“Do you want help?” the second student asked. “I’ve helped my share of students through these.” He suddenly recognized Casper Jenkin’s voice, one of his seventh year Slytherin prefects.

He groaned; as if this situation could get any worse.

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” Oliver Greenwood’s voice muttered, so apparently yes, it could get worse. He was stumbled upon by his own snakes - and his disrespecting seventh years, at that.

“Do you want us to get someone?” Allison Bone, the original speaker, questioned. “Madam Pomfrey or your Head of House? If you’re all the way down here, you’re probably a Slytherin, huh?”

He choked out a laugh at that.

“Laughing!” Bone approved. “Laughing is good! That means you’re getting control of your breathing. The worst part of it is over now.”

“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Jenkin told him, and the doorknob started turning. “It’s probably pretty cramped in there - definitely won’t help.”

“Don’t!” he let out, just as the door opened and he found himself blinking up at his snakes, the three of them blinking down at him, equally dumbfounded, and he wanted to scream at whatever joke of a higher being had shifted the cards enough to lead him here.

“Oh!”

“Professor Snape?!”

He lifted a shaky hand to his face, brushing back disheveled locks of hair. “Get out.” he whispered, low and angry, not caring about the semantics that it technically didn’t apply.

“Are you sure you don’t need -” Bone started, then faltered at the growing expression on his face. “Right, we’re leaving.”

Greenwood eyed him a second longer than his companions, but rather than the teasing glint he usually held whenever addressing him in class, he wore something softer. “Sorry.” he mouthed, genuine concern flickering for a brief moment before he also left.

He put his head in his hands and started laughing, softly at first, but when it became an ugly sob, he fought to regain his composure, nails digging into his scalp.

He managed a deep breath, wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe, and hurried to his personal quarters. He was moving on autopilot now, slipping out of his teaching robes and into a jumper, grabbing a bit of floo powder and calling out a quiet, “may I come through?” when the flames turned a brilliant green.

He stepped into Minerva’s quarters, bypassing her concerned look and collapsed onto the old couch, pointedly ignoring her as he stared at the vaulted ceiling.

“Severus?”

“Panic attack.” he mumbled.

He remained silent after that, listening to the rustling of parchment and paper, the soft scribbling of a quill nib making its way across the page. For a few minutes, that was the only sound, until suddenly Minerva stood up and opened up the floo. Hushed voices followed, then silence, and he finally sat up when he heard the distinct pop of a house elf apparating into the room.

Dorset, one of the school elves most identifiable by his height, was balancing a tray on one hand and a heavy-looking box on the other. He placed both on the kitchen table, nodded at the two, and apparated away.

“What’s this?” Severus asked, his voice gravelly and tired, as he stood up and approached the table.

The box was filled with an assortment of items - butter, eggs, icing sugar, flour, and the like. He could see a bag full of dirigible plums sitting right on top and he smiled despite himself. The tray was holding two ceramic mugs, their contents hidden by the mountain of whipped cream and cinnamon they were topped with.

“Sit down with me.” Minerva said simply, picking up the tray and bringing it to the couch. She sat down at one end, placing the cups on the coffee table, and waited. When he sat down, facing her, she handed him a warm mug. “I asked for hot chocolate.” she told him, eyeing him carefully. “Specifically the gingerbread one we had last week.”

“I liked that one.” Severus mumbled, staring down at his cup.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, sipping on their hot chocolate, and Severus could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away as it was replaced by warm comfort.

“You look awful.” she finally spoke up.

He smiled ruefully, but it felt more like a grimace. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Have you noticed, how every time you experience feelings of distress, someone always tends to interrupt before we can talk?” she asked, watching him. “I think we’ve been putting it off long enough, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“We never got to talk about Yaxley.”

“We didn’t need to.”

“We also never finished our conversation about how you ask for my company whenever you venture out of the castle.”

Severus gripped his mug tightly. “You said enough.”

“You still flinch when people touch you.”

“Can you blame me?”

Minerva paused, studying him in a way that left him feeling exposed. “They’re all connected.”

He kept silent.

Her next words were unexpected. “What about Lily?”

“What about her?” he growled out, anger taking hold and manifesting into shaking hands. He swallowed down the bile he could feel rising, the taste of milk and chocolate suddenly acrid on his tongue.

“You never talk about her.”

“That’s because I don’t have anything to say about her!” Severus finally yelled, nearly dropping his mug. He set it on the coffee table and balled his hands into fists, refusing to break eye contact with the professor before him. “Lily died four years ago, but she stopped being my friend long before that! Do you want to talk about the guilt I carry, knowing it was my fault she died? Because no amount of talking, nothing I do will ever be enough to make up for the fact that I killed my best friend! And I hate myself for that, but Merlin, do I hate her too.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” he burst out, the words he could never dare himself to say aloud now slipping off his tongue without trouble. “She was my best friend and then she sided with them, with him, after what he did to me! And that’s when I knew she was never really my friend! She saw what he - what he did,” he was starting to gasp for air again, “and she still, she - he -”

He focused on steadying his breathing, arms wrapped around his torso.

“I don’t.” Severus finally amended, in such a soft voice he wasn’t sure it even carried. “I want to hate her so much - and I am so angry at her, angrier than I’ve ever been at anyone - but I don’t hate her. I can’t. Maybe I wasn’t her friend, in the end, but I know she was mine. I lost so many people in the war, but she’s the one who hurts the most, so no, I don’t want to talk about Lily.”

Minerva hummed. “You sort of already did.”

He scowled.

“Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Some of his anger fizzled out as he finished the drink. When they were done, Minerva stood up and started pulling out the contents of the box, lining them up on the counter. He joined her, watching as she leafed through a cookbook he hadn’t noticed.

“We’re going to do some holiday baking now.”

“Are we?”

“If you’re not going to talk to me about what led to all this,” she gestured in his general direction, “then we’re going to bake some things for the staff party tomorrow.”

He nodded, sighing. “Where do you want me?”

They spent a few minutes in stilted silence, as he washed the bag of dirigible plums and cooked them down into a sauce, stirring in ground cardamom and honey. Meanwhile, Minerva whisked double cream and cornstarch with vanilla sugar and salt, the pot resting over low flames. He added the plum sauce and smiled as it came together and turned into the warm orange color he remembered.

“What next?” he inquired, after the thickened mix had been poured into a mold and tucked away in the cold cupboard.

“Biscuits?”

The sugar dough came together easily enough, pale yellow and perfectly smooth, and as they sprinkled flour over the table to roll it out, Severus started fiddling with the holiday cutters.

“I can hear you thinking.” Minerva spoke up a few minutes later, dusting her hands off on a clean towel. She reached for a tree-shaped cutter and started pressing it into the dough. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Sure you don’t.”

They finished cutting out all their shapes, moved their biscuits into the oven, and cleaned off the kitchen table. Minerva was opening small jars of sprinkles while Severus whisked together icing sugar and egg whites. He focused on dividing the royal icing into small bowls, adding droplets of colored dye and stirring carefully as if they were a temperamental potion, when he finally broached the earlier subject: “They are all connected.”

“Pardon?”

He didn’t look up, merely repeated himself. “They’re all connected.”

Minerva pulled the baking tray out of the oven and cast a cooling charm before bringing the perfectly baked biscuits to the table. Severus picked one up and absentmindedly broke it into pieces. He shared it with Min and picked up another biscuit, carefully dipping this one into the bowl of red icing and shaking off the excess.

He reached for the star sprinkles. “I try not to think about any of it.”

“You’ll have to, eventually.”

He thought about the broom closet. “I know.”

Minerva dipped a star biscuit into the bowl of yellow icing and handed it over to Severus, who immediately covered it with three different colors of sprinkles. They worked in tandem for a few minutes, dipping and sprinkling all their biscuits, and eventually a spoon was introduced to their project and Severus found himself drizzling thin stripes across some of them.

“I’m giving this one a Dreadful.” Minerva decided, picking up what was supposed to be an ornament, originally dipped in white icing, but then covered with uneven globs of blue.

“Fair enough.” Severus shrugged, levitating the dirty dishes and moving them to the wash basin, spelling the water on. He picked up a candy cane-shape that had been rolled in yellow and violet sprinkles and then drizzled with green. “This one, however, is deserving of a Troll.”

Minerva spelled the dishes to wash themselves and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Severus, you decorated that one.”

“I’m aware.”

The yule log cake was a little more time consuming to make. He sat down at the table and watched Minerva separate eggs and whisk the whites with sugar until it foamed.

“It would be faster if you spelled the whisk.” Severus offered.

“We tried that once.” Minerva laughed, not slowing down. “It worked great at first, but all of a sudden, the whisk was flinging meringue all over the room.”

“How delightful.”

Meringue was light and shiny and the brightest white he could imagine. Min filled a piping bag with the foam and showed him how to pipe little mushroom tops on the baking paper. When he took the bag from her, he was surprised to find it bore no weight.

“Do you not know how to hold a piping bag?”

“Evidently not.” he grumbled, looking at his hand and the fluff of meringue that had spilled out of the bag and over his hand.

“You’re supposed to hold the end closed, you numpty.”

“Numpty?” Severus muttered under his breath.

“Elphinstone always did the same thing.” Minerva shook her head, fixing the bag and finishing the job. “No matter how many times I corrected him, that man couldn’t hold it right. Always went off about how he’s the ministry liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Min, I don’t need piping meringue mushrooms in my skill set.” She took in a shaky breath and set down the bag. “See? Perfect.”

“Min-”

“Don’t just stand there, Severus.” she scolded, thrusting the cookbook in his hands. “Get to work measuring the dry ingredients. You can make the cake while I make the frostings.”

He started sifting flour and cocoa powder. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

“Of course I know that.” she humphed, putting the tray in the oven and spelling the dishes clean. She unwrapped a stick of butter and stared at him. “Do you know that?”

“Minerva, I only met your husband twice.” he deadpanned.

She flicked a bit of icing sugar at him. “Don’t be smart with me. I’m not the one repressing all my emotions and pretending they don’t exist until I can’t stave off the impending panic attack and end up crashing in my colleague's quarters because of it.”

“Fine, you win this one.” he muttered. “You are the pinnacle of mental health, professor.”

“Excellent.” Minerva grinned, but her smile seemed a little bitter. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to me now?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Numpty.” she repeated.

---- a/n: i was in the mood for angst tm also the ending feels a little rushed but it is 3am rip. im not gonna finish this series by christmas but my goal is new years. time exists in a vacuum anyway and is not real. ps. let me know what you think pls!! it gives me all the seratonin

#snapedom #pro snape #snapemas #snoliday2020 #severus snape #professor snape #snapecember #holiday writing challenge

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years

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Ashton snippet

Found this while perusing through old docs, it’s titled ‘Don’t Call Me Angel” and it ends abruptly because I never finished or I don’t know what happened. But here’s a snippet of a TA!Ashton as an art teacher.

Might have to add this to my list of WIPs to finish if it gets good reviews. Let me know what you think :)

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

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Masterlist

• • • •

Ashton has always felt things so deeply. He loves deeply, he rages deeply, he sympathizes deeply and he plays his drums with everything he’s got. He tries to keep his emotions in check but they change like the tides, even he finds it hard to keep up with them.

Ashton lives, breathes and sweats creativity. His passion is seen in his brush strokes, his despair is shown through the negative space of his photographs. Long hours spent in the dark room and sometimes endless nights painting on large canvases in his studio apartment has given him the cliché brooding artist look; dark circles under his eyes complete the look.

When he’s not in the dark room or his apartment he frequents the coffee shop that is the perfect halfway point between his familiar places. It’s called Java Bean and serve the best iced coffee Ashton has ever tasted to tell you the God honest truth and the shop is a literal godsend for being open twenty-four hours.

Ashton’s insides are made of caffeine, paint and a constant ebb and flow of pulsating thoughts and phrases that won’t leave his mind unless he writes them down in his sketchbook. That’s another thing Ashton can never leave the house without, his sketchbook.

It’s large, black and hard covered even though the spine has long since lost the potency of its glue causing it to lie open like a cracked crab. It’s filled with his thoughts, lyrics he can’t get out of his head, small sketches of flowers or images he sees late at night when he dreams (when he gets a chance to sleep).

The book is his vice and he would rather die than ever part with it for Ashton is a closed book with every person (aside from his three best friends) but he opens up fully between those pages.

For his last year at University he’s the TA for his favorite art professor, Miss Dooley who is the perfect amount of scatter-brained and genius. She calls every student ‘pet’ and always has incense or essential oils burning in her classroom.

It has been Ashton’s wish and dream to be an art teacher for high school students, to help those like him who want to stay in their shell reveal who they truly are on the inside.

“Hello, my pet,” Miss Dooley trills in her usual sing song voice as Ashton enters the large art classroom.

He inhales the acrylic paint, the fresh wood waiting to be turned into canvases and the waxy aroma from the oil pastels stowed away in a cupboard. It’s one of his favorite smells in the world, the mediums just waiting to be used and Ashton’s fingers twitch in anticipation to create.

“Hey, Miss D,” he grins making a beeline to her desk at the front of the room. Behind her on the charcoal colored chalkboard is her name in calligraphy with broad strokes of curves and flowers.

‘Advanced Art Multi-Medium’ is written in block letters below her name as well.

“Excited for this year?” she asks rolling around a small was of blue putty in her hands. She claims it keeps her fingers and joints from failing so she’ll always be able to make art.

“Yeah, does it look like we’ll have a good class this year?” he taps the pads of his fingers on the black resin tabletop, a habit he’s always had when he’s anxious.

“Oh, I think so,” she beams her robin’s egg eyes twinkle. “It’s a full class this year, which I have you to thank for my little chickadee.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“You’ve been the best student for the past six years you’ve been here, my prized pupil and a very handsome fella if you don’t mind me saying.”

Ashton feels the back of his neck heat up from her sentence full of compliments. Surely he’s not the reason for a full class this year? That’s ridiculous.

“I don’t think—“

Before he could finish the double wooden doors swung open and a flood of college students entered and Ashton couldn’t help but judge the first few that came in. He recognized three of the girls in front who were in Delta Zeta which he knew the only amount of creativity in their body was decorating photo backdrops.

Apart from them the rest of the class he’s seen hanging around the art wing of the school and at some of the showings he was at. At the rear was one of his best friends, Michael Clifford who decided a month ago to dye his hair a deep purple again. Michael smirks at his friend as he takes a seat next to a petite girl opening up a small black notebook.

Ashton let out an exasperated breath through his nostrils at his friend who did not tell him he’d be taking this class.

“ . . . Twenty- three . . . and twenty-four. Excellent! We’re all here!” Miss Dooley claps her hands together and moves to the front of her desk to smile sweetly at her pupils. “I recognize some of your faces but welcome to Advanced Art! I am Miss Dooley and this young man next to me is Ashton Irwin who will be my aide for this year. Would you like to inform them what this year will consist of?”

Ashton clears his throat then steps forward to stand next to Miss Dooley but ends up leaning his back against the counter behind him. He wanted them to see he was relaxed.

“Hey everybody. This year will be about using different mediums and creating something great out of them and also finding your niche in your art. Every class you’ll have five sketches of a landscape or a self-portrait or anything else that catches your eye. If you don’t have a sketchbook I recommend getting on.”

Every eye is on him and he is making a point not to look anywhere near Michael in the back. He clears his throat again before continuing.

“Your final exam for the first semester will be the beginning of your portfolio which will show the progression of your ‘voice.’ When—“

“Our voice?” a platinum blond of the Delta Zeta trio asks with her hand in the air, a confused pout on her glossed lips.

Ashton folds his arms across his chest, the leather of his jacket squeaks from the motion.

“Each artist has a voice in their work, a certain style that is all their own. That’s why when you see the blurred colors of a lily pond you know it’s Monet or the small pointed brush strokes and vivid colors of Van Gogh. Art is a voice for when you don’t know what to say, you can convey so much emotion into it. By the end of the year I want to be able to tell who’s piece is who’s, that’s how prominent it needs to be.

“If you don’t think you have it in you or won’t rise up to the challenge of being vulnerable, then I suggest you drop the class. Some people really want to be here and create art, I don’t want you to be deprived of that.”

He stands there eyeing each and every person almost daring one of them to stand up and walk out. A motion of a hand raise catches his eye in the back, he thinks it’s Michael and is ready to kick his friend out if he makes a rude comment. But it’s not Michael, it’s the girl sitting next to him.

“Yes, pet?” Miss Dooley calls on her.

“How many pieces should be in our portfolio?” she asks in a gentle voice but with sureness behind it.

“However many it takes to find your voice,” Ashton answers her. She nods then bends over her notebook to write furiously on the page.

“Well, since no one has jumped ship, let’s start off with a little exercise. Turn to the person you share a table with, introduce yourself and sketch them while you get to know each other. You will be each other’s buddies for the semester. Begin, my pets,” Miss Dooley claps her hands together again and all the students shuffle around for pencils and paper.

» » » » »

It’s a Friday night and Ashton is sitting in his favorite booth at Java Bean with his sketchbook out and earphones in to block out the small chatter of other college students. His first week of class as a TA went really well, a lot of the students showed promise. To his amusement Michael’s first sketches were of the little succulents he has scattered about his apartment.

Ashton was pleased that they took him seriously and Miss Dooley always offered her help and guidance to those who had questions. None of the students had approached Ashton but he was fine with that, he’s still learning by watching Miss Dooley interact with them.

Ashton’s hazel eyes landed on Michael and Calum approaching his table as he sipped at his black coffee. He licks his lips watching them approach with shit eating grins on their faces and he reluctantly removes his earphones. He closes his sketchbook with a soft thump, slightly glaring at his friends. They know better than to interrupt him while he’s drinking coffee and immersed in his sketchbook.

“Hey teacher,” Michael snickers pulling up a chair from the next table over. He slumps down in it with his fingers twiddling in his lap while Calum spins the chair opposite Ashton around and straddles it.

Calum pulls his dark gray beanie down lower over his ears then rests his chin on his elbows.

“Can I help you with something?” Ashton sighs leaning back in his own chair.

“Luke’s throwing a party tonight,” Calum begins, “a back to school rager, if you will.”

“Good for him.”

“C’mon Ash,” Michael whines leaning forward on his knees. “Come party with us like old times.”

“You mean like when we were freshman and your head caught fire?” Ashton quirked his eyebrows up.

“We were young and dumb then,” Michael waves it off. “Come on, it’ll be great. The girl I sit next to in your class will be there.”

“And?”

“What girl?” Calum pipes up.

“And she’s cute,” Michael shrugs, “and it will be fun for you to get out of your little hermit hole you’ve set up here.”

“I dunno guys. I want to get up early tomorrow to take some photos of the waterfall. In my photography class I’m doing a series of different locations throughout the seasons, and I think the—“

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Calum interrupts holding his hand up. “Just . . . come hang out with us before you get neck deep in your work, yeah? Just for a few hours.”

Ashton rolls his eyes then sighs before giving in.

“All right, fine. I’ll come.”

“YES! The Ash Man is back!” Michael hollers clapping his friend on the back and the other customers turn to look over in irritation.

“You’ve never called me that,” Ashton says gathering his stuff in his shoulder bag, “and don’t start now.”

The party was like any other party Ashton has been to in his college career, granted it is a bit tamer than when they were all freshman and sophomores. For the most part everyone had their clothes on which relieved Ashton. He hated having to try and wrangle whoever it was to get their clothes back on.

The townhouse was stuffy with vape smoke making the air foggy, beer and liquor filled his nose and he felt the music course through his body.

“Hey, you brought him!” Luke exclaims with a large smile. His arms are raised bringing Ashton in for a tight hug. “Glad you’re here, buddy.”

“Thanks man,” Ashton says tousling the younger guy’s golden curls.

“Drinks are in the kitchen, but I think I hear a shot of fireball calling your name,” Luke wiggles his eyebrows dragging the guys into the kitchen.

“I haven’t had fireball since New Year’s two years ago,” Ashton chuckles.

“Ashton! Hey!”

His head snaps when he hears his name then wishes that he hadn’t. The voice belonged to Breanne Thomas, a girl he used to hook up with on and off a few years back. She was even the model for some of his photography assignments.

“Oh, hey, Breanne,” he nods politely then shuffles past her into the kitchen. He did not want to relive old times with her at the moment.

“Yikes, sorry, mate,” Calum says handing him a shot glass filled with the golden liquid.

“Whatever, let’s cheers to a new year,” he shakes it off holding his glass up in the air. They all clink and down the shots heartily. Ashton remembers the burn as it travels down his throat and into his stomach.

As the night progresses he becomes pleasantly buzzed and that’s when he knows to stop. He just stumbles out of the bathroom when he hears his name being called and looks up to see Michael waving him over near the back of the house to the backyard.

Ashton pushes through the bodies, waves of weed swirl around his head and it’s so strong he’s sure he’ll get a contact high from it. When Michael becomes more in view he notices the girl from his class standing next to him.

“This is Lennox Hastings,” Michael introduces with a loopy smile. “Lennox Hastings this is Ashton Irwin. Our teacher. My best friend.” A small hiccup escapes him.

“Hi,” she smiles shyly at Ashton, “And it’s just Lennox. You don’t have to use my last name Michael.”

“It’s a badass name, Lennox Hastings! I have to say it all. You should show him your notebook, he’s got one too. Oops, I’ve got to go. Bye!”

He skirts away into the crowd and Ashton shakes his head at his drunken friend then turns to Lennox who now looks oddly familiar now that he knows her name. Apart from seeing her in his class he swears he’s seen her somewhere else before, but where? Or did she have a twin?

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with him as a table partner,” Ashton apologizes and she laughs lightly.

“He’s not so bad. He’s fun to talk to when I’m not working.”

“How’re you liking the class so far?”

“It’s good, I’ve been looking forward to it since I got here, actually. I was in all advanced classes in my high school and I’ve heard how amazing Miss Dooley is.”

“Yeah, she’s great,” he smiles then glances around at their surroundings. There’s a couple making out against the fridge and Ashton realizes it’s Calum and some short blond haired girl. “You wanna step outside? Get some fresh air?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” she smiles opening the door.

Ashton picks up two water bottles from the bucket on the counter then follows her into the warm August night. The screen door swings shut behind him, he inhales deeply and sits on the gliding bench besides Lennox.

“Thanks,” she says taking the water bottle from him and takes a sip. “This isn’t weird, is it?”

“What isn’t weird?”

“Us being out here? You’re basically my teacher,” she laughs nervously.

“Nah, I’m just an aide. I’m not a teacher yet,” he grins at her.

Now that he’s not inside the house with loads of distractions all around, he can finally get a good look at her. She looks familiar for some reason now as he stares at her in the yellow porchlight. Her auburn hair is pulled up in a half ponytail with some fly aways clinging to her round cheeks. Her eyelashes are long atop her doe eyes and Ashton finds himself wishing to see what type of blue they are and if he could paint them.

“You’ll make a good one,” she says pulling him from his wandering mind.

“Ya think?” he leans back and rocks the glider back and forth slowly, it creaks and groans as he does.

“Yeah, you control the room well and I can tell how passionate you are about art.”

“Thanks,” he says sheepishly. He’s never been able to take compliments well, whether it’s about his art or himself. “How’re the rest of your classes going?”

“Okay so far, lots of work already in my poetry class and advanced art,” she gives him a sly smirk and nudges his ribs playfully with her elbow.

“You write?”

“Mhm. Wrote a lot this summer, great inspiration,” she says grimly.

“That’s good, right? I’ve heard writers block is shit.”

“It is.”

“So what inspired you?” he turns his body so he’s angled towards her more.

Lennox shakes her head, a piece of hair clings to her lip and Ashton desperately wants to pull it away.

“I don’t want to bore you with my heartbreak, Mr. Irwin,” she says.

“Please, call me Ashton,” he grimaces at the title. “I’m an artist, too, remember? Heartbreak makes the artist.”

“You already know it, though, the cliché story of girl meets boy. Girl falls for boy and they date and commit but then the boy gets a record deal and leaves girl behind.”

“Wait,” Ashton sits up straighter when he heard record deal. “You aren’t talking about Harry Styles, are you?”

“You know him, huh?” she says airily.

“Yeah, we don’t get along very well. At all, actually,” he chuckles.

“How come?”

“That’s not important right now. I’m sorry he hurt you.”

• • • •

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**if your url has a strike through it’s because your blog didn’t show up as a tag! :(

#ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin au #TA!ashton #art ashton #ashton fic #ashton irwin fluff #ashton irwin writing #5sos writing #ashton 5sos

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aughtpunk · 5 years

Text

The Evils of Truth and Love

Crowley had always been secretly glad his Bulbasaur had never wanted to evolve, if only because there was no way he could fit a Venusaur into the Bentley. Sure, his friends at the time (and his coworkers in the present) gave him a hard time for having a weak Pokémon. The way Crowley saw it is if Bulby was happy, then he was happy. That and it was always hilarious when he switched Bulby out for his Zoroark at the start of a battle.

“Okay kid, what are the rules?”

“Mwwffh.”

Crowley glanced over at the passenger seat, not too shocked to see that Warlock was playing on his phone instead of paying attention. He still wasn’t sure if getting him that phone was the best or the worst thing that’s happened in his years of Nanny-ing. Babysitting? Being paid to raise a kid because his parents got bored after they found out they had to change diapers? Crowley liked to think of himself as a Godparent. He had no idea what a Godparent actually did, but the title was pretty cool.

One of Bulby’s vines shot out from the back seat and yanked Warlock’s phone right out of his hands. Warlock twisted in his seat, trying to grab his phone back only for Bulby to hold it right out of his reach. God, Crowley loved his little plant bastard. He cleared his throat and tried again. “The rules, kid. I need to hear them.”

Warlock let out the best preteen groan he could muster. “Don’t touch anything.”

“And?”

“Really, don’t touch anything.”

“And?”

“Don’t pick a fight with anyone who has Pokémon stronger than me ‘cause no one wants a repeat of what happened to Ligur at last year’s Halloween party.” Warlock said in a bored drone. Which was fake. Crowley knew Warlock loved that story with all of it’s gooey details. His favorite part was the sound Ligur’s shoulder made when the nurse popped it back into its socket.

“Mmm-hmm. Last rule?”

“If anyone asks why I’m taking pictures I say they’re for my dumb Pokémon-crazy Nanny.”

“Haha.” Crowley didn’t bother to tell Warlock to stop calling him that. He gave up fighting that nickname years ago. “Surprise bonus rule GO!”

“Seriously do not touch anything.” Warlock crossed his arms. “Can I have my phone back?”

Here it comes. The best part of being Warlock’s caretaker. Crowley tried to bite back a smile as he said, “I don’t know Warlock--”

“Oh no--”

“CAN you?”

Warlock threw back his head and let out the best guttural scream Crowley had heard since the last time he sprung that on the kid. “May I have my phone back? Please?”

“Dunno. What do you think Bulby?”

“Bububububub!” Bulby cackled as she dropped the phone back on Warlock’s lap. As far as Crowley knew she was the only Bulbsaur that could cackle. An impressive feat considering she only used soft bub sounds to do so. At least he had his Bulbasaur to co-parent raising the kid. God. That was a depressing thought. He’s going to need an extra drink tonight just to ease that self-blow.

After carefully illegally parking his Bentley at the perfect angle to ensure the cars in front and in back of him couldn’t get out, Crowley, Warlock, and Bulby stepped out in front of a building that looked far more like a library than a proper lab. Crowley fished out his own phone to double-check the address. “Yeah, this is the place.”

“Really?” Warlock made a face. “Looks dumb.”

“Bulba.” Bulbsaur said, agreeing.

The three of them stared up at the building in silence together, the spell only broken when Crowley nudged Warlock in the side. “Now, what are we here for?”

Warlock rolled his eyes. “For my starter Pokémon ‘cause you won’t let me catch a wild one, even though I could totally do it--”

“Warlock--”

“Cause my Granddad would totally kill you, your Pokémon, and everything else you love and hold dear if I get hurt.” Warlock droned, already looking at his phone again.

“You know, most kids are excited to get their starter.”

Warlock shrugged. “Starters are dumb. They’re all like, soft baby Pokémon you have to use ‘til you can get a cool one. Like an Ekans!”

“You’re not getting an Ekans.” Crowley said for roughly the millionth time in his life. “And don’t let Bulby hear you call her a soft baby. She’ll never forgive you.”

“Buuuuuub.” Bulby threatened.

“Ugh, fine. But I’m totally trading whatever I’m getting for something cooler.”

“Just stick to the plan, kid.” Warlock was going to that trip as annoying as he possible, wasn’t he? Well, Crowley thought, this couldn’t be worse than the day when he got his starter. Nothing like accidentally sleeping in late and running to the lab just to get your ass kicked by an eleven-year-old with a Charmander.

With a shrug, Crowley walked in with Bulby and Warlock trailing behind. The inside was almost pitch-black, and had an odd musty smell Crowley couldn’t place. He could vaguely make out shelving and a few machines here or there, but nothing that screamed ‘lab’. Or occupied. Crowley walked over to a desk by the lab’s only window. Someone had left a still-steaming cup of coffee on top of what he was pretty sure looked like important paperwork. He pushed the cup ever-so-slightly aside to get a better look.

--Unknown Pokémon, mysterious sightings, psychic Pokémon reporting headaches, doomsday cult, reports of Magikarp falling out of the sky--

“Hello! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize someone was here! Let me get the light!”

A soft buzz filled the lab before the halogen lights above clicked on. They were old enough to have that odd second of weak-flickering light before it turned on properly. In that dim in-between Crowley caught sight of the man he assumed was the lab’s professor wreathed in a halo of light. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

An angel, Crowley thought, a God damned angel.

“Bub.” Bulby nudged Crowley’s arm with her vine. It didn’t seem to do anything.

“Hello there!” The professor said as he walked over to Crowley. Oh no, oh no, he was even cuter up close. He was wearing a bowtie. A tartan bowtie. Between that and the blonde curls, Crowley was already long gone.

“My name is Professor Fell, is there anything I can help you with?”

“Mwuaph.” Crowley answered, sounding a lot like Warlock. He tried again. “My uh, my Godson is here for his starter. Warlock. His name is Warlock and my name is Crowley.”

“Bub!”

“And this is Bulby.”

Professor Fell’s eyes lit right up as he caught sight of the Bulbasaur doing its best to look intimidating. “My heavens! Look at you! Aren’t you a beauty? Goodness, that leaf pattern! Is she from the Kanto region? Oh, and those markings on her feet! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Bulbasaur this old! Not that there’s anything wrong with that, my dear, none of us are getting any younger are we? And in such good shape too! Your trainer must love you a lot!”

Bubly narrowed her eyes at Crowley and somehow put on a shit-eating grin. “Bububububub.”

“Oh no.” Crowley stepped between Bulby and the Professor. “Do not compliment her! She’s already full of herself as is! Bulby, you’re a terrible Pokémon and your leaves are covered in brown spots. Keep up the poor foliage and you’ll be on a one way trip to the garbage disposal.”

“Saur!”

“Goodness,” Professor Fell said with raised eyebrows, “I’ve never seen a Bulbasaur rudely gesture with their vines before, either.”

“Hey, where are the Pokémon?”

Warlock’s voice was enough to remind Crowley that he was there to do more than gawk at the Professor. That, and his ward had a point. What he thought were shelves in the darkness were computer servers and he couldn’t see a single pokéball anywhere. No free roaming Pokémon either. Back in the day it was unheard of, but these days more and more people walked side-by-side with their companions.

(At least the people who had reasonably sized ones did. Maybe Professor Fall was the type to have a Wailord as a companion? Or, Crowley thought, the Professor had recently visited Lavender Town, as it were.)

“Hmm?” Professor Fell said, as if he too just only now remembered Warlock’s existence. “Oh! Yes, I do apologize. Normally I would have some pre-selected Pokémon set out, but, well, my own Godson turned eleven today, you see. He and his friends caused bit of a ruckus so I had to put all of the Pokémon back in The Garden to calm them down. Should be alright now. I think.”

“The Garden?” Both Crowley and Warlock asked, along with a “Bub?” from Bulby.

That was apparently The Right Question as Professor Fell’s eyes lit up. “A little experiment of mine!” He shoved his hand deep into his lab coat’s pocket and pulled out a pokéball with a tartan pattern on the top half. One that matched his bowtie. Crowley might have to lay down to recover from how cute this man was. “A new type of inter-connected storage space for Pokémon! Instead of them being individually stored in a ball this allows them interact with each other while not in active use! Although it is still very early in the project life I have already seen a dramatic increase in not only the well-being of each Pokémon but in friendlier moods as well! Why, just last week I found my Grimer and Jigglypuff playing with each other! Before The Garden they refused to be out of their balls at the same time! Not to mention it's a lot easier to carry one pokéball than six.”

Crowley looked from the pokéball, to the Professor’s glowing smile, back to the pokéball, quick stop at the bowtie, only to land on Professor Fell’s face. “Are you saying all of your Pokémon are in a single ball?”

“Not exactly. But also yes. Would you like to see?”

***

The Lab was far bigger than it looked on the outside. If Crowley hadn’t been preoccupied with Professor Fell he might have noticed that the lab was too big. Bulby had noticed, but her attempts to get her human’s attention off the soft sparkly man leading the way had been futile. She didn’t even know why she was bothering. The entire place could be on fire and he wouldn’t have noticed. Crowley’s crushes were annoying at worst and potentially dangerous at best.

(Bulby was already dreading Warlock’s first crush. Though he and Crowley weren’t related by blood she just knew deep down he’d act the exact same way. Trying to play cool, fail at being cool, accidentally flood the Rock Gym while also somehow setting it on fire, rinse and repeat.)

Warlock at least had enough sense to keep his head down and his phone out. He didn’t notice the unusual size of the lab, but he was just a little bit sharper than Crowley to catch that something about the place was off. Shadows kept moving in the corner of his eye. He’d hear skittering behind him only to turn around and see nothing. But seeing he was an eleven year old boy (and thus too mature or cool to admit he was scared) Warlock kept his mouth shut instead of alerting the adults. In his defense neither man wouldn’t have been able to hear Warlock over the sound of their bad flirting anyway.

“--all ‘cept his Magikarp!”

“No!” Professor Fell replied.

“It’s true! Let them all go! I told him he was a nutter! You’re so damn close to beating the four so why stop now? You know what he did? He laughed at me! Told me not to worry about it.”

“What happened to the poor thing?”

“He won.”

“No!”

“God honest truth! He showed up a week later with a Gyarados and kicked all of their asses! Must have been a one-in-a-million chance of working and the bastard pulled it off. He’s still got his Pokémon Master certificate framed up in his office. The worst part is the League's done everything to forget that little bit of history. Thinks it’s embarrassing.”

“Well! I suppose that’s not a shock. The League is always a bit miffed with non-traditional winners. Remember all the nasty business with that Helix Cult a few years back?”

“Oh yeah. Think I still got my false prophet t-shirt somewhere.”

Professor Fell turned a corner, leading Crowley, Warlock and Bulby to a door with a single round hole in the middle. He smiled at the odd family before taking the tartan ball out of his pocket, popping it into the hole, and pushing the door open. The rush of fresh air slipping in through the doorway was enough to grab everyone’s attention, even Warlock’s. There, on the other side of the door, was a garden. The Garden.

Brilliant sunlight poured down into a small slice of paradise. Through the doorway Crowley could see a waterfall and pond nestled into the forest of strange trees he couldn’t recognize. Nothing on the other side of the door was familiar, yet his soul cried out in the beauty of it. Flowers, berries, music in the air, his brain could barely catch up with what he was seeing. He hadn’t realized he stepped forward until Professor Fell touched his arm to stop him.

“Steady on, dear, it’s far too dangerous for humans. We’re not meant to go inside pokéballs for a reason.”

Crowley’s head snapped in Professor Fell’s direction. “That’s what’s inside your pokéball? An entire bloody Safari Zone?!”

“Nonsense! The Safari Zone isn’t nearly as diverse as Eden!”

“Eden?” Warlock asked, looking up from his phone for the first time since they got there.

“The Edenball! It starts for Expanded Dimension Enclosed Nurturing technology!”

Warlock made a face. “Shouldn’t that be Edent?”

“Oh. Right.” The Professor’s smile faded. “Need to work on that last word I suppose. Edent sounds terrible.”

“Bubub.” Bulby agreed.

Professor Fell closed the door and plucked the tartan pokéball out from the hole. “Now, I do believe someone here needs their starter Pokémon?”

“Yes!” Warlock shouted as he pushed his way in front of Crowley. “Yes yes yes! I want something cool!” Like, wicked badass! Something that shoots fire, and is covered in spikes, and and spits poison and is smart enough to do my homework for me and, and--”

Professor Fell cut Warlock off by placing the tartan pokéball in his hand. He gave Warlock a little ‘go on’ nod and smiled. “Just press the button and think about what you truly want in a Pokémon starter.”

Warlock looked to Crowley, who shrugged, then to Bulby, who had stolen his phone and was currently taking a selfie. Considering he was currently surrounded by three adults Warlock felt oddly alone. He pressed the button on the front of the ball and weakly said, “I choose you? Cool Pokémon?”

The pokéball lit up in Warlock’s hands.

The world held its breath.

A trainer getting their first Pokémon is Important. Not only as a right of passage, but as a starting point for the long journey ahead. That first Pokémon sticks with you, in a way none of the others do. You could collect every Pokémon in the world-- from a pile of trash to the Gods themselves--but none of them will ever be as important as your starter. The Pokémon you looked at and said yes, yes this one is mine. Crowley had felt that way when he first saw Bulby in Professor Oak’s lab years ago. And at that moment Warlock felt the exact same way as light shot out from the ball and solidified in front of him.

It was blue. Small. Kind of weak looking. And--

“Is it crying?” Crowley asked, finally breaking the silence.

“A Sobble!” Professor Fell beamed, “A recently discovered water type! Be very careful, my dear boy, this one is only a few weeks old and might be a little fragile. Pick her, wait let me check, yes pick her up like this. Support her head. There we go!”

Crowley shifted uneasily as he watched Warlock stare down at the crying soft lizard-thing in his arms. His own eyes were beginning to water. Not for the first time he was glad about his always-wearing-dark-glasses habit. That being said he felt like Professor Fell was the type to not judge someone for crying at all. “Kid? You okay?”

Warlock lifted his head, his face already covered in tears, with the largest smile Crowley had ever seen on the boy in his entire life. “She’s perfect.”

***

The ride home was thankfully free of any Sobble-related crying. It had taken all four of them to calm the poor thing down. The Sobble had been snuggled up to Warlock’s chest ever since, refusing to move an inch away from her new trainer. Crowley couldn’t help but think back to his first day with Bulby. They had spent most of that first day in the Pokécenter curled up on the floor eating snacks and plotting revenge against that stupid Charmander-owning kid. At least Warlock and his Sobble had a home with a nice warm bed to eat their snacks in.

“Think of a name yet?” Crowley asked, “one better than Bulby I hope?”

Bulby let out a grunt from the back seat. One that said hey, I like my name! My stupid, stupid name.

“I was thinking of Sobby.”

Crowley winced. “I said better than Bulby. Better.”

“Sobby’s a good name!” Warlock lifted the Sobble up enough to look her in the eye. “What do you think, Sobby?”

“Sob!” Sobby said, the yellow fin on her head perking up.

“See! She likes it!”

“No accounting for taste.” Crowley muttered as he parked the Bentley in front of their apartment building. “You got the pictures, right?”

Warlock shifted his arms enough to pull his phone out of his pocket and handed it over to Crowley. “Yup. Didn’t see any cameras. Maybe he’s dumb enough not to have any?”

“Or he’s smart enough to hide them.” Crowley said as he flicked through the pictures. He really needed to talk to Warlock about a future in photography. For a kid he took some dynamite pictures even if they were mostly of doors and ventilation shafts. “Tonight’s too soon. I’ll give it a few days--”

“We’ll give it a few days.”

Crowley lifted his head to meet Warlock’s stony gaze. “Kid--”

“Don't you kid me! You said I could team up with you once I got my first Pokémon!” Warlock said, a hairline crack spreading through his words. “You promised!”

Crowley sighed. He wanted to respond ‘I meant when you got a useful Pokémon’, but the last thing he wanted to do was set Sobby and Warlock off. Deep down he didn’t want to drag the kid into this. Not because of the whole ‘if he gets hurt I’m dead’ thing, but because he honestly liked Warlock. Loved him like the weird nephew he’d always wanted. He had spent the past year hoping Warlock would want to run around the world chasing dangerous monsters like the other kids his age. Or somehow end up too much of a goody-goody to walk down Crowley’s path. But he knew he had been fooling himself. Warlock was born a snake, raised a snake, and was going to fall like the rest of them. And there was nothing Crowley could do to stop it. He looked back over at Warlock only to be greeted by tears pricking the corner of the kid’s eyes.

Warlock’s family was going to kill him.

Seeing Warlock get hurt was going to kill him.

Yet Crowley knew he only had himself to blame.

Never should have agreed to take care of Giovanni’s grandson.

“Fine.” Crowley said, forcing the worry out of his voice. “But only because this is going to be an easy heist. If everything goes pear-shaped you need to get the hell out of there, understand? And no touching anything! We’re just going there for the Edenball and nothing else!”

“Hell yeah!” Warlock said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “One pokéball? That’s like, nothing! We totally got this! You, me, Bulby and Sobby! We’re going to be awesome!” He raised his hand up for a fist-bump. “Prepare for trouble?”

Crowley smiled and fist-bumped Warlock back. “And make it double.”

#Good Omens #ineffable husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #pokemon #what have I done #might continue this #but I got some other wips to wrap up first #Bulby was my Bulbasaur #I am willing to die for Bulbasaur

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timelock97 · 4 years

Text

Game Changer

Chapter Seven: Meet & Greet

Word Count: 6005

Warnings: Language

__________________________________________

“Noooo,” I whine, hiding further under the covers. “I don’t wanna get up yet, my head hurts.”

“I told you not to drink the wine,” Leon laughs as he moves about the room.

“Look,” I state, sticking my arm out from under the covers to attempt to point at him. “It’s the best damn wine I have had ever, and I didn’t get drunk. I just had enough to be tipsy, mister.” He hums and before I can ask, he rips the blankets out of my hand and to the foot of the bed. “Nooooooo-”

“Pain killers,” he states, handing me two pills and a glass of water. “I have food in the kitchen, then we need to do last minute packing so we can head.”

I pout, but take the offered pills. After swallowing them down I hand the glass back. “Kiss?”

Lee rolls his eyes before pressing a swift kiss to my lips before helping me stand and pushing me toward the door. “Go eat, do you need to shower?”

I shake my head as I walk, grabbing a pair of his sweats to pull on before leaving the room to eat. I smile at the empty apartment as I sit down and eat the eggs and sausage on my plate, all the sudden over thinking, “Lee?”

“Yeah,” he calls back.

“Where do the eggs and sausage come from?”

There is a pause, and footsteps up the hallway. “They ship it from the mainland.” He suddenly stops in the hallway leaning on the wall, with his eyebrows raised in amusement, “It’s not Pokemon if you are wondering.”

“That was my worry-”

“Why would you-”

“Well we eat chicken and cow so I just had to ask-”

Leon shakes his head, moving across the room so he is standing at my side and pulls me so my head is against his chest. “My love, I think you need to just go with the flow-”

“But I have to know.” I whisper, making him chuckle before he kisses my forehead.

Leon pulls the plate closer, “Eat, then we have to finish packing.”

“When did you become the parent?” I tease, taking a bite and checking my phone.

“When you don’t move fast enough, besides, Hop texted me like six times this morning asking when we were coming down so I want to get there sooner rather than later.”

“Fair,” I mutter as I spoon another mouthful into my mouth. I hum as I check through my social media feeds while I finish breakfast. I wash my dish before I move about the apartment and pick up a few things that escaped my backpack to take back to the bedroom. Leon is standing at his closet pulling out a few sweaters and jeans that he tosses toward the bed. “Want me to fold those?” I ask, watching as he shakes his head.

“No, just pack your things, I don’t have much left to pack.” He mutters while grabbing two more things before returning to his suitcase. I notice him eyeball my large suitcase, “I never asked, but what’s in there?”

“Christmas presents,” I laugh, “If I can pack everything in my normal suitcase and my backpack I will mail that back home.”

He nods, moving to lift it and take it closer to the door. “What do you have left to pack?”

I point at my stuff, “I packed while you were doing ‘champion duties’ minus my bathroom stuff, so just that.”

He nods, “Can you get that and then we can take a taxi to the train station?”

I nod and grab my stuff, brushing my teeth and hair first. I waltz back into the room and unzip my suitcase and place them inside. “Want me to call the taxi service?”

Leon rubs his head, “Rotom?” The phone lifts from his pocket and comes to his face, “Taxi service, have them come in fifteen minutes to take us to Wyndon train station.”

I hear a small, 'Done, Corviknight tax number 24 will be here in fifteen minutes.’

“Guess not,” I mutter softly.

Leon sighs, moving to lean down and kiss my lips firmly. When he pulls away he mutters a soft, “Sorry, just, I am ready to be home.” He kisses my cheek before taking my hand, “Can you help me make sure I have everything?”

I nod and stand calling out different items. He quickly becomes aware that he hadn’t packed any underwear or socks. “Leon!” I laugh as I grab them and place them in his suitcase.

“Over focused, sorry, love.”

“Now I think you have everything,” I giggle. His Rotom buzzes beside us, 'taxi has arrived.’ I giggle and walk over to the door, “I’ll start taking this down.”

“I just have to grab my bathroom bag then we can head.” He calls as I shift my backpack over my shoulders and grab my bags.

I walk to the door and slip out, shutting it firmy behind me and calling for the elevator. It gets there before Leon comes out so I just take it down. I smile at the taxi driver as I exit the building, he jogs over to grab one of my bags. “Thank you, I thought I took too much out at once,” I giggle.

“No problem, love.” He places the bags in the back, “Just you?”

“No, my boyfriend will be out in a moment, getting some last minute stuff.”

He almost pouts, “He shouldn’t keep a gorgeous woman like you waiting-”

“I didn’t, she just offered to take some of our luggage out while I made sure we had everything.” Leon speaks, making the taxi driver straighten up.

“Let me grab that for you, Champion.” He reaches for the bag and Leon lets him take it without response.

Leon places a hand on my waist and opens the taxi door for me. I slip inside as Leon crawls in beside me and slams the door a little harder than needed.

I place a hand on his thigh, making him look at me in curiosity, “I’m yours, remember?” I whisper, making him smile softly.

“I love you,” he whispers back as the taxi lifts into the air.

“I love you more.” I smile as I lean my head onto his shoulder. When we land, Lee opens the door and helps me out before walking to the back and grabbing our bags. The driver gets out and offers to help but Leon waves him off. The two of us grab our things and Leon pays him before we enter the train station. Lee gets our tickets settled, the man behind the desk taking our bigger bags so we can settle and wait in the lobby until the train arrives. I turn my head and run my fingers through Leon’s wavy hair.

“You should show me how to style my hair.” He mutters softly, his hand resting on my thigh.

“You think I can do more than throw my hair up into a ponytail? You would be incorrect. No sisters, therefore, never experimented with styling.”

“You braided my hair-”

“Doesn’t mean I can do it on myself-”

“Big sad,” he mutters into my skin, making me giggle.

When the train arrives, the two of us hop on and settle in for a long ride. I fall asleep, not that Lee is surprised with my track record. When we get closer he shakes me awake so I can look out the window. When we pull into Wedgehurst, I smile. The two of us maneuver around everyone to get our luggage and head outside into the cool air.

“Lee!” A voice carries through the air, and after a minute I see Hop running toward us and throwing himself into Lee’s arms. “Finally, I thought you and (Y/N) would be here hours ago!”

Leon laughs as he sets Hop down, Hop spinning in his spot to tackle me in a hug. “Well we had to pack and get here so it took a little longer.”

“Fair,” Hop chuckles, hugging me tighter, “And it’s so nice to actually see you in person. We are going to have so much fun, I have to show you around the whole area-” Hop starts to ramble, and loses me pretty quickly, which causes me to giggle.

“How about we do that after we get settled back at home. I’d love for you to help show me around.” I say, pushing his hair back.

“I can do that!” He cheers, unravelling himself from me before grabbing Lee’s suitcase while Lee carries my large suitcase. “What’s in the big suitcase?”

“Presents,” Lee laughs watching as his brother’s eyes go wide.

“But they are from me so you have to wait, I need to finish wrapping them.”

“I can help if they aren’t mine!” Hop offers making me smile.

“Sounds like a plan, buddy,” I smile, ruffling his hair.

After settling inside, and warming up, I take some time upstairs in Leon’s childhood room wrapping presents with Hop, after wrapping his of course. The two of us sit cross-legged on the floor, wrapping paper, ribbons, and tape scattered around us.

“Lee wants to take you to the research lab so he can introduce you to Sonia and her aunt.”

“Her aunt? I know her Gran is the professor but who is her aunt?”

“Lee didn’t tell you?” I shake my head, prompting him to roll his eyes, “She runs a therapy center in Monostoke, they have speech, occupational, and physical therapy there and Lee mentioned you were looking for an internship and she wanted to meet you. She also wants to show you the clinic.”

“Oh so Lee is trying to make sure that I move to Galar after I graduate then?” I tease, making Hop laugh.

“He talks about you moving here all the time, buying a house, raising a family, the whole lot.” Hop smiles, he lets out a small content sigh, “I haven’t seen my brother this happy since he won the championships for the first time, and that is something.”

I blush softly, “He really is something else isn’t he.”

“He really is.” Hop smiles widely, “Do you have any siblings?”

I smile, bumping his shoulder. “A little brother, his name is Aiden and he is about your age. He was worried about me moving here, but I know Galar has a better paid time off system so I know I will be able to go and visit.”

“I hope you let him come at some point so I can meet him, I’ll show him all the ropes of being a great trainer.” Hop smiles as he tapes the last edge to Leon’s gift, “He is going to love this though, I hope you know.”

“Oh, he better, I spent so much time perfecting it,” I tease, giggling at the end. A knock on the door breaks the little moment, “Who is it?”

“Your loving boyfriend would like to come in and collect his girlfriend.” Lee calls through the door.

“She is busy at the moment!” I call back, taping the last of the gifts. I double check with Hop, confirming that we indeed finished. “Okay, now she’s not busy!”

Leon chuckles behind the door and opens it slowly, smiling at Hop and I sitting on his floor. He leans on the door frame, his phone floating by his head to snap a picture of Hop and I sitting on the floor. “Well, I was hoping I could steal you away from Hop to take you to the lab to talk with Sonia.”

I nod, smiling as I stand and brush off my pants. “Sure, let’s head.”

Lee and I walk hand in hand as we follow the path back into Wedgehurst. I swing our arms as we walk, making Leon laugh softly beside me. He smiles at me, lifting his hand and kisses the skin of mine. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too.”

When we arrive at the lab, the two of us open the door and slip inside the warm building. In front of me are three women of varying ages. The youngest looks over at us and squeals when she sees us. “You’re here!”

“You never get this excited when it’s just me, Sonia.” Lee teases, being met with a scoff as Sonia pulls me into a tight hug.

“Whatever, Lee. I just want to hug your girlfriend.” She teases as I throw an arm around her as well. “God, look at you! You’re so pretty!”

“I’m pretty? You’re pretty!” I giggle as I hold her at arm’s length. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

“Ditto,” she giggles. She claps her hands before pulling me into the building further, “Let me introduce you to my Gran and my Aunt.” Leon tags along behind me as we move forward. Sonia smiles excitedly as she stops in front of the women. “Gran, Aunt Samantha, this is (Y/F/N), Leon’s girlfriend. (Y/N), this is my Gran, Professor Magnolia, and my aunt Samantha who owns a therapy clinic in Monostoke.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” I state.

Professor Magnolia reaches out and shakes my hand sweetly, “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N). We have heard a lot about you from our dear Champion.”

Samantha smiles as she walks over, “And I heard from Sonia that you are graduating in the spring and are looking for a place to intern. Is that true?”

I nod while shaking her hand, “It is, but I have to talk to my professor before I can make any promises.”

“Well, I hope you can do it soon, I would love you to be a part of our team.” She smiles, “Actually, you should come to the clinic and see if you even like it first, two days from now?”

I go wide eyed and look at Leon, who nods as he chuckles. “I guess that would work!”

“I can go with you,” Sonia offers, wrapping an arm around my own and smiling at me, “I have to run errands in Monostoke so it’ll all work out.”

“Wonderful! Well, I have to head back actually, I have to meet with a patient in an hour so I need to take the train. See you all later!” Samantha calls, walking out the door after grabbing her coat.

Once she is out the door Sonia claps her hands, “Oh, (Y/N), I have your Rotom and phone ready so you can make calls from here more easily.” She grabs my hand and drags me over to a table as her Gran goes to talk to Leon. She opens a box to reveal a navy blue phone that is already in a case. She hands me a pokeball, “This gal is your Rotom, she will power your phone but she can only be used in Pokemon regions. So when you go home you can either pop by here and I’ll take care of her or Leon can.”

I open the poke ball and the Rotom comes flying out, zipping around my head before stopping a few inches from my face. “Hello there, it’s nice to meet you.” It buzzes before noticing the phone in my hand. It immediately zips into the phone, bringing it to life. The phone now circles around my head before stopping in front of me, showing me the pokedex.

“Oh, I also set up a pokedex for you, Lee gave me the list of Pokemon you knew so I went through and fixed those.”

“Fabulous,” I mutter as I swipe through. Sonia takes the time to explain more of the phone, and helps me to transfer my contacts from my original phone. Only when Lee places a hand on my shoulder do I realize how long we had been there.

“Mum texted and said food was ready, let’s head home, huh love?”

I nod, turning and hugging Sonia before I take Leon’s hand. “I’ll see you soon, m'kay?”

Sonia nods, “See you soon!”

I pull my sleep shirt, which is one of Leon’s shirts, over my head and replace it with a dressy shirt. I was going with Sonia to go see her aunt’s clinic today. She had offered to do an internship for half the summer, the latter half, doing some in-clinic and home care treatments of all ages. I liked the idea, and in turn emailed one of my professor’s who coordinated these events to give her the news. All she needed to do now was talk with Samantha about it further.

I look in the mirror that Leon had in the room as there was a knock on the door. “I’m decent,” I call as I pull my hair up into a ponytail and pin back most of the left over hair minus a few decent curls.

Leon steps in and stands behind me before wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into him. “You ready for today?”

I let out a content hum before nodding. “Yeah, she is going to take me to two appointments while Sonia does some errands to see if I like it. We are going to head over to Turrfield for one outside the clinic.”

Leon nods, and he gives me one last firm squeeze before setting me free. I turn and grab my socks to slip on when I notice him grab a belt from off his footboard. He motions me to stand before slipping the belt through the loops of my pants.

“Lee? I really didn’t need a belt, these pants are tight enough.”

He nods but still clips the belt once he had it toward the front. “I know, but I know you don’t have pockets with these pants either.” He states, adding a pokeball closest to the second loop and on the opposite side attaches my new Rotom phone to a harness.

“Who did you give me and why? Lee, I’m going to be with Sonia the whole time, you don’t have to worry-”

“I always worry, and I know Sonia is an experienced trainer, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you.” He mutters, making sure everything is attached and won’t fall off. “Besides, I want you to be safe. You have Haxorus since she likes you so much, and I have updated your phone and Rotom is all ready to go.” He places his hands to my cheeks, forcing me to look up at him. “I’m just a phone call away if you need me. I’d tag along with you but Milo and Raihan are coming this way to discuss some stuff, so I have to stay here.”

I move forward and rub my nose against his, before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I am going to be fine, actually I am really excited for this trip. Try not to worry about me too much while I am gone, okay?”

“I will try,” he sighs, gently pulling away to grab my jacket. He opens it to help me shrug into it, then the two of us head down the stairs.

Sonia is standing in the kitchen with two travel mugs in hand while her Yamper sits at her feet. She turns to us and smiles widely, “What took you so long? We are gonna miss our train!”

“Train leaves in twenty minutes and it takes four to walk there from here, relax.” Hop mutters with a mouth full of cereal.

Sonia rolls her eyes as I grab my boots and slip them on. “Either way, we should head pretty soon.”

“I’m good to head now, Sonia.” I smile, letting out a laugh as Leon wraps a scarf around my neck and kisses my cheek. “I love you, have a good day, yeah?

"I’ll try-”

“You are so love sick, I think (Y/N) used charm on you.”

“Can’t deny that,” Leon teases with a wink, making me roll my eyes.

I give the rest of the family a wave goodbye before Sonia and I slip out the door and head to the train station. She talks about some things I should expect, as well as that most of the people will ask where I am from. “So should I just tell them I’m the Champion’s girlfriend,” I tease making her laugh and shake her head.

“I’d say probably not. Although I am sure you will be talked about more in the upcoming months.” She laughs, stretching softly.

“Next stop, Monostoke station!” The speaker blares, making her and I scramble to collect our things and settle in our seats. I tell Sonia about anything she wants to know: my family, school, Buster, and most importantly the real story about how Leon and I met. By the time we reach the station, I know that Sonia and I will be life-long friends.

Sonia grabs my wrist as we weave our way through the crowd. Once outside, Sonia lets go so we can walk side by side, little Yamper bouncing around in between our feet. She directs me over to the lifts, warning me to hold on as it moves up and to the side to take us to the lower level to the clinic.

I smile at the small building and step inside, waving at Sonia as she moves to head off somewhere else.

“(Y/N)! It’s good to see you! I have my next client coming in soon, why don’t you go talk with Rachel and sign some paperwork, okay?”

“Gotcha!” I call as I get shooed to the back office, Rachel, who is the receptionist, hands me some papers before sitting across from me explaining what each piece of paperwork was for. It doesn’t take me long to finish before I am swept into an appointment and starting to work alongside Samantha. Heart full.

“I really think you’ll fit in here,” Samantha boasts as we walk to Turrfield. “Seriously, you have the personality, you are easy to talk to, and once you know the area I feel like you will have no problem.”

“I’m really glad you think that,” I giggle, shifting the bag she had me carry to the other arm. “Do you usually walk to the appointments or ride a bike?”

“Normally I bike ride, but I didn’t have an extra so we are just gonna walk. Either way I have to worry about people who want to battle, so I usually have my 'on the job’ face on so no one bothers me.”

I nod in understanding, “Do I just tell them that 'I can’t battle’ if that happens to me in the future?”

She nods as she slows down, pointing out the house we were headed to. “Yeah, most people understand though, so there aren’t any hard feelings. If you do find someone who won’t leave it be you can always just ignore them.” She states as we come closer to the house. Samantha turns toward me with a smile, “Okay, now that we are here, let’s talk about what we are going to do.”

When Samantha and I return to the clinic, Sonia is already waiting. She smiles widely, waving at us, “I am starving. I’m so glad you both are back, let’s head over to the diner and grab a late lunch then (Y/N) and I can head back to the station.”

“Food!” I call making them both laugh.

“Alright, let’s go ladies!”

After eating and spending some time together, Sonia and I head back to Monostoke station, only to find out that the train hadn’t come from the Wild Area station due to Wooloo crossing.

“Okay, so we either have to walk through the Wild Area to that station or we can wait til they pass but that could be hours from now.” Sonia sighs, sitting next to me.

“I wouldn’t mind walking through the Wild Area, it can’t take us too long to walk there.” I sigh, standing.

“To the Wild Area it is.” She smiles, standing with me and waving to the man selling train tickets. She and I wander through town until we make it to the entrance.

“Holy shit that’s a lot of stairs,” I whisper, making her giggle.

“Yeah, it’s intense, but it’s the only way down. C'mon let’s go!” She calls as she starts down the steps.

“As long as I don’t have to walk up them, I will be happy.” I laugh, following her down. Once we make it to the bottom I let out a squeal of pure excitement. “Look at all the Pokemon!”

“You’re like a new trainer, it’s adorable.” Sonia laughs as we begin walking, avoiding the area where ghost Pokemon lurk.

“Well, this is probably the most I have seens since getting here so excuse me.”

The two of us just walk and talk until we get closer to the station. I laugh at something she says, until I see her face fall into horror, “Look out!” She yells, shoving me to the side as a boulder lands between us. But it’s not a boulder; no, it’s an Onix’s tail. “Move! Get up the hill-” she’s cut off as the Onix moves its attention from her to me, and my eyes go wide as I scramble to stand and run to the station. It roars out, swiping its tail at me which I barely dodge, tumbling to the ground.

I move to grab the pokeball on my hip, only to find it missing. “I lost Haxorus!” I cry, moving to try and stand again, “Sonia!”

Onix moves again, but before a move can be made Onix groans moving to the right. My eyes land on a Leafeon, tail raised in the air. The leaf on its head glows as leaves float around it before flying toward the Onix which cause it to back up and groan again.

A hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me to my feet, “Run! The little lady told you to run, go!” The guy yells and pushes me toward the station.

I scream as Onix’s tail lands in front of me, knocking me to the side again, and I tuck myself small. I hear Onix groan again, and I lift my head to see Leafeon standing in front of me in a defencive position. “Leafeon! Magical leaf!” I call out, watching as she tucks her head, the leaf on her head glowing as glowing leaves surround it and shoot at the Onix. It groans again retreats into the ground under it. I turn to see Sonia, she’s a bit scraped up, but nothing horrible, and the guy who had shoved me back toward the building is sitting on his bottom, clutching the side of his head. “Shit,” I hiss as I scramble to stand and run over to him, dropping to my knees as I gently grab his hand. “Let me look, fuck this is all my fault-”

“It’s not; that Onix has been causing trouble for trainers more and more lately. Too high a level for new trainers so we here have been trying to keep it at bay until someone can beat and catch it.” He winces as I check his head.

“Here, I have a first aid kit in my bag.” I whisper, shifting it off my back and setting it down next to me.

“Your Pokemon did a good job on that Onix,” he mutters as I gently dab at his wound.

“It’s nothing too deep so you shouldn’t need stitches,” I mutter, suddenly realizing what he said. “I don’t have a Pokemon, my boyfriend gave me his Haxorus which I need to look for,” I mutter softly as I grab a patch from the bag and tape it down. “You’ll need to check and clean that.” I say before standing, offering him a hand.

He takes it, pulling himself up and I make sure he is steady before letting go. “Thank you, again. I can help you look for your pokeball as a better thanks-”

“No need,” Sonia calls, and when I turn I let out a sigh of relief seeing that she had a pokeball in hand. “I think it popped off the belt in the squabble. If that’s Lee’s old belt then he should have remembered that it wasn’t very good at holding onto pokeballs in some situations, including battles that he had to move a lot in.” She shakes her head as she hands it over to me and I hold it close to my chest.

“I would have felt awful if I lost her,” I mutter, clipping it back to my hip before Sonia gasps. I go to turn and look until I feel something brush against my leg. I look down and find the Leafeon leaning against me, she lets out a small bark before moving so she is in front of me. I reach down cautiously and scratch behind her ear, finding it a little easier to breathe the closer I get, “Thank you for helping us, little one. You did a great job.” She hums, nuzzling into my leg, making me giggle.

“Seems to like you,” the guy mutters. “I’ve seen her around, but never let’s any trainers get close. You must be something special.”

Sonia nudges my shoulder, “We better go, Leon will be worried if we don’t get home soon.”

I nod, “Yeah we should.” Before the three of us get too far, I notice the Leafeon following close behind me. “Sonia, uh, we have a tag along.”

She looks back and laughs, “No, you definitely have a tag along. I would tell you to catch it, but I know you don’t have any balls on you.”

“Here,” the guy mutters, pressing a ball into my hand. It’s completely white minus the ring. “That’s a premier ball, should be able to catch her.”

I nod and take a moment to crouch down in front of the pokemon, “Hey, do- do you want to come with me? I might not be the best trainer but I sure as hell can try.” I press the button with my thumb, enlarging the ball, but before I can say anymore, the leaf on top of Leafeon’s head whips forward and taps the ball and it opens in my hand, light surrounding her and disappearing inside. It doesn’t wriggle once, instead immediately shuts and confirms the capture.

Sonia laughs, “Oh Leon is gonna be upset that he didn’t get to see you capture your first Pokemon.”

I give her a sheepish smile before standing, my Rotom floating into the air and showing me the pokedex. It shows me Leafeon’s entry, and asks if I want to give her a nickname. I settle on Ivy. Once I reattach my phone to my hip, Sonia and I get on the train headed home.

“Leon is going to be playing Chancey trying to take care of you tonight,” Sonia laughs as we exit the station, snow falling around us. “Did the dex tell you what level Leafeon is?”

“I didn’t check,” I laugh, feet crunching in the snow. As I pull out my phone I hear someone yell. “What was that-”

“Cutiefly! Is that you?”

“Oh, that’s Rai.” I laugh, Sonia rolling her eyes beside me. “Holy cow, Leafeon is at level fifty!”

“Seriously!” She leans over as the guys come into view, pushing each other playfully as they get closer. “That’s amazing!”

“How was your trip, ladies?” Leon calls, he is smiling, until he can see the rips in my pants. He starts walking a little faster until he is jogging toward us. “Arceus, what happened? Are you two hurt?”

“We’re fine, Leon-”

“Just got a little roughed up, no big deal-”

Raihan notices the extra pokeball on my hip and gives a wide smile, “I know Lee gave you Haxorus for your trip, but it looks like you brought one home.”

Leon gives him a funny look before looking down. He looks proud, “What did you catch, love?”

I laugh, unclipping the pokeball, “More like she chose me, c'mon out Ivy!” I toss the ball in the air and Leafeon lands in front of me.

Milo smiles, “She’s gorgeous! She looks like she has been well raised, maybe even released?” He crouches down to look at her, but her tail swishes and she moves so that she is behind me. Milo chuckles, “Yeah, she must have been released.”

“I wonder why, she’s really strong.” I mutter, leaning a hand down to brush it by her ear. She immediately bumps my hand with her nose, nuzzling my hand sweetly. “Someone must have trained her up then when she evolved she wasn’t what they wanted. It happens sometimes, it’s always sad, but they usually choose their next trainer.” Milo continues, his hand landing on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze. When I look up, he is still smiling, “Think she made a good choice choosing you, (Y/N).”

I smile gently before muttering a soft, “Thank you.”

Raihan yawns, moving around Milo to place a hand on my head playfully. “Well as much as I want to stay and chat, I need to get back to Hammerlocke, and I know farmer boy here needs to head back home too. Christmas is only a day away.” He rubs my head, and I swat his hand away before he pulls me into a hug, kissing my cheek playfully. “Bye guys, bye Lee, bye cutiefly. Have a happy holiday.” He waves at all of us before slipping inside the station.

“I agree, time to head home,” Milo says, a small yawn escaping his parted lips. “Good night guys, have a Happy Christmas.” He waves at everyone before slipping inside.

Sonia says goodbye to us as well, waving as she starts to head back to her Gran’s house.

“You sure you’re okay, Sonia?” I call before Leon grabs my hand.

She nods, “I think you were worse off, I am fine. Lee! Make sure to patch her up, yeah?”

He nods, and gives her a quick wave before turning and lifting me up bridal style to carry home.

“Lee!” I laugh, my arms going around his neck, “I’m fine, just a few cuts and bruises. I am okay.” He doesn’t say anything which worries me. I glance down and notice Leafeon is walking beside us, staying close enough to be seen by me but far enough away to not touch Leon. “Leon-”

“It could have been so much worse, what if you were by yourself-”

“I wasn’t though-”

“But what if, and what about Haxorus, why didn’t you use her?”

I sigh, “The pokeball fell off my belt before I could even throw it,” I look at his chest to avoid his eyes. “We had been so careful, nothing had bothered us, I’m sorry.”

“You should have called-”

“And what, 'Hey Lee don’t freak out but Sonia and I were attacked by an Onix on our way through the wild area to get to the train station cause there were Wooloo on the tracks between that station and the other so it would have taken us hours longer to get home’? No, I didn’t want to worry you, besides nothing awful happened-”

“But it could have-”

“Leon,” I place a hand on his face to make him look at me. “I may have cuts and bruises but I am here, nothing bad happened, and now you can baby me all you want. Uh, play Chancey as Sonia put it.” I see a twitch of a smile on his face, “You know, I had a lot of fun today besides that.”

“Oh did you?” He teases, bumping the gate with his hip to let himself back into his yard.

“Mhm,” I giggle, leaning into him.

“Well, you can tell me all about it while I patch you up, okay?” I groan, making him chuckle, “You said I get to play Chancey, and I am gonna take it.”

__________________________________________

A/N: Loooooong ass chapter for today! Hope you all enjoyed!

Masterlist

#cg writes #champion leon #champion leon x fem!reader #champion leon fluff #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield #dandeleon #dande #pokemon leon #pokemon shield leon #pokemon sword leon

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incoherentbabblings · 4 years

Text

Take Back the Cake, Burn the Shoes, and Boil the Rice (3/11)

Within two months there have been two murders of Gotham newlyweds moments after the ceremony. The only connecting factor was both brides wore the same designer’s work. Needing to establish who exactly is behind the crimes, Bruce enlists Tim and Stephanie to have the biggest wedding Gotham high society has seen in decades, putting a target on their heads not just for the killer, but Gotham society too. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Ao3 Link Here!

Bruce couldn’t help it, he did a double take seeing the ring on Stephanie’s finger when the pair returned from their engagement dinner. Stephanie’s face was dirty, like she had been crying, and there were black smears down Tim’s shirt.

Well, Tim said he would speed things along.

Bruce cradled the batman suit’s cowl as the two stepped forward. Stephanie seemed a little shell shocked.

“Nice ring.” Bruce quipped.

Tim laughed uncomfortably. “I got it from Donahue's… the guy said your dad used to shop there.”

This was not news to Bruce. “He did… A bit overpriced if you ask me. You bought a new ring?”

Tim tilted his head like Ace did when the dog got confused. “As opposed to?”

“Your mother’s –”

“No.” Stephanie interrupted before Bruce could shoot himself in the foot. She watched Tim’s body tighten, then relax as she spoke. “I wanted this. Mrs Drake’s jewellery belongs to Tim, and it’s not to be gifted to me for a mission.”

Tim was staring off into the middle distance. His mother had come from old money and had carried forward pieces that everyone loved. His father had admired them for the craftmanship, whilst Tim had loved them because his mother always looked lovely in her necklaces, rings, bracelets and brooches. Of the two or three times he’s seen her wear that beautiful tiara, Tim had gawked like a fish. She had been buried with her engagement and wedding rings, for whatever that marriage meant to her, appearances mattered more. His father had deeply mourned her, if only for a moment.

Bruce put on the cowl, changing the subject.

“I want you both to follow. Watch from a distance and see if you see anything I miss.”

Tim moved towards the costume cases. “You’re talking to the designer?”

“She’s our only connecting factor. Best place to start.”

Stephanie brushed at her cheeks, impossibly smearing her face even more.

“Give me a moment.”

When she left, Tim looked back at Batman.

“Where are they? My mother’s jewellery.”

If he were honest, he had lost track of his parents estates and what he inherited in the year after his father’s death. So much had happened, so much had gone wrong, things like inheritance tax and photo albums, clothes, jewellery and debts had gotten lost in the rush.

He had trusted Bruce to see it all through after Tim was adopted, and look after it Bruce did.

“In the family vault. I can send Alfred to collect pieces if you would like.”

Tim nodded.

“Hurry up and get dressed.”

The designer, Rebecca Andrews, was a woman in her forties. Stick thin, as many designers seemed to be, and owlish in expression. She had almost grey skin, and had bigger bags under her eyes then Bruce on his worst of days. Mousy brown hair and eyes, she reminded Stephanie of her own mother a decade ago. Someone sick with worry, and someone who had turned to other means of coping.

Through her large open windows, it seemed she was trying to hang up on someone on the phone, before Batman interrupted her night. She was afraid.

When she finally put the phone down, Red Robin and Batgirl watched as Batman entered the apartment.

Batman did his usual, catching the poor woman off guard, allowing her to jump a mile and spill coffee everywhere. When she recognized the shape of the cowl, she began to sob.

“Oh God! No please, I haven’t hurt anyone I swear.”

She began to sob, shoulders heaving with the intensity of her crying.

“Who then?”

“I don’t know! I swear I don’t know.” Seeing Batman was only here to talk, she continued to cry, pacing wildly back and forth, arms swinging around. Completely dramatic, but she was a fashion designer, Stephanie and Tim supposed internally. “My dresses… I don’t know! My poor brides! I don’t know if it’s a pissed off former bride of mine… a nasty colleague – but no, everyone likes me – or just…someone who hates marriages. Or me. But why me! Why those poor couples!”

“Are you married yourself?”

The question seemed to surprise her. “No. On and off boyfriend. But he would never –”

Her phone began buzzing aggressively. She gulped, trying to ignore it.

When it stopped, she opened her mouth to speak, but the phone lit up again. Batman stared pointedly at it. Mumbling to herself, she answered the phone.

“Honey, please… I’m okay. Listen… I’ll call you back. No, I’m not alone. I’m okay, but someone’s with me. Yes… yes… okay. Love you too. I’ll call you in a bit. Okay. Bye. Love you. Bye.”

She hung up, and looked guiltily at Batman, who remained in the shadows of the wealthy apartment.

“On and off boyfriend?” He asked, voice deliberately and threateningly quiet.

Rebecca nodded. “He’s worried about me. People will notice the connections. My business is going to take a hit… It’s so difficult to stay afloat in the fashion industry and something like this…”

Stephanie blinked and tilted her head while she listened.

“I don’t think she’s self-sabotaging.” Tim whispered. She inclined her head to indicate she heard and agreed with Tim, and then continued watching. The pair were perched on a neighbouring roof, peering in, picking up on the conversation through Batman’s little microphone that was designed for this very purpose. The night had gotten a little cold, and Tim and Stephanie whilst waiting had ended up leaning towards each other. At one point Tim had reached over her for something, and when he had pulled back, his cape had remained around her shoulders. Stephanie didn’t throw it off.

Rebecca had taken a step closer to Batman, suddenly hopeful. “Are you going to investigate? Make sure I don’t get accused of something I haven’t done? My reputation as a designer, my relationship with the men and women I work with…”

“Six people have died.” That was reason enough for Batman. Andrews blinked, remembering herself.

“Yes, yes. Of course, I’m sorry. Those people deserve justice. I’m sorry.”

Her phone began buzzing again, and when she looked down, she cringed.

“Ms Andrews.” Batman spoke over the buzzing phone, demanding she ignore it. “You have no clue who could be targeting the women and their husbands who purchase your bridal wear?”

She only looked down at her phone. She then deliberately shook her head.

“Please help me.” She pleaded. “Before anyone else is targeted, before I sink and everything I’ve spent decades building falls to dust.”

Just by looking at the woman, all three vigilantes could see she was no threat, so nothing more could be learned on this night. The insistent boyfriend was annoying, but it was possible that he was just nervous for the frail looking woman’s health in the aftermath of what would no doubt be a massive scandal.

The buzzing phone finally got to be too much for her, and she walked away from Batman to answer it.

“Sweetheart please I…”

She turned back around, and Batman was gone. Tim and Stephanie watched as she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hmm.” Tim groaned.

“She knows something.”

“She does.” Batman agreed, appearing behind the two. Looking at Red Robin, he stated, “You’ll make a public statement tomorrow at work to confirm the engagement.” He turned to Stephanie. “Try to go to college as normal tomorrow.”

“Try?”

Red Robin sighed at Stephanie’s confrontational tone. He pulled out his grapple, ready to shoot away.

“Batgirl… if it gets to be too much, call one of us, we’ll come pick you up.”

Stephanie watched the two men go, then connected on her line to Wendy and Babs, beginning her own night of patrol. It would give her the chance to think of something else other than Tim and that ring that currently sat nestled in her shoes back at the manor.

Stephanie refused to look at her phone the rest of that night. The following morning, when her alarm went off and she clicked it silent, she saw so many notifications and messages, out of sheer panic, she ignored all of them.

Feeling overwhelmed, she begrudgingly put on the ring, got in her car, and went to college. She had a lecture and a seminar in the morning, then work on a presentation in the library to occupy her mind. She sat in the very front of the lecture hall, off to the side, so no-one could pass or catch her eye outside of the professor, so she managed to get through the lecture with no one noticing she was sat at the front.

When the lecture ended, she waited a couple of minutes before she got up to leave. When she did though, the professor waltzed over to her.

“I saw the news last night,” She whispered. Stephanie froze, hand buried in her backpack, hiding the ring from sight. The lecturer only seemed pleased for her, though, and Stephanie held her breath. “I just wanted to say, congratulations, Stephanie.”

Stephanie couldn’t help it and smiled at her lecturer. “Thank you. Tim is…he’s…” She found herself unable to finish, but it seems Professor Choi seemed to think her speechlessness was from a bursting sense of happiness, and not a knot at the base of her gut, stifling her brain of any quick-witted thought.

Professor Choi smiled widely, then left Stephanie in her seat. Staring at the large projector screen, she shuddered herself into the present, got up from her seat, and bolted to her seminar.

She was early, very early, but decided waiting like an overly keen first year in the corridor until the room was emptied of its occupants was the preferable option. She instinctively checked her phone, in a routine movement to distract herself, and was met by her dozens and dozens of notifications. Messages from people she hadn’t spoken to in years, who had hunted her down on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, private messages and public posts. Congratulatory, accusatory, all of them questioning. Doubtful.

She had hoped that the large and mighty Waynes would have made a statement by now: so happy so pleased but please respect Stephanie “She’s a private citizen so back off” Brown’s space. But as far she could tell, browsing through endless gossip sites, nothing official had been released.

She resisted from reading any of the comments. She didn’t hate herself that much. One article had taken to using screenshots of tweets scattered through the page. Every moment, every comment – negative or positive – made her feel sicker and more cornered.

“Stephanie?” She looked up from her phone to see gathering members of the class staring at her.

Her expression, frozen in distress, made her classmates uncomfortable. Twitching, she neutralised it, and pocketed her phone. One girl blinked, then started with a,

“I saw yesterday that Ti—”

“Did you get a chance to look at the Derrida article?” She interrupted, shuffling in her bag for the printout. She wouldn’t let anybody else make her feel small. “I swear to God I can’t understand a word he says and that’s after he’s been translated.”

“Christ, that’s a rock and a half.”

Before she could derail the conversation to college classes, one of the boys had come up behind her and grabbed her left hand, tugging it towards him. Panicked, she ripped it back.

“Don’t do that.” She said, thrusting both hands in her coat pockets. She tried to keep her temper in check.

Another girl looked on sympathetically, and tried to sound happy for Stephanie, but instead all she felt was patronised. “I heard he did it at dinner? You’re so lucky Steph.”

Stephanie knew now she was going to have to lie. She was going to have to be happy. Over the moon. In love and without a care for who knew it. She swallowed.

“It was a long time coming, I think.” She tried to giggle.

The guy who had grabbed her hand forced his way back into Stephanie’s eyeline. He didn’t believe her. Funny, considering they had never said more than hello to the other.

“How long have you been dating?”

“On and off since he was fourteen.”

Oh boy. She better let Tim know that apparently was their dating story. For all she knew he had an utterly different plot in mind.

The guy looked more than a little taken aback. Another girl (Clara? If Steph remembered right, which she probably wasn’t), gasped.

“You’ve known him that long?”

That, Stephanie didn’t have to lie about.

“Mm! We went to different high schools at first, but I ran into him in town one night. Spent a lot of time together after the quake. We both went to Gotham Heights before he…”

“Dropped out to live the high life?”

Stephanie tried not to bark back. Gritting her teeth, she ground out, “It was a difficult year for him.”

It was enough to make one girl look embarrassed.

“Well, congrats anyway. Enjoy the WAG life.”

“She’s not a footballer’s wife, Dan.”

If it was supposed to be a joke, Stephanie couldn’t bring herself to laugh. The questions and stares did not stop, not even after the classroom emptied and her own seminar began. The number of people she felt staring at her left hand in the small room made her feel increasingly claustrophobic. She tried to focus on the discussion but instead her mind wandered, as it was prone to do, and instead she felt increasingly paranoid that people were watching her. She could feel her phone continue to buzz as more and more notifications came through. People were wanting her to say something, as if she owed them anything.

But that was the point. This was supposed to be grand and attention grabbing and fully in the public eye. But why hadn’t Tim and Bruce taken control? They were the ones in the public eye, not her. What were they even doing up that black bricked tower of theirs? Stamping title deeds? Whenever there was a lull in the conversation, someone would invade Stephanie’s personal space, whispering conspiratorially as if she knew or cared who they were. Like they were old friends ready for some gossip.

“How did he propose anyway?”

“Didn’t you see? It was at The Golden Bell.”

“No way. Place is fancy.”

“Told you. WAG.”

“Shut up, Dan.”

“Can’t believe you’re gonna have Bruce Wayne for a dad-in-law.”

“Or Dick Grayson for a brother-in-law.”

“Keep dreaming, Mel.”

“I will.”

Stephanie smiled like a skull, teeth bared and eyes empty, as the conversations went through her. She contributed nothing, confirmed nothing, denied nothing, and just smiled.

The seminar ended, with not much productive being discussed. Stephanie told herself it was because the writing they were to study was impossible to decipher anyway, and it had nothing to do with the large sapphires and diamonds on her left hand.

She knew she had work to do, so needed to head to the campus library for the afternoon, but it seemed the university was not off limits to nosy people with cameras, who had started to put together who the mystery blonde was that Mr Drake was engaged to. Mr Wayne. Whatever.

Stephanie wished she had a hood to pull up, or sunglasses to put on, or something to help hide her face, but instead she was accosted by people she had only ever seen once or twice on campus. They seemed curious in a good-natured way, but Stephanie knew how quickly that could turn around. She gripped her backpack tightly, forgetting this only served to put the ring on full display, and made her way to the library, crossing campus with a retinue of strangers asking questions and dozens of curious stares and photos.

Honestly, it sucked.

It was Jordanna, of all people that came to her rescue. It was entirely self-serving, Stephanie knew it as such instantly, but still, a shrill voice telling people to fuck off was really channelling Stephanie’s inner mood.

People began to dissipate, Jordanna throwing the stink eye at anyone who dared look at Stephanie for more than two seconds.

When Stephanie finally made it to the library and through the barriers, out of sight of anyone who wasn’t a student, Jordanna practically ripped Stephanie’s left arm out of its socket.

“You bitch!” Stephanie heard the happy tone, but the word still cut right through her. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been dating one of the Waynes?”

“I didn’t want people to judge me.”

“Too late for that! Lemme see the rock.” She pulled at Stephanie’s arm to inspect the ring. She whistled, impressed by its size. Stephanie tried to take her hand back, but Jordanna was insistent. “Can I try it on?”

“No.”

“I’m your maid of honor right?”

Jesus, no.

Stephanie laughed, trying to keep the mood light. Internally, she felt close to shitting herself. Who was her MoH? Cass? Probably Cassandra. Did Cassandra even know about this? Did she approve? Did she even know how to help plan a wedding?

“It’s early days you know. Not even been twenty-four hours yet.”

Jordanna continued to inspect the ring, musing something over. Stephanie turned every now and then when she felt eyes on her, sure enough always catching someone turning away a slither of a second too late. Her gut bubbled in an explosive mix of nerves, anger, and guilt.

“Well,” Jordanna finished her analysis, dropping Stephanie’s hand finally. “Ignore what anyone says, yeah? You’ve hit the jackpot, and – coming from a jealous bitch – people are gonna be jealous.”

“…Thanks, Jordanna.”

“Call me your bodyguard for the rest of the year.”

Stephanie smirked. “Want anything in return?”

“One on one meeting with Dick Grayson. Or Bruce Wayne. I can go older.”

“Ooft.”

“Deal?”

Stephanie nodded slowly, walking back towards the opening elevator. “I’ll personally introduce you at the wedding.”

“Oh, so I’m def invited?”

Stephanie stepped inside, laughing for real this time. “Pinkie swear.”

Jordanna responded by flipping her off. “I want more details tomorrow!”

The doors closed before Stephanie could respond. As she rose up, she stared at the floor. There were two other people in the lift, and thankfully they kept themselves to themselves. Elevator etiquette kicking in. She collapsed at a spare desk away in the back corner of the floor, away from windows, discussion areas and shelves, and tried to focus on work.

Tim meanwhile, was on the receiving end of a bit of a stressful day. He had ordered Thai takeout for lunch, only to find he was not going to get much time to eat it. Various people from HR to Marketing to other members of the board were suddenly calling him.

“Please confirm your engagement is real this time.”

Yes.

No.

“Please give the name and any relevant details of your partner.”

Stephanie Brown, 20, high school sweetheart, private person.

Please leave her alone.

“How long is the engagement to last?”

Have no set plans yet. Hoping for a larger wedding all of Gotham can enjoy with us.

Won’t last the end of the year.

“Will this impact your role in the company?”

No.

Tim tried to read over a report to help plan the next local community group he wanted to set up, but every five minutes another head poked through his door and interrupted his train of thought.

His bland smile was starting to crack.

Giving up, he prodded at his noodles for lunch in his office. When he’d eaten enough, he threw open his window and trashed the overpowering smell of the curry. He went to hunt down Bruce.

As he walked through the offices, assorted folk poked their noses out from their cubicles of frosted glass to offer a quick congratulations. Some were more aggressive in their questions.

Who the fuck is Stephanie Brown? Their tone implied.

None of your business, Tim tried to stop himself from biting back.

This mission required them to step into a role of high society sweethearts, when what Tim wanted more than anything was to be curled up in the corner of a café with her, or sat on the highest roofs watching the world go by. He didn’t want to have to speak about her and them to publications, he didn’t want photographs of them online for strangers to see and comment on as if their opinion mattered. Putting on the Wayne persona was bad enough. He understood better than ever Bruce’s dilemma. At no point during the day or night did he not feel like he was wearing some sort of mask, and he was becoming exhausted from the emotional labour it involved. He briefly thought about his stressful nightmares, if they were a contributory factor or a result.

It was a weight he didn’t want for Stephanie. Batgirl was who she was as much as Stephanie Brown was Steph. Future Mrs Tim however…

Tim glared holes into Bruce’s office doors, working up the courage to knock.

He wanted to be with Stephanie, but he wanted it to be real as much as she did (or at least, he strongly suspected that she did, breathless declaration of love last night providing the most recent hint). But he didn’t want her to lie like he did, to feel tugged in two or three different directions until you couldn’t even remember what you truly felt anymore. It was a feeling Tim had grown increasingly aware of – a complete disassociation from the expression on his face and words from his mouth versus what was going through his head. Sometimes his thoughts would match what he put out to the world, until something in him jolted, and his real feelings shot to the surface – uncomfortable and angry that they had been disregarded. Real Tim was becoming a novelty to himself, let alone his family and friends.

And here was a related problem. Both he and Steph were deeply private people. They enjoyed the company of others for a time, sure, but a small group of close friends was always preferable than many acquaintances.

Stephanie especially. She didn’t have many friends period. For whatever reason, people didn’t really take to her. There was Cass, of course, and Kara… Tim blanked thinking of anyone from her university. Was she lonely?

Not for the first time, Tim wondered if he could introduce Conner, Bart and Cassie to her. Properly. Without involving her being dangled off buildings or awkward small talks about how she wasn’t dead.

Tim continued to stare at the dark wood plaque announcing BRUCE WAYNE in all capitals. It seemed that Bruce sensed someone was outside his office, as he opened the door with a bemused look on his face that quickly became sharp when he saw it was Tim lingering outside like a lost kitten.

“Okay?”

Tim started, unsure how to answer the question aside from the obvious – no.

“Need your help.”

That was the right thing to say. At the end of the day Bruce loved to help, especially if it meant taking control of a situation, and Tim watched as Bruce’s eyebrows twitched. He backed into his office, Tim following and shutting the door behind them.

“What is it?”

“Can you make a statement? About me and Steph.”

Bruce squinted, like he didn’t understand what Tim was asking. Blowing his hair off his forehead, Tim tried again.

“I’ve been trying to put one together and getting nowhere, and now loads of people are up my butt about it and I messaged Steph but I think if her phone is anything like mine it’s gotten lost in the crush of notifications and I can’t call her ‘cause she might be in class and… I just think, people will listen and take this all more serious if it comes from you.”

“You think people take me seriously?”

That made Tim chew on his tongue. He and Bruce entered a staring match.

“A statement would be appreciated.”

“Hmm.”

“Please?”

“Hmm.”

Tim’s relationship with Bruce just seemed to be tumbling down into a gorge ever since he was sixteen and he didn’t know who was more to blame or who should make the first step at healing. With Dick and Bruce, it had been Dick consistently offering an olive branch, sometimes of his own offering, then sometimes with Tim or Babs’ encouragement. It took Bruce’s broken back and everything with Bane and Azrael to really kick start the process. Tim hoped something as traumatic as that wouldn’t be necessary to mend bridges.

Time to play dirty.

“You said you would defend her. Do it pre-emptively.”

“I also said I would leave the details in your care.”

“And this is a detail I am telling you to do for us.”

“Telling?”

“Asking.” Tim backed down, dry swallowing. “Begging.”

Another stare off ensued. Then Bruce’s office phone rang, and Tim breathed when Bruce broke off the eye contact.

“Morning Meghan!” It was eery how Bruce’s expression had not changed, but the voice that spoke into the phone was light and carefree. “Oh. Afternoon. Yes, sorry.”

Tim checked his watch. Half two. Bruce looked up at Tim, a cheeky glint in his eye. “Is she? Of course, please let her up. Can you add her to the list of people who can be let in regardless of appointment? Yup. Yup. Thank you.” He hung up then and ran a hand across his face, looking a little stressed. “Cassandra is here.”

“Okay?”

This wasn’t anything odd. Cassandra should have had free reign of the building anyway.

“She brought Stephanie.”

Immediately Tim was out of Bruce’s office and into the main workspace. He rushed past many people sat within the open workspace to get to the elevator, whereupon when the doors opened, Stephanie took only a moment to register it was Tim standing in front of her, and threw herself into his arms. He caught her, a little thrown off by her desperation and sudden appearance.

She looked a state. Cassandra looked a little too angry at him. People in the office were staring.

“Hey…”

“I’m sorry. I know this is probably crap timing or…”

“No. Come on. It’s fine. Bruce is in his office.” Tim tried not to think about how often she had apologised to him the past few weeks. It wasn’t like her.

And Cassandra promptly went straight to Bruce’s office. It wasn’t too unusual for the Wayne children to pop in and out of the office as they pleased. This organisation had its nepotistic perks and yet somehow continued to turn massive profits. But still, this was a little unusual, having a fiancée come crashing through looking more than a little stressed.

Stephanie clung to Tim for a moment longer. She was shaking. Instinctively, protectively, he buried his cheek into hers, trying to be a reassuring wall for her. He felt her hands tighten around his shoulder blades.

When Stephanie caught people staring at her over Tim’s shoulder, she panicked, and let go of Tim.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t… I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t normally this out of it or unsure of herself, so immediately Tim knew that something had gone wrong this morning. Holding her hand, he led her to Bruce’s office quickly, not letting anyone get a good look at her.

When they got inside, Cassandra shutting the door and putting a glass of cold water into Stephanie’s hand, her anger sparked. Stephanie threw the water on a nearby potted plant. Tim groaned. It was a fake plastic one, and just resulted in a sad wet patch on the floor. Stephanie ignored it, huffing.

“Why hasn’t there been a statement about this yet?”

She was directing it at the room, and Tim’s shoulders tensed.

“I was just asking Bruce to put one out for us!”

“Why didn’t you have one ready?”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to propose last night and –”

“And what? There are twenty-four hours in the day and you just waltzed into work this morning with nothing to show?”

Cassandra had moved to stand behind Stephanie whilst Bruce watched Tim and Steph argue back and forth.

“I’m telling Bruce now –”

“I got chased out of campus.” Stephanie said, turning to Bruce. Her eyes were red, still a little damp, and her cheeks were flushed with colour. Cassandra glowered behind Stephanie, upset at her friend’s distress. “I can’t even bury myself in the library ‘cause people just won’t leave me alone and I had to call Cass because both of you were too busy and not answering your phones… You said you wouldn’t let this happen.”

Bruce watched as Tim’s face flushed red. A shameful minute passed with nothing being said, Bruce seemed to have been deep in thought. Finally, frustrated with their unhelpfulness, Stephanie tugged off her backpack. “You got a place for me to work?”

“Pardon?”

She rolled her eyes like Bruce was missing the obvious.

Ever since Bruce had come back from his whirlwind tour of time, and ever since Steph had slapped him in the face (sorry Bruce) she had shed much of her need for his validation. She had found it in Barbara, in Leslie, in Cassandra and Tim, and in Gotham itself. So old fuddy duddy in a bat mask (hers was better) didn’t mean much to her anymore.

Or so she told herself.

She put her foot down. If she was having to go through such a stressful mission, Bruce was going to have to endure her as a daughter-in-law. She almost felt sorry for him.

“I am going to sit here and study whilst you make your statement about how happy you are to have me join the brood.” She looked around Bruce’s imposing build to look at his desk. It didn’t look particularly comfortable. “Where’s your desk Tim?”

Tim jumped to action and held out a hand for her to take. “I have my own office. Come on.”

“Wait.” Cassandra called. She came forward with a wet tissue, dabbing under Stephanie’s eyes to remove the puffiness. “You came with me.” She explained, looking deliberately at her father and brother. “We had some chores to run in town, and we ended up staying for a bit.”

Stephanie sniffed, staring at the mascara streaks on her tissue. “That works.”

Tim took the tissue from Cassandra and tugged Stephanie out.

The office immediately hushed when they made their way down the hall. Tim smiled gregariously at folk, Stephanie looking straight ahead and avoiding eye contact.

Tim’s office was bright and clean, with two bookcases lined with folders and reports, and a glass desk which had a very nice-looking laptop perched in the centre.

“You mind sitting on the couch? I need to be near the phone.” He took Stephanie’s bag from her and rested it on the leather seat. Throwing the tissue in the bin, he pulled out more for Stephanie, as well as a large bottle of water. Sitting down next to her as she unpacked her stuff, Tim tried to apologise.

“I’m sorry.”

“Mm.”

“Steph… we can stop if you –”

“No.” She glared at him, firm. “I am not going through all this for nothing. People won’t let me study, fine, I’ll get Bruce to defer my last semester a year and make him pay every penny towards my fees, or I’ll make him put barriers everywhere on campus so only students can get in, and make him give a fat legal threat for anyone who looks at me the wrong way. Or I’ll drop out and demand he gives me two million a year for the rest of my life or –”

“Only two million?”

Tim’s interruption made her snort a laugh. Tim smiled at her smile, glad to see it on her. She exhaled and leaned back against the leather, her pile of papers waiting to be attended to. Tim watched as she closed her eyes and calmed down, her chest rising and falling steadily.

“I don’t know how you do it, Tim.”

“Do what?”

She opened her eyes and looked straight at him, head still resting on the back of the sofa. Her blonde hair was splayed out over the dark brown leather. He could not stop staring.

Her lower lip was chapped.

“Put that young CEO smile on your face. That public figure you inhabit. Lying to the world all the time…I’ve been going potty from one morning of it. I don’t know how you cope.”

“Honestly Steph…” He sighed, and Stephanie’s hair fluttered. He hadn’t realised he had moved so close, practically leaning over her. “I don’t think I do. I am pretty… Split into so many fractures. Getting harder to know which one is really me.”

That made Stephanie sit up, Tim moving back so their heads didn’t bump.

“Is that… Tim.” Stephanie seemed unable to find the words. Frustrated, she turned to physical comfort, and not for the first time did Tim note how quickly she abandoned her own difficulties for someone else’s. Tim was weak, though, and allowed her to do so. Steph reached out and rested a hand on Tim’s bicep. He responded in kind to a hand on her waist. Her hand crept up and her fingertips pressed to his cheek. Not quite a caress, but it was something. “Tim, I know you. Even if you don’t. I won’t let you forget.”

Briefly he remembered her rant when he had returned to Gotham. Who are you? She had screamed. He had so nearly completely lost his way, and she had been so frightened for him. But then she had also said in the past that she would love him regardless of Robin… regardless of that suit.

Tim somewhat doubted this was true, as he doubted that she knew him.

And yet, why else would she had been so desperate to know who was behind that mask after she had given birth. Robin hadn’t helped her with that, Tim had. Except she couldn’t put a name to that boy. When he had that split second of giving up on Batman after his sixteenth birthday, she had been the only person who wouldn’t have been cut off from either side of his life. She knew him. She’d learned to insist on it.

Stephanie’s eyes fluttered, as she realised they were gazing at each other. She also realised it was the first time in a while that they were alone. Tim also seemed to realise this simultaneously. Her hand shifted, slowly, fingers moving back into his hair, repeating the motion over and over again, a comforting caress. It felt good.

“Steph,” His hand twitched on her waist. “Last night…”

“Mm?”

“You said that you lo—”

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Tim cursed himself for not speaking sooner. He just wanted her to talk to him…

Bruce entered, holding a phone in his hand. Stephanie stood up as if she had been caught doing something naughty, whilst Tim tried to not let his upset of her moving away show. Bruce held out the cell phone to Stephanie.

“A new phone, new number. Use it for the family and your mother. People who matter.” Stephanie took it gratefully. “Also, Tim and I have made two separate statements.”

“Have we?”

“We have.” Tim reluctantly stood up to stand behind Stephanie. “Check your phone Tim.”

Doing as he was told, Tim brought up twitter, seeing on the trending page that there were some fluffy words: “constant companion”, “proud”, “lucky”, “want to share out happiness”, “please consider”…Honestly to the two of them it sounded like garbage, but the replies were, for the most part (Stephanie didn’t miss how quickly Tim scrolled past those), positive.

“Humm.” Stephanie said, reading the screen, casually holding onto Tim’s thin wrist as she craned her neck to look at the two statements. Black text on a white background, Bruce’s monogram decorating the bottom. Very formal. Very quick. “Thank you.”

“Get going with the planning. No more deaths. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She uttered. She could feel Tim’s dagger glare burning over her shoulder at his father.

Day one had gone the very definition of amateurish. With Bruce gone, Stephanie looked down at the work on the table, sighed aggressively, and pulled up a list of wedding planners. College was going to have to wait.

#timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #dc #my fic tag

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caimkairos · 4 years

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may knows zero shame: the novel, the ramble, the procrastination

haha she thought being the sole normal human in a cast of heroic spirits on this multimuse was gonna save her from my angst and fluff touch

listen it’s about what it means to be human but in the context of what it means to be a person, okay? literature loves a foil and so do i so NATURALLY my ocs foil each other and i’ve gone over andromache - sadhbh but today we’re rambling on yua and sophia (ayyyyyy i have another blog @abendrotbrav check it out) because they are, in fact, foils to each other and today i’m gonna ramble bitches

yes i AM gonna reblog this there too but i understand that yua very much needs it more than sophia so it’s going here first

all this is going under a read more cause it’s gonna get fuckin LONG guys. you don’t want this on your dash without it trust me.

so first off foils, which i’m gonna explain cause taps blackboard i’m professor may now apparently but i also wanna make sure i’m getting the point across, just skim this if you got it

so foils are a concept in literature which is basically a characterization and theming device. it’s easier to describe something by comparing and contrasting it to another thing, and this heightens the characteristics of both things. a mouse looks much smaller next to an elephant than just next to a dog, and the elephant looks larger next to the mouse than the horse. so pairing up characters that have opposites naturally makes both of them stand out

BUT the way i generally use it is also to heighten the similarities. if we use fate for an example, kadoc and ritsuka are good foils, because their similarities help the player understand who they both are as much as their differences. if they didn’t have those similarities they wouldn’t be as compelling to put against each other and see the differences.

here are some of my own stupid oc’s as examples of me doing this and overthinking things greatly out of love and passion

i naturally do this with my own oc’s because i’m a failed creative writing major and i have far, far too much time on my hands and passion for this kinda bullshit. can you compare any two characters, yes, but some more naturally play into each other and that’s where you got them foils, babey, as i have so neatly mspaint demonstrated here with my own muses. vagueness in language is generally fully intentional here. ( his mun! is full of love and caring and deep deep adoration of Themes and Symbolism so here we go)

yua and sophia are connected by themes of kindness, learning about the world’s cruelty and the response to that reality, the idea of ‘innocence’, and determination to prevent suffering.

sadhbh and andromache are connected by themes of how to deal with emotions you cannot ever shake, loving deeply, and being forced to move on without something/one vital to you and how to cope. (aka, early literature Wife Syndrome.)

paris and melpomene are connected by themes of powerlessness in the face of those with power, being ill-equipped for your role, the awareness of one’s flaws and mistakes, and knowing that you failed people you love.

connla and fafnir are connected by themes of knowing you are a minor part of someone else’s story, idea idea of heroism, being ‘not the hero’, finding contentment in a life you cannot change, and how to react to someone who killed you that you cherish still.

am i probably gonna talk about those other three (six) examples in other posts slash in your dms if you encourage me? yes. but right now it’s time for mage society to fuck up to perfectly (dis)functional ladies, and that means it’s time for yua and sophia to get overanalyzed!

first off, it’s very easy to start with the fact that sophia and yua have DRASTICALLY different situations in terms of family

sophia has one single person who is family, truly, which is her sister. while this is a loving relationship, she also is basically her sister’s sole friend, emotional rock, big sister, and functionally her mother all at once because fuck if their mage parents are doing any emotional support in this house.

likewise onto that parents point sophia’s parents just Do Not Care about sophia’s emotional wellbeing they care about a good tool to use and utilize and see her as an experiment more than anything else. the coldness but also lack of expectations is a contrast to her relationship with her sister, warm but also FULL of expectations.

meanwhile despite having pretty decent ranking spots in the Japanese mage family circuit, yua’s family specifically are AVOIDING her being subjected to running the ‘useful tool’ circuit. this, unfortunately for their good intentions, comes at the cost of sheltering yua to the extreme and basically viewing her as, however much they love her, kind of incompetent.

the one relationship yua doesn’t have is her mother, because her mother literally forgot she exists, which roots into her mystic eyes and also why her father and aunt are really not keen on her trying to learn about them and still think she has no idea they exist. her mother is largely absent because not remembering you have a literal kid and marriage and you’re suddenly years older than your last memory is fucking WEIRD.

sophia is absent of love except for one person who she loves deeply; yua is heavily loved by all those she knows (because she barely knows anyone) except for one person who doesn’t love her at all.

built into this explanation is the next section which is naivety or innocence because this is a huge contrasting point.

sophia is largely pretty knowledgable about how the world Fucking Sucks, like, a LOT guys, because she’s mostly known how much it sucks and like, honestly not much else. sure the world is probably good but like, she doesn’t really know that much about the world being ‘good’ and ‘worth saving’ and stuff, so it’s new to her when she meets good people because her expectation is that they will not be good because that’s what she’s used to.

sophia’s journey is about learning to find value in the world, if only for the selfish stake that she wants to experience the world now that she holds the agency to be able to experience it. it’s about learning that people are not always cruel, and that the world can be a beautiful thing.

yua, however, knows jack fucking shit about the world! she’s been so sheltered and the little she knows about the world through are depictions of reality that are so heavily skewed she’s just even more confused when she encounters how the world really is. she doesn’t expect people to be cruel even if she’s afraid of them but is also happily surprised when they’re kind because she doesn’t know anything about the world.

yua’s journey is about learning to know about the world, ugly as it is beautiful. she’s kind because it’s easy and she’s a people-pleasing doormat, but the point of her character is that even once she learns how awful the world can be, she sticks to her guns and stays kind, because she is not naive, she wants to be kind.

kindness is part of the contrast and comparison between them. sophia is more capable of true kindness initially than yua is, because yua really doesn’t have any stakes in her kindness.

yua has never had to suffer drawbacks for being ‘kind’. she has never had to give up something to be nice to someone, never had to deal with having her kindness rebuffed and what that means, whether she wants to be kind if she doesn’t get that immediate reward of someone liking her more. yua may be nice but she’s also a pushover and has never had to really bother with deciding whether or not to be kind. she’s never really been kind!

meanwhile sophia is rarely truly kind, because she does it to be liked more than out of any genuine caring. she absolutely knows this, she’s a hardcore fake ass hoe and she knows it. sophia has never deluded herself into being a good person and rarely has a crisis over this until she has five million crisises over it at once.

but the difference is that upon being confronted on this fact, they react differently! sophia would generally roll her eyes because of course she doesn’t actually act out of kindness, that isn’t a shock to her, because she has seen the world is cruel and actively in return to that acts the way she does.

but yua would be actually hurt by the idea of her not really being kind and actually examine her own behavior. when confronted by the world sucking, yua’s response is to pull a move not so unfamiliar to type moon veterans by instead doubling down on her kindness and saying that, okay, so she wasn’t truly kind before, but she is now because she’s going to continue to be kind!

but ultimately it like culminates because i’m running out of steam here but i’m still full of unquantifiable love, is that they are opposites who ultimately need to follow similar paths

sophia has only truly known the cruelty of the world, and for her growth to be healthy, it must come from taking back the idea that the world can be good for herself. there are so many ways she can grow in unhealthy manners, ways she’s already done many times, but to make healthy progress she has to learn that she can be vulnerable without being stabbed in the back! she can be kind without being immediately exploited. she has to learn how to make her own future, and she will do it no matter what happens, the only difference is whether she learns how to make her own future in a way that’s constructive to her own mental health or ultimately destructive.

sophia has to learn that she can open up without immediately mcfucking dying, or she will absolutely immolate herself and turn into the very kind of person she hates and loathes. it is an inevitability; for her to learn to trust, or for her to turn into the cold, exploitive, apathetic kind of person she hates. she’s already half-way there; tick tock sophia you gonna grow in a healthy manner or continue to fester in your own defensive mechanisms that will eventually, left unchecked, turn you into the person you hate?

sophia needs to be trusted, to be given faith, so she may begin to give it in kind. she has to actually face kindness to be able to reciprocate it because she truly believes that kind of kindness does not exist. she has to face it, face that the world can be good, to begin to change herself for the better.

yua meanwhile knows very little about the world and this isn’t a good thing. her innocence isn’t something that should be preserved, it isn’t doing her any favors, and in fact over-valuing her innocence by thinking she will be too weak to handle the world is ultimately what her family, well-meaning but still not doing her any favors, is doing and thus halting her own development. she must see the world, for all it is, so that she can actually make informed decisions and create her own future.

yua is ridiculously sheltered and it’s bad and it does, ultimately, need to stop. because only by facing a world that will not shelter her can she actually learn. like, i’m not saying she has to be treated like shit, but i am saying that she has to actually fuck up and experience the world in a genuine manner rather than a controlled and artificial one. it’s only by actually learning how the world truly is that she can determine that yes, she is going to be kind anyways, because fuck you that’s why.

she cannot learn that she has the strength to spit someone in the eye and continue to reach out her hand unless she is put in the situation that she has to be strong to survive. she has to learn that she can survive the world. she needs to have faith and belief placed in the fact that she can survive.

anyways tld:r smth smth the power of kindness, the way someone can be kind without being naive, the way kindness can truly save people, smth smth smth as much as i lord over being an angsty emotional gutpunch queen of getting sudden “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU” dm messages as a sign that i did good, ultimately i am and try to be a hopeful and optimistic writer who truly believes in the goodness that people can achieve even as i continue to write bastards because it is the belief that these unhealthy people can ultimately better themselves, find peace and happiness, and be able to achieve a good ending for themselves before it’s too late for them is what fuels me to write them, because as much as i make my muses suffer, i also dearly cherish and hope they will be able to carve out happiness for themselves rather than perpetuating their suffering in attempts to prevent it.

#inside a doll's innerworkings.yua headcanons #please read for more! or don't.meta tag #((oh god. oh god. i'm a nerd. i'm a nerd. it's so long. oh god.#((please don't judge me or hold yourself to my insanity #((i have WAY too much time on my hands #((time to. reblog this. on my other blog too.#((oh god. don't shame me i already have shamed myself enough

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ladyhistorypod · 4 years

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Episode 8: I’m Holding out for a She-ro

Sources:

Ida Lewis

Thought Co

Atlas Obscura

Smithsonian Learning Lab

Archive.org

Traditional Music