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angelic-holland · 5 years

Text

Seeing the Thing 9

Summary: I never have to carefully shape sentences when I’ve got some words to say, they’re falling from my mouth from the time that they hit my brain.

Warnings: angst, fluff, panic attacks, and smut (not necessarily in that order)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: I originally hated the way I ended this chapter so I added another 1.5k words until I was happy. I was listening to the Double Dare album by Waterparks on repeat when writing this as you can see from the summary. anyone else love them? bold are text messages!

Tom: u up?

Tom: Do you like my costume

Tom: I got to put on the winter pants and coat

Tom: but i think this makes a good first few layers

Tom: what do you think???

You roll your eyes as you place your computer on your desk before sitting back down on your bed.

You: did anyone tell you it’s rude to send a thousand messages instead of just one long one?

Tom: i only sent 5

Tom: do i need to send 995 more???

Tom: okay i get your point

Tom: but this is how i talk

Tom: text whatever

Tom: I think I look hot

You sigh, he does look hot. That wasn’t the problem. He looked like an annoying fuck boy. Which wasn’t that far off from the truth.

Tom: do you think I look hot??

You: you’re so fucking annoying

Tom: come sit on my face and shut me up

Tom: that’s totally a yes btw

Tom: come on, come visit and check it out in person

Those last three texts were sent in quick succession and you did a double-take at the first one.

Your fingers hovered over the screen to type but you genuinely had no words.

***

Tom smacked himself at his first text. Too forward. Way too forward.

He watched as the grey bubbles popped up and then disappeared several times. He knew you weren’t going to respond, probably weirded out.

He sent the next two texts and had several drafts after that.

I’m sorry

No, he knew how if he didn’t specify what he was sorry for you’d give him shit and that was the last thing he needed right now.

That was weird just ignore that

Nope, you wouldn’t be able to ignore that so it was pointless to suggest it.

He attempted to think of another thought, anything really to relieve the tension he felt rising in his chest.

Maybe he’d wait for you to respond. It was a strategic plan, other than the fact that your possible responses were gnawing at his insides.

***

You were about to respond, a quick omw because fuck it right? When your phone died.

So you hastily changed into a matching set of underwear, white with a lilac lace trim, determined to confront him about his message in person since your poorly timed phone dying left you no other choice.

You took a deep breath as you smoothed down your T-shirt, you weren’t going to let your nerves get the best of you, not today. It’s been nearly a year since you’ve had sex and although yes, you would admit that you wanted to have sex with Tom, you had no idea if you were ready. So after brushing through your hair quickly you figured you would show up at his dorm, work through whatever haze of feelings were bubbling up inside you, and make your decision then. You checked your phone to see if he replied, if actually wanted you to go to his dorm or if he was fucking with you.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Maybe this was a sign, a sign that you shouldn’t go down and do something you might regret the next day. The more you thought as that knocking started to piss you off the more you realized you’d only regret it if Tom did something to ruin the mood, if he treated you like one of his weekend hookups. You figured it would be hard for him to do that. You spent every night at rehearsal together. But what about after the show? Did you want to have something more with Tom? Whatever that might entail? Would you be able to after the bullshit Ben put you through?

But your thoughts were cut short by that annoying fucking knocking and holy shit-

“Hi,” Tom smirks, leaning against the side of your door as you groan.

“Maybe only knock three times? Knocking for a long time is pretty rude.”

“Sorry, I just uh, I heard your feet tapping and I knew you were in there and I wanted to see if-, oh,” Tom let’s out a surprised yelp as you pull him into the room, kissing him as you slam the door behind him.

“I’m glad you liked my message,” he laughs against your lips as your fingers curl into the denim jacket, his slipping down to rest against your hips, thumbs fitting nicely in the belt loop of your shorts.

“Mhm,” you mumble, eyeing the beanie on his head to the winter boots on his feet.

“And the outfit?”

“I think Jenna will be very happy with your costume choice.”

“Let’s not talk about Jenna, or the costumes, or the show,” Tom rolls his eyes as you take a step back, fingers tight on his jacket, forcing him to take a step with you.

“What should we talk about then?” You ask, resting your hands against his chest through the layers of your clothes.

“Let’s not talk,” he whispers, eyes searching for a confirmation that you want the same thing.

You respond with what he’s looking for, rising on your toes to meet his lips again, your hand tugs the beanie out of his hair, tossing it to the side.

His fingers tug on your belt loop, your hips meeting his as your hands work on pulling off his denim jacket. Your lips move with ease against his, it’s gentle and calming as his hand moves to cup your face, thumb rubbing your cheek as you pull your lips off his.

“How many layers you got under here?”

“Why don’t ya find out?” He smiles gently and you laugh before grabbing at the end of his gray sweatshirt.

With each layer you get a little more frustrated and Tom’s laughing hard when you finally get to his bare skin and nearly jump into his arms.

“Thank fuck,” you grumble, kissing him as his feet work to kick off the boots before he fumbles forward, lips trailing down your jaw while his fingers work on unbuttoning your shorts.

“This okay?” He mutters, lips against your neck as your hands roam the expanse of his back, the both of you still standing sort of awkwardly in the middle of your room, surrounded by his many layers.

“You got a condom?” You sigh as he helps you shuffle your shorts down your legs.

His breath hitches as he steps back slightly to take a look at your panties, more specifically the small wet spot in the front of them, foot just inches too far back and he’s tripping over his boot.

You catch him with a grunt and your arms are wrapped around his waist, pulling him back up to a standing position.

“Maybe we should get on the bed?” He nods towards it and your hands trail to his hips, he’s all tight muscles and you want to trace the lines on his stomach with your lips but you settle for dragging your fingers across them as you back up.

His hand reaches out to stop you, a light weight on your shoulder as the other moves to pull at your T-shirt. His breath hitches again as he sees your bra, the way your breasts look so pretty and he wanted to devour you.

“Did you get all matching for me?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you laugh, shrugging as your knees back into your bed.

You swing your legs up and open them wide, letting Tom get a better view of you.

You can’t help the blush that spreads across your cheeks and down your chest as he groans, pulling a silver packet out of his sweatpants before pulling them down while you settle on your elbows. He looks so good, chest rising and falling, standing next to you, eyes soft as he admires your body. There’s something there, just below the surface of his dark brown eyes, past the lust and hunger. It sends a nervous shiver down your spine and you push down the feeling because right now you just want him.

He places the condom strategically next to your leg as he settles between them, hands running up and down your bare thighs and you bite back a moan.

“Be loud for me darling,” he mutters before his lips begin to trail up your thigh, he turns your thigh slightly, biting down lightly on the inside before soothing the spot with his tongue. Smirking against you at your small yelp.

“Don’t wanna, don’t want the RA to come knocking.”

“Gimme a second,” Tom pauses his movement, hand reaching down off the side of your bed for his phone.

“What’re you doing?” You tilt your head as he starts to type.

“Gimme a sec,” he nods as a song begins to play.

“What?”

“To drown out all your moans.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re like, super cocky?” You tilt your head as he puts his phone on the bedside table before settling back in between your thighs.

“Only about every day, I dunno, looks like someone enjoys it,” he smirks as he runs a finger over your panties.

“Fuck,” you groan, dropping your head to the pillow, “you’re right.”

You concentrate on the feeling of his fingers slipping into the sides of your panties, attempting to tug them down your legs. You both realize you’re in a bad position for this, your thighs wide apart, his shoulders brushing against them from where he was laying.

“Whoops,” He laughs, sitting up, shoulders bumping into your knees as you help him by sitting up and shimmying the panties off your legs as he sits back.

And the sight of your folds, glistening and wet for him has Tom’s eyes darken before he’s pushing you back, one hand moving to cup your breast while the other holds him above your body.

And right as you’re about to focus on wrapping your legs around his waist you hear the lyrics of the song that’s playing in the background.

I don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind

I don’t see nothing wrong, baby, baby, hey

And as Tom’s lips drag across the skin of your collarbone, fingers finding their way to your entrance, your arms snake around his shoulders, eyes slipping shut.

“Fine, What song would you play? Bump N Grind?”

Pause.

“Oh my god. Don’t tell me that’s on there.”

You take one look at your best friend and hold back a sigh, “it is isn’t it?”

Harrison was totally using Tom’s sex playlist. You didn’t realize how distracted you were, that you broke into a fit of laughter before Tom’s lips smack against your skin and his fingers slip out of you.

“Is something funny?” He mutters against your skin and you look down at the boy, lips moving back to make the skin right below the dip in your collarbone.

“Sorry, But is this like your sex playlist?” You laugh again, a small giggle turned into a moan as Tom’s thumb grazes your clit.

“Maybe, are you distracted? Needa take a break?” He asks, he isn’t used to this. For the girl he’s with not falling apart at the seams the second he has them in bed. The fact that you haven��t even been very vocal, other than the laughter ringing in his ears was puzzling. So he set himself determined to make you feel good, adding another finger as he fucked into you.

And you felt sort of bad, that you let your mind wander. Tom was making you feel good, no doubt about it, each thrust of his fingers sent a shiver down your spine.

“Come on, fuck me,” you moan as your legs tighten around his hips.

“Mhm,” he grunts before fumbling for the condom, tearing it open. Your hands push at his boxers and his mouth is hot and wet against your neck.

Once he kicks off his boxers he helps you slide the condom on, his lips meet yours as you grind your wet folds against his cock.

And his lips are sweet and soft and everything you’ve ever wanted and more, even as you’re about to fuck they’re gentle. And you want him to get a move on but you’re savoring the time now, his fingers pressed against your hips, tongue searching your mouth for something you can’t place your finger on but also don’t want to. You attempt to channel your energy and focus on the here and now, something you had trouble with sometimes.

But all of that disappears from your mind as he’s slowly pushing into you, his fingers tightening around your hip in time with your legs around his waist.

“Fuck,” you whimper against his lips as he fills you just right.

His hips are a steady weight against yours as your creaky dorm bed thump thump thump smacks against the wall with his movements. The music drowns out the sounds of your moans and whimpers against his lips, touch me tease me feel me and caress me, hold on tight and don’t let go.

You normally didn’t kiss this much during sex, maybe it was the position, Tom on top of you, or maybe it was because you were afraid of what he’d say if his lips weren’t occupied doing other things. So when your mouths finally broke apart because both of you were gasping for air, the oxygen between you running out, you ran your fingers through his hair before pushing his head towards your neck.

“Want me to mark you darlin?”

Mark you.

The words were so primal. The look in his eyes was primal as well, pure want as he fucks into you, his thumb slipping between your hot and sweaty bodies to rub against your clit. A wave of pleasure crashes over you before you realize he’s waiting for a response, oops hovering over a spot on the side of your neck.

“Please,” you moan, pleasure coursing through your veins.

His hips stutter against your own before his teeth sink into your skin, causing you to cry out and clench around him before his lips suck over this teeth marks. His tongue soothes the mark and you remember that you’ll have to hide it, your mind wandering to what Gianna or god forbid Harrison found out. And then you were distracted, working to bring your mind back to the activity at place. Tom’s thumb is rubbing your clit and his other hand is next to your head, leaning into your pillow as he fucks into you, the sound of skin against skin and his mumbles against your skin slowly forcing you to pay attention.

“Tom,” you sigh and his cock twitches inside of you.

Fuck. He’s close.

And you were enjoying yourself, you really were, but you just weren’t there. But just like the boys before him you knew he wasn’t going to wait around for you to get there, wasn’t going to wait and take the time to find out what really makes you scream. And maybe that’s presumptuous of you but Tom’s the type of guy who thinks that every girl works the same, a finger on your clit and a hot mouth on your neck and you’re clenching around him, coming with a cry of his name.

That wouldn’t be the case for you, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t pretend. Something Tom and you had gotten very good at recently. So you put on a show, squeezing your eyes shut, clenching around him, moaning his name as he comes, pretending to come with him before his hips still, panting against your neck, sweaty curls tickling your jaw as your legs drop from around his waist.

Tom slips out of you, eyebrows furrowing as he takes in your calming state, lips pouting slightly as he sits up.

“Did you just fake that?”

“What? No,” you sit up with him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Nobody’s ever caught you faking it before. Time to put on your best smile and act like you came.

“No, no,” Tom shrugs your arm off him, “you definitely did.”

“No I didn’t,” because you’re stubborn and you knew his ego would be crushed. It wasn’t necessarily his fault, you enjoyed yourself, it just took you longer than normal to come, and you didn’t want to hold up the fun for your partner. Tom wasn’t going to last as long as it took you to bring yourself to orgasm. The pleasure you felt was fine, even if you didn’t get to that special place. But the look of pure bliss on his face as he came was now replaced by furrowed brows and a frown.

“What did I do?” Tom starts and you crawl towards him, reaching out, attempting to explain why you faked it since he saw right through your lie.

He glances away as you rest your hand on his chest, crawling into the space between his legs. His arms are limp at his sides and he doesn’t attempt to give you the same type of physical attention you’re giving him, and that hurts, even just a little.

“I-,”

“Were you thinking you could just fake it and pretend like you had a good time? Leave me thinking I made you feel good, made you come like a fucking fool?” He swats your hand off his chest and you attempt to control the wave of anxiety starting to pull you under.

“I’m sorry, I just, I wasn’t there and you were and I didn’t want you to feel bad so-,”

“And knowing that you faked it, was that supposed to make me feel what? Indifferent?”

“No, I didn’t think you-,”

“Holy fuck you always talk about using your words but then when it comes time to using them, you fucking don’t. You could’ve said hey Tom this is what I like, this is how I can come. Instead you what? Moan my name and squeeze my shoulders and act like you got there?”

You know what he’s saying wasn’t meant to hurt you. He’s frustrated, he wants to know what he did wrong and why you did what you did. You knew the insecurities inside him were surfacing with each word.

And honestly? Faking it was easier than having to explain how you could come, the little intricate details that made everything just right, made the moment possible.

“Oh? Nothing to say? Of course, because you can’t act like this is just pretend,” Tom’s voice is bitter and he gets off your bed, your head hangs low as you hear him shuffle around the room, presumably grabbing his thousands of layers.

You think he’s going to stop talking, to let the silence fill the room as the music cuts off. But he doesn’t. You feel tears well in your eyes as you fight to keep them back, hands shaking as you pull your blanket over your naked body.

“This isn’t just you, helping me for the show, Dave and Rhonda don’t fuck on stage. This was all you darling,” the word just a few minutes ago spoken so softly bit back at you, “you had sex with me because you wanted to. You don’t get to pretend. and that's killing you isn't it?” He asks and you turn your head to him as you pray for the bed to swallow you whole as your ears start ringing and you clasp your hands over them, attempting to shut out the world.

“Fuck, I’m- y/n, I just, I don’t want to pretend either, I want-,”

“Go, please,” you manage to get out as you gasp for breath to no avail.

“I’m so-,”

“Go, go, go,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut at the pained expression on his face. The hot tears roll down your cheeks as you don’t even bother searching for air or comfort in another person. You wouldn’t find that in Tom. Not now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and it’s barely there as static fills your brain, blocking out the rest of the world.

You hear the door shut and you want to collapse in on yourself as you gasp for air.

You find comfort in nothing, not in your bed where you could normally escape after a long day, not in the warmth of your blanket against your skin. You trip over your blanket you kick to the side as you stumble out of bed. Quickly grabbing a robe you slipped it on and rushed to the showers, grateful nobody was there to see you. A blossoming hickey on your neck, legs sore, lungs collapsing on themselves as you let the hot water rush over your body. You choked out a sob as you felt air fill your lungs, salty tears mixing with the water that ran over your skin, fragile and freezing no matter how far you pushed the lever, wishing the water would melt your skin. This was a fucking disaster. You let the water drown out the sound of your tears.

***

Tom realized he fucked up, the second he heard your cries and saw your hands clasped over your ears. What he said was fucking horrible and it wasn’t your fault you didn’t come. But god damn it he wishes you said something or that you let him know how he could make you feel as good as he did before it all came crashing down around you. So after he tosses all of his clothes back in his room he rushes back to yours, he knows you said to go but his mind couldn’t tear away the tears in your eyes and the shaking of your body as he left.

He knocks twice, “y/n, god, I’m sorry, please, just, you don’t even have to open the door or anything, just let me know you’re okay. I know you told me to leave but I just need to make sure you’re okay.”

Silence. He figured you would still be upset, crying even, but there’s not even the whisper of a movement on the other side of your door. His head whips around as he hears a sob from the bathroom.

Shit.

He checks to see if anyone else is roaming the halls before slipping into the women’s bathroom, eyeing the gray bathrobe on the ground in front of one of the showers, the same one he’s seen time and time again in your room now soaking wet from the water dripping from the shower curtain.

He slips back out and races back to his room and then back to your bathroom, slightly out of breath, but he knew it was nothing compared to how you must have felt. He remembers Harrison told him that you felt like you were drowning when you were having a panic attack, like the air in your lungs was replaced with water and you were treading water but failing miserably.

So he slipped back into the bathroom and sat on the counter, a towel and clothes in his hand, waiting for the right time to speak up.

*** As your nails dug into your arms you felt your body slowly start to heat up and your lungs fill with air.

“Just fucking breathe,” your voice trembles as you turn the shower off. Your eyes slowly blink open and you look down at your body, bright red from the heat of the water. And you knew, logically that the only reason you felt like this was because you felt something for Tom. If it was anyone else you would’ve told them to fuck off and get over themselves. But Tom, you just couldn’t let go of the sting of his words ingrained in the back of your mind as you reached from behind the curtain to grab your robe from the hook.

“Shit,” you curse when you don’t feel the soft material under your fingertips. You bend down and blindly grasp around the floor groaning when you feel the damp robe.

“y/n?” Tom’s voice is soft and unsure and you’re positive he’s right outside your shower.

You stand back up, robe abandoned on the floor as you peer out from behind the curtain.

You push your wet hair from your eyes as you see Tom swinging his legs, sitting on the counter. Your eyes widen with disbelief.

“I’m sorry-,”

“Tom,” and the weight of your word, exhausted, upper lip trembling as you stare at the boy you just had sex with, the boy whose ego you just crushed hit Tom.

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole, I’m sorry I couldn’t make you, you know, and I’m sorry I suck with words. I’m sure there’s more for me to be sorry for but you must be freezing so I got you a towel,” Tom holds the towel out for you, a deep blue, like he told you his favorite color was.

You reach out for it and Tom nods, jumping off the counter and handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you manage to get out and you shiver as your fingers brush against his.

As you wrap the towel around your body, too tired to dry your hair you feel tears well in your eyes again, this time from Tom’s gesture, an olive branch of sorts.

You step out of the shower, red-rimmed eyes meeting Tom’s as you shuffle forward, grabbing your robe with one hand, upset you got it wet, which only makes you cry a little more.

“It’s okay,” Tom’s voice attempts to sooth you and it takes you a moment to realize that he’s pulling you close and hugging you as your body shakes like leaf, maybe from crying, maybe from your body being exposed to the cold air of the bathroom, probably both.

“I’m sorry,” you cry against his shoulder.

You’re sorry for faking it. You’re sorry for not using your words. You’re sorry for crying and getting his clothes wet from the shower and your tears.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his hand spreading across your back, a comforting weight keeping you pressed against him.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, and that’s as much as you can get out for now.

“Shhh, let’s get you to bed okay?”

“I just, and I don’t even and I wanted to-,”

“It’s okay, you’re freezing, come on, let’s get you dressed,” he motions to the clothes on the counter as he pulls away slightly, you let out a sad whimper as he moves, afraid that he’s going to let go of you. And he senses this, he senses that you want human contact right now, that you need it, so he does an awkward shuffle sideways to the clothes, tucking them under his arm before gripping your thighs and making sure the towel keeps you decent, picking you up with ease as you wrap your arms around his neck, his other arm tight against the side of your chest, holding you against him.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, blushing as your lips get stuck on those two words again.

“It’s okay,” he nods, his chin resting on the top of your head as he walks to your room, arms never wavering in his hold on you as he uses his elbow to push your door open.

He sets you down on your bed, kneeling in front of it, your hand shoots out to hold his, and he let’s you grip his wrist as he raises both your hands to his face, kissing each of your fingers gently.

“I brought you some clothes, I dunno why since you’ve got clothes but I just-,” Tom nods, frowning slightly when he sees more tears start to fall from your eyes, “what’s wrong?”

“You didn’t haveta do this,” you sigh as your grip softens.

“But I wanted to,” his voice is quieter as you let go of his wrist and he stands up, “c’mere, you needa get dried off.”

So you follow him, one hand holding the towel tight around you. Normally you’d feel shy as his hand covered yours, turning you around before pulling the towel off of you. Or a little ridiculous as he helped dry you off, but he made you feel like this was completely normal. He hums gently, eyes staring at the hickey he left on the side of your neck as his hands gently make sure you’re completely dry before resting the towel on your shoulders as he grabs the black sweatpants.

“Hope these are comfy,” he muses as you step into them and his fingers rest against your bare waist when he’s finished pulling them up.

You nod, fingers trembling as you wipe away the tears on your face, too scared to turn around and look at Tom. You feel him take the towel from your shoulders and gently dry your hair, fingers brushing through tangles after he drops the towel.

“Here, just lift your arms up for me okay?” He asks and you do just that before you feel the warmth of a blue sweatshirt pulled over your head.

“Tom,” you feel his hands resting over the sweatshirt and your body is hesitant as you think about laying down his him, falling asleep in his arms like you did earlier while watching the movie, something that seemed like a million years ago now.

“I can stay, if you want,” Tom suggests and you’re grateful he’s able to pick up on every word unspoken from your lips between the call of his name and I’m sorry.

You nod and he follows you as crawl into your bed, hair still slightly damp.

“Can you-,” you start and you hear him hum before grabbing your towel and positioning it on your pillow.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh against his chest as his hand rests on your hip, yours holding onto his t-shirt, afraid if you let go that he would slip between your fingertips. And the words are right there on the tip of your tongue, all you needed to do was will them into existence, push your vocal cords to produce the sound, push your lips to form them. But the sheer exhaustion from today kept you silent.

You feel your eyelids start to droop as he responds.

“I’m sorry as well.”

“What else could you be sorry for?”

And as you drift off to sleep, so tired you think you’re making it up you swear you hear him answer you, breathless as his fingers stroke your side, “because I like you.”

***

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hermannsthumb · 6 years

Note

This isn’t on the list, but where hermann and newt r both professors n everyone knows they’re married, but nobody knows they’re married to each other(every1 thinks they have wives bc, you know) N like ppl start seeing m flirt w each other n it’s a scandal! Thanks for ur dedication to this fandom btw I’d be dead without u

this ask is from sooo long ago but i finally have some inspo and a little bit of free time....hope u enjoy (and that you still care about my fic HAHAHA).....

“Today,” Newton says out of nowhere, halfway through their uninspiring dinner of reheated leftovers from last night’s Date Night, “my students asked me why I never talk about my wife.”

Hermann chokes on some pasta; Newton waits, patiently, until he finishes coughing, then slides his glass of water across the table. Hermann takes a sip and clears his throat. “Your wife?”

“My wife,” Newton says. “Apparently they can’t understand why I mention Dr. Gottlieb all the time and never my wife. Since,” he holds up his left hand, waggles his ring finger, “this obviously means I have to be married to a woman.” He shakes his head and stabs at his own pasta. “The nerve to assume I’m straight. Can you believe it?”

“What did you say?” Hermann asks, genuinely curious. He was under the impression everyone knew he and Newton were married. They eat lunch together every day. They talk about each other--at least, Newton talks about him--constantly. They go everywhere together. They even officially hyphenated their last names, which, even if they remain the unhyphenated Geiszler and Gottlieb for clarification purposes on campus, a simple Google search would reveal in seconds.

“I was kind of shocked, to be honest,” Newton says. “I thought they were screwing with me.”

“Did you tell them we’re--”

“I didn’t say anything,” Newton says. “Like I said. Shocked.” He leers. “Pretty sure they think we’re having an affair now, though.”

“Fantastic,” Hermann sighs.

Newton knocks on his office door a week or so later, scarf--that Hermann knitted him--wound tight round his neck, snowflakes melting on his shoulders, and two seasonally-appropriately-patterned Starbucks cups balanced under his arm. “Got you coffee, babe,” he calls, and Hermann pulls off his glasses and takes a cup with a smile.

“Thank you,” he says. He clears some papers aside and pats the newly-revealed wooden surface; Newton hops up happily, legs swinging. “You’re wearing the scarf,” Hermann says, and tugs at the end of it. “It looks nice on you.” He was worried it’d be too long, or the colors wouldn’t look nice together the way he wanted them too, but the green matches Newton’s eyes almost exactly and, though it is long, it’s enough that Newton can wrap it comfortably a good few times.

“My students liked it,” Newton says. “They were speechless when I told them Dr. Gottlieb knitted it for me.”

Hermann twists the end around his fingers and tugs on it a little more, drawing Newton towards him, and Newton leans in without complaint. Their noses bump. “Were they?” he says. Newton’s tongue darts out over his lips. His eyelids are at half-mast. Surely, no one will mind if they--

There’s a knock at the office door. “Dr. Gottlieb?” someone squeaks.

Hermann releases Newton’s scarf, and Newton snaps up, shoulders rigid. Hermann peers around him to see one of his very mortified Intro to Astronomy students lurking in the doorway. “Uh,” she says. “I have my final paper.”

Newton slides to his feet. “See you,” he says, and--with a wink, the bastard--breezes past her.

Newton makes it his bloody job to make sure Hermann’s students catch him in compromising positions after that. He tails him to class every morning and bids him farewell with far-too flirty I’ll miss yous, waits until Hermann has a student with him before he brings him his daily coffee, even once--to Hermann’s horror--grabs his hands in the middle of the quad and breathes on them with a oh, honey, you’re so cold! as a gaggle of their students speed past. He’s getting a kick out of, predictably. (“It’s fun being the center of gossip. Like we’re tragic star-crossed lovers or something,” he says. “Okay, I am kinda offended about the wife thing, though, like--”) Hermann, not so much.

“Tomorrow, Newton,” Hermann announces as they prepare for bed one night, elbows bumping at the sink as Newton brushes his teeth and Hermann puts on a face mask. (He likes how it makes his skin feel, so sue him, and Newton always rubs their cheeks together afterwards and coos about how soft he is and how good he smells.) “Tomorrow I tell them.”

“Fair,” Newton says. “At least be dramatic about it. Announce that I’m the love of your life and you’ll die without me, or something.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Hermann says.

Newton pouts.

“Though I suppose it is true, to a degree...”

“Aw, honey,” Newton says, and gives him a toothpaste-messy kiss, to his disgust (and delight).

Hermann shows up for class the next day to a host of scrutinizing looks and lingering stares on his wedding ring. The girl who came upon the two of them in Hermann’s office, predictably, told everyone.

“Are you married, Dr. Gottlieb?” someone asks.

Hermann folds up his coat and lays it across the podium before answering. “I am,” he says. “To Dr. Geiszler. Sorry to disappoint.” He turns away before he can see his class’s reactions, but he’s unable to keep himself from smirking a bit.

Newton does not stop flirting outrageously every chance he gets, but Hermann can’t find he minds it.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #one final paper down....many more to go #Anonymous

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thesean · 6 years

Text

Change

Rating: General Audience Warnings: None. Mild language. Characters: Todoroki Shouto, Iida Tenya Relationship: Todoroki Shouto/Iida Tenya Tags: Pro Heroes, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Past Feelings Resolved, they both have gay panic, they’re pro heroes and gay what r u gonna do abt it Language: English Word Count: 1771 read on ao3 for optimal reading experience

Summary:

Change comes naturally to everyone, of course he should expect this, especially of Tenya Iida. He always changed in U.A. Experience, tragedy, and life all factors to it. So he should expect it now more than ever.

It's been 10 years since they've graduated and only now do they talk again.

There are many things that’s changed since he attended U.A. One of those things being the simple fact he hasn’t seen the man standing before him since graduating all those years ago. It’s strange, he thinks, how close they once were only to be swept away by the complications of their lives.

Things have changed. He’s changed.

Tenya Iida has changed in the way he holds himself, radiating confidence, passion, and warmth. He sees it now in the way he holds out his hand for Shouto to grab on to as he pulls him away from the interviewers. He sees it in the way he still remembers how easily overwhelmed he would get around people and how he grins, a look in his eyes saying “you’ll be fine now.”

Iida’s changed in the way that he projects himself, once brimming with energy and no control over how loud he was, he’s now mellow and quieter. Shouto wonders briefly if something happened that caused him to become this way.

Iida’s changed in the way he looks and sounds; back in high school, he’d always been muscular, but now it seems he’s really bulked up, perhaps due to how tall he is now. That’s another thing, Iida is now… so much taller than he is. Before, they’d been pretty close in height but now Shouto has to look up at him to talk to him. His voice has gotten so much deeper, too, but still so full of passion despite how much quieter he’s gotten.

Iida’s changed in the way that a scar runs up his neck and to his chin. In the way there’s a cut in his right eyebrow. In the way he’s not wearing glasses anymore, (must be contacts, he concludes.) In the way his lips tug upwards into a smile when he notices Shouto been staring.

Oh fuck.

He’s been staring.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Iida starts and Shouto is so thankful he didn’t make a comment on him staring.

“Yeah… uh… sorry for not… texting you or anything. I lost all my old contacts.” Still as useless in a conversation as ever, with a side of anxiety over the fact it’s been ten years and wow Iida’s kinda handsome. No, he’s very handsome.

“Oh! That’s understandable, I doubt I would have been able to respond much anyways. The transition stage of me becoming the head of the Idaten Agency has been hectic. I’ve been keeping tabs on how everyone’s doing with their own careers though, so you don’t have to go into too much detail about how everything’s going for you if you don’t want to.”

Of course he’s that considerate that he’s kept track of the old class’s progress. Of course he tells him he doesn’t have to talk about his work life. Of course …

Stupid… handsome… Iida with his stunning eyes and radiant smile. Dammit.

What’s going on here? He thought he got over those feelings he harbored for him years ago. And they’re resurfacing? He would love to hit his feelings back so they don’t invade his thoughts so suddenly.

Or get swallowed up by the earth. Either one is fine.

“Yeah uh… it’s… been going okay. I guess. Just… doing what I have to do…”

Iida nods and smiles that full smile again and Shouto can’t help but look away, he’s afraid if he looks any more he will most definitely be red and Iida will most definitely notice and ask what’s wrong and he doesn’t want that.

“That’s good to hear!” Iida places his hands on his hips and he gives a curt nod, “Well, I should be heading back to give a report about today’s incident. It was nice talking to you again!”

“You too.”

Shouto almost has half the heart to ask Iida to stay a little longer, to catch up more, but by the time he opens his mouth to speak, he’s gone. Ah, that’s something that never changed. Tenya Iida was, and will always be, fast. Fast to start a conversation, fast to warm up to, fast to run, and fast to leave. One moment he’s in your life and the next he’s not.

How strange…

It’s not until he gets back to his home that he gets a text from an unknown number.

( Missed working with you. :] ) 1m.

( This is Tenya Iida btw. ) 40s.

( I should have started with that, shouldn’t I? ) 5s.

Shouto had forgotten how quick Iida was when it came to sending texts. Nonetheless, the corner of his lips twitched upwards as he started to text his response after saving him to his contacts.

( yeah same )

( wasnt expecting 2 see u tbh )

( u rlly saved me )

( also i missed u 2 has it rlly been 10 yrs )

( Time seems to fly when we’re busy! )

( And it’s not a problem. )

( We should head somewhere to

catch up some time. )

( id like that )

( where? )

( There’s a cafe near my agency. )

( It just opened so I was intending on trying it. )

- Tenya🏃 has shared a location -

( sounds good )

( Great! When would a good time be for you? )

( any times fine )

( How does Sunday at 1pm sound? )

( works for me )

( Alright! See you then! :] )

Shouto stares at the screen, squinting. He pauses, brows furrowing. Did… Did Iida ask him out? Is that what just happened? No, no he’s just reading into it too much is all. Yeah, that’s it, just what his stupid subconscious wants him to believe.

His stupid subconscious also thinks Iida is stupidly handsome.

How is he going to survive this outing?

The answer is simple: he’s not. He’s standing outside of the cafe, hand hovering over the door, and the worst part is he’s late.

He lets out a breath and swings to door open. Once inside he starts to scan the room for Iida. Oh. There he is. He’s waving him down enthusiastically, arms swinging stiffly and Shouto thinks to himself There’s the Iida I knew .

He makes his way and sits down across from him, glancing around every so often should there be any fans or something.

There’s that look in Iida’s eyes again, the one that says “you’ll be okay.” And Shouto really wasn’t ever able to figure out how Iida read him so easily despite the fact his expression hardly ever changed. (That’s a fact he’s been made very aware of through the years.)

“Sorry for being late. I got lost.” Not a lie. He did get lost.

“That’s okay! You’re here now, so that’s what matters!”

Oh, that’s something else that’s changed. Shouto was sure he would’ve gotten a light scolding about punctuality but… huh… That’s… weird . He doesn’t know what he thinks about this Iida. The Iida he knew wouldn’t let it go by until he got it through his head.

“You’ve… changed.”

Iida seems to deflate at this and Shouto kicks himself in his mind.

“Ah… yes well, things have happened over the past few years. I suppose I’ve become more “relaxed” than I was back at U.A. It’s proven to be efficient for Idaten to work together better.”

Yeah no he… regrets saying that.

And still, Iida continues, “I suppose another factor is from my runin with a villain.”

“Is… Did you get the scar from that?” Another insensitive question, he realizes after it leaves his mouth.

“Yes. It was when I had just taken over the Idaten Agency. Unfortunately my teammates didn’t see eye to eye in how I lead things which lead to us getting distracted from the mission, they made it clear to me that Tensei and I have very different ways of leading which I was well aware of when taking the position. It was an eye-opening experience, to say the least. It’s been… difficult. But it’s nothing I can’t overcome.”

Still as stubborn as ever, it seems that hasn’t changed which is something Shouto’s glad for. It’s strange, he realizes, Iida has changed so much and yet he’s still as socially awkward as ever. It’s almost like he’s talking to a stranger.

He doesn’t like that.

“Oh… that’s rough.”

Iida clears his throat and nods, looking away, eyes distant and unfocused. He mulls over Iida’s words for a while and- oh… that’s another thing that hasn’t changed, unfortunately. It still seems he’s living in the shadow of his brother’s legacy, and that his sidekicks made it a permanent reminder of this in the form of scar is…

It makes him mad.

“Your brother’s probably really proud of you.”

“He is but… ah, here I am… We haven’t spoken in ten years and I am already airing all my grievances to you.” He almost seems ashamed of this and it makes Shouto’s heart ache for him.

“I don’t mind… We use to do it a lot. So I can… I understand.”

They’re virtually strangers but in this moment, Shouto feels 15 again, sitting in a hospital bed, feet away from Iida as he listens to the test results on his hand and how they talked for what feels like eternity.

“Thank you but… Still, it’s hardly fair of me to lay this all out on you but-” he cuts himself off mid-sentence as if just realizing something.

Shouto looks at him confused.

“Ah… I just realized.”

“What?”

“I asked you out on a date, didn't I? This is a date.”

Shouto opens his mouth. Oh, wow, what a real curveball that sentence was. Of everything he was expecting out of Iida’s mouth it was not that. The topic really took a 180 there.

“S-sorry! Ah, I didn’t mean to jump that on you. I… It was- I mean, that’s to say. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I mean, that was highly inappropriate of me, I should probably go. It’s been 10 years. What was I thinking? I’m so sorry T-”

“Shut up.”

Iida shuts up, going rigid, standing completely still and… is he holding his breath?

“Breathe.”

He breathes.

“Let’s… start over…”

Iida gives him a confused look and watches as he stands up, holds out his hand, and looks up at him.

“I’m Shouto.”

His large hand envelopes his own, small hand, and he gently shakes it.

“Ii-… Tenya.”

“I wouldn’t mind… if this is a date.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“I… I liked you, a lot, in high school.”

“... I did too.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

“We were kinda stupid back then.”

“Utter delinquents.”

“Yeah, “I’m gonna hunt down and kill the hero killer”.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I never said I liked people who followed the rules.”

“Point taken…”

And that’s enough… This will be enough for him.

#long post #my writing #todoiida #1k drabble #mobile users im sorry

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eddiospaghettio · 7 years

Note

Hey I saw ur post about writing some stenbrough and was wondering if I could give in a prompt? Can u do a one shot where bill is upset over georgie, and stan comforts him. But this is sort of on the anniversary of georgie’s death or something so they can be a bit older (maybe 16? idk) love ur blog btw :)

Hi Anon! I hope this is ok and my writing is alright… I made it so that they’re 11 when the whole ‘It’ fiasco occurs, like the book (but i did set it in the era of the movie). Then it can be 5 years since Georgie died now they can be 16 :) This kinda ended up more sad than romantic and stuff, but what do you expect when Georgie’s death is mentioned :(( also sorry i kinda went off on my own whim haha

Sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes that I didn’t discover.

——————————————————————————————-

Whenever Bill wasn’t around, Stan noticed.

Instead of spending the day at school ferociously taking notes and striving for the best grades, he was worrying about his best friend. He spent lunchtime biting at his nails, ignoring his food. Even Richie, who usually spent his lunchtimes constantly moving and yelling with his mouth full, was quiet. They all knew what today was.

The anniversary of Georgie’s death.

Every year on this day Bill went to the clubhouse and spent the day there instead of at school. No one knew what he did all day, but Stan had seen the drawings, poems and stories that Bill tried to hide underneath his bed.

Every year everyone in the group offered to skip school as well and stay with Bill, and every year Bill told them to go and forget about him for the day.

No one ever could.

However, this year was especially hard for Bill. It had been 5 years since Georgie had died and they’d all had the most terrifying summer of their lives. Stan had noticed in the last few weeks how unlike himself Bill had been acting.

‘I’m going to visit him,’ Stan said, already grabbing his lunch tray, ready to get up.

‘What? No!’ Eddie looked up from his home-made sandwich. ‘Bill specifically said to not visit him!’

‘I don’t care,’ Stan said, getting up.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Ben asked. ‘He did say-

‘Go comfort him, lover boy!’ Richie interrupted.

‘Piss off Richie,’ Stan rolled his eyes and walked off, but not before giving his tater tots to Mike, who had been eyeing them all lunch.

Stan rode away from school as fast as he could, heading in the direction of the clubhouse. He wasn’t sure what would happen when he arrived; if Bill would kick him out or let him stay. His nervousness built to a tipping point until he stood in front of the clubhouse, listening to Bill faintly hum a David Bowie tune he didn’t know the name of. Stan smiled as he walked closer, until he could see inside.

Bill was lying on his stomach, feet in the air, and bopping his head along to the song that was playing through his walkman. He had a packet of watercolour pencils laying next to him, and was currently colouring in the bright green top he had drawn on a sketch of a small grinning boy. Georgie.

Stan took a deep breath and knocked politely. Bill snapped his head up, instantly covering his drawing with his arm.

’S-s-stan?’ confusion laced Bill’s face. ‘W-what are you d-d-doing here?’

‘I came to see you,’ Stan said, walking inside as confidently as he could, and sat down next to Bill.

‘B-but,’ Bill frantically collected the paper around him and placed it behind him. ‘What about c-c-class?’

‘Screw class,’ Stan said. ‘I wanted to come check on you.’

‘Oh,’ Bill looked down at his hands, which were stained an array of different colours from his pencils. Stan thought it was quite beautiful.

‘How are you holding up?’ Stan asked quietly.

‘I’m fine,’ Bill mumbled.

‘Bill, you know you don’t have to act brave for me,’ Stan moved closer to Bill, placing his hand on Bill’s knee. Bill stared at it, before pushing Stan’s hand off.

‘Y-you should g-go,’ Bill turned his body away.

‘Bill, please-‘

‘Go away Stan!’ Bill spat.

Stan didn’t move, and instead watched Bill’s back, tears coming to his own eyes when he recognised the shaking of Bill’s shoulders. He shifted closer, ignoring Bill’s previous request for him to leave, and wrapped his arms around Bill’s waist.

Bill shook as he cried, leaning back into the support of Stan and covering his face with his hands. Stan rested his head in the crook of Bill’s neck, waiting for the other boy to calm down. They sat there for what seemed like hours, but was only minutes, until Bill had stopped sobbing, and he turned to face Stan.

‘I’m s-s-sorry,’ Bill wiped his red-rimmed eyes with the backs of his hands and Stan used his thumb to wipe a tear off Bill’s chin. ‘It’s b-been years and I s-s-still miss h-him so m-m-much.’ Bill let out a shuddering breath.

‘I know,’ Stan sighed, wrapping his arms around Bill and pulling the other boy in for a hug. ‘I know how much you miss Georgie, I know.’

’T-thanks for coming to c-check on m-me,’ Bill whispered, pulling away.

‘No problem,’ Stan smiled, and Bill smiled sadly back.

‘So, what are you drawing?’ Stan asked, hoping to cheer up his best friend.

‘Um,’ Bill looked behind him at the pile of drawings. ’N-nothing, it’s n-not v-very good’.

‘Can I see?’ Stan asked, and Bill’s face softened.

‘Yeah, o-ok,’ He picked up the pile and turned to face Stan, sitting knee to knee with him, placing the paper into Stan’s lap. Stan laughed at the nervous excitement obvious on Bill’s face as he picked up the first drawing and held it up for Stan.

‘So, this is Georgie,’ Bill handed the paper over and Stan admired the drawing he had seen Bill colouring in when he first arrived.

‘This is,’ Stan looked up at Bill’s hopeful face over the paper, ‘amazing’.

‘Really?’ Bill’s face lit up and Stan grinned.

‘Really! You could enter this in a competition!’ Stan placed his hand on Bill’s shoulder. ‘You’re really talented Bill’.

Bill blushed, and picked up the next piece of art for Stan to admire, taking back the picture of Georgie.

Stan stared at the picture in astonishment, eyes flickering over the detail in the picture of all his friends. Beverly, her bright red hair standing out as she sat, arm outstretched, handing a reeses peanut butter cup to Ben. Mike, with Richie up on his shoulders, laughing as a terrified Eddie stood next to them, his mouth open in a yell, and Stan, his binoculars fixed on the sky, ignoring his friends’ banter.

‘Wow,’ Stan had no other words to describe how he felt. ‘Do you have more?’

‘Oh n-n-no, you d-don’t want to s-s-see the others,’ Bill blushed again, picking up his pile suddenly.

‘Yes I do!’ Stan said, grabbing the pile, ignoring the way his hands overlapped Bill’s.

’N-no h-honestly-‘ Bill never finished his sentence, as he fumbled with the paper and dropped it, back into Stan’s lap. Stan took the opportunity and grabbed the top paper of the pile, grinning as he picked it up and looked down at the drawing.

His breath caught in his throat.

The drawing was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. But Stan stared hopelessly at the detailed drawing of his own face. He picked up the next drawing, finding it to be himself again, this time a sketch of him hanging over a log, focusing his binoculars on a nearby bird. Stan picked up another, and another, finding them all to be of him.

‘What?’ Stan looked up at Bill, to find the other boy’s face had gone completely red and was staring straight back at Stan.

‘I’m s-sorry,’ Bill said, covering his face with his hands. ‘P-please don’t t-think I’m a c-c-creep’.

‘What? No!’ Stan dropped the drawings and leaned closer to Bill, removing his hands from his face.

‘It’s n-not w-what you-‘ Bill started, and Stan decided to interrupt him, instead placing the lightest of kisses to Bill’s lips.

‘Oh,’ Bill sighed when Stan pulled away.

‘I like you too you dumb idiot,’ Stan smiled, kissing Bill’s forehead. The latter leaned into Stan’s kiss, a smile forming.

‘Oh,’ Was all Bill could say again. And it was enough.

They spent the rest of the day together, Bill drawing and Stan just watching. Occasionally Bill got upset, and that was ok, as long as Stan held him until he felt better.

And when they parted Stan left him with a short goodbye kiss and a promise that tomorrow would be better.

#stenbrough #stan uris #stanley uris #bill denbrough #it #eddiofanficshc

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